Posts Tagged ‘York’

Christopher Nosnibor

It may be numbered 7.5 in the Utterly Fuzzled catalogue, but there’s nothing ‘half’ about this event. Showcasing quieter and more acoustic-based acts than usual, it does mark something of a departure from their usual mix of indie / alternative / different / stuff, but this stacked five-act bill still brings variety and quality in equal measure.

The joy of these nights is that you can turn up without knowing anything about the majority of the acts and still know there’ll be plenty of interest, even if it’s not all to your taste. Put another way, an Utterly Fuzzled night is not dissimilar to how it was listening to John Peel: a mixed bag, you might not love all of it, but it would never be dull and you’d always come away with something new that made an impression. And tonight is absolutely no exception.

Jo Dale – event co-organiser and bassist with local favourites Knitting Circle is on early doors, nervous and questioning the wisdom of putting herself on for a solo acoustic set – doesn’t make the obvious choice of playing versions of Knitting Circle songs. Oh no. Instead, it’s a whole new set of songs played on acoustic bass, one of which was penned mere hours before when she realised her set was too short. The combination of nerves and newness make for a slightly shaky start, but she’s a deft tunesmith and the audience is behind her (metaphorically speaking, that is) and she finds her feet and confidence over the course of her handful of songs.

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Jo Dale

Andrew DR Abbot is an old hand, and a longstanding feature of the DIY scene in the North. It was more than a quarter of a century since I first stumbled upon him playing baritone guitar as one half of That Fucking Tank, supporting Whitehouse at The Grapes in Sheffield. Whitehouse were too quiet and rather disappointing on that occasion, and TFT were the act of the night by miles. While now performing – again with James Islip, and still with the baritone guitar – as Lands and Body, he’s also doing solo stuff which is an electroacoustic sort of set up, involving field recordings by way of a backing to guitar that’s looped and layered. He’s at ease on stage, and the set simply flows. Starting with a 12-string guitar and switching to an eight-string, Abbot deploys a bottle, a tiny bow, and various other tools to augment some technically proficient picking and fretwork. Cascading notes create an immersive, atmospheric continuous piece which transitions through a sequence of passages. To say that it’s ‘nice’ may sound weak and noncommittal, but as a listening experience, that’s exactly what it is, and I find myself feeling calm but subtly exhilarated.

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Andrew DR Abbot

Piró – over from Spain and touring alongside Andy Abbott – plays vibrant folksy songs with a Latin flavour, routing an acoustic guitar through some pedals with loops and distortion making for some interesting sounds. His set was marred somewhat by some noisy sods at the back who talked and laughed constantly, and talked and laughed louder during the louder parts. But like a pro, he kept a level head and simply played on, and gave us some nicely worked loops and guitar detail in songs performed with heart.

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Piró

Lou Richards’ set was a compact affair comprising just four songs, the last of which was a John Cale cover performed alongside one of her former bandmates. But less is more, particularly when it comes to poetical words paired with delicately picked clean electric guitar. It’s pleasant, a very different kind of folk, about hedgerows and heritage, nature and nurturing.

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Lou Richards

Bhajan Boy is sporting a Fall T-shirt and brings big drones which form the basis of a set that builds slowly and deliberately, with some clattering and clanking that adds considerable texture. It’s only gradually that the drone evolves into a dense noise, as the set bhuilds subtly in layers and volume. Twenty minutes in and I’m wondering how much further he can take it, how much more he can add. That’s when he starts on the bellows and the sound really swells to a huge swashing sonic tide, rendered all the more full-spectrum by bleeps and crackling distortion, before gradually pulling back through a very long tapering wind down.

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Bhajan Boy

It’s an immersive soundscape, which is very different from the rest of the lineup. This in itself is the quintessence of the Utterly Fuzzled ethos, and in a time where live music is struggling and touring is difficult, a night like tonight stands as a beacon.

Christopher Nosnibor

Suspicious Liquid had originally been down to open this evening’s dark proceedings, but they’ve been replaced by Troll Mother. While not getting to see Suspicious Liquid again is disappointing, southern power sludge duo Troll Mother are everything their name suggests… or are they? They’re more Mötörhead than Melvins, with a hardcore punk edge in places. They also boast an absolutely fucking MASSIVE drum kit, meaning that when the drummer takes on vocal duties – something they share – it’s not always immediately obvious because he’s largely obscured by a huge bank of toms and a swathe of cymbals. They make a cracking racket, too, with next to no pauses for the full duration of their half-hour set.

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Troll Mother

Space Pistol bring the riffs, and they do evoke Melvins, as well as Faith No More, and Hawk Eyes, among others. The three are decked out in matching orange boiler suits and the bassist, who has a board with about 36 pedals plays with his face. He also leaps and bounds – and yes, positively cavorts – about the stage with a flamboyance that’s uncommon to a bad that are this big on hefty riffs. There are false endings galore, and at one point they lock statue-like positions and maintain silence for maybe a good twenty seconds, during which time you could hear a pin drop. They absolutely love this, to the extent that it seems that this moment is a career high point for them. Since they’ve come all the way from Milton Keynes for this, we’re pleased that York is a memorable show for them, and I’m pretty sure they’d be welcome back up here any time.

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Space Pistol

Froglord, meanwhile, are making a return visit after just eleven months. The concept is pretty ludicrous, the stage show even more so: a stoner / doom band all about amphibians, kitted out in masks and arranging their sets as some form of swamp-centric ritual. The fact that they’ve eked this out across six albums now is nothing short of remarkable. But the fact that every show is an event, shaped by that sense of occasion and ritual is part of the appeal – that and the fact the performances are entertaining and they really know how to riff.

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Froglord

But there is a certain serious element to the band (not that heavyweight sludgy riffs in themselves aren’t serious), in that they’re genuinely eco-conscious, and their frog fixation isn’t all just japes, with 100% of the proceeds from digital sales of their new album, Lower & Slower Vol 1, released in March, are being donated to the Waterfowl & Wetland Trust (WWT) – the wetland charity, as well as 50% of all physical media and merch profits. Or, as they put it, ‘At it’s [sic] core, Froglord have always been an environmentally [sic]-driven band. Through their fundraising and tale of an amphibious deity, reeking vengenace [sic] on humanity for the environmental destruction they caused.’ Personally, I like them even more for this. Once could reasonably argue that just a handful of the world’s billionaires could eradicate poverty and save the planet and not even notice a reduction in lifestyle and that Froglord’s sales aren’t even a drop in a puddle in comparison, but that’s not the point: the point is that these guys actually care, and are using their platform for good.

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Froglord

They also put on a great show. It’s no huge development on the last time around: their website positions it as follows: ‘Returning with brand new masks, costumes, and a 6th studio album, Froglord deliver another massive offering of amphibious swamp doom. Recorded live in the studio in a single take, Lower & Slower briefly pauses the band’s concept storytelling of the Tale of The Froglord saga, instead revisiting six previously released tracks from across their discography’. And the fact is, it works: tonight’s performance feels very much like a consolidation, and they seem particularly focused, the set’s structure absolutely honed to perfection in every way. They drop a powerful cover of ‘Iron Man’ early in the second half of the set, and in many ways, this speaks for itself. The bassist plays wearing a frog glove puppet for a while, and after the ritual circulating of the giant rubber toad later in the set, said toad is then used to bash bass strings before eventually tucked in the crook of an elbow in a more friendly fashion for a time.

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Froglord

Admirably, they never break character for a moment: this is outstanding theatre. It’s also outstanding, riff-driven fun. All hail the Froglord!

Christopher Nosnibor

This is one of those occasions where music critique intersects with personal experience. I make no apology for this. I’ve long maintained that one’s relationship with music is personal, and it goes beyond the fact that the soundtrack of your life is something which evolves in ways beyond your control.

The first time I saw Salvation was ay my first ‘proper’ gig, when I was 14: they were supporting The Mission at Sheffield City Hall in March 1990. I didn’t know who they were at the time. But I soon discovered that they were an integral part of the early 80s Leeds milieu, and they’re noteworthy for having their first two singles produced by different members of The Sisters of Mercy, among other things.

The last time I saw them was at The Brudenell in Leeds, the day after the Queen died, and ahead of it, my wife bought me one of their T-shirts. It turned out to be the last birthday present she bought me, as she died just four months later. So here I am, wearing that shirt, to see a band I first saw thirty-six years ago, playing just fifteen minutes from my house in a 150-capacity pub venue. It’s a big deal, but also an occasion which lands with mixed emotions.

The Scarlet Hour are a duo with programmed synth and drum backing and live bass. But there’s an awkwardness about them and their set. The sound is a bit thin – that’s thanks to the bass and backing track being proportionally quiet, and the fairly clean vocals being a bit high in the mix, meaning the cliché lyrics are more audible than is desirable, and the vocals – trying and failing to sound menacing and tortured don’t help. Tim Synistyr (who really is anything but) has the poses – not to mention the leather jacket, open snakeskin-patterned shirt and ‘Body Electric’ T-shirt – but no aspect of the performance feels natural, the poses come across as being forced as the off-key singing. Dose makes the poison, and the naffness has a cumulative effect, making for a long half hour. ‘Stay Awake’ sounds like New Order circa ’83 and ‘Afterlife’ calls to mind the flimsy pop of Depeche Mode’s ‘New Life’ – novel, and a decent enough tune, but it would be a long time before they got interesting. Unfortunately, that’s something The Scarlet Hour never do. The applause is more polite than enthusiastic.

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The Scarlet Hour

The InSect, who released their debut album As It Ever Was a week ago, have a much more elaborate stage show and a full band lineup. Despite the fact I’m a fan of drum machines myself, their performance strikes a huge contrast with The Scarlet Hour’s in terms of dynamics, volume, sonic density, and energy, and much of this is on account of the band-ness they present. In terms of presentation, they’ve a lot more going for them, too: The Insect are flamboyant and theatrical, and look comfortable acting up and bringing the show to the audience. Ed Banshee is a natural from man who spends a good portion of the set among the crowd, and Athena FireChild provides the perfect interplay. Instrumentally, they’re tight, and compositionally and stylistically, there are strong hints of Bauhaus. They go all out to put on a show, to entertain, with bright white lights and various other accoutrements adding to the atmosphere. But ultimately, it’s their energy that makes their set what it is.

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The InSect

And so, to Salvation. For tonight, SASS-era guitarist Adam Clarkson is back in the band at short notice, and this has necessitated a revised set-list from the one played at The Old Woollen in Farsley a week or so previous – but as this seemingly means the reintroduction of ‘Jessica’s Crime’ in place of a cover of ‘Don’t Change’ by INXS, it’s hardly a bad thing. They confess to a few slips during the set, but it’s unlikely anyone out front noticed: the keenest of fans are getting down and busting moves at the front from the start, and this is a relaxed show, with some good-natured back-and-forth between band and audience throughout.

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Salvation

Salvation sound absolutely fantastic, and again highlight the difference between the old-school drum machine bands and more recent ones: they know how to crank up the beats – and the synth bass – to create a full sound which is at least equal to live instrumentation. Perhaps more specifically it’s an early 80s Leeds thing, but they, like The March Violets at The Warehouse last year, sound loud and vibrant, with a bass drum sound that truly kicks and a snare that cracks right into the cranium, punching through the interweaving mesh of the dual guitars.

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Salvation

They were always at the more accessible end of the spectrum in comparison to The Sisters and The Violets, but at the heart of songs like ‘The Shining’, there’s that solid bass groove, pumping drum sound, and nifty guitar work – and live, the guitars pack more punch than on the recordings. Tonight’s rendition of ‘Jessica’s Crime’ lands between the more guitar-orientated version recorded for she shelved Clash of Dreams album for Merciful Release, and the Wayne Hussey produced viola-soaked rerecording, released as a single in 1985, and it’s nothing short of killer. ‘All and More’ lands near the end of the set, which closes with ‘Why Lie’, and the pretence of an encore is tossed aide as they leap into a fun, chuggy cover of ‘Kids in America’ which brings the set to an elated conclusion.

And for all the weight of personal history pressing into this outing for me, I’m more than glad I turned out.

Christopher Nosnibor

Since starting out with Horsemusic last year, these nights – hosted at a pub (a classic boozer that for some years was a Tap and Spile before reverting to its previous name) just outside the city walls on the first Thursday of the month – have become rapidly established as showcases for local and regional talent, focusing primarily on York acts, but also providing a platform to emerging talents from places like Hull and Leeds. This, their seventh event, perfectly encapsulates their approach to curation and once again highlights the depth of quality acts knocking around in the locality right now.

Small Guage, from Leeds, are relative newcomers, but they’re clearly well-rehearsed and tight with some sharp endings played with precision. Pitched as ‘Leeds post-punk’, their sound is more mid-80s indie. There’s debate after their set as to which bands they’re actually reminiscent of, and while the whole C86 sound and 4AD are floating into my mind, I run into a friend at the bar who makes a spirited comparison to The Monochrome Set, while agreeing that there’s not just a slew of bands but a whole era that seems to have been absorbed into their sound, which is melodic and jangly, with two interweaving guitars and a singing female drummer with minimal kit – bass, snare, floor tom, no cymbals. The songs are held tightly together by some solid note-on-the-beat basslines. They’re also quite gentle…

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Small Gauge

The same can’t be said of JUKU. Discussing them beforehand, I summed them up to someone as ‘loud’. “C’mon,” was the reply, “That’s not a style, or what they sound like.” Ordinarily, I’d agree, but the description on the flyer simply states ‘bring earplugs’, and I pity anyone who didn’t. This band is nothing short of a rabid riff monster. They play big, dumb riffs, reminiscent at times of The Stooges, The Ramones… with everything cranked up to eleven… They play hard and fast and with a frothing intensity. Naomi sings and whacks her bass and spends the set willing her glasses to stay on her face to the end of each song. They have a few issues with feedback from the mics tonight, which have likely been turned up to compete with the blistering volume of the backline. But if the result is chaos, it’s utterly compelling and immensely powerful. Brittle surf-goth lead guitar lines echo through the squalling wall of noise, and it’s wild to see a band of this calibre – and of this volume – for free in a York pub with a capacity of maybe seventy-five, when they’re worthy of headlining at The Brudenell in Leeds.

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JUKU

Knitting Circle may not be as punishingly loud, but their busy live schedule means that they’re super-tight, and looking and sounding confident. As well they might: they’re on fine form, and in terms of performance, tonight is a couple of steps up from when they played on the other side of town at The Fulfordgate WMC in February. While the vocals are a bit muddy-sounding, and Pete’s guitar is a little more midrange in tone than usual, muffling the Andy Gill-style trebly chop, but it still cuts through against Jo’s bass, which is nicely up in the mix and positively throbs.

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Knitting Circle

The ultra-succinct ‘Create, Don’t Destroy’ (which may be a recent addition to the set, if I’m not mistaken) is a standout among a set of more established standouts, including ‘Safe Routes’, which (sadly) remains ever relevant, ‘The Fox’, and closer ‘Losing My Eggs’. The crowd want more, though, and manage top coax them to deliver an encore – and the unplanned and seemingly unrehearsed instrumental sound like Shellac, thunderous drumming exploding behind a rumbling bass groove and mathy guitar line. It’s a great finish to another great night. 

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s a good thing it’s not raining or bitterly cold, as they’re running late setting up. Consequently, there’s a hoard of black clad folks milling about outside waiting to be let in – although thankfully, we’re allowed to go and get drinks from the bar to bring back outside. In fairness, it’s a rare thing here, and many much bigger venues are prone to opening the doors a lot more than ten minutes late. Nevertheless, I’m glad I decided to wear a hat, because Spring is still in its early stages and there’s a nip in the air.

It’s still winter inside, though, as we kick off a night of back-to-back black metal. But who knew there were so many shades of black? The four acts on tonight’s bill are all denominations of black metal, but couldn’t be more different.

Darkened Void, from Hull – yes, that’s a ‘u’ and not an ‘e’ – promise ‘melodic death black metal’. How this translates is that some of the guitar work is a bit Brian May at times, and there are some epic choruses in the mix. But there is much heavy darkness to behold, too. They’re certainly tight, and are at their most powerful when they put their heads down and churn out the monster riffs, which benefit significantly from the heft of two guitars.

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Darkened Void

Bruul, purveyors of ‘barbaric black metal’ who hail from York have their priorities right, sorting the incense sticks before their guitars and mic stands. This seems pretty civilised, if a tad bohemian, rather than barbaric. But they bring the density with a solid wall of the filthiest guitars and hell-for-leather drumming to deliver a brutal and relentless rabid blast of bestial fury. They’d probably put some effort into their makeup, but playing in near darkness they probably didn’t need to – they’re all but invisible but for the lead guitarist’s white trainers – although the atmospheric presentation certainly heightened the impact of their pummelling racket. The sheer force of their set is nothing short of stunning, and to his this level of volume and intensity so early in the night is staggering.

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Bruul

Misko Boba are the main reason I’m here after they devastated my ears in this same venue at the tail end of 2024. While being based in York, they’re a band of international origin – vocalist Kanopa is Lithuanian by origin, and her delving into Lithuanian folklore adds a level of mystique. More than that, her stage presence is nothing short of terrifying. But there’s a lot more happening here: the demonic shriek of the blood-smeared singer is paired with churning guitar work and gut-juddering five-string bass. Perhaps singing in Lithuanian (the setlist features an English translation beneath each of the song titles) adds a dimension of otherness, but everything about their performance is blindingly intense. They play hard and fast – very fast. What on the surface sounds like a blizzard of noise is, in fact, highly detailed, and the pace of the fretwork and percussion is dazzling. The effect, ultimately, is so powerful as to kick the air from your lungs.

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Misko Boba

Andracca purport to bring us black metal ‘devoted to suffering… To a Bare the Weight of Death encapsulates 5 years of grief plagued with successive deaths…’ says their bio. With faces and arms smeared with black and a massive skull (what it’s supposed to have belonged to is a mystery) on stage, they’re the quintessence of black metal. But they also highlight the tightrope that is black metal – the fine line between full-throttle, immersive rage and corny theatrics.

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Andracca

‘Thank you!’ vocalist Kieran Dawes rasps, in character, before, in a normal and very polite voice, ‘can I get more vocal in the monitor, please?’ In an instant, the spell is broken. Whereas Bruul maintained the magic by staying mute and just playing the songs, and Kanopa of Misko Boba relaxed into an affable character between songs and switched into fiery demonic mode for the songs themselves, Andracca can’t maintain a consistent approach. Perhaps more cringey than that, though, is the fact that in terms of posturing and cliché, they’re a bit Spinal Tap, but thankfully the drummer doesn’t explode. That said, I seem to be alone in finding the lofted guitars, playing back-to-back, and the power poses rather daft, and the packed crowd laps it up with pumping fists. Seriously, they are well into it, especially the front rows, and this reciprocal energy loop makes for a great atmosphere – and there’s no mistaking the technical skills or epic nature of the songwriting of Andracca, whose forty-five minute set features just seven songs. There’s new material on offer, and they conclude with the seven-minute ‘Oceans of Fire’.

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Andracca

They’re probably the third best band on the bill tonight, due to presentation more than content. But what tonight demonstrates is just how strong the metal scene is round here. Despite what seems to be an ever-diminishing number of venues and the ongoing cost of living crisis, it’s heartening that there are so many quality bands around, and people willing to stump up to go and see them – especially on a Sunday night.

Christopher Nosnibor

The monthly Horsemusic nights at The Black Horse in York have very quickly become a showcase for emerging and established local and regional talent. The venue makes sense: it’s within yards on the city walls, and with regular quizzes and the like, the pub is very much community orientated, and has a quality selection of local and regional hand-pulled ales, all at a flat rate of £5.10. Given the geography and general climate, this is impressive – and the nights bring in a decent crowd. Putting on college bands and the like who are likely struggling to get a foot in the door on the live circuit gets people down early doors, too, although it does mean that I feel like an absolute fucking fossil at the ripe age of fifty, ordering a pint of pale while being buffeted by rucksacks and shoulder bags as people around me clamour to buy Cruzcampo and white wine by the gallon.

Tonight promises the usual quality, with the online preview offering ‘the mighty The Hangnails, Shoegaze Dream Pop from Heavy Bloom and The John Conference pumping out Indie Psych Rock’.

The John Conference, it turns out, are infinitely more complex than the ‘indie psych rock’ tag may suggest. There’s a bit of Pulp and a bit of early Britpop going on early in the set perhaps, but despite the guitarist having a Suede sticker between his pickups, this is mostly indie with a more 80s vibe. They’re a little bit rough and ready, but actually, it’s adds to the appeal – they’ve got songs and they can certainly lay, with some quite detailed and occasionally proggy basslines dominating the sound. Then, at times, they come on more like early Wire.

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The John Conference

Their sole cover is of King Crimson’s ‘One More Red Nightmare’, which is unexpected, but sits well in what is a wide-ranging set. There’s a lot to unpack here, and it’s all good.

Heavy Bloom favour mid-pace understated, introspective songs with a gentle jangle which will suddenly blossom into soaring shoegaze swirls. After testing out a new song for the first time, which likely worked better than their assessment, the closer to this pleasant, and at times hypnotic, set is a slow-burner which builds to a magnificent sustained crescendo.

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Heavy Bloom

What’s remarkable is the standard of young emerging bands right now. So many step out with their songs, their style, their sound, and presentation down. Time was when bands would form and take to the stage before they’d even learned more than three chords. You couldn’t get away with that now. This is, I feel, a mixed blessing. It means you’re unlikely to hear many really ropey bands, but there’s not much of the old punk ethos in evidence.

The Hangnails have come a long way. They’ve certainly refined every aspect of their form since they emerged as a squalling garage duo blasting a wall of treble. And yes, they have mellowed, too. Considerably.

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The Hangnails

A few of the songs in tonight’s set are positively anthemic – something inconceivable in their early years. The addition of a third member on bass and synths and bringing laptop layers in, which was seemingly coincidental or approximate to their dropping the ‘…and’ part of the name, has certainly been a significant factor in the expansion of their sound, and no doubt their sonic horizons. Nevertheless, it’s incredible to hear a band sounding this polished and this immense in a pub setting, particularly considering that only the vocals (and probably keyboards) are going through the PA and what we’re getting out front is backline and unmiced drums. Steven Ried wouldn’t need mics on his kit in a venue five times the size: however much they’ve toned down the racket, he is still a phenomenally powerful drummer. And, truth be told, they’re a phenomenally powerful band. Having slipped out a few singles in recent months, perhaps we can now hope for the long-awaited new album showcasing their current sound.

Christopher Nosnibor

How is this even possible? Four bands – including one from London and one from Sheffield – for SIX QUID, in a venue where decent beer is £5.50 a pint and served in a glass? This is the grassroots venue experience, people. and The Blair Bitch Project are a classic grassroots story, having started out here, at The Fulford Arms, nervous as hell but full of potential, to strutting with confidence and not only launching their debut album, but a new phase in their career. We’ll come back to all of this after the absolutely mind-blowingly stacked supports.

Admittedly, my expectations for Eddy’s Mistake were low to lower. According to the gig preview, the York pop-punk outfit kindly invite you to feast on faeces then immediately perish. Yeah, you too, edgy mofos. My views on punk pop are no secret. But although they’re overtly US influenced in their styling, with vocals that flip from bubblegummy pop to something more abrasive, they’re more 70% punk and only 30% pop. The guitars are up in the mix and dirty-sounding, they’re fresh and fiery, with some harsh burns in the lyrics. ‘Fuckboy’ (if it’s called that – I didn’t spot a setlist and their online presence is clearly in its developmental stages) is a raging punk tune. They are so together and kick ass to the extent that I actually feel guilty for harbouring doubts. They’re straight onto the ‘ones to watch’ list.

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Eddy’s Mistake

Static Lives last played York five months ago, again alongside Blair Bitch Project and supporting Wench! – another Northern raucous female-powered punk-orientated band. Are you seeing a pattern here? In case not, now is a boom time for women in rock. I should perhaps reframe that: the world is finally starting to appreciate the fact that women don’t only rock, but oftentimes, with the need to prove themselves in the male-dominated culture in which we find ourselves, they feel a compulsion to rock harder. And rock they do, with two guitars giving some grit across some phenomenally urgent drumming. It has a swing to it, but also pace and some outstanding cymbal work. They are quite poppy, but nevertheless, they drive hard.

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Static Lives

Single cut ‘Modest’ is an early set standout. ‘Boom Boom’ (I think – the setlist, which features numerous word substitutions, shows ‘Boom-Cum’, which it’s not) brings a funky element to the set, and they finish with hooky early single ‘Social Anxiety’ before Lori hotfoots it back to Sheffield to do a DJ set. Nothing like keeping busy.

A Void have been on my to-see list since lockdown, meaning I was particularly hyped for this. They’re very much a London act, presumably because the economics of touring aren’t all that favourable and there are enough places in the capital to keep them busy, making this their first time in York. As they’re currently auditioning for a new drummer (again), the in-limbo core duo of Camille Alexander and Aaron Hartmann are playing an acoustic set, Hartmann swapping bass for guitar. But for an acoustic set, it rocks pretty hard: being a quintessential grunge band, the potency of simple chord structures paired with (more audible than usual) lyrics of angst has a palpable impact, in the kind of way Nirvana unplugged or Alice in Chains’ Jar of Flies demonstrated that behind the overdriven guitars and all the rest, there are strong songs – with vocals stretching to full-blooded Courtney Love-like screams. Recent single ‘Fish in Your Pocket’ is the second song of the set, in which ‘Newspapers’ stands out, before they close with ‘Stepping on Snails’. And Camille simply can’t stay on a stool for the entire set – she’s simply too much wild energy for that, and cuts lose, thrashing madly, legs flailing towards the end.

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A Void

Camille is effervescent and effusively chatty between songs, with a gush of positive messaging and a determination to use her platform to speak up on issues. And rightly so: anyone who says politics should be kept out of music is simply wrong. Life is political. Art is political. Politics shape our daily lives, and to deny this is sheer ignorance or delusional.

She’s also right that Blair Bitch Project is one of the best band names. So it’s a blow when at the end of their set, they announce that the film studio is forcing them to desist with its use. This feels like another example of big money crushing minor-league artists, but they’re not defeated. The album they’re launching tonight – which isn’t out for about a month, making this more of a prelude than a launch – will be released under the new name off Bitchcraft, which is a second strike of sheer punning genius.

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Blair Bitch Project

Tonight’s set shows they’ve a hell of a lot more about them than wordplay. Before starting, they line the front of the stage with (battery operated) candles which set the mood, and then plough into a blistering set which is half dark Sabbath-influenced heavy metal riffs and half hefty grunge power. They sound immense and rock so fucking hard. They’ve come a long way in a short time, and now sound so powerful and looks so assured. Drummer Lilly and singer / guitarist Amelie Sangster swap places for the raging grunge roar of ‘Rotten’, followed by ‘Superstitious’, and they’re both equally strong in both positions. Towards the end of the set, they chuck in a couple of covers – making interesting choices, with ‘My Cat’ by Jack Off Jill and ‘Jumpers’ by Sleater Kinney, and it’s clear they’re in their element, and not just because they’re in the home straight in what will stand as a pivotal performance in their career to date, ahead of venturing further afield, hitting Leeds for the first time soon. Closing with ‘Banshee’, driven by a solid grunge riff and concluding with a wild primal scream, it’s a triumphant set which draws the curtain on The Blair Bitch Project and prefaces a spectacular rebirth. Bring on the Bitchcraft!

Christopher Nosnibor

The third Monday in January has been labelled ‘Blue Monday’ because studies have found it to be the most depressing day of the year. Christmas and new Year are but memories which have faded into the eternal darkness of dull days where sunrise happens after going to work – if it happens at all – and sunset has happened not long after lunch. For those on salaries, after the early pre-Christmas payday, bank accounts are drained and it’s still a long, long way till January payday, it’s cold and wet and frankly it’s all shit. For those not on salaries, the same is true minus the January payday. And that’s before you throw in the prospect of World War 3 and markets crashing around the globe while AI is rapidly taking over everything. So the idea of a cheap – four bands for three quid in advance cheap – gig with an uptempo party vibe and something of a ‘beach party’ theme is genius. Simple, but genius. In terms of marketing and the economy, enticing people out to put a few quid over the bar is infinitely better than everyone staying home vegetating while watching shit TV, and I’ve written variously on the therapeutic properties of live music.

This bill wasn’t quite as therapeutic as I might have hoped. I’m absolutely not averse to fun, but can’t say I’m mad keen when that fun is appended with a ‘k’. Because of a last-minute change from the advertised running order, Trip Sitter and Gents & Ginger (who were originally supposed to be on third and second respectively) swapped places and as a consequence, the first half of the night was very funk-orientated. It’s a matter of taste, of course, and the audiences – it seems there’s a different crowd in the room for each act, which feels strange (I’m accustomed to bands bringing their own fans and not all of them sticking around for all of the acts, but this was like a shift-change in the audience each time there was a switch on stage, and each lot brought a very different atmosphere) – would tell quite different stories.

Reformed for tonight only, former college act Pedestrian bring a ska funk groove, and one song sounds far too much like RHCP to be forgivable. In fairness, they make up for it with a Mr Bungle cover. While they’re tight, handling the complex song structures with precision, the stage energy is quite low and seemingly self-conscious for a party band, but their mates go absolutely fucking ballistic. I find myself cowering beside the speaker to avoid being moshed to death by 6’6" sixth form virgins who seem hell-bent on breaking one another’s limbs.

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Pedestrian

Gents & Ginger offer up some sort of lounge jazz muso wankery involving chords that require eight fingers spanning five frets, and with bad shirts. They play with eyes squinted and looking like they’re inhaling their own farts. The bassist has a knitted teacosey on the head of his guitar, and the last song sounds like Kings of Leon or something. They go down ridiculously well, too. I need more beer.

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Gents & Ginger

Trip Sitter proved a very different proposition, the foursome offering a Latin spin on 80s rock. And they do actually rock out and venture into blues territory with some style. And the last song of their energetic set is Eurovision worthy.

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Trip Sitter

Flat Moon won me over the last time I saw them, despite reservations. Tonight…. No. Perhaps I was listening with different ears. Perhaps the very, very different crowd that suddenly packed to the front created a very, very different atmosphere. They were shouting and dancing and hugging and having a good time, but something just felt jarring, and Flat Moon were cocky and exuberant throughout their set of jizzy jazz-infused ska cuntery.

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Flat Moon

But loving all the bands is not always a prerequisite to a good night: seeing friends and simply getting out is enough. At this time of year, finding the motivation to leave the house can be the issue, and seeing friends doesn’t have to entail talking loudly over the bands, either. The bands could play, they went down well, people came out and supported live music. Good. And that’s all you need.

Christopher Nosnibor

This is the first time I’ve felt so conspicuously old that I’ve felt the compulsion to lurk in the shadows and hope I’m invisible. The sensation is compounded by the fact I’ve done something to my back and it’s agony to transition between sitting and standing, and to pick up my pint from near my feet. It would have been so easy to declare turning out too much effort, but beer and live music usually proves to be the best medicine, and so it is once again tonight.

Still/Moving probably count as a rock band by contemporary standards, but they’re a blend of indie and emo and are, essentially, a pop band. They’re also very much a typical university band, finding their feet and padding out a limited number of original compositions with covers. They cover a song by 21 Pilots. They cover ‘Alley Rose’ by Conan Gray. The singer hasn’t quite figured out her moves or what to do when she’s not singing, but they sound solid, with some nice fluid, rolling drumming. Whether this is their limit and they’ll peter out by the time of their finals, or they’ll evolve , only time will tell.

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Still/Moving

Every time I see Cowgirl I hear something different, even with the same or similar setlists. There are some new songs making their debut here, and the US alt-rock of Pavement with a light dash of country and some West Coast breeziness which define their sound are all present as ever, but now I’m hearing a bit of Dinosaur Jr, too. Tonight is their first time out in a while, but if they’re remotely rusty, it’s not evident out front. And just as was the case when I caught them back in September, they crank it up and rock out, the twin guitars and dual vocals of Danny Barton and San Coates switching back and forth. The contrasting styles work so well. Sam’s breaks, like his stage presence, is contained, displaying a certain precision and constraint, whereas Danny is far more flamboyant, at times going full Neil Young in his feedback-laden fretwork, fully wigging out. Again, the set concludes with an immense, climactic finale with a devastating wall of sound. This is how to warm things up on a cold January night.

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Cowgirl

BirdLands (not to be confused with late 80s / early 90s indie act Birdland – the additional ‘s’ in conjunction with the mid-name capitalisation suggesting perhaps the enactment of a verb rather than some geographical location) have been going a few years now, performing their first gig in 2022, and released their debut album in 2024. And yet somehow, they’ve bypassed me – perhaps on account of their live outings being comparatively rare, with their last performance being in July last year. Small wonder this hometown crowd is pleased to see them.

From the moment they take the stage, it’s clear that this is a band with both confidence and ability, and confidence in their ability, too. With two guitars, keyboard, sax, and trumpet, there’s considerable scope for arrangements, and for a band who describe themselves as ‘Post-Punk-Art-Rock’ a significant amount of jazz and funk happens, quite often simultaneously. The bassist is tight and versatile, nailing down some solid grooves and occasionally slipping in some slap action, and in conjunction with the drummer, they make for one strong rhythm section. There’s a lot going on here, with Arctic Monkeys being one of the more obvious touchstones, and not just on account of the wordplay and the unabashed northernness they exude. The lead singer certainly channels Alex Turner in his inflection at times, but then there are dashes of Brett Anderson here and there, and with the incorporation of yelps and whoops, Mark E. Smith as interpreted via James Smith (of Post war Glamour Girls / Yard Act).

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BirdLands

And while most of the stylings are nineties / noughties, some of the interplay between the sax and buoyant bass action is straight out of the Eighties. It’s not just that there’s a lot going on: it’s a lot to process. But there is absolutely no denying their quality. The songs are masterfully composed and arranged, they’re tight, they’re together, they perform rather than simply play. Now they need to expand their horizons beyond York.