A seriously amusing, interesting and moving performance, and the best show I’ve been to in a long while. . . Leaving the venue, all I’m thinking about while nursing my ears and brain is when I can see them again. . . x7.
We’re watching a performance by a piece of sculpture that might not be either of those things. It fills and animates the space but it’s possible to move your attention across it and appreciate it in different ways depending on which speaker you’re stood next to.
Yes, it’s cheesy and yes, it’s sleazy but, dammit, Metaltech are just so much FUN. Mind you, I’d hate to have to clean the place up afterwards. . .
Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats bring the horror in style at the rammed Electric in Brixton, with the very fine Blood Ceremony for company.
The first half (possibly longer) of the show is a bit of a blur, any pretence of being sensible, making notes, or recording opinions or other such bullshit quickly going out of the window amidst a flurry of flailing limbs and snapping necks. . .
Eight months on from their Desertfest co-headline triumph, Monster Magnet return to these shores for their sole UK 2019 gig and deliver a masterclass of head-melting heavy psych and a no-nonsense, rebellious rock ‘n’ roll spirited frontal assault.
When they shift off of the beaten path into untrammelled sounds, Low’s noise is that of a dense unravelling. It is furrowed from fathomless depths. It is the sedate carnage of planetary creation, of rushing magma, and swelling seas.
No nostalgia trip, The Magpie Salute doggedly lay out their own path to progressively louder applause at the Electric Ballroom.
Musical notes from the underground emerge on a night of new artists that unearths some previously-buried gems. . .
Clutch deliver the goods, and some more, in a rocking-out masterclass at a fever pitch Brixton Academy.
It is easy to see why TesseracT have built up such a loyal following with performances like this. The professionalism and innovation that they have become known for are personified in tonight’s show and the only downside was that they didn’t play for longer.
Perhaps even worse for the elitists, is that this if this is a passing fad, it’s one that’s showing no signs of letting up anytime soon – in fact, if the massive queue that greets me before doors is anything to go by, it’s still very much on the rise.
About midway into ‘Back In The Room’ they fully take flight, a massive, shaking whirl of sound that surrounds and lifts you rather than simply flattens you with volume.
I entered London’s Scala with pricked up ears and senses tuned to pick up on any Sugoi activity going on, whether good or bad. If one expects to be spooked when entering a spooky castle, it sounds only fair to expect enjoyable “Sugoi” music to come out of this second day of Enjoy Sugoi Festival.
Self-evident though it may sound, Pitchfork Music Festival felt fantastically festive, as though our smug cynicism had been lifted from all of our minds for the duration of our stay at hip-young-music-snob-heaven, a time during which many Parisians briefly reunite with long-lost acquaintances such as the concept of bright, flashy colours and non-ironic optimism.
Pitchfork Music Festival has expanded to take over the Bastille area for two evenings chock full of performances by promising new acts from the indie music scene. Here I stood, sole person in line at the Badaboum at 7:30 pm sharp, with excitement tingling in my brain and French opinionatedness running through my veins. I was ready.