Live music events at this level can be a dodgy business. But tonight, sneaking in after SONAR YEN have already done most of their sonic damage, it's obvious something special is going on.
The room is in pitch darkness and it's rammed front to back. The Fenton is as toilet a venue as toilet venues get. But with a launch party for two split record releases underway, it seems like everyone's come to nick the gold-plated fittings.
Manchester's SONAR YEN plough a fertile furrow in Mogwai territory. Their finale bruises and delights. Howling guitars are abandoned for the BOSS FX pedals, where life-threatening ululations are coaxed onwards and upwards in synchronous, ear-damaging waves. It's a beast with the mind of a scientist and the musical sensibilities of top end post-rock. This final number reveals a great singing voice too. SONAR YEN are hanging out (temporarily) at www.thesonaryen.freeservers.com
Their Manchester mates on the other side of the split Soviet Union Records EP, TSUJI GIRI, are the whippier Stratocaster version. Marty Giri does laconic irony and screamy vocals like a man on tablets. Bass and drums are massively tooled up and working like demons. The twin guitar onslaught is savage.
Flamboyant, spasmic chord thrashing at the cutaway end of the neck slices impossibly into gutsy single note lines and back again. Texture, harmony and melody all get a look in amongst the wall of filth white noise background. The EP is due for October release. See www.tsujiGiri.com for more info.
We can hardly catch our breath, and the beer queue is still seething in the bar. But with right hands pointing to the heavans, les FLAMES sont ici pour ecraser nos oreilles. Bien sur, ils sont formidables. Leeds/Wakefield High Schools might not have helped much with the French, but the wit, grit and brown stuff are flying in all directions tonight.
Garage rock with a Gallic twist and shout, Les FLAMES are utterly in their element. Dead cool is managed by Nicole (bass) and Christophe (third guitar stage right.) Henri les Flames does idiot savant impressions on howling, screaming and crowd baiting. Renee plays the very same energetic, crisp and ringing guitar that is the last thing you'd expect from his near-geek demeanour.
Smart red shirt and super-punk Alfonse does singing and guitar thundering and Antoine is the bull of a drummer with a third vocal charge at the mike. The three voices give it a real magic. It barrelhouses along from one HIVES-trumping number to the next.
"You're Wrong" is a great opener. It's also half of the split single whose impervious vinyl is still sandbagged behind the floodwaters in the Czech Republic. "Viva les Flames" as the closer, proves their linguistic incompetence and gets the crowd roaring along like mad people in mad spirits. Henri hurls himself at the hapless front row, who are smiling like it was fun or something. Commercial trash? Absolutely.
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And with a simple shrug, they're off to the bar to unsurpresse l'ivresse publique. The unmistakeable challenge to THE SCARAMANGA SIX roods in the background. A Stephen Hawking soundalike laptop count them in: SIX: SIX: SIX: WALLOP. And they're bloody well off.
One of the great things about tonight has been the bass playing. Steve Morricone is the big boss bass of doom. This is The Blues Brothers and Captain Beefheart beating The Sex Pistols into apologetic choirboy whimpering on a dark night in Huddersfield. Les FLAMES are mad, but this lot are certifiable.
"Torture From Yorkshire" is the promise, and Miss Whiplash (Julia Arnaz) sulks in the background to administer it from a spearmint green telecaster. Paul and Steve stare like unlicensed doormen on steroids at anybody unwise enough to hazard eye contact.
The songs charge along: fast, furious and melodious by turn; swerving all over the musical road in a breathtaking ride. "You Do, You Die" is a new salute to the brief candle we all carry. It's their unflinching contribution to the split single with Les FLAMES (cf: Czech flood warnings.) With a presing of only 200, this one is going to be worth keeping in its' packaging for the day when the bad man comes round with menaces for that large sum of money.
With 23:10 flashing on the digital lastbusometer, Steve Morricone flat on his back with bass and mike, and explosive sparkly bits shooting all over the star-infested moshpit, the house lights are going crazy and the mains box goes clunk. Pitch black, silence and its' "Time, gen'lemen, please." What a climax! It couldn't have been scripted and it wasn't.
I duck out before the remains of the stage start being thrown. What a night. Wrath Records we salute you. Valentine Records we love you. Your collaboration on THE SCARAMANGA SIX/ Les FLAMES split single is a noble thing.
Availability details are on: http://www.wrathrecords.co.uk/News_float/split_single.htm
Soviet Union Records we offer fraternal greetings! The Manchester-Leeds alliance grows apace.
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