Tonight’s show is the official launch event for a four-way split 10” EP, produced in collaboration between two of Leeds’ most notable and respected, not to mention coolest, indie labels, Dance to the Radio and Brew Records. The aforementioned release has been receiving considerable attention nationally, and deservedly so. As such, tonight’s show also serves as a showcase of Leeds’ finest purveyors of noise, and at a venue that’s practically a scene unto itself. I arrive flustered and pouring sweat: it’s a forty-minute walk from the train station to the Brudenell on what has turned into an unseasonably hot day, and I realised on the way that I’d forgotten my earplugs.
So I get stuck into a couple of pints to slake my thirst, replenish my fluid levels and mildly anaesthetise myself in preparation for some ear-splitting din before Dolphins begin to warm things up with their brand of guitar noise. Until a couple of weeks ago, I’d never seen a power trio without a bassist: now I’ve seen three. With a sound that draws heavily on US hardcore of the late 80s and early 90s – there are points during their set I felt like I was listening to Helmet, and that’s definitely a compliment – with a hint of grunge, they chop and chug their way through a solid set during which the absence of bottom end simply isn’t an issue. It’s quite a departure from This Et Al, that’s for sure.
Blacklisters I’ve raved about before, but tonight’s performance is probably the best I’ve seen from them yet. Opening with a roaring rendition of ‘Trick Fuck’, which included a strange audience shoutalong and concluding with a scorching version of ‘Swords’, the racketous foursome turned up the heat with a typically searing, abrasive and brutal set. As well as old favourites and new favourites including ‘Ask Yourself a Question if the Answer is Go Fuck Yourself’ and their contribution to the slit EP, ‘Club Foot By Kasabian’ (which isn’t a cover of ‘Club Foot’ by Kasabian, but a song entitled ‘Club Foot By Kasabian – got it?) they premier new material from the album they’re currently recording. It may be slower than some of the older material, but it’s heavier than hell and supremely hard-hitting, and as Billy is carried through the audience on the shoulders of Castrovalva’s bassist, I’m reminded that the only predictable things about a Blacklisters show are volume, intensity and the raw, uncompromising quality of the performance. Two bands in and we’ve already had our money’s worth.
Castrovalva should be crap. A friend passed their album my way a few days ago, and I was rather perplexed. And here’s why: on paper, you’d be forgiven for expecting the lamest half-arsed joke band on the planet. A trio – drums, bass and, er, synths playing US hardcore punk style / spoof rap crossover music, fronted by a curly-haired chubber who cavorts around while singing pitch-shifted vocals that make him sound like he’s been guzzling helium – there’s simply nothing right about the band. Leemun Smith could so easily be one of Matt Lucas’ Little Britain characters And yet somehow, this hardcore take on Har Mar Superstar’s comedy schtick actually works. They don’t only deliver maximum entertainment, especially with crowd-pleasers like ‘Donut’, but they’re also a damn exciting punk rock act who genuinely kick ass. Respec’.
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Hawk Eyes – Leeds’ premier Chickenhawk covers band, so named as to dissociate themselves from connotations of pederasty – take the stage a little before eleven and get straight down to business. They really attack the songs hard, drummer Matt snapping a drum stick in the first few bars. Taking a similar sonic template to other Leeds luminaries Pulled Apart By Horses, only without the choruses, Hawk Eyes’ set is a relentless riffcentric screamfest from start to finish as they burn through a scorching squall of guitar-driven vitriol. It’s also bloody loud and seriously intense.
After playing for a time on the stage, front man Paul decides to join his mic stand in front of the stage and repositions himself accordingly, wandering around trying to decide where to place his mic stand. In the event he plonks it around a foot and a half from my face: we’re practically eyeball to eyeball. I’m not sure what my expression must have looked like, but I daresay I didn’t look nearly as cool as I’d have liked, especially after five(?) pints and giving a thumbs up by way of a reaction. He paused and shook my hand before screaming into my face. Well, ok, so he was screaming into the mic, but given its proximity to my face, it was essentially the same thing. He later came back and shook my hand once more before returning to the stage. A thoroughly nice guy, it’s fair to say that I’m loving his work, and there’s nothing like witnessing a band playing up close and personal. At the band’s request, the audience crowded forward, and by the end of the set, my legs were pressed against the stage and one of the monitors was vibrating against my crotch, while my plugless ears were about six feet from the back-line.
I left having sweated out most of the beer I’d consumed and the babble of the other passengers on the train home was drowned out by the ringing in my ears. Good Friday? One of the best!
Hawk Eyes Online
Castrovalva Online
Blacklisters Online
Dolphins Online
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