FUNGALPUNK GIG REVIEWS
My head is down and focused - I am refusing to be distracted by the dross and I am believing that more than ever that my approach to the whole noise scenario is the right way. I am not aiming for mass movements, not targeting the filling of a room just for the hell of it and certainly not kowtowing to anyone's wanked tune. I prefer to have in attendance the few who mean it rather than the many that don't and when many of these like-minded heads get together I consider that a bonus. After a morning meeting up with a lady who does her horticultural bit and was running an autumnal fair (enjoy the Lemon Drizzle cake Kit), then heading to my mam and dads with some flowers and then to the football with my good lady I arrived at The Station Pub in sweet time and high spirits. My good man Gaz De Fly turned up early and we had a good natter regarding many things with in between wagging of the jaw with top lass Pauline, the bar dudes and a few other friendly faces. More peeps arrived as did the bands, it was a slow start and the opening act was delayed but we got there eventually and the night turned fine and fruity for anyone with a DIY heart who loves variety and darn good music.
First up were a female duo called Chambers, a fine pair of grand lasses who kindly provided gear and had friendly characters to boot. I made notes through their set - notes on what I witnessed and the feelings aroused - here is the end result after a slight bit of grammatical correction but without adhering too much to any rules. The intro spiralled inwards on a raw-boned level and was stripped to the most basic of essentials. A re-wire needed though, a quick readjustment, fuck this - now...thrust.
Pulse 1 and stunning darkness was emitted whilst an erupting power drill bored into the senses. A glutinous sable gunk was force fed with a Joy Division overtone penetrating the cranium. 'Tramadol' promised to bend the mind, it duly screwed in from obscure angularity, maintained a gothic edge and offered up a bleak and fiery shadowing that really enchanted this old sonic scrote. The androgyny of the vocals, the regulated intrusion of the tympanics and the fascinating haunted house of whispers and scares came amidst a double bladed assault of power and subtlety and the goosebump gratification of damning decadence was right up one of my many streets. A debut song was chucked into the overall fray 'Amazon Queen', which was warped and wanky and delicately industrialised. The slide down the escalations hypnotised, the tones transfixed, the voice of unsettling sex asked you to consider an indulgence but the question remained - dare you! I lapped up this set, the mutating and yet consistent drive of two lasses believing and delivering left me impressed and simply muttering to myself 'God Bless the Chambers...of horror. Thank you mates - a belting and thoroughly convincing start!
Beer, quick waffle...and a wee! I left my notepad on the bar and someone with the mind of a peanut drew an ejaculating cock on it. The culprit was easily found and here is a word of warning to any simple-minded lasses. If the representation of the phallus drawn on my notebook is indeed a self-portrait than I warn you wholeheartedly to stay away from the loins of the perpetrator of this moronic crime. The testes were misshapen, the shaft crooked and the vulgarly bulbous tip off centre and almost satanic in its appearance. Ged Murder you sir are a diseased man and thy genitalia needs serious attention. But I still love ya!
Naked Six talked a good talk and came on the airwaves of good criticism. I expected, they promised - by crikey what was the outcome going to be? An erection, a deflation, a whooping or even a murder - don't ya just love unpredictability! 'Revolution' opened, funk fucked and immediately slung low vibrations our way with a cascading passion and determined desire prevalent. The band were shitting activity by the bucket load, with balls blazing, riffs roaring and minds masturbating - oh those young cool slags - the approach so smooth and so fuckin' sweaty. A Class-A 3-piece this with 'Cast Away' teasing in, clanging and then snaking down the trouser leg and demanding you, the disbelieving drinker of discordance, to suck! Suck the ensuing prong of animated acoustic infection, suck it hard and see, suck it big and...swallow! 'Devil In Disguise' flew past, like a Starling with a firework up its feathered anus - squawk. The best song for me, moving with primitive rock and roll threat, getting to the core of the noise lover - yeah! 'The Way I Feel' rose with grandeur before fracturing into needy urgency. Something majestic this way shat! 'Shaken' was indeed a shake shack shag that shocked the scrotum into forcing forth seeds of fuckin' delight and this 51 year old punker felt reinvigorated by the whole fiasco on show. Do I need this shit, answer - hell yeah! Two left and 'Heart' smoothly arose and built further with power and 'Loaded' closed the set and cruised and corrupted with pure bleeding authority - pass me the fuckin' tranquillisers. Phew.
Chats, beer, bravos!
Seep Away began with an intro and moved without affect into a sludge trudge of hard whacked, rough wanked brutality - I was becoming involved. The very rocked up boom twat of bastard intent had me by the gonads - I was a victim. 'Snakes' spasmed and spat with instrumentalised strength and sinewy spite thus creating a constricting accent that was a bass free fuck but still had weight to crush. Dangers signs came, were duly ignored, the tension and pressure to the acoustic appliances spilt molten intensity. A bleak reality invaded, the guitarist roamed, we entered a maelstrom. Machine gun determination was planted, our senses reeled and we aged before our time. The dictates of rock enveloped and the frying emmittance metamorphed at times into mechanoid terror. As lug rape ensued and 'Loving You', 'Watch You Burn', 'Slug' and 'Awkward Hand Job' flew past the aural eyes the twang twat closure was a neat curve to toss out there and the 'fuck you and think' feeling I was left with was a joy to behold. Always challenging, blistered and aggressively delivered - stunner!
The night moved on, time would wait for no twat. A gear juggle and sorted - COFFIN - 3 Aussie 'erberts raring to go. 'Pub' - straight in, pumping and needed, The band were wired up, the gear shit prior to going on stage didn't impede the puke and the rolling energy that flew forth was incandescent. The drumming vocalist was up for it, as were his comrades and 'Union Man' was slung out with spite and spirit with an intent to kick in yer kidneys. Rogered raw 'Olympic Diver' gave no let up and pumped like buggery and enthused the admirers to get up and ping. 'Gaol Tomorrow' stung with sub-skank wickedness, came forth with wild-eyed lunacy and moved the set up many notches. A Bowie cover 'Suffragette City' was cautiously anticipated but was fuckin' superb and treated the music bods to a brilliant moment. All units moved with physical grace, as one, in cahoots and 'For The Boys' was the next total stunner that I held in lofty regard, in fact maybe the song of the night. The remarkable offering was enhanced in the small and personal gaff and those what came were getting a tuneful treat to savour. The growth to the finale was tactile and electric and 'Above The Law' was a rocket up the rear for anyone not paying 100% attention - you silly bastards. Shattered levels were achieved and the finale was a joy and 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' was a fuckin' ideal song to admire and, if the fancy took you, bounce to. The gaff loved this, the punters paid due respects and all round the vibe was pure, DIY and everything I want it to be - thank you all.4 bands, free and for real. I do what I do and ask for nothing only nights such as this - you all made it what it was - the punters, the players and the people who work to keep this gem of a gaff alive and kickin'. God bless you all and thank goodness we appreciate some darn good noise. Until next time...!
review by Fungalpunk/OMD (18th September 2016)