I came, I saw, I cobbled together some text…because no one else would.  Here it is!

The waters of the scene run many ways.  My canoe is fucked…I smashed it up years ago, I don’t want to row with any flow – angles and awkwardness have most interest.

The weekend was set to end, noise is always a decent way to sign off and the STP machine were ticking over yet again.

3 bands aim to thrill, they were new to the area so as per to pull a punter or two is never going to be easy.  The result was 45 payers – I call that a good return.

Down the concrete arteries, jaded eyes put on hold and into the gaff.  4 beers purchased, up into the darkened niche of dinnery – tis great to be a punter again.

Many faces who talk much missing, ah the amount of coin those big bands, big festival and head fuck social scenes take – oh ye victims who miss so much.

First – Face Up – a power machine firing hard, the band had been frequenting rehearsal rooms methinks.  The response from the crowd at the fore was positive, I was at the rear – observant, calculating and looking for a degree of inner honesty.  I dwelt on the direct delivery, watched the fiasco unfold and saw players intent on driving home their high metallic cum punk cum whatever mush into some onlooking mug.  They did it well yet I was still cool.  A guitar was overgreased, a blip came.  The thrust to the final toll was the best – 3 numbers struck chords – externally and internally – now I was thermally on a par.  The band added one extra song, they missed the chance to end on a zenith – a personal though.  Verdict – good, extra opinion – the band will do fine, I need to see again, will our paths cross – we can only see.  The after set discussions proved enlightening, many glowed, many gushed…I dwell in the minority perhaps but honesty, well that is my only dictator.

Down.

Sup, slurp, jaw-wag, burp.

Up.

Syteria – what the fuck does that mean.  Tis all female this time – the creation to charm is opposing.  The band combine subtle flavours – questions arise.  Is that a snifter of pop punk?  Is that some gothika?  Cripes, did I hear some punk?  Is the underlying strain regular rock?  Ad infinitum!  Pace was mixed, urgency though was not blue light.  The band held tight reins, the organisation of creations was strong.  The striking feature was harmonised, the hollered unity worked best.  Again I dwelt on the delivery, digested with care – too many fanny falcons swooping in blind, not good tha’ knows.  Several songs attained height, so high as to gran rafters and shake them – ooh me arthritic bones.  Some songs just passed me by and left no tremble – is that just me?  Overall I felt in a quagmire of indecision but reached out for a branch of truth.  I think there is work to be done, not much though at that!  Give them 6 months and this beast will make a deeper impression, but then again, is my first viewing effecting the verdict.  Fuck my head, I am trying, are you!

And down again.

There is a man contemplating about of masturbation – he claims to be on the brink of a climax – he needs more drink! 

Titter talk, nonsense, a swill of ale.

Up for the last time today – my buttocks smile!

Cut are anticipated.  Their album was choice – hey, I did a review.  I hate anticipation – it is a cunt that promises and many times disappoints – but tonight, oh but tonight!  The 3-piece Italian engine shockwaved, pulsed bright and counter-coursed down alternating avenues.  I grasped the straw, so did others, a ping and pogo developed.  Electric poured off stage.  The Frankensteinian beasts of the pit were ignited.  Reciprocating appreciation was genuine – I was agog.  Heights were conquered, new summits reached…the power waves enormous.  Sweat gushed, the band indulged on and off the stage – it was a catalyst.  The reactants rocked harder, the band moved in unision – you rise, we rise, they rise, all rise.  Cut did so, deep and dangerous it was, I was happy to be carved up – man this was impressive.  By the latter lilts all and sundry were converted – sometimes it is easy to acknowledge good music making.  White heat became incandescent, the stage became loaded with dragged peeps – the conclusion was fitting – slash me  baby, slash me some more.

Done, handshakes, farewells – I am outta here.  STP donated, you were recipients, you are mightily blessed.  The ones who support got gifted, it was a severe ’miss’ for the rest.  A five bar gig, a mix and match affair – I have been mixing and matching since day one and would be a bastard not to condone.  Love it I do, love it.

Here is to the next one – support works 2 ways, some of us get that!

review by Fungalpunk/OMD (26th June 2017)