I have had a series of viral niggles and general colds on and off for the last 6 weeks, the day prior to this gig I froze my knackers off watching some non-league footy and attending a gig at the same venue to watch a couple of bands and so after a week of playing catch up I was slightly on the frazzled side. Feeling sickly, a bit snotty (no not snooty) I cracked on, arrived at 12.40pm and stuck it out to the bitter end at 10.01pm precisely. What I witnessed delighted, disgusted, discombobulated and depressed in an equal manner of proportions and being pushed for time I pondered the worth of doing a review at all. Well, here I am, putting digit to keyboard due to the fact that I believe, don't feel the need to deceive and want to put down on record what transpired and how the players performed. It is a minor contribution but one that seems beyond the capabilities of the many and one that will hardly be noticed by even more than you could possibly imagine - a thankless task, and one that borders on the pointless but one, for the passionate, is fuckin' worth it (please tell me I am wrong and I may consider wrapping it all up). Due again to time constraints I shall be terse but hopefully accurate - a few sentences per band and then I am off for a rest, some grub and a jog (bloody well deserved too).

First up and Speed Of Sound - a band who failed to break the speed of a fart to be honest and who, in no way whatsoever, woke up the few zombies of the Sabbath that were in attendance. The melancholic soaked vibrology that came in cloying clouds of slow tempo turgidity, treacled and troubled punk psyched edginess with almost hidden glutinous upper layers was not a recipe for such a time as this and it has to be said that if a passing punter came into the room, intrigue would also pass by (perhaps with quicker heels) and many points of pertinence would be missed. One must take time here, consider and perhaps not judge too swiftly on what was going to be a punk DIY gig with many more blatant noises belching to the fore. This wasn't my cup of cha' but I found one or two moments worthy of attention as well as others that were prone to assist suicidal tendencies and other self-destructive occurrences. I may have to witness again, the chaps seemed likeable and maybe I am missing something here, something my head is not tuned into - it happens, shit also happens and I am on the fence for once (with my kecks down and in a mood not to be too harsh).

Scared were due next, a member was projectile vomiting whilst they were on the way so, with sagacity in tact, they turned back home and left a space to fill. A beer, natter and a butty did the job and one of Pauline's excellent cups of cha was a bonus.

The Thirtinas next - seen it, done it and...still enjoy it (perhaps even more so as the tunes have sent out their tendrils and cunningly dragged me, perhaps without my full consent, inwards). They have a sweet sound this lot and one, if I hold my grubby mitts up, has slowly developed from a raw experimentation in a test tube of dabbled tonality into a slapped arsed creation that has genuine singular life and sonic substance. I remember being uncertain about this lot, the CD twisted my arm but I no longer need persuasion, the last few viewings have brought easy pleasure and today 'Section 13' was a pure pinnacle that pigs like me are more than happy to wallow in - very decent stuff that is perhaps a little too over-exposed at this particular venue (time to fly dear fledglings, time to fly).

The Threats are a cut above the norm and surge through their produce with hot shit marksmanship, sizzling desire and quality riffed up tune after quality riffed up tune - quite fuckin' marvellous and worthy of your attendance and appreciation methinks. Today they blew through the set with all combined fists pumping and pile-driving in the same intense direction with the in-house sound system mastered, masturbated and given a good thumping too. Track after track burst at the seams with precision and ensnaring high magnitude power doses and for me, the whole fuckin' shed load of blasting beauty was a blessing to the punters lugs and shame on those that didn't make the extra effort and support this quality crew. To add, travelling all the way from Scotland when you have to work at 11pm that night is madness but shows some fuckin' gumption - applause, applause!

Fuckin' hell - Victims of Radiation next - now we could be given anything from the shittest disarray to the brightest noxious noise - my fingers, and legs, were crossed. What transpired was a messy mulch of diseased noise that went from the pits of confusion and bad luck to a few zeniths of pogo and piss beauty in which the players ground out a DIY performance that was better than I thought at the time and better I suspect than I deem now. Bass string twangs, bass rig on and off, guitar playing up, microphone up and down, beer glasses (plastic) flying, stop, start, stop, start and yet, at the final death knell something resembling a set was had with one or two (no more, no less) good tunes had, especially those with pep in the privates. VOR are what they are, despair and hope are to be mulled over, they certainly entertain in one way or another!

Riggots tore the place a new arse next, (yes another one) with a belligerent kick-fuck, fling muck episode of double ended shag sound that surely fucked much more than the bands own innards and the in-house sound system. This brace of darn nice gents had recently had a £700 guitar rig stolen and were in no mood to fuck about with a half -assed set and went for this one with testes bared, arses on fire and sonic shafts throbbing with intent. For a two piece it is quite remarkable how much fuckin' vavoom and sheer dirty interest they kick up but for me, since putting em' on over (pronounced 'ovver') in Wombwell they have been a band to keep a sincere eye on. The vibes are hot from outside, let me add the vibes are hot from the inside too and this was a fiery display by two geezers happy to do it for the sheer love of it and who know how to construct some wham-tastic, oooh burst that kicker elastic tuneage. The young lass who rocked with em' was a joy but even her sweetness couldn't detract from the bands acidic overspill that created much appreciation amongst the clinging punters. Solid as a nut with a few wayward twangs but that is the nature of a very admirable and untamed beast!

Pedagree Skum didn't play as planned - a shame, they are good but alas things happen in life and I wish them well and hope they are back plucking soon.

Potential Threat pottered in next with a couple of familiar faces in the mix. This was a lesson in good old back to the bog brush punk rock, as honest as the day is long, as tidy as you like and with one or two frayed edges that will, with time, eventually get sorted out. The crowd was dwindled down at this point, about 8 left in the room taking any notice and you have to feel for a band in this situation. I thought the tunes were easy to get involved with, well played and with some bloody tidy stickwork thrown in. The appeal here will be to the long term punker happy to throw in their bollocks to some steady, political raving by a banshee driven crew. Nothing overtly offensive, nothing blatantly violent - as I say, just concrete cacophony played by decent 'erberts who just can't stop. Another viewing is needed by me pretty soon though!

3 people left watching the penultimate band and not yet 9pm. I hadn't seen Modern Tribes before but they came recommended via the Riggots frontman so I was intrigued by what I would get. On-line they mark themselves down as modern/indie punk which will immediately see those doused in old school obsessions secure their blinkers even more tightly and undoubtedly walk the other way (ignorant fuckers). This was a wild action packed showcase with mic's playing up, feedback fuzzing like fuck, and, as stated, punters lacking  - but the band poured everything in and if it is only a small consolation, made this fucker sit up and take note. Guitars were rabidly raped, molested, thoroughly abused whilst drums were twat clattered with vulgar aggression. The complexity builds up in the contrasting experimentation and this incohesive jigsaw jingle was a splendid challenge for my lug nuggets and overall hungry zest for sonic produce. This isn't normally my fare but then what is? I like to take time to tackle as much as I can and this was more than worthy of my time. A crackin' penultimate explosion.

The 3 peeps that hung around whittled down to two that, after the next bands first song, became one (yes yours truly). It was 9.30pm on a Sunday evening, the climax of a free all day gig and no one could be arsed to make the effort to see the Dead Flowers - I hang my head in shame and am happy my time wasted over the years supporting others has at last been nipped in the bud and now I do things the only way I know how, by supporting the underdogs and not the arse licking mongrels. Well, for what it is worth I thought the Dead Flowers were fuckin' magic and outstripped the last time I saw them with an exacting set of progressive garaged quality that trips into bluesed up psyche and trips easily back out again. The band are a flourishing unit with polished tune and after polished tune coming forth via three minstrels well attuned to one another and their chosen weapons of acoustic war. The switch in vocals was a choice touch, the string wanking quite splendid and the stick whipping given totally bang on.  A great finale and despite an aching back, tired legs, a still sickly throat I went out into the great rank yonder tunefully titivated - thanks chaps.

So there, I am done with what was a fuckin' disgraceful showing from the locals and a great mix of bands for those who cared to partake. I agree that everyone can't do everything but why is it so often the case that these gigs get the dud deal when the same old bands pull em' in. We know the answers, yes we do and they fuckin' stink like hell but there are limited options what to do instead and I am still sticking with the one labelled 'move forward'. The rest can go where the hell they like!

Mother - I think I got it right again! Who gives a fuck!

review by Fungalpunk/OMD (30 November 2015)