Robyn Writes

Late Bloomer – s/t

Twenty or so years ago, if you turned your radio dial to the left and kept going until you reached the hidden frequencies of college radio, chances are you would be greeted by the uncompromising sounds of apathetic, guitar-driven alt-rock. This was a time when ‘alt-rock’ and ‘indie’ actually eluded to a certain left-leaning political outlook and D.I.Y musical aesthetics rather than lazy genre tags thrown at any old band who profess a fondness for wearing skinny jeans and twanging away at their guitars. But three-piece Late Bloomer are alt-rock in its truest form; unapologetically raw and endearingly sloppy, with rough-around-the-edges production that could easily have been helmed by Jack Endino and recorded in a garage-cum-studio in a backwater town of Washington State circa 1988, cobbled together on a shoestring budget with only a couple of cheap six packs to see them through the session.

Their ten track self-titled release carries so many hallmarks of late 80’s/early 90’s golden era of the US underground rock scene you can almost smell the stale sweat on stained plaid shirts. If J. Mascis had initially shunned his pedal board and was too lethargic to play extended solos, than Dinosaur Jr. would probably have sounded rather similar to Late Bloomer. There’s the driving bass, for the most part sticking to solid no-frills root-note thumping that’s coupled with the rather unyielding drumming which hold the songs together when at times it there is a real sense that they may just unravel. The album harks back to a time when the guitar was God, the weapon of choice for the disaffected youth of the so-called ‘Generation X’. Guitars veer across a wide range of approaches; crunching chords are penetrated by melodic lead lines or abruptly drained of any distortion to be softly strummed. Opener ‘Reality’ is a punchy little track that is in keeping with the loud/quiet dynamic perpetrated in abundance by the underground grunge troupes ever since The Pixies stumbled upon its game-changing effectiveness. Vocals take on a wistful air in tracks such as ‘Wherever’ and even at times bear a passing resemblance to Blue Oyster Cult on yet throughout the record the trio’s harmonies are defiantly out of tune but it is refreshing in the contemporary pop climate of ubiquitous auto-tune to hear a such a naturalistic vocal approach untouched in post-production. ‘Tooth Decay’ could well be the fruit of a Pavement and Weezer collaboration, the falsetto “ooh-ooh” backing vocals channelling ‘Buddy Holly’ whilst the guitars maintain a defiantly slacker approach that remains on tape despite the odd bum-note. ‘White Lines’ explodes with the speed of Husker Du’s breakneck melodic hardcore, with the band sounding as though they’re fuelled by the very same illegal powdered substance they elude to throughout track. Although its defiantly lo-fi approach gives it a certain charm, Late Bloomer lacks any real memorable moments that will sustain any craving for repeated listens. Nevertheless, it serves as a fitting reminder as to how great the US underground scene was before it became absorbed by the mainstream and codified to such an extent that is became devoid of any remaining cultural impact.

3 out of 5 high fives!

Dead Swans [farewell show] – Relentless Garage, London, 30/3/13

Despite not registering as a ‘cool’ band amongst some of the hardcore scene’s more picky and trendy crew for a few years now, it’s a fitting testimony to the band’s impact on UK hardcore that Dead Swans play out their last performance in front of a sold out crowd in probably the largest venue the band has ever headlined. A refreshingly varied bill of eight bands gives the show a festival atmosphere as the cream of the UK underground bids farewell to one of the most passionate, uncompromising and intense acts on the hardcore circuit.

Unfortunately I missed Strange Places and Departures but the latter of the two deserves upmost recognition for undertaking a monstrous seven hour journey to play for a mere fifteen minutes. Dedication indeed.

Honour Among Thieves, previously defunct, have picked up their instruments once again at Dead Swans’ behest. Well aware that a great swathe of the heads in the room are unfamiliar with any aspect of the band, the vocalist takes a confrontational approach in the hope of provoking some kind of response. Placing himself in the midst of the crowd, the response is gradual, but by the end of a set of rather straight-forward speedy hardcore, said vocalist is being jumped on by an eager gaggle who seem to know some of the words. A success for a band who clearly imagined they were going to play to a sea of blank faces and static figures.

Holding up the banner for carefree party jams is Gnarwolves who are going from strength to strength as of late. Stage divers, taking advantage of the lack of barrier and overbearing security, immediately set themselves upon the overwhelmingly young audience who press themselves against the stage. The kids in the know regurgitate every single word to breakneck melodic punk tunes such as ‘History Is Bunk’ as well as the softer and potentially lip quivering ‘Community, Stability,Identity’. Although they still maintain their ragged charm, the Brighton trio are a much more solid live entity thanks to their unrelenting touring schedule. The group surely won over some of the crusties at the back of the room, if not for their engaging performance, than for their much applauded quips at Don Brocco (who are cunts apparently, who knew!?). Gnarwolves debut album is awaited with eager ears.

Spitting in the face of any essence of monotony are Landscapes, who have done away with hardcore’s limitations and much notion of any distinct ‘fast’ or ‘mosh’ parts to actually create fucking great songs that are heavily impassioned and have obviously been painstakingly arranged. Sticking entirely to their much lauded debut Life Gone Wrong, the band incites a fervent response as many at the front seem to have taken it upon themselves to burn every word screamed by the emotionally pained vocalist onto their brains. Relying more on poignancy rather than sheer brutality, tracks such as ‘D.R.E.A.M’ are works of masterfully controlled dynamics that have much of the venue enthralled from start to finish.

Breaking Point have failed to impress me in the past, but despite sticking rigidly to a one-dimensional ‘mosh’ sound, tonight they seem a much more engaging live proposition. The hardcore dance enthusiasts finally take their cue to violently hurl their body parts round the pit to the mosh-ready riffs and lyrics of the vehemently straight edge disposition. Frontman Louis is rabid, confrontational and fresh off the road with his new position in Brutality Will Prevail. He repeatedly urges the crowd to “get ignorant”, a command to which they respond with aplomb.

A band with no concept of subtlety, Last Witness are instead more concerned with battering the audience into submission as down-tuned riffs rain down on a now well warmed audience. Coming on stage to the demonic screams of the intro to Slipknot’s Iowa seems perfectly apt way to signal their arrival. Despite hardly being the most intimidating of figures, lead growler Theo commands a brilliantly abrasive and guttural scream which he unleashes unfailingly even as he spends a large portion of the set in mid-air, bouncing non-stop around the stage. The riffs, ingrained with hints of nu-metal, are disgustingly crushing in their unrelenting fury. Oldie ‘Dreamland Welcomes You’ and newie ‘Saccharine’ are blasts of ultra-aggressive metalcore that keeps the pit action frantic whilst closer ‘The Void’ and its groove-laden metalisms end the set on a positively destructive note.

Taking to the stage in a hail of feedback, the scream of “It’s starting” announces the arrival of ‘Thinking Of You’ from Dead Swans‘ only full length, Sleepwalkers, with stage divers launching themselves from the monitors onto the packed front rows. The band only make it halfway through the song before their frontman has hurled himself into the crowd. An inspiring vocalist, Nick throws every morsel of anguish and pain into his vocals and despite becoming increasingly intoxicated throughout the set his acerbic vocal chords never falter. For once, a hardcore show is blessed with a live sound of relative clarity, with Benny’s dazzling drumwork sounding nothing less than monstrous through the forgiving PA and the vocal often distinguishable from the cacophony around it. With most of their songs clocking in at two minutes or less they manage to cover a great swathe of their discography, the cataclysmic ‘Hanging Sun’ from their debut Southern Blue to the breathtakingly aggressive ‘In The Half-light’ from the split with the now massive Architects boys and their well-honed hardcore sound of ‘You Can Only Blame Yourself’ from their most recent release Anxiety And Everything Else. Throughout the almost hour long performance every band member experiences the joys and perils of stage-diving, with even sticksman Benny finding a break in the set to jump on some heads. Although the pace of the show falters toward the end, an understandable factor considering the amount of energy thrown into every song, the bands performance is pure passion from start to finish and an inspiring spectacle. Finishing with an encore of ‘Preferring The Worst’, the first song ever penned by the group, rounds off the night in logical fashion. An awe-inspiring performance by a group who obviously still court huge adulation in the UK underground. Dead Swans and much of the crowd are by the end of the set saturated in sweat, mentally drained and physically battered- all the hallmarks of a perfectly executed hardcore show and the best send-off Dead Swans could have asked for. They will be sorely missed.

5 out of 5 high fives!

Orphans – Pack Mentality [EP]

Emerging from the idyllically located city of Denver, Colorado, Orphans present a subverted attack on modern hardcore that takes cues from off-beat bands such as Circle Takes The Square and These Arms Are Snakes. The four track E.P is a furious collision of chaos and calm that begins with flurries of concentrated vitriol that only increases as the record progresses. You won’t find any formulaic breakdowns here, only four unorthodox tracks of intense emotional release. Vocal screams are almost acidic in their unremitting caustic fury- a cheese grater to the ears for some and an endurance test for many but pure aural bliss for certain strange types such as myself who like to exercise their anger in a vicarious manner. Orphans though, address emotion head on. While some bands feel inclined to hide their true opinions amongst abstract metaphors the band see no need to try and mask subjects that obviously produce a lot of anguish within their collective psyches. “I care more about what people think of me, then I think about myself” screams the explosive and confessional lyrical bite of the frank vocalist.

‘Blood Of The Father’ lures the listener into a false sense of security with softly strummed chords that in retrospect serve only as a short prelude to the unrelenting anguish which resides in every strained scream and feedback blast, both of which are so piercing they could be weaponized. ‘Dark Satanic Mills’ begins in much the same fashion as the track before, but this time the fury that follows the calm is expected although its impact is no less compelling. Guitars utilise tapping techniques to introduce notions of melody and delay-ridden lead lines provide some atmosphere to the otherwise hostile proceedings. Overdriven discordance and introspective beauty both exist in a tense ‘Bengals’, with punishing atonal riffs giving way to a short mid-song oasis of delicately played clean guitar melodies that arrives like the uneasy calm of the eye of a hurricane. As closer ‘White Guilt’ plays, instruments slowly start to unravel and there is a real threat that the whole song will simply descend into pure white noise. But just when the track is on the brink of collapse the band reels in for a final exorcism of pain that culminates in an acerbic blast of feedback as the final blow for brutalized ears. A must hear for fans of the more cerebrally inclined hardcore sphere, Pack Mentality is an intelligent emotional catharsis punctuated with pockets of much craved harmony. Agony never sounded so good.

4.5 out of 5 high fives!

New Riot – Avondale House (SMILE FEST), 28th February 2013

In contemporary Britain, where rolling news is constantly filled with tales of austerity and warnings of economic instability as Europe crumbles around us, the public desperately needs a huge dosage of good-time, lager soaked entertainment with which the woes of modern life can be briefly drowned out in an alcoholic haze. And what better way to receive that much needed dosage than from seeing a hard partying ska band in the most English of establishments – a ruddy big pub.

The confines of the cramped upstairs room make a change from some of the relatively large clubs within which New Riot has supported big name pogo luminaries such as Less Than Jake and Reel Big Fish although they seem unperturbed by the fact they’re playing to a no more than fifty students and one crusty old punk who may or may not think it is 1982. New Riot carry all the hallmarks of a band that you have to be significantly under the influence of cheap alcopops to enjoy, as suggested by their party-centric lyrics that could easily have been stolen from a One Direction B-side. “Let’s go crazy crashing parties all over town!” goes the chorus from their popular number ‘RIOT.SLEEP.REPEAT’, which receives the biggest cheer of the night. The group’s relentless efforts to animate the blurry eyed crowd are partially successful, a small gaggle of particularly enthusiastic fans react to the band’s cries of mosh pits by skanking to their hearts content, with one dreadlocked fellow head-banging to every single note without fail. ‘Feel The Burn’ and ‘Nothing To Lose’ from their debut album maintain an admirably fast paced tempo that the band manages to uphold throughout their set. As the show progresses, the crowd becomes visibly thinner, a down heartening sight for any band to play to, but their good time bouncy bouncy energy never falters, even when many of the crowd’s attention is drawn to a particularly spectacular goal on the myriad of large TV screens spread strategically around the room. The group’s insistence on playing new songs upsets the show’s rhythm somewhat, and their between song banter borders on the inane. Musically though, the band offers little in originality, peddling the generic ska sound of brass and guitar interplay with shouty vocals and speedy power chord punk sections- proving that for the most part ska is still defiantly frozen in time. After thirty years or so as a genre, the group should be looking to bands such as Sonic Boom Six who have successfully cannibalized other genres and stitched them chaotically to a ska underbelly with terrific and ground-breaking results. New Riot however, seem quite happy to keep things within the genre’s expectations and guidelines; for all their sweating and animated gesticulations, New Riot could well be any of the countless personality devoid ska bands on the oft soul destroying toilet venue circuit. For about five intoxicated and energetic people though, New Riot lived up to their namesake.

Oddczar – One Word [EP]

There’s only one adjective that perfectly sums up Oddczar’s One Word – intense. This intensity applies not only to the tension between melody and pure chaotic vitriol but also to the caustic intensity of vocalist Brandon’s otherworldly screams. These throat shredding cries of are nothing short of pure anguish, voicing a stream of emotionally fraught and unashamedly confessional lyrics that place every thought and feeling onto the table for all to view and dissect. To say that Brandon wears his heart on his sleeve is an understatement; he wears his heart on a twenty foot flag pole with an equally large neon sign directing your attention towards it. Where most people would bottle up their emotions until they explode or vent their fury through passive-aggressive means, Brandon instead exercises his demons in the most public of ways, leaving little to the imagination. Such open displays of emotion are commendable but such outward sincerity is not necessarily unique in the sphere of this kind of intelligent yet aggressive music, with the band’s sound fitting all too snugly into the ‘Wave’ scene of contemporary US hardcore.

At times their short songs and angular, melodically inflicted riffs bear much resemblance to Touché Amore minus the blast-beats, a resemblance further exacerbated by Brandon’s similar vocal and lyrical stylings. However, I refuse to write off a band with so much passion and channelled anger as simple copycats or sound-a-likes but at certain times, such as in the minute long ‘Sidesex’, the similarity is uncanny. Often it is hard to make assessments of the songs without drawing lazy comparisons to their peers under easy sound bites such as “a mid-tempo Touché Amore” and leaving it at that but such statements do not do the band’s obvious musical fervour any justice. Delve deep enough and there are sure enough inklings that the band has the capability with which to forge its own unique and quite possibly brilliant personality but often I find I’m simply grasping at straws and placing faith for distinctive identity in single guitar parts or certain tiny nuances. Despite these detractors, the E.P still stands up as a stunning piece of work. The three minute ‘Janaluska’ has all the markings of a “mini-epic” with delay-ridden guitars culminating in a flourishing and euphoric crescendo that is nothing short of compelling but despite this, it wouldn’t sound out of place on the next Pianos Become The Teeth record. ‘Samsquanch’ is a conflict of melody and pure aggression whilst ‘Bud Brothers’ utilises painfully simple and hypnotic clean arpeggios as a centre-point surrounded by a riff that descends into aural disorder. Closer ‘Russian Girls’ is a clattering mix of clean and distorted riffs with each carrying its own projected emotional weight. As the North Carolina natives are still in their infant stages, having only been together for two years or so, their lack of originality can be mostly forgiven and One Word is still a thrilling listen. If they can cipher at least a fraction of their emotional and musical intensity into creating music that distances itself from all too obvious reference points Oddczar will really be onto something special.