Posts Tagged ‘green door store’

Abattoir Blues

Abattoir Blues

It’s worms. The all singing, all dancing positive vibes Saturday alldayer at Green Door Store. The word ‘pop’ – as in indiepop – is being remorselessly banded about. In reality the bands are more on the indie-rock/shoegaze/alt-rock spectrum. There is a 20 minute set rule. Which er… rules! There’s no time for flab. Get on, get off, rock the fuck out etc.

I will admit. Yes, I missed Dog Legs. It honestly wasn’t my fault, mum. By all accounts they were a highlight of the day. Listening to their Bandcamp reveals that in fact are very indiepop, contradicting my above estimation… They are also rather good. Go on, ‘like’ them on Facebook and stuff.

King of Cats

King of Cats

‘Woozy’, that’s all you need to know about Bayy. They are stunningly accomplished considering how young they are. It’s a tightly run ship. Every section in every song has something interesting to offer. Giving super MBV worship a good name. Keep up the good work chaps.

Abattoir Blues come across slightly thuggish in comparison. Clearly an audience favourite they inspire great sing-alongs and somehow make the room feel a lot drunker than five in the afternoon. Partly down to their curiously magnetic Pollard-ish frontman. The girl from Bayy gets up to do a duet at the end. It’s like Sonny & Cher are still alive.

Playing as a full band tonight Trust Fund don’t fail to impress. Lots of nice little songwriting flourishes like just bass and vocals playing – take note kids, you need good bass. There is some fiendish lead guitar too.

Joey Four

Joey Four

King of Cats are on particular form at the moment. Probably the most remarkable moment of the day is when frontman Max stands in the audience playing solo harmonium just screaming his little heart out. See kids, that’s where emo should have gone in 00s. On an unrelated note. I was thinking, who would be in arch-supergroup King of Cunts??? Liam Gallagher on vocals, that’s a no-brainer. A stout rhythm section of Lars Ulrich and Gene Simmons for that belligerent capitalist flavor. Bafflingly grumpy old Lou Reed and pampered overgrown child Courtney Love on guitars. Then Chris Brown for misogynist raps and Alice Cooper doing interviews. Indeed a fine collection of absolute cunts.

Joey Four stick out like a sore-thumb tonight. Getting all post-artycore . All kerayzee effects and iterant basslines. And you cannot beat the Eighties aerobics cocaine mafia hipster slob look. Ten out of ten for getting Gareth Campesinos on drum loops too.

Tyrannosaurus Dead

Tyrannosaurus Dead

It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to call Tyrannosaurus Dead ‘local heroes’. Apparently they haven’t played any of tonight’s set before? You would never know. The band seem at home and fully deploy their brilliant male/female vocal dynamic.

Magic Gang are probably the most forthright nineties alt rock today. Yet oddly ladish? Veering close to Weezer with a season ticket, they have some great three point non-harmonies. Also, playing your songs too slowly is a gutsy art and they pull it off. They do somewhat ruin it with the Arctic Monkeys-ish last song which creates a noticeable schism in the audience.

Spook School

Spook School

What the hell is going on with Edinburgh’s Spook School? Up front you have three feisty androgynous indie replicants giving it some proper energy. Their drummer and between song spokesperson however, is a bizarre, slightly creepy working mens club act ranting about urine, sweat and seagulls. Their sheer brilliance overrides all though, and they are the only band to do actual Heavenly style girl/boy call and response. They are also the only band today whose members noticeably ‘go mental’. They are very polite these pop kids.Much has been said about Playlounge throughout the day. Can they live up to the hype? Of course. Bolstered by a double-take inducing guitar sound and stormtrooper drumming the two-piece highly entertain. The lack of bass is an acquired taste though. If they fixed that they’d sound like the end of the world.

Playlounge

Playlounge

And rounding off the day are Sheffield’s Best friends. You detect a lot of animosity between them. There’s a palpable tension on stage and they nearly break up at one point after two of them start a fisticuffs.

Of course none of this is true, sadly. BF are the weakest band of the day. They could have benefitted from just a 20 minute slot rather than a headliners 30 minute one. A little more variety in their songs and particularly in the vocal delivery they’d be great. There is also a slight hint of 00s NME indie going on that feels at odds with the rest of the day.

So that was Worms. Incredible value for four quid. Everyone walked off happy having seen some great bands and many bought rare vinyl from the distro. Props to all the people at Reeks of effort, Be Nothing and You Trip Me Up. Another one soon perhaps?

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Another Brighton Noise night rears its approachably sinister head so there isn’t really any choice but to get down to the Green Door Store to soak in the bands.

First up are Nature Channel.  Initially coming at you very much like forgotten K Records heroes Karp mixed with early-Idlewild. They are a twin-headed, all-consuming, angular riff apparatus.  The fact the drumkit kept falling apart didn’t seem surprising at all. After few songs they calm things down a little and show us a subtler side. During this, they turn in the brilliant Bloodflow. Who’d have thought singer-songwriter could merge so seamlessly into marching noise-rock?  The following track – a nod to 70s punk – felt a little out of context in a set so obviously indebted to the 90s.  This minor blip aside one of the most promising bands in Brighton.  Especially when they are heavy as fuck!

Kraken Maré very much polarised the audience tonight.  Instrumental post-metal erring on the doomy side isn’t for everyone.  As it happens they know their field, and turn in enough quiet/loud to qualify as an opera.  Wearing their influences openly, the High On Fire and Torche t-shirts give a lot away.  They have a secret weapon however – an electronics player, who is quite literally hidden at the back behind a flight case.  The soundscapes and vocal samples definitely put the set up a notch above the usual Hydra Head worship.

After all that bluster Son Belly seem a little incongruous and take a few songs to sink in.  Coming across like a garage-rock Nick Drake or Noel Cowards’ White Stripes they take on the blues with a patently silly Englishness.  That they manage to carry that off is reason enough to stay and watch them.  They traverse an interesting line in being incredibly tight then endearingly all over the place.  They are resolutely sticking to the two-piece though, which is a shame, as a third member would really beef it all up.  Given their rural psych-out, a tuba would be the obvious choice.  Or a baritone accordion, do they even exist?

Brighton Noise Night – Redux