@alpaca.presents
by Brandon van der Berg @vdb.brandon
The Exchange Basement under the strong currents of a heatwave and overcrowding are something to embrace head on, when it comes to survival of the fittest. Where, most usually, one would bring an umbrella if they expect to get wet on a night out, for this evening I think most would have brought a towel and a sizeable glacier if they knew what it was going to be like. It was the most entertaining live experience I have, probably, ever had. Read about each act below. The Tashmen I think this set started before the set started. A crowd was spread out amongst the room for a good 10 minutes before they began, and seeing the latter half of the soundcheck you could tell what kind of experience you were going to have. Nope. You could not. The shyishly awkward, still and quite polite band onstage who played Smash Mouth’s – “All Star” over the PA for a laugh began the set with a well-received “MAKE SOME NOISE YOU F*CKING IDIOTS” succeeding them making everyone turn around for 30 seconds. Which was slightly terrifying when I had 50 faces ominously laughing at me, so I turned around too. Clinically dishevelled is the first that comes to mind. If the Dead Kennedys played at 150db directly on top of a worm through a 5000watt PA, the reactive dance the worm would spasm is what the guitarist turned into on stage; in sync with the first drum hit. The vocalist, on one of the first breakdowns, held nothing back in showing us how many times he can spin around on his back in the middle of the moshpit, immediately resulting in about 6 camera screens staring down at him in a slightly dystopian way. “Next time you see him, get him by the legs” - The Trashmen on ‘tackling Putin’. That had me in hysterics. Every section transition is a glaring offence to the art of subtlety, it’s melodramatic and as if a temper tantrum materialised, took some mandy and said “Let’s see what happens”. What happened was 3 mostly naked guys dance-rocking “the chicken dance” side by side with nervous confidence and suggestive undertones for what felt like quite a long time objectively and the crowd were nothing but there for it. Love it. The mosh pit that was provoked by this display of raw passion was comparable to an orgy at an old person’s home, with the way it takes a second to get going, but gradually pulls in more at an exponentially enthusiastic rate. Okay, now this is serious. I have never in my life, heard of, been told of or witnessed any band or artist in Bristol or otherwise get the majority of a full room at a local venue to participate in a successful Wall Of Death, absolutely not an opening band. I think they put it together in, 10 seconds? I was in awe and that was so fun to watch, felt like witnessing history. The music is ultra weird and it is like an erratically consonant granite slab. Absolutely wild and heavy as f*ck, but you know what it is and it is more than fine with what it is. In fact, it is very much as if their “We are here to have fun and let loose and if you don’t like it there’s the door” attitude was the most enticing offer for admittance and the main reason people were there.
They played everything from deep and harrowing metal breakdowns, to thrash punk, to something that sounded like classical indie, to pop punk to even deeper existential breakdowns. A lot of the time within the space of 20 seconds but overall the most chaotic musical performance of the century. All in all, it was the most a live show has ever gotten me to laugh and not because it wasn’t good, it was kick ass and I would DEFINITELY go and see that again. The group do not currently have an Instagram or Spotify. LUNCH Firstly, what a well-presented band on stage. The singer in his slightly drunken performative alter-ego, dressed accordingly in an open Hawaiian t-shirt and the bassist, due to his consumption of milk from an early age growing strong bones, standing considerably over the other band member’s and consequently wearing a great big charming smile, or maybe he was just happy to be there. Who knows… The chanty lyrics are melodically spaced with repetition and the backing band greatly enforce the rhythm and vocals by knowing where to sit appropriately in the arrangement, it really scream IDLES and the drums are always full blast and personified through the drummer’s facial expression; a sneeze on the edge of fruition. Mostly content within their own space they leave the grand plateau of movement to the singer, acting out the words in a loose vigour like that friend of yours with a low tolerance at the end of a night out and rocking behind they adhere to the strict rules of tension and release when it comes to deciding when to enhance the stage with a mightier bellow of stomping and turning. “A HEAD FULL OF DEMONS AND A MOUTHFUL OF BLOOD” The guitarist is consistently impressive on stage, creeping and leaching over his instrument and constantly playing with a cascading tension which just adds to the confrontation of the frontman holding his own a few steps in front of the stage. It is congruent with the punch of IDLES, the lyrical integrity of Soft Play and the cutting static of METZ. They had quite a lovely free logo sticker too. Fans Of IDLES, METZ, Soft play Find them on Instagram Or Spotify HAGA That sound of pop punk. That thick nostalgia that punts you in your nose and cheese grates memories of edgier days over your head, something about it is always so punctuated and full of serotonin regardless of the most upset-provoking focus in its lyricism. The vocals prep you with the gentle reminiscent wobble of meatloaf before locking back in and sharpening the hairs on the back of your neck with the pure, unfiltered sadness of belting bold stories. The subtle twang of the bass’ slow reverb and delay paints with a lightly opaque glue over the emotion, building and crashing in between itself and its cathartic understanding. Digital hands skimming camera lights over the tops of frizzy heads is always a good sign of attentive emotional progression in a set and it worked like visual kindling to the vocalist’s declarative, ruffling invasion of the very sweaty crowd coaxing them into the mosh pit one by one. Halfway through they switched, the set that was itching chunks out of a coating of foreshadowing change broke through in a big way and commanded flashing lights and the frantic, free spinning of heads and faces. A huge development in songwriting, vocal and band performance skyrocketed alongside increasing audience numbers squeezing against the walls of the room. You can hear Muse’s muffled screaming through the harmonic rise and swell of the arrangement and those droning, distorted guitar lines and they have some really memorable hooks and energy that jolted away from the initial catch of “your typical pop-punk band” and became way more original with their range of energy and artistic flavour. Their performance of their original song “What’s Your Name” was fantastic. For Fans Of Sea Girls, 1975, Neck Deep Find them on Instagram or Spotify Wildcat Boozy A lot of saturated feedback at the start of the set. The band seemed stagnant and tense before they twitched into the shadow of the frontman pumping around the front of the stage, head down, eyes up, powerfully facing off the audience. The drummer is a jerking vision of muscle tension and percussive accuracy and is a cornerstone of the insanely fast-paced music that feels like you’re bathing in those tricky hidden hand zappy things you used in your pre-adolescent practical jokester routine, just electric. The sounds, regardless of the dynamic, are upbeat and dancey and there is a slow and considerate spacing to the sparse muffling of vocals before his chords fray and tear in tandem with perfectly balanced transitioning in the songwriting; keeping you shaped in the engaged souls of your shoes. The slappingly contrasting raises and dips in spirit let you catch your breath for an observed amount of time before crashing you back in. “THE LAST TIME WE PLAYED THIS SONG SOMEONE RAN THROUGH THAT WALL AND MADE A MASSIVE HOLE” Sound engineer watching nervously - “Please don’t do it again” Now the singer has picked up their guitar and the soundwaves have risen and thickened like some kind of gelatinous gunpowder cake is spewing like a pressure washer from the grills in the speaker covers. I have absolutely no idea how the drummer was alive it was like someone strapped a “Black Ops 2” Monkey Bomb to the bottom of his seat and the only fate-saving procedure was to out-move it. The way they play with honesty and impact is like a gunshot. So continuously high octane but even when they’re high up; they are low down because they can go higher, again and again. Something is always rising and it feels like the overwhelming humidity in the room has been forgetfully replaced with aerated petrol and it is about to ignite and catch fire. A very cool free sticker too. Love a good free sticker. For Fans Of System of a Down, Metallica, Turnstile. Find them on Instagram or Spotify
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