Divorce
I’m here at the Macbeth, a lovely little venue off Hoxton
Square. Ok ‘lovely’ is a relative term, but in this case I’m referring to it
being brilliant for small, rowdy gigs rather than the outside appearance of the
place, which looks as though it is ready for a wrecking ball.
First up are Her Parents, often described in these rarefied
circles as a supergroup because the foursome comprise survivors from outfits
such as Internet Forever, Stairs to Korea and Dananananaykroyd. Household names
all.
The band plug in and fire off in all directions. Lead vocals
are exchanged between all members and bass and guitars are thrashed and abused
with gusto. It’s fast and screamy and chaotic and blows the cobwebs away.
If
the band seem initially a little constrained by the small stage they soon
loosen up into a shouty, punky cacophony.
One of my colleagues mischievously observes that two of the
band are so much noticeably older than the other two that they should be called
‘Our Parents’, but that is a crueller jibe than they deserve.
Her Parents are fun and fresh and the perfect way to get the
party started.
It is clear that most people are here to see indulgent math
rockers Poino.
The band immediately cause me problems. I can tell that they
are assured, skilled and in total mastery of what they do. I know that those
who have come to see them are not disappointed.
And yet I think them soulless and dull. This is essentially
the jazz rock of bands like Battles and although it may be popular with the
beard stroking fraternity that dig these sounds, I just find this fiddly
noodling self absorbed and nowhere near as innovative as they think they are.
It’s not them. It’s me. (But it’s them).
Poino go down like a house on fire and the venue thins out a
bit before the arrival of headliners Divorce
And Divorce are utterly uncompromising, terrifying and
completely brilliant.
While bassist Vickie and guitarist VSO circle the drum kit
of Andy, singer Jennie is lost in the crowd. You can see occasional glimpses of
a tiny form pacing back and forth, her hair in her eyes. The noise that she
makes is an unholy, distorted squealing wail, like demons boiling in the pits
of hell.
The noise and energy that the band generate is tremendous, a
thunderous rumble of menace and malevolence interspersed with inchoate babbles
of despair and anguish.
They’re a bit good.
A vicious mosh pit forms, with overweight youths crashing
and bumping into each other. It’s an appropriate response.
Divorce are a band that can only exist on nights like this,
in small scuzzy wonderful little venues like the Macbeth. This keeps you alive.
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