Tweens
When I bounce into Madame Jo Jo’s I’m initially surprised.
There is literally no one here who isn’t working at the venue. I’m
unfashionably early.
There are four acts tonight, so I don’t have to wait long
for entertainment. And as soon as Relics hit their first note I’m glad to be in
the mosh pit in front of the stage. I try to be cool and elusive but I’m fairly
easy to spot. I can’t hide behind myself.
Relics are a band that would vulgarly be described as
‘shoegaze’. It’s a misnomer because these guys motor so fast that they shoes
they gaze at are affixed to Usain Bolt.
I’m not even joking. Relics take every song like the last
five minutes of a Ride set. Tumultuous waves of crashing guitar and much
general thrashing about. They have no speed
lower than absolutely full tilt.
This velocity sometimes works against the band, in the sense
that sometimes I wish they would take the time to expand or explore a
particular riff or sound. But Relics have their own style and they stick to it
at 100mph.
The guitar sound is frankly ridiculous and Theo Alexander’s
vocals are lost behind them. It’s always the same with such bands- My Bloody
Valentine’s vocals always sounded like a wet fart in a hurricane.
I enjoy Relics a lot – there’s no sleeping on their watch.
I had previously seen Desperate Journalist at this year’s
ill-fated Camden Crawl. At that time, you could tell the band had something
about them, but the sound on the night was so poor that they couldn't really do
themselves justice.
This is not the case this evening. First off, I really like
the band even when they take a little while to get into their stride.
My initial difficulty is with their guitar sound. It’s a
sludge. Deliberately so. On the positive side, singer Jo Bevan is just
terrific. She’s as powerful as a Saturn V and as steely strong.
The Guardian warns me that I am not allowed to use the term ‘fierce’,
but Bevan is the rock and the focal point of this band. I could out the band’s
music as being Goth, but there are just as many musical similarities to acts
like The Smiths. But such descriptors are misleading. Desperate Journalist are
very much their own beast and they improve with each successive song.
They have brought their own coterie of fans along with them.
These folks are so familiar with the band that they don’t have to do anything
so uncouth as actually stand and watch them. Instead, there is a lot of fairly
irritating horseplay.
A minor
inconvenience and I'm pleased that my instincts are correct – Desperate Journalist
are the real deal.
I’m particularly keen to see Cincinnati’s Tweens. I had
heard good things and they don’t disappoint.
Tweens are a blistering three piece ‘trash pop’ (their
description) band featuring the talents of Bridget Battle, Jerri Queen and
Peyton Copes.
Battle immediately impresses. For almost the entire set her
head is a blur, a screaming explosion of blonde hair. She shreds a mean guitar
too, wringing out solos and laughing with Jerri and Peyton.
Tweens are an almost literal blast of a band, a dynamic
fusion of sass and pure raucous rock and roll energy. This band are so far up
my street that they are practically in my living room. Their self-titled album
has now taken residence there.
A wonderful night of guitar rock. Well done all. I am
allowed to say that.
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