Tiger Warsaw + The Old Romantic Killer Band + Montana |
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| The Horse & Groom
4th August 2009
Photos & Review by Pete |
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Tonight was the first of three freebie gigs at The Horse and Groom. Maybe it's the recession but there seems to be a lot of free live music around town lately. Last week saw Recruit play to a
So, The Horse and Groom. Melancholy was the horse and madness definitely the groom at this one this evening. And plenty of goodwill and appreciation from the seventy or so enthusiastic inhabitants of a darker place come to conjoin with these bands. First on, from the West Midlands, were Montana, clearly good friends with the other bands and soon to be intimately familiar with many strangers in the room (stopping just short of rape, but only just). Up through the rain soaked earth and the concrete foundations came the boom of their opening chord.
Next up, and having had fabulous reviews everywhere, including the national daily papers, it's a bit odd that The Old Romantic Killer Band did not fill this venue on their own. Harry and Gregg didn't seem bothered about it at all. This duo seem to be in it for something other than the plaudits. That's not to say they don't give a shit, the opposite in fact, they give everything they've got - (and in the end, maybe a little bit too much). There's a tender rage in this material. Shadows everywhere. Thin ice. Raw feelings bubble beneath well crafted bluesy songs that repeatedly topple into bouts of grunge frenzy. I kept wondering how these transitions could possibly work but they did and at their most imaginative they seemed effortless and right. The set hinted at struggle for some kind of release and it finally happened at the last, Harry pushing his way out, linging his guitar onto the bar
These kind of intense sets don't make it easy for headliners with an album to launch. How do you beat them? But all night people had been saying how seriously they are into Tiger Warsaw and that devotion was tested with nearly an hour changeover. Turns out that guitar pedals were failing and eventually when an apology was made it seemed their set was gonna be cancelled. People was looking around, worried, disappointed and after a few minutes a handful drifted away, maybe thinking it really wasn't gonna happen. It was a bit confusing. A fan of the band - and their CD producer - Steve Hawkins was there, one of many from the local music scene who are into this band. Others I saw there were Dark Mantra. When eventually, Dean, Tev and Lurch got it sorted enough - or got frustrated enough to put up with the limitations of the kit - to be ready to give it a go they gently eased into their intro, much to the relief of their fans. The appeal of this band seems to defy easy categorization. They preplex with long passages of hypnotic bass, fragile progressive lead guitar work and sensitive drums before firing up, stomping the accelerator to the floor and going flat out. This heavy rock teeters on the verge of full-on metal and precipitates some brief, joyous moshing from their hard core devotees stood three deep at the front. This is clearly what many are here for and the vibe had been simmering and quickly flames intensely. Severe tempo changes are a major part of the structure of this band's material
Some more photos at www.shinephoto.plus.com website.
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hundred strong gathering of the faithful at The Mezz bar for their CD launch. Singer songwriter Abi Moore played a 30 minute set at Caffe Nero to launch her 60-70 date tour heading off far and wide around the region. And at the Drill Hall Armoury Bar a fifty strong audience of people my age was entertained by Elvis Presley. (Great songs, great voice and perhaps old enough to play Glastonbury main stage next year.)
(Judging by the severity it was fairly clear that Death himself had entered the building to join us and decided to stay for what was to follow.) A funereal procession pace maintained the gloom for several moments until the big rant of a vocal began. With that sound came Dan, broad, barefoot, a big, bearded man-hobbit who walked amongst us, invading personal space without hesitation, intruding, pushing up against friend and stranger alike, laying on his big hands to shoulders or heads and stroking hair and faces (of men). Interesting. Nice even, in a scary way. His physical size and his forceful delivery reminded me of Dalek, the New York rapper who came to Lincoln a year or two ago and showed us what it was all about. Dan's jeans started to slip down but instead of pulling them back up he simply pulled them off and flung them backstage and performed from then on in his festival-tent-sized boxers. Unlike some bands, Dan, James, Mark and Mills have probably never had a private music lesson between them in their lives. They have probably never been to music lessons at school. It could be that their school was burned down in 1981 and they never bothered to rebuild it. All this is probably true. As a result there was lots of unsophisticated, repetitive two chord rumblings and stick lashing going on. Ugly mostly but necessarily that way and yet 
at times oddly trance like and soothing. More importantly, it was always honest. Un-embittered, accepting of futility and maybe even suggesting a composure found within a certain level of failure pain.
and climbing up to hovver over it with a beer bottle sliding over its strings - before discarding it altogether to climb up and wave the microphone stand around over people's heads so they could offer up backing vocals to his howl.
and the chaos dissipates as quickly as it began when the band turn back. They smother the heat, deprive it off oxygen, chill it down deeply to another place where the guitar effects are curiously subtle and yet majestic, summoning up images of vast, bleak landscapes, devoid of warmth but full of feelings of isolation and awe. This is thoughtful and impressive work. Still, the inevitable denouement is the final ascent into abandon which has been coming and which a lot of people have been waiting for. When it arrives, in a squall of bass feedback, hands punch the air and bodies hurl themselves into each other, crashing to and fro in a frenzy of excited recklessness. It escalates exponentially and while it is both adrenaline pumping it is definitely verging on the dangerous and you get the feeling someone could be seriously hurt - as when someone leaps from the bar and sends the dozen people up front spilling into the band like ten pin bowling skittles. Despite the disturbing thud of heads and bones on the floor it's all OK somehow and if not the sort of response the band hopes for it nevertheless says a lot about the raging hearts of their fans.This page was last updated Monday, 11 January 2010
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