Skewwhiff + Action + New Alaska + One Man Sun
Worcester, Firefly 11/07/14 (Surprise Attacks #16)
A proper eclectic bill this. Four bands that would appeal to fans of – in order – Godflesh; Fugazi; Shellac; and… I’m actually not entirely sure, for reasons that will become apparent. But the Au Pairs spring readily to mind. So I’ll go with that.
This was a baking, blazingly bright and sweaty Friday evening. Normal people would be outside, sipping Pimms, barbequing stuffed vegetables and making sparkling post-modern conversation. But not round here. No. Three gentlemen from the Marches are blasting out an ungodly melodic noise, rising and falling with the weight and immensity of tectonic fucking plates. We have One Man Sun. imagine Fudge Tunnel cross-bred with Iron Monkey . Indoors. In semi-darkness. There was a muscular depth and an intense artistry in the grinding, ultra-stoner waves of solid sound – and this was one of the most pleasingly unnatural and inappropriate combinations of music and weather I think I have ever encountered. Brutal.
New Alaska on the other hand were a lemon-fresh, classically Dischord records prospect. Imagine if Bluetip or Rites of Spring came from Stourbridge. And didn’t take it all quite so seriously. This band (New Alaska) are every bit as intelligent, musically dextrous and pacey a prospect as any of that DC lot ever were, for real, but they also speak with an everyman voice that makes it extremely hard not to feel an awful lot of love. Particularly when they play their material as thrashy and raucous as they did here.
Action are a breed apart. Comprising one Wayne Travis – Tewkesbury homeboy, and latterly of the standout UK noise-rock act of the 90s Oil Seed Rape – a guitar, some pedals and a drum machine. This was sparse and analogue fare, reminiscent of a sexier and sleazier early Big Black, circa the Lungs EP – all darkly surrealist hyper-urban storytelling and jagged sonic edges. This man even blasted out a version of the Oil Seed Rape track Green Ham – a pitch black little ditty about what some men do in their bedsits – that had not been played in anger since John Major was on the throne. And some people got quietly emotional.
Skewwhiff. Now. Skewwhiff. I have a confession to make. I missed this band ENTIRELY as I got stuck in a cubicle in the gents – not unlike a certain former Secretary of State managed to do last week. For their whole set. However, a close friend and associate told me that they did a fine line in life-affirming party post-punk with a side order of ska and a squirt of The Pixies sauce. And everyone had a good time into the wee small hours. Which was as fine a way as I can think of starting a weekend. Look out for these good people at the more artisan festivals near you. Seriously. Do.
A little spermbird has just told me that they’ll have the actual Stupids playing this same venue on the first Friday in October. If that doesn’t make you do a little bit of wee with excitement, then there is, quite simply, no pleasing you.
Ed Ling
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