Post by Admin on Jul 19, 2011 9:50:00 GMT -5
Motive Sounds presents -
MIDASUNO, MONKEY BOY, SECOND TO LAST, ctrlaltdelete
By Ali Swann
The Brickyard, Carlisle. 19th June 2004
God, you could cut the hype with a knife. The return of Midasuno! AND Monkey Boy! SecondToLast’s final Carlisle gig with Ollie! Four bands! Three quid! More exclamation marks than you could shake a chk-chk-chk at!!! Like, what-everrr...
ctrlaltdelete are a very clever band. With their EPone tracks now approaching over-familiarity, they play nothing off it here – not the most surprising volte-face tonight but certainly the wisest, a gentle prompt that they’re ready to move on and record again. The material on-show remains founded in their typical juxtaposing of deft pickings and white-noise rudeness, but now with a side-order of sinister cinematics to get palms a-sweating. Drummer Chris often risks being branded the Tony McCarroll of Carlisle’s gig scene, but here he keeps the fuck-ups to a minimum and the three keys provide a focussed opening set.
By contrast, it’s fair to say that SecondToLast couldn’t be shit if they tried. They give it their best shot here though, with a fair eight minutes of heavy-handed instrumental shenanigans before a ragged run through ‘That Boy Ain’t Right’. It’s also fair to say the pioneer ethic grants them the right to coast through half an hour submerging two-and-a-half songs, but overall it comes across as a stalling action - they need a committed drummer. However interesting a diversion/indulgence this is, it still feels like an impressive band distended by arrogance, reaming their usual taut kinetics to let the intestines of their music spill out into a steaming heap on the stage.
Now both native bands are off-stage and downing their riders, it’s time for the visitors to earn their beans. Monkey Boy have it sewn up, by virtue of being way darker, and weirder, than their hype could indicate… to sketch out their sound as roughly as they play it, it’s J.J.Burnel and Twiggy Ramirez dead-set on dry-bumming each other into submission - two bassists churning out aural cubism, Ren-&-Stimpy gurns, and a drummer hollering out cockney-inflected lyrics I never quite catch. It’s a belting noise nonetheless, with gonzo visual appeal – at one point the band uniformly stop mid-song, waiting for one of them to puff like a blowfish until a meaty tendril of spit oozes out of his mouth. They’re a funny and forceful one-two punch. Good, yes, in the worst way – as infectious as your favourite STD.
With SecondToLast having passed up the opportunity to steal the gig, it falls to Midasuno as headliners to deliver, bringing brittle, overdriven chops for fillings to quake to, and showy, aerobic guitar-slinging. What often spells out the generation gap in this extremo neck of the woods is intimate knowledge of the Iron Maiden back-catalogue, and as Midasuno’s set unfolds their sound veers between the SecondToLast mode sorely absent tonight, and the full-bodied histrionics of ‘Run To The Hills’, with their singer Scott manfully voicing both.
For the most part though the bluster overshadows the tune, and I remain hungry to be spellbound – excepting a spell late on in the set where something genuinely broody and compelling emerges. If only they’d uncorked it sooner and kept it flowing throughout, they could have lived up to their press, but as is, Monkey Boy poached a thriving night. No doubt the stage will also remain theirs until someone works up courage enough to mop up all that damn spit.
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MIDASUNO, MONKEY BOY, SECOND TO LAST, ctrlaltdelete
By Ali Swann
The Brickyard, Carlisle. 19th June 2004
God, you could cut the hype with a knife. The return of Midasuno! AND Monkey Boy! SecondToLast’s final Carlisle gig with Ollie! Four bands! Three quid! More exclamation marks than you could shake a chk-chk-chk at!!! Like, what-everrr...
ctrlaltdelete are a very clever band. With their EPone tracks now approaching over-familiarity, they play nothing off it here – not the most surprising volte-face tonight but certainly the wisest, a gentle prompt that they’re ready to move on and record again. The material on-show remains founded in their typical juxtaposing of deft pickings and white-noise rudeness, but now with a side-order of sinister cinematics to get palms a-sweating. Drummer Chris often risks being branded the Tony McCarroll of Carlisle’s gig scene, but here he keeps the fuck-ups to a minimum and the three keys provide a focussed opening set.
By contrast, it’s fair to say that SecondToLast couldn’t be shit if they tried. They give it their best shot here though, with a fair eight minutes of heavy-handed instrumental shenanigans before a ragged run through ‘That Boy Ain’t Right’. It’s also fair to say the pioneer ethic grants them the right to coast through half an hour submerging two-and-a-half songs, but overall it comes across as a stalling action - they need a committed drummer. However interesting a diversion/indulgence this is, it still feels like an impressive band distended by arrogance, reaming their usual taut kinetics to let the intestines of their music spill out into a steaming heap on the stage.
Now both native bands are off-stage and downing their riders, it’s time for the visitors to earn their beans. Monkey Boy have it sewn up, by virtue of being way darker, and weirder, than their hype could indicate… to sketch out their sound as roughly as they play it, it’s J.J.Burnel and Twiggy Ramirez dead-set on dry-bumming each other into submission - two bassists churning out aural cubism, Ren-&-Stimpy gurns, and a drummer hollering out cockney-inflected lyrics I never quite catch. It’s a belting noise nonetheless, with gonzo visual appeal – at one point the band uniformly stop mid-song, waiting for one of them to puff like a blowfish until a meaty tendril of spit oozes out of his mouth. They’re a funny and forceful one-two punch. Good, yes, in the worst way – as infectious as your favourite STD.
With SecondToLast having passed up the opportunity to steal the gig, it falls to Midasuno as headliners to deliver, bringing brittle, overdriven chops for fillings to quake to, and showy, aerobic guitar-slinging. What often spells out the generation gap in this extremo neck of the woods is intimate knowledge of the Iron Maiden back-catalogue, and as Midasuno’s set unfolds their sound veers between the SecondToLast mode sorely absent tonight, and the full-bodied histrionics of ‘Run To The Hills’, with their singer Scott manfully voicing both.
For the most part though the bluster overshadows the tune, and I remain hungry to be spellbound – excepting a spell late on in the set where something genuinely broody and compelling emerges. If only they’d uncorked it sooner and kept it flowing throughout, they could have lived up to their press, but as is, Monkey Boy poached a thriving night. No doubt the stage will also remain theirs until someone works up courage enough to mop up all that damn spit.