aaamusic | On 04, Mar 2012

London, 29th February

As part of what appears to be an ongoing musical give-and-take between myself and fellow reviewer Will in terms of his following what the NME is interested in vs my having no idea what it is talking about,  I persuaded him to go to Artrocker’s perennially worthwhile club, New Heavy Sounds, to see a double-whammy that had left me with a few war wounds last time it had happened back in the heady days of 2010, and to see a band that hold a special place in my rock n roll heart.

First up on the bill were Lamo, an eye- and ear-opening metallic duo whose sound put me in mind of a parallel universe where The Slits had decided upon heavy metal instead of reggae as a main influence. The guitar sound was never a decibel below speaker-blowing, and the drumming was truly spectacular, as the two musicians blasted through a set that was more rambling than anything but delivered with power and a fantastic musical chemistry that carried the whole thing off very well.

Buffalo Ink (with a “k”, as we were all told!) were next up, another duo, albeit with a much more melodic approach. They blended a psudo-Blood Red Shoes skittery rock sound with a heavy use of tape loops and guitar effects to stretch their sound from its heavy indie rock base into realms of psychedelia, but keeping it within the realms of a skewed pop song in terms of its off-kilter hookiness and concise yet meandering approach to a good tune.

I suppose these two acts paved the way to To The Bones’ set. Anyone who’s looked at my previous live reviews may well have read the name, but recently they’d fallen off the London radar due to lineup changes. However, they are back and I can safely say it was worth the wait. It always takes me by surprise how caustic they are live compared to on record. The latter makes them sound like a dark, more Motörhead-influenced Queens Of The Stone Age. Live, the swaggering rock is still present, but the sound mutates into a chimera of their studio sound and a Sonic Youth-y squalling frenzy. Their new material (of which there was a tantalising and promising amount) was perhaps more furious rock n roll psych-outs than the album material, but what remains a constant through old and new stuff is their ability to write enough great riffs to kit out several bands comfortably, and then drench it all in a screaming haze of distortion and fuzz that turbo-boosts the songs from “good” to jaw-dropping. The sheer heated force of their sound from the punky ‘Rex’ to the surreal rocket guitars of ‘Area 51’ and the petrol-drenched jams of ‘Flamethrower’ are a refreshing and incredibly welcome reappearance on the rock scene. And as a personal song preference, seeing ‘Cay Augustina’ belted out as a full speed, full volume turbo-boosted rock behemoth once again lit up my soul and my eardrums.

Speaking of refreshing and incredibly welcome and indeed surreal, one must mention Bad For Lazarus. Admitting to having learned to play their instruments now, they still manage to come across in a live setting as what looks like the fevered hallucinogenic breakdown of the Wizard Of Oz’ Scarecrow, but the songs are now not only infectiously and perversely catchy, but I believe they’ve developed a brain. Albeit perhaps not a recognisably human one, but there’s something about these guys that for all their anarchic flailing and mindbending sounds means that you get the feeling that yes, your ears and mind have been poked about with in strange and unusual ways, but also that you have witnessed and heard something that’s actually genuinely impressive as the demented gothic blues punk of ‘24’ filled the appropriately scuzzy and decadent Macbeth. With ‘Old Rats On A New Ship’ they manage to be both obscenely weird and stupidly catchy and singalong, and in the course of a single set they lurch unpredictably between the kind of band you dance to and the kind of band that the unprepared cower from in fear. The best thing is that they just don’t sound like anything else. Their truly unhinged rendition of ‘Minnie The Moocher’ angles them as the most unhinged blues band to ever put pick to strings, and the syncopated weirdness elsewhere says post-punk, and the sheer levels of distortion, gritty vocals and flailing says rock n roll, but all that can really be decided on is that they’ve moved in the space of a year from a band that makes me wonder what the hell they’re trying to do to a band that are just as confusing but this confusion leads to a burning compulsion to hear them again and again, and see them even more.

Once again, New Heavy Sounds has pulled a truly excellent bill from the depths of a guitar amp’s best friends and worst nightmares, and spun the heads and boggled the minds and ears of even the sober crowd members. To The Bones, welcome back to your scuzz-rock throne, long may your riffs continue to blow minds. Bad For Lazarus, my foot forgives you for the flying monitor last time – when did you get so brilliant? And that night may quite possibly be the only time I will ever be sold merch from a van in a way that makes me wonder if I’m actually being sold highly illegal black cotton narcotics.

Katie H-Halinski