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Band – The Austerity Program
EP – Backsliders and Apostates Will Burn
Label – Hydra Head Records
Release date – Sometime in May
Sounds like – harrowing, Albini-style jagged-rock noise.

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The Austerity Program is a two piece from New York, comprised of guitarist and Steve Albini-impersonator; Justin Foley, bassist Thad Calabrese and a drum machine. Sinister doesn’t even begin to describe it. Desolate probably fits though, and boy is this desolate. I suppose it’s more the grim acceptance of crushing inevitability. It’s like if a bitterer, less twattish version of Rob Gordon formed a band and channelled his negative rage through a guitar and a Roland TR-808. The EP title alone gives you an accurate vision of how this is going to sound; the very fact the words ‘Will Burn’ feature at the end give it a kind of righteous, almost heretical crusader vibe. Backsliders and Apostates are damned for all eternity; they will be scorched from this land and The Austerity Program are the entity to carry out this procedure.

Sorry, that got a bit preachy.

It’s incredible how you can make just one note sound so completely enraged at the world. The opening bass drone on ‘Song 25’ is that note. It’s the kind of whine that makes you constantly check to see if anyone is following you; if you did lock the door properly. Yeah, so menacing  is one way of putting it. Justin Foley’s trembling breathing at the start gives the impression that he’s the one escaping something. You can almost imagine him arriving at the studio, out of breath, checking to see if what was following him is still there, before opening his mouth to recite a succession of words, in an almost monotone, hypnotic trance. It’s a bit like the Minutemen collaborating with the Hypnotoad from Futurama. “Wake up in the morning with the droning in your head” recites Foley; “yesterday, today and tomorrow…and in the morning….there is only sorrow.” There’s no joy here. When that bass note gets uncomfortably loud, the agonising wait for more substance is finally fulfilled as the drums kick into life. The shuddering, ungainly gait of the track marches on; with Foley chanting words like a fanatical preacher, begging for rain. his howling words aren’t assuring of life affirming in any way. He doesn’t care for you or I; there is, as he says “only sorrow” and when he finally decides to play his guitar, it meshes so comfortably on a track which isn’t comfortable in the slightest; creating this wail of feedback scorched terror and unwholesome dread. It’s like realising you’re the red shirt as Scotty beams you, Kirk, Spock and the attractive blonde down to the planet. Only 3 of you are coming back and guess what, there’s a 100% chance it’s not going to be you.

Much like Columbo, The Austerity Program just has the one technique of course, but it shits on Quincy so what does that matter? The technique of course, is that merciless guitar tone. It sounds so bereft of life, hooked to only one feeling – the feeling of crushing despair. It’s a snide sound as well. It turns it’s nose up at you, like you’re a piece of shit on the shoes of a deranged homeless man. ‘Song 26’ stamps forward with the familiar grinding bass build. It’s all about intimidation and this has barrels of it. “You’ll know the end is upon us…backsliders and apostates, you’ll burn. You’ll burn…burn!” Foley shouts, his voice once again, sliding into parson mode as he judges us, all of us with his caustic tone. We are to burn, he’s not going to save us…the stark twang of the bass, which is so guttural, it’s cruising for hookers, whilst the drums stab and judder like a series of ticks on the face of a Parkinson’s sufferer. About halfway through, Foley begins ranting, but due to the noise; the crushing barrage of sound, his voice is lost, only coming back moments later, shouting at us to consider “what is right? What is real? What is true? What is pure? What is god?” I’m left with the realisation that I haven’t a clue – I don’t have an answer and my ignorance will cost me. It’s disturbing – it’s disturbing how The Austerity Program make the listener feel so utterly worthless.

‘Song 27’ begins with a rusty, shuddering tone, complete with shifting soundscapes and distorted crackles. When the drums finally enter the play, they’re that sudden shock of crashing, mechanical fear. The vocals retain that sneer…Foley is even more disappointed in the listener, his disdain is paramount. “With anvils, raining down….my life’s a wreck” he dismisses, as words are buried beneath the drumming, which is now, outstandingly loud. “I’m Buzz the bunny, and I’m on TV, and I wish I could die!” he yells, resentment and acrimony laced in every word. “Electrocution in the dark, and I’ll be eaten by a shark, but I ain’t finished yet, no this shit ain’t over!” He screams, the animosity now at a critical level. The cutting last remark of “Not by a long shot” is the perfect ending, as is the spite-filled post-punk racket that concludes the best song on this EP.

The beginning of ‘Song 29’ is essentially a wave of jangling chords clustered together, sounding eerily post-rock in places; something that is dispelled by the plodding drum beats, that crash through the track with militant determination. There’s a distinct noise-rock feel to ‘Song 29’; not that there was much melody to the three proceeding tracks, but this one is completely devoid of it altogether. A relentless pounding is the best way to describe it. There’s no way it will let go, until whatever it is hitting is driven into the ground or stops moving – possibly both. The grinding quake of the last 2 minutes moves into a progressive territory, building on waves of intimidating guitar drone and clattering percussion, with the now desperate vocals wailing for some kind of validation in the sea of noise. The cut off is suitably apt, cancelling out the track on the cry of “NOW THE SONG IS DONE” and so is the EP.

‘Backsliders and Apostates Will Burn’ by The Austerity Program is a menacing, almost unapproachable torrent of sound; the focused raw anger wavers between genuine hate and dismissive nonchalance and the Shellac guitar tones and doom-filled bass rumbles are genuinely unsettling – a brilliant, if bleak EP of daunting sound.

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Links

The Austerity Program
Hydra Head Records
The Austerity Program Myspace
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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: September 6th, 2010 in Introducing, News, Reviews.
Comments: none

Band – Ice, Sea, Dead People
Album – Teeth Union
Label – Dirty Recordings and Lost Toys Records
Release date – 27th September
Sounds like – a chewed up scramble of discordant punk rock

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I think it’s a clever name, seriously. “A daft pun maketh a memorable band name” or something. Ice, Sea, Dead People are three dudes from London (formerly Bedford) who see speed as something of a necessity in their music. ‘Teeth Union’ is 24 minutes of breathless, exhausting rock music that staggers between a mess of snotty punk and abrasive post-hardcore.

It’s quite a shambles really, but in a good way. The production is noteworthy for its scrappy, dishevelled demeanour. In some ways it reminds me of the first Bronx record. The old, “yeah three takes lads, then fuck it if we mess up, that’s rock ‘n roll.” Not that you would notice any mistakes in that record or indeed in ‘Teeth Union’; because these then become part of the songs – this is how it was meant to be played – how this kind of audible chaos should sound.

‘Teeth Union’ opens with ‘I’m Cat’; 2 and a half minutes of jerking, Les Savy Fav-style rock that judders with a swift, stabbing motion, like Patrick Bateman going knife happy on yet another unfortunate prostitute. It scrawls and writhes with that de-tuned hum of aggravation. Guitars are chewed into a splatter of broken chords, whilst the sparse vocals are centered on incoherent shouts and the noise you make when someone says something monumentally stupid. It’s like 3 punks all playing different parts of the same song, but at varying speeds.
Despite the frantic nature of ‘Laser Brain’ the vocals are distinctly hollow, opting for a monotone robotic slur that is then buried beneath a furrow of jangled static and crashing percussion. “I want to be in the wallpaper so I can hug the room” utters Ice, Sea, Dead People, their throwaway; almost lazy remarks are blown apart by an ear shredding scream and a barrage of bass-driven noise rock.

“I’ve got, sugar in my hair! I’ve got sugar in my hair! I’ve got sugar in my hhhhhhaaaaaiiirrrr” wails the dual vocals of bassist Jamie and guitarist Craig, who I assume are attempting to make even the lyrics of The Blood Brothers sound vaguely normal on ‘My Twin Brother’s A Brother’. It’s a track which bounces with pop-punk delight chorus-wise, which is then offset by the pounding, bass-thick heavy dirge that make up the rest of this 3-minute stomp.

‘Grean Tee’ sounds like it’s been recorded inside several biscuit tins, whilst the band tries valiantly to fight off a swarm of wasps by throwing their instruments at the little yellow and black-striped bastards. It regains a sense of intimidating urgency at the halfway mark, contorting with angular frustration and a snotty sense of arrogance.

‘Justin Klein’ is like The Ramones crossed with Q And Not U – pent up punk rock rage, channelled through stark, yet danceable melodies, led by a sinister bass line that rumbles alongside the dual vocal shouts, commenting on Mr Klein’s make-up techniques.

It’s hard not to crack a smile during ‘Brrrrr’; a track that starts with a familiar bass grind (‘Ex-Nuns/Dead Dogs’ by Some Girls anyone?), which is filled with the sound of the track being sped up and forced through a grinder; with all three members of Ice, Sea, Dead People valiantly trying to be heard through the squealing din of their instruments slowly coming apart. ‘Hence: Elvis’ is a familiar sound; clocking in at just over 2 minutes, it’s a spluttering force of punk rock that staggers between art-rock pretension and the slovenly nature of ramshackle and decay.

‘Satan/Japan’ is to begin with, a brief respite, taking on the form of an improvised jam, with what sounds like Justin Pearson of The Locust spitting words into a microphone. The buzz-saw of the bass around the 2 minute mark teases the listener into thinking that yet another explosion of noise will punch through, only for it to dip back into the stop-start jam session once more.

The merciless unclean squeal of the guitars, the fuzzed-out, distorted bass drone and the flamboyant drum rolls make up ‘Until We Break Our Legs’, a closer that is submerged beneath a haze of rasping noise and a cacophony of mangled notes – what vocals that are present seem lost or disregarded near the finish, despite the valiant effort to make themselves heard.

It’s rare that you hear something that sounds so apathetic yet so relentlessly frenetic. ‘Teeth Union‘ by Ice, Sea, Dead People is a kind of punk see-saw, endlessly rocking between listlessness and spontaneous acerbic energy, pumped to breaking point.

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For those feeling a bit talented, the band have made the video for ‘Grean Tee‘ and have asked fans to do a snazzy background/do whatever you want to it. Bonza. See their site for details on how to obtain the free download.

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Links

Ice, Sea, Dead People Myspace
Ice, Sea, Dead People Official Site
Lost Toys Recordings

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: August 30th, 2010 in Introducing, News, Reviews.
Comments: none

Band – Pulled Apart By Horses
Album – Pulled Apart By Horses
Label – Trangressive
Release date – Out now (late review)
Sounds like – Filthy, unhinged punk rock ‘n roll trapped in a Delorean.

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Pulled Apart By Horses are dangerous. This album should come with some sort of health warning = “may cause you to totally lose your shit when listening and smash up an entire city.” Pulled Apart By Horses are ridiculous. They seem swamped in the past, lost in a vortex of eighties wisecracks, baggy shorts and high-fives where blonde frat boys called ‘Brad’ and ‘Chuck’ greet each other with the phrase “sup bro” and talk about catching “some killer awesome buzz on the wave yo” or some other fist-chewingly awful idiom. Ultimately though, despite their blatant stupidity and vacant positivism; Pulled Apart By Horses have managed to craft a debut album that boils and writhes with outrageous confidence and a screaming desire to destroy everything in its path.

It’s difficult to tell whether Pulled Apart By Horses are angry or just extremely excited; in some respects, perhaps both. Vocalist Tom Hudson is a cross between the N64 child on a never-ending loop, constantly celebrating the arrival of his console and the deranged homeless man that likes to eat out of your dustbin at five in the morning. Also, possibly a bear. I would like to think and hope that Hudson doesn’t have a normal voice and that his constant-opened mouth, tongue-lolling wail is his actual voice; one which he cannot regulate, making him the worst Chinese Whispers player in the world.

They kick things off with ‘Back To The Fuck Yeah’; a steady, pounding drum beat, Hudson’s rasping vocal shout backed by a barrage of dense punk guitar scrawling and the “should be annoying, but are surprisingly endearing” backing vocal grunt of “YEAH, HUH, YEAH HUH, YEAH HUH, ALRIGHT?” which is spat with such carelessness and snotty derision its hard not to join in with such a brainless, but captivating chant. ‘The Crapsons’ follows hot on the openers heels, celebrating the Zelda hero, Link under thicker, grungier rock that convulses and twists alongside the irrepressible screaming from Hudson in the closing moments.

Anyone still thinking that the ‘demos were better’ needs to listen to the closing 40 seconds of ‘High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive’ which erupts spectacularly in a heady mess of strangled guitar rattles, thumping bass and lurching drum rolls. The nonsense lyrical soundbite of “I’ll make you dance with my balls on fire” is like something taken from the head of Jimmy Pop and deliciously woven into the mind of 4 demented men from Leeds. There’s some slightly harmonised backing vocals on ‘Yeah Buddy’, which compliment the raging scrape of the lead and the dip between almost summery, bouncing rock, to the closing metallic grind and raw pulsating aggression.

‘I Punched A Lion In The Throat’ is so cocky, it’s practically a giant phallus waiting to perform the aforementioned act of violence on your gullet just to see the astonishment on your terrified and possibly, grotesque visage. The throwaway bragging nature of the chorus is repeated with such arrogance and delight, it becomes something you find yourself muttering whilst sitting in your work cubicle, fuming with unrestrained hatred. When it finally reaches the breakdown, the sound lurches like a bulimic after half a water biscuit, spewing filthy, guttural stoner-punk with vibrant force. The chant of “ULTIMATE POWER! MAXIMUM LIFE!” sounds like something cribbed from a Hatebreed song, performed by a man who has no love for his voicebox, yet screams it raw with such passion it’s hard not to form your sullen features into a broad smile. It’s an absolute beast of a track, and one of, if not, the best 3 minutes of scathing punk rock I’ve heard this year.
There’s no respite here, and why should there be quite frankly. This is punk fed through a filter of trash. ‘I’ve Got Guestlist To Rory O’Hara’s Suicide’ implores the listener to “enjoy your fucking misery” whilst it falls over itself to reach the finish line in a metal-laced fury of Hot Snakes-style punk rock urgency.

Next is a song apparently about ‘punching gypsies’ and is perhaps one of the more diverse tracks on this self-titled effort. ‘Get Off My Ghost Train’ has an almost relaxed (if that’s at all possible) feeling as it begins, rolling nicely into a choppy guitar line that dips and falls like an unsteady rollercoaster. When Hudson’s vocals hit the fan however and the chorus shout of “HEY! HEY! WE’RE NOT HERE FOR THE WEEKEND! HEY HEY WE’RE JUST HERE FOR THE NIGHT!” you know that they’ve done it again – it’s yet another dumb, senseless lyrical soundbite that you’ll find yourself screaming to high heaven when you least expect it. The build at 2:40 shudders and rolls with fractured and unrestrained delight, before cutting off abruptly.

The re-recorded ‘Meat Balloon’ increases its relentless speed and stress to perilous levels of scribbled, filthy rock ‘n roll, whilst retaining an even sassier attitude than the one released on 7” months ago. ‘Moonlit Talons’ is a dark rhythmic stop of off-kilter, almost dance-punk, that stutters between clean melodies and scything tension. A clearing of the throat bridges ‘Moonlit Talons’ with ‘The Lighthouse’, another re-recorded track from the band’s early demo sessions. It’s become filthier – the grooves are slick, but at the same time buzz with this unclean hum. The shout of “MACHO!” is yet another hark back to the frat-boy 80’s movie shtick the Leeds 4-piece have adopted and on this jerking, stagger of noise.

The grimy bass drive on closer ‘Den Horn’, the imagery conjured by the lyrics “the beast was made of man and horse!” not to mention the track’s coda; a sludge-filled, dirge of rattling metallic rock that brings to mind Harvey Milk trying to cover a Fu Manchu song. It’s a suitable and punishing end to and album that has been one enormous musical party of lurching, spasmodic punk rock debauchery. Hats off to Pulled Apart By Horses and hats off to this self-titled debut, which is quite frankly, stunning – a gritty, caterwaul of pandemonium spread over 35 minutes – essential, no – VITAL listening.

‘Pulled Apart By Horses’ can be purchased from the Transgressive Records website here.

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Links

Pulled Apart By Horses Official Site
Pulled Apart By Myspace
Transgressive Records

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: August 16th, 2010 in Introducing, News, Reviews.
Comments: none

Band – Tumbleweave
Album – ♪♫♪♫♫♫♪♪♫♪
Label – None
Release date – out now for free download at bandcamp
Sounds like – someone smashing up Road Rash/Sonic/R-Type/Space Harrier and then gluing them back together.

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We get a lot of submissions through to KIF, some I don’t always get to look at, or I sit listening to for a few moments and toss to one side. Wet indie for example, can go set itself on fire and run into traffic. Some gems do crop up though and also some incredibly fucking stupid bits that are so impressive, I can’t help but fall a little bit in love with. Tumbleweave are just that.

First a word of warning: those who suffer from epilepsy best not visit their myspace page, because it’s like being shot in the face with a disco ball, then having Barney The Dinosaur and Kirby sandwich their buttocks on each eyeball. The goggles indeed do nothing, nothing! Tumbleweave are a duo from New York, who have obviously spent far too much time listening to the Space Harrier soundtrack, whilst snorting sherbet off of pictures of Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether the world needs more guys reinterpreting the Jet Set Radio soundtrack using a cheap keyboard and half a drumkit, fuck knows, but I’d take about a billion of these over some of the earnest bedwetter fringecore I sometimes have to endure.

You know what though? I like it. For the most part, it sounds like two dudes jamming a conglomerate of noise and sounds, frantically shaping it into something that both can just about stand to listen to, before slapping it together and chucking it up on the interweb. ‘Mystery Lynch’ is a squelching, bleep filled cacophony of techno-coloured vomit. If something isn’t being trodden underfoot in a hail of compressed keyboard slams and stuttering drumbeats, it’s levelling up like Mario going batshit on goombas. One part sounds like a casio being dissolved in a spew of an electronic nightmare. That lasts for 58 seconds. Yeah. It’s like listening to and Attention Deficit Disorder version of Fuck Buttons.

‘Pornstars Built The Pyramids’ is dominated mostly by the decrepit drumming and this feeling of sometime attempting to play said kit whilst tumbling down a flight of stairs. The glitching disharmony is the nails down the blackboard of pong-style back and forth sweeps of cutting beats, backed by quick roaring waves of decaying fuzz and childish glee.

‘Rumbleweave’ on the other hand, buries the somewhat steady (ok, rickety) drum breaks under a block of growling fuzz and pressured key changes and patterns. First, it’s like listening to someone trying to play grunge using a Gameboy; second it strives to shoehorn in an end of level boss theme through an opening 10 sizes too small, crushing their R-Type blast-beat resonance into a plummeting drop of cascading dread.

I assure you, that my primitive descriptions aren’t doing this justice enough. For fans of one-man French noise-machine Duracell (who is possibly an indirect influence), Mindflayer, Wizardzz, Horse The Band and being lost in a torturous vortex of shapeshifting patterns with a buckload of SNES and SEGA soundtracks on loop. Forever.

Actually scratch all that, it’s like listening to the whole of the Sonic 2 soundtrack being played in Hell.

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Links

Tumbleweave Myspace (may cause brain to explode)
Tumbleweave bandcamp

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: August 3rd, 2010 in Introducing, News, Reviews.
Comments: none

Band – Darko
EP – Darko
Label – None
Release date – Out now (see their bandcamp and myspace for details)
Sounds like – fresh, melodic hardcore punk in the Set Your Goals vein.

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It’s nice to hear something that is so indiscriminately scrappy. Darko’s sound is akin to that of a mauled carcass. Whilst some parts gleam white, at least half of it is still caked in festering, raw meat, just waiting to be stripped clean. But does it really need to be? Part of the refreshing charm of this self-titled EP is the disjointed gruff nature that holds it together.

Predictably titled opener ‘We Are Here’ is the sweating, rabbit-in-the-headlights kid, thrust out on stage in front of the entire school, expecting to perform a skit without having to suffer the torrent of boos and verbal abuse. Luckily, this first track is akin to said headlights kid performing a dance to a Jamiroquai song, stunning the assembled masses. ‘We Are Here’ kind of falls over itself in the sudden rush spit itself out. The drums clatter and fumble with a delightful ramshackle torrent of noise, whilst the guitar see-saws with an unpredictable uncertainly in the opening 3 seconds, before finding its feet and rushing headlong into a boisterous blast of speed punk. Much like Set Your Goals, Darko channel melodic hardcore with pop punk with gritty determination and rowdy arrogance. The vocals are gravely as expected, similar to that of Small Arms Dealer, with a gruff sarcastic sounding sneer at the end of each word. The backing vocals are spot on, patching the melodic “woaaaahhhoooohhs” with the headstrong, crotchety lead wail.

‘Knives’ has a trashy, pop-punk backbone to support the frantic hardcore leanings provided by metallic guitar attack. There’s also a touch of Jawbreaker in this, and early 90s emotional hardcore channelled within the clattering drum patterns and choppy guitars. It’s refreshing to hear something that’s harking back to a time when music still had bucketloads of passion and vibrant energy – something which Darko have captured with their vibrant gusto. ‘Yet We Breath’ has a rough street-punk stomp, similar to that of Da Skywalkers, with the huge bonding backing vocal roar forcing through that family spirit of fevered unity. ‘Delgaldo’ takes the melodic punk rock bounce of Four Year Strong, swapping keyboard chimes for strangled riffs and tight breakdowns. ‘Blink’ taps into that part of the brain leaving a definite earworm in the form of the words “watch the world go by, take my hand, don’t shut your eyes” backed by uplifting, snappy punk rock. The final track is 30 seconds of splattered speed punk in the form of ‘Paper Mirrors’ a track that tangles itself in knots as it rushes to finish in a blistering decrepit blast of choppy guitars and raw abruptness.

There’s something so fresh about this – sure the production is incredibly raw and the vocals waver occasionally, but this adds to the irrepressible charm and the gutsy determination Darko have. In many cases, these supposed niggles are positives – this is how it’s SUPPOSED to sound. This is music, in its fresh, untainted state and an exciting, refreshing debut, tinged with that early 90s punk snarl and the melodic attitude of the present day.

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Links

Darko Myspace
Darko Bandcamp

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: July 20th, 2010 in Introducing, Reviews.
Comments: none

Event - Download Festival (Sunday)
Bands - 3 Inches Of Blood, Saxon, Cinderella, Slash, Billy Idol, Airbourne, Stone Temple Pilots, Aerosmith
Weather – Scorchio! Followed by Max 10 Rainfall
Beer – Finally found some ale (Hobgoblin) but too little too late.
Mood: Soaked to the skin.

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Sunday morning…the sun is blazing down and yet another warm lager and apple is consumed whilst reading Viz seems like an acceptable start to the day.  It has worked the last few mornings, so why break what has been a good routine so far. By now the weariness has set in and my lack of sleep the previous night after some truly epic snoring from the tent across from me, the kareoke in the hat tent and the chuffers who will be first up against the wall, what with their incessant cries of “BUTTSCRATCHER!” Jog on, numpties.

It’s to the second stage for Canada’s 3 Inches of Blood [7] who are as hilarious and over-the-top as expected. Vocalist Cam Pipes channels Rob Halford’s ear-piercing shriek perfectly, whilst the band whips out razor-sharp lashings of concise battle metal. Notable highlights included a rousing rendition of ‘Sword Master’ and a barbaric blast through of ‘Deadly Sinners.’ Not bad for a bunch of Warhammer-obsessed fanatics.

Saxon [6] play a tight set of focussed granddad metal that does nothing for me, however the singer’s remarkable likeness to Peter Stringfellow (long, flowing white hair, the shuffled movements akin to someone’s dad, drunk at a disco) raises a smile. They play through their entire 1980’s ‘classic’ ‘Wheels of Steel’ and chuck in a few extra tracks, which I think helped contribute to the time changes/band clashes that RATT’s absence left.

Cinderella [2] are completely dire and falling asleep takes precedent over standing through the rest of their woeful set. Finally, Slash [10] makes himself known and Sunday’s Download gets a firm kick up the backside/guitar smashed around the face. Joined by Alter Bridge vocalist Myles Kennedy, Slash puts on one of the performances of the festival. The hour long set is packed full of covers, notably 4 Guns ‘N Roses songs, not to mention a version of Velvet Revolver’s ‘Slither’, expertly sang by Kennedy, who’s voice is nothing short of incredible. Take note Scott Weiland, this is how a frontman should be. The enthusiasm of Kennedy, who seems a little taken aback at times at the warm reception he receives, not to mention Slash’s dry humour and note perfect playing is how every band should be on a Sunday afternoon. ‘Night Train’ and ‘Sweet Child Of Mine’ are note perfect, (particularly the latter, which causes the biggest sing-along of the whole weekend) with Kennedy’s incredible singing voice streets ahead of the drawling stutter of Axel Rose. Lemmy joins Slash for ‘Doctor Alibi’; instantly transforming the song into a more guttural version of Motorhead. As the opening bars of ‘Paradise City’ ring out, the second biggest sing-along of the weekend kicks into gear, there’s no denying that Slash is truly exceptional – both as a musician and as an act. Could have (and perhaps should have) headlined playing nothing but G ‘N R covers. Superb.

Billy Idol [9] brings three R’s to Sunday afternoon = rock, roll and rain. It doesn’t just spit – oh no…it absolutely chucks it down. Idol is however in good spirits and doesn’t let the rain dampen his performance. He throws himself into it with feverish gusto and complete disregard for his own safety. Halfway through the set and he’s climbing over soaking people in the pit, running around the death-trap of a stage, sliding into barriers, all the while swinging his microphone like some crude slingshot. As the PA system begins to crackle and pop, vocals are momentarily lost at times, which results in several mic changes and one amusing moment where Idol is seen testing ALL the mics on stage to find them nearly all completely knackered. All the hits are played though, which is what the audience wants. Opening with a rousing version of Generation X’s ‘Ready Steady Go’ and followed up by ‘Dancing With Myself’ Idol storms the main stage. My one gripe is the lack of material from ‘Devil’s Playground’, except for the single ‘Scream’, which despite its hilariously stupid lyrics, is a massive punk rock anthem and one of the set highlights. Idol strips down to his vest and then loses it all together during some sections, reminding me somewhat of a certain peroxide vampire. His cover of ‘LA Woman’ by The Doors is changed to ‘Donnington Woman’ to rapt applause whilst the acoustic first half of ‘White Wedding’ is chilling (although this could be because I was soaked to the skin). ‘Rebel Yell’ closes what has been set slightly marred by the heavens, but on the whole a terrific slice of snotty 80s new-wave punk rock attitude. Come back next time Billy, but leave the rain yeah?

Having returned from my tent after getting absolutely drenched (seriously, the walk back seemed to take hours), missing Steel Panther was a crushing blow. Here was a band we had been chanting the lyrics of all weekend and due to an act of god and my mate being soaked to the skin returning to base was the only option. Thankfully, though, Airbourne [10] made me forget missing singing along to ‘The Shocker’ by being absolutely freakin’ awesome. The rain actually made their set seem more gritty…more alive….maybe the fear of electrical shock from the shear volume of the wet stuff. Anyhow, Airbourne rock like absolute bastards, their sleazy, AC/DC meets Motorhead rock is fantastic. Vocalist Joel O’Keeffe screaming phrases such as “ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?” and “ROCK AND ROLL IS ALIVE PEOPLE! IT BEATS IN OUR HEARS! IN YOUR HEARTS!” like he’s been possessed by the spirit of Dio after downing too much whisky. The set highlight however features O’Keeffe scaling the side of the stage to play a guitar solo. In the rain. On top of the second stage. The man is frankly insane. How he doesn’t get electrocuted/fall to his death I will never know. When the sound guys finally cut him off, the assembled crowd who’ve had their hearts won by the 4-piece begin booing, and screaming “AIRBOURNE! AIRBOURNE! AIRBOURNE!” like they have been possessed by some enraged rock ‘n roll god. As O’Keeffe makes it back on to firmer ground, the atmosphere is incredible. By an act of stupendous bravery, this man has won the hearts and support of thousands. Excellent work from him and indeed the rest of Airbourne – true entertainers.

However, “true entertainer” are two words that obviously don’t fall into Scott Weiland’s vocabulary as the newly reformed Stone Temple Pilots [2] stagger through a set that even they look bored playing. Weiland is obviously off his face on whatever illegal substances he can shove up his backside and from what I see of their fairly lacklustre performance, features the old cokehead shouting his slurred vocals into a megaphone, distorting the sound and making him and the rest of their set seem even more tedious than it already is. Good work, you utter penis.

Aerosmith [7] are a paradox. They are good, but disappointing at the same time. Whilst explosions, bright lights, Steve Tyler’s sparkly suit and his trademark “yyyooooowwwwwlll” dominate the show there’s no real soul. It feels a bit empty to be honest. The rock is there – no doubting that, but maybe the result of the incredibly inclement weather and my sobriety it doesn’t have that edge. ‘Eat The Rich’ is suitably raucous however, as is ‘Livin’ On The Edge’, but there’s very little on offer to keep me interested. Being too much of a casual Aerosmith fan, their set doesn’t really appeal which is a great shame. Notable absences from the set include ‘Pink’ and ‘Rag Doll’ much to my chagrin of the latter and to my friend’s on the former. There’s also no ‘Crazy’, but instead we have to put up with a run through of a song that helped make a movie staring Bruce Willis almost unbearable to watch – ‘I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing’ in all it’s overblown, moist-eyed, sappy-rock glory. Thank god for the encore of ‘Dream On’, a stomping blast of ‘Walk This Way’ (sadly, no Run DMC in attendance) and ‘Toys In The Attic’ to round off what has been a strange set, that was possibly not suited to my taste, but seemed well received by the assembled masses.

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With the sound of Steve Tyler’s irrepressible howl still ringing in my ears, I make it back to camp to finish off the lager and sit outside on a chair listening to speed metal, contemplating on what has been a fantastic Download Festival and one I will look forward to repeating next year.

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: July 9th, 2010 in Features, Frenzied live gigs, Reviews.
Comments: none

Event – Download Festival (Saturday)
Bands featured – Rage Against The Machine, Deftones, Megadeth, Lamb of God, Five Finger Death Punch, Flyleaf, Hellyeah, Rolo Tomassi, Genitorturers, Rock Sugar.
Beer – It was a 3 tin walk just so you know.
Weather – Pleasant/baking hot
Mood – Yup

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Waking up feeling extremely groggy and after popping 2 Anadin and having my ritualistic morning breakfast of an apple and a can of Carlsberg, it was soon time to make tracks towards the main arena once again for another 9 hours of the finest hard rock and metal and my first proper full day of music at a Download Festival.
With the sun blazing down, I settled down on the grassy knoll (devoid of snipers) to watch Hellyeah’s [7] set. The combination of Mudvayne, ex-Damageplan members and some guy from Nothingface worked to create something that resembled a bunch of cowboys (from hell) playing southern metal. Nothing remotely wrong with this – it’s a solid set of the same song being thrust down your throat, but they swagger through it with a cocksure attitude. When vocalist Chad Gray introduces the band, it’s drummer Vinnie Paul who receives the biggest cheer and rightly so. They finish with a number entitled ‘Alcohaulin’ Ass’ which perfectly sums up the Hellyeah attitude and sound – a bunch of rowdy cattle rustlers who’ve listened to Clutch and Metallica’s ‘I Disappear’ far too much; a good set.

With the need for sausage and chips, not to mention an ice cream, a detour was made to the second stage to watch Rolo Tomassi [7] play. It’s pretty incredible to see the rise of this band – a bunch of kids who were at one point busting a gut on the toilet circuit and now playing to a strongly assembled crowd at one of the biggest metal festivals in the world. Eva Spence is on form as usual – switching from death growls that sound like a cat being sandpapered, to a shrill croon. Meanwhile, her brother James channels the energy and vocal technique of both Johnny Whitney and Jordan Blillie, throwing himself into the crowd whenever he doesn’t need to man the giant keyboard setup that he spends a good deal of time mashing into oblivion. In any case, their jazz-metal chaos is well received by most, some laughing at the incredibly twee nature of Eva and her in-between song-banter. Good set, sound levels so much better on the second stage than the main, which is a slight concern, especially if you’re Flyleaf [4] who seem to bear the considerable burden of having a deaf person controlling their audio output.

Whilst their white-dressed clad singer tries to make herself heard, she and the rest of the band are buried and I mean BURIED by the echoing bass booms and clanks throughout their entire set – truly fucking awful. Whilst the sound clears for Five Finger Death Punch [2] (thankfully someone unplugged Flyleaf’s bassist) they seem to be stuck in 2001. It’s as if Marty and the Doc went back 9 years, stumbled on this band and brought them back to the present day for no reason what-so-ever. What FFDP have is lowest common-denominator nu-metal. It’s ugly, chugging and embarrassing to witness – a bit like dating your mum. Why anyone would even consider this band worthy t-shirt material (the plethora of chuffers walking about sporting them was baffling) I have no idea. A bunch of Ill Nino copyists who perhaps looked at a picture of nu-metal and tried to emulate all its worst characteristics and sounds.
With much of my Download experience confined to the main and second stage, it was nice to have a change of scenery. Arriving for the last 5 minutes of Genitorturers [?] a band comprised of a police dominatrix and Nine Inch Nails b-sides, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Rock Sugar [9]. Their vocalist, Jess Harnell is every bit the entertainer – swaggering on stage to give a thumbs up, waving at the crowd dressed in a white suit, complete with cowboy hat, sunglasses and a smile that probably makes that Colgate ‘ding’. Those unfamiliar with Rock Sugar should know that they perform mash-ups of various 80s pop and rock songs. It is something that shouldn’t work – it should sound disjointed and clumsy, but in reality it’s an incredible experience. The roar from the crowd is surprisingly raucous; even the band look slightly stunned by the warm welcome (this is Rock Sugar’s first Download and first ever UK show). Harnell is the consummate professional showman – he gets the crowd warmed up with a series of chants, whoops and hollers, before kicking into their Journey/Metallica cut up, ‘Don’t Stop The Sandman.’ The sound of hundreds of metal fans singing a 80s soft rock ballad to one of the most well known metal tracks in history is an absolute joy. It’s not hard to see why Rock Sugar are so well loved; they’ve got the stage presence, the glam, the enthusiasm and cocksure attitude, not to mention this technique for constructing absurd cover-mash ups (Paula Abdul songs at Download anyone?). Harnell treats the audience to some impressions; namely Axel Rose, Paul Stanley and Ozzy Osbourne which are met with a roar of approval. They close with a fantastic rendition of ‘We Will Kickstart Your Rhapsody’; a Queen-polka mixed with Motley Crue’s ‘Kickstart My Heart’ – a sprawling set closer to end all sets and provides one of, if not the biggest sing-along of the whole weekend. An incredible performance of charismatic, heart racing rock and roll. My one gripe is the length of the set – 5 songs just is not enough; the second stage beckons for 2011…

Attention turns to the main stage again and whilst on route to get food and liquid refreshment, I unfortunately witness some of Lamb of God [3], a band that define boring, chugga metal to it’s very core. No one remotely gives a shit what the next song is called, as their dreadlocked singer bounds about the stage, inexplicably swearing his head off. The lyrics and indeed the entire performance are buried under needless screaming, death growls and a sense of growing nausea and boredom. Less of this sort of thing please.

Megadeth [7.5] put on a strong show; their sound quality varies at times, particularly Dave Mustaine’s comical voice, which is tossed about like a juggler with Parkinson’s disease. Nevertheless, their thrash metal is tight, focussed and warmly received, with tracks such as ‘Headcrusher’ and the schizophrenic ‘Sweating Bullets’ (“hello me, it’s me again!” sings Dave) being a particular highlight. After a comical lyrical change made by some friends during ‘Symphony of Destruction’ (“just like Knight Rider…”) Mustaine and Co finish with a superb version of ‘Peace Sells’ and round off what has been a riff-filled, guitar-squeal of eccentric but punishing thrash metal. The band departs with a bow, thanking Download – ever the professionals for what has been another successful set of singing about systems failing and robot overlords.

Deftones [8] plough through their set with gusto and unrelenting rage. Vocalist Chino Moreno (who looks fitter and healthier since his time climbing over school desks) is a whirlwind of a sweat-stained check shirt and facial hair, bounding about the stage with such effortless enthusiasm. Opening tracks ‘Rocket Skates’ and ‘Diamond Eyes’ from the album of the same name are bone-crushingly heavy. The down-tuned grind of stand-in bassist Sergio Vega and drummer Abe Cunningham is punishing. During their 17 song set, Chino and Co. strive to cover ground on most of their releases. There is however notable absence of any material from their self-titled effort, which is somewhat of a surprise. The mid-section is made up predominantly of their work from ‘Diamond Eyes’, whilst the closing tag-team of ‘Root’ and ‘7 Words’ from their first record ‘Adrenaline’ go down a storm. Notable highlights include a passionate, spine-tingling version of ‘Change (In The House of Flies)’ and ‘Passenger’. There’s a great cheer as ‘My Own Summer (Shove It)’ kicks into gear as thousands of Matrix fans scream themselves hoarse, whilst ‘Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away)’ is a destructive wave of crunching alt-metal. A savage, raucous set, but where’s ‘Back To School’ guys? You missed a trick there, I was all set to do my Chino impression.

Finally then…it is the moment nearly everyone has been waiting for. Well, except if you’re a Jared Leto fan. Rage Against The Machine [10] arrive 30 minutes late (I’m guessing Zack de la Rocha was having a roast dinner perhaps?) kicking into ‘Testify.’ It’s as though someone has electrified the entire field – the amount of bouncing, small circle pit outbreaks and unhinged jubilation is staggering. This is followed by ‘Bombtrack’ and 2 attempts at ‘People of the Sun’ (the first one aborted due to someone getting crushed at the front; no doubt a waif-thin 14 year old). After this, it’s essentially a greatest hits run through – all the classics, from ‘Know Your Enemy’, complete with the rabble-rousing chant “ALL OF WHICH ARE AMERICAN DREAMS!”, to ‘Bulls On Parade’ and a surprise airing of ‘Township Rebellion.’ The cover of the Clash’s ‘White Riot’ is an unusual addition, which at first could be a tad dubious, but Rage pull it off with flair and a respectably snotty attitude, with Zack de la Rocha’s vocals suiting the ramshackle nature of the tune. Much like Chino Moreno before hand; de la Rocha is a whirlwind of endless enthusiasm; bounding around the stage like he’s trying to escape an angry lion, whilst guitarist Tom Morello pogo’s around with the energy of a thousand punk rock guitarists compacted into one man. His playing is an aboluslte joy to watch; if he’s not tapping various parts of his guitar in order to get the right sound he’s flaling it about his body, mashing the wammy bar, waving it at the speakers,  forming sounds using just the lead bashed against the palm of his hand, whilst shredding that brilliant, guttural booming sound.

The one-two punch of ‘Guerrilla Radio’ (Tony Hawk’s 2 fans rejoice!) and ‘Sleep Now In The Fire’ are suitably epic, whilst the rap-funk-rock of ‘Wake Up’ and the line “FIST IN THE AIR IN THE LAND OF HYPOCRISY!” is met with the desired raised fist and defiant chant. After the obligatory fake encore, the Rage boys return to run through ‘Freedom’ and finish with a song that was Christmas number 1 or something. The close is spectacular; de la Rocha didn’t even need to show up to be honest, as the backing vocals of the thousands of people singing themselves hoarse, air punching for all their worth, eclipse everything. For a song that was recorded and released 20 years back, ‘Killing In The Name’ still sounds as fresh and possibly more vital than ever before. A fantastic set, by the second best band of the entire festival – Rage take no prisoners and dare I say, pull possibly a bigger crowd than AC/DC the night before. Would have loved to have heard ‘Renegades of Funk’ though – that would have been Jam Sucka.

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Links

Rage Against The Machine
Deftones
Megadeth
Lamb Of God
Five Finger Death Punch
Flyleaf
Hellyeah
Rolo Tomassi
Rock Sugar

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: June 29th, 2010 in Features, Frenzied live gigs, Reviews.
Comments: none

Band – Illness
EP – Gifts From God
Release date – 5th July
Label – Smalltown America
Sounds like – tappy, instrumental rock stripped down to its bare bones.

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There seems to be a thing for having a minimalist setup these days. Not that it’s a trend, more just a way of executing your music without the unnecessary need for other band members who would prove superfluous. Plus, with a two piece you can fit all your stuff in the back of a Ford Ka probably and get to gigs quite easily, right?

Illness are a duo from Brighton, holding down drums and guitar respectively. Their sound staggers about a fair bit, as though unsure of commitment. At times it strays dangerously close to the tribal builds and crashing barrage made famous by Baltimore’s Oxes, especially ‘Dave Escapes’ – a two minute stuttering tug of tappy guitar lines and abrasive drum patterns. It shudders with this twitching gait, like something that’s being slowly tortured via electrodes; spasmodically jerking back and forth. In other cases, Illness seem to retain a joyful pop sensibility, one gained from prolonged exposure to twiddling twee-indie. ‘Bane Face’ is the best example of this; it’s almost summery bounce, coupled with erratic drum rolls, crashing cymbals and meandering vigour makes for interesting listening.

‘Gutmilk’ is the sound of Don Caballero condensed into 71 seconds. Whilst it manages to stretch out progressive patterns of sound, Illness seem to build upon this sustained ringing note, allowing the drums to dominate the track. They punch through with a slow, steady force under the meticulous whine of the guitar. ‘Hail! Kitty’ follows a rather basic path, occasionally rising and falling as the notes interchange, but unfortunately highlights the somewhat limitations of such a basic setup. ‘Mark In Spring’ takes Illness down the territory they seem more focussed on, which is emulating or rather ambitiously, attempting to out-do Oxes through the use of their staccato beats and odd time signatures that seem to dip into progressive rock, back into gleeful pop and dense post-punk urgency.

‘Old Song’ is the highlight of ‘Gifts From God’ however. It’s decrepit sound tumbles along with a determined focus, that touches slightly on the side the math-rock urgency of Adebisi Shank, stuffed to the brim with feverish drum rolls and a stuttering pace.  My only chagrin is that it should have been longer, but for what it is; a tight pounding blast of rhythmic energy; Illness have exceeded expectations in creating uplifting, positive instrumental rock that has this infectious memorable quality and a raw, stripped-down, ramshackle sound.

‘Gifts From God’ can be pre-orded from the Smalltown America website here.

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Links

Illness
Smalltown America

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By Ross Macdonald

Posted: June 24th, 2010 in Introducing, Reviews.
Comments: none

Event – Download Festival (Friday)
Bands Featured – AC/DC, Them Crooked Vultures, Killswitch Engage, 36 Crazyfists, Unearth
Beer – Overpriced Tuborg
Weather – strangely warm
Mood – Euphoric

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After 2 days of gorging on barbecued meat, warm lager and winning several games of poker, not to mention a muddy stagger around the Village taking in the various delights that the Wednesday and Thursday of 2010’s Download Festival had to offer, it was a pleasant surprise suddenly realising “hey, we’re here to see some bands as well, excellent!” With Friday’s musical treats not starting until 3, it gave us enough time to drink as many tinnies as possible (alcohol wasn’t allowed in the arena, meaning over-priced Tuborg lager was the only drink really on offer and was also something I became so desensitized to by Sunday afternoon, it was like drinking fizzy cold water), set fire to some sausages and brave the 2 (bumped up to 3) beer-walk to the arena from orange camp. With the apparent ‘heavy showers’ being mysteriously absent and ‘partial sun’ being heavily upgraded to a ‘scorching heat’ things were looking up.

Sticking to the main stage for the Friday, Unearth [7] opened proceedings. Their metalcore assault is fired up and passionate, with crushing breakdowns and some truly fantastic drumming. The sound wavers occasionally, but vocalist Trevor Phipps bellows himself hoarse in order to be heard – a strong, punishing and suitably heavy start to the day. Unfortunately the sound quality books 20 minutes to shitty town during 36 Crazyfists [6.5] set, causing the bass to dominate everyone and everything within the radius of the main arena, drowning out vocalist Brock Lindow. His perseverance pays off and the monkey that was playing with the sound engineering is removed halfway through their set and the low-end throb is replaced by his impassioned roar and Steve Holt’s razor-sharp guitar. Singles ‘At The End of August’ and ‘Bloodwork’ are well received, as is ‘Slit Wrist Theory’; notably by the group of girls standing near me who enthusiastically scream the obviously and deliberately misheard cry of “LESBIANS! LESBIANS!” Howard Jones of Killswitch Engage (a man who seems to be a heartthrob among the metal-loving female population),  joins Lindow for ‘Elysium’; more on him in a moment.
With a quick relocation to the other side of the massive and badly placed sound stage and a top-up of ice-cold but stupidly expensive Tuborg, Killswitch Engage [10] enter the stage. The roar upon the arrival of Howard Jones for a second time is incendiary – even more so when guitarist Adam Dutkiewicz bounds into the fray; superman cape attached to his back, as well as massive sideburns and a maniacal look in his eyes. Their set is quite frankly astonishing – with the sound levels finally fixed to an audible hearing level; Jones’s powerful booming voice soars above everything, whilst the band ploughs through 45 odd minutes of some of the finest metal I’ve heard. Songs like ‘End Of The Heartache’ and ‘My Last Serenade’ are powerful juggernauts that bulldoze through the arena. Whilst Jones cuts an impressive stance as the frontman (he never stops smiling, his stage presence reminiscent of Matt Caughthran); Dutkiewicz is the star of the show.

The man doesn’t stop – he’s everywhere; roaring into microphones with his indignant guttural vocal technique, flailing his guitar like a whip, death-staring the audience, a volley of foul-mothered shouts to raise support from the ever-increasing crowd and generally acts like an escaped mental patient. Jones looks on throughout, his expression somewhere between embarrassment and pride, like he’s Dutkiewicz’s carer or supportive father. “This song goes out to all of you girlfriends’ vaginas. I wish I was headbutting them all!” roars Dutkiewicz just before ‘My Curse’ – the man can do no wrong. The biggest sing-along appears in the form of set closer ‘Holy Diver’ a song the band take in their stride and perform perfectly, especially Jones who’s vocal technique is something truly marvelous and a worthy tribute to the late Ronnie James Dio.

It’s difficult to imagine anything topping Killswitch’s set, but Them Crooked Vultures [10] come extremely close, and dare I say, equal the Massachusetts five-piece in terms of quality. Joined by additional guitarist Alain Johannes they treat the assembled throng to an incredible journey of blues-rock, intense, noisy jam sessions and mind-bending experimentation. ‘Scumbag Blues’ becomes a lengthy and possibly improvised piece of raucous jamming, whilst the heaviness of opener ‘Elephants’ stamps with a stoner-rock punk racket, courtesy of Mr Grohl’s concentrated drumming. Highlights also include Johannes performing a brilliant solo of squealing, angry blues whilst John Paul Jones (who receives a huge cheer when Homme introduces him) plays an instrument that resembles a guitar crossed with a spaceship on ‘Mind Eraser, No Chaser.’ Normally to me, lengthy guitar noodling comes across as quite snobbish and tedious, but in the case of Them Crooked Vultures it’s a demonstration in pure, raw, bare-bones talent. It’s difficult to describe the intense wave of euphoria I felt during their set and thinking back to it now, I wish that I could feel like that all the time.

Attention shifts from the main stage to the AC/DC [11] construct on the left. Decked out in Angus Young school boy caps, complete with devil horns; a runway and the feeling that something majestic is about to happen. They don’t disappoint. Opening with an explosion and the emergence of a derailed locomotive prop (with the band obviously break into ‘Rock N’ Roll Train’) the next 2 hours are more than just a band standing playing their instruments – it’s one of, if not the most incredible sets I’ve seen a band play in 10 years of gigging. Angus Young is the star of the show – for a man well into his 50s, his enthusiasm and stamina whilst performing is incredible. If he’s not doing the Chuck Berry duck walk, he’s climbing various parts of the stage, bombing it down the runway, or spinning round on the floor in some weird spasm, ala an excited Homer Simpson.
Both the Bon Scott and current Brian Johnson-era are covered extensively. Set highlights include an extended version of ‘The Jack’ which causes a lot of the girls up on their boyfriend’s shoulders to reveal their ample delights contained beneath their shirts. This then leads nicely into ‘Hells Bells’ and of course, the compulsory bell prop rung by Johnson himself. ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’ goes down an absolute storm, complete with a giant inflatable Rosie straddling the wrecked Rock N’ Roll Train. Closer before the obligatory encore is an incendiary performance of ‘Let There Be Rock’, which hammers out faster, heavier and louder than I could possibly imagine. The one-two punch of ‘Highway To Hell’ and ‘For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)’ threatens to drown out Johnson, such is the response from the crowd and the passion and vitality AC/DC create with these two tracks and indeed, the contents of the entire set. It leaves you with that tingling feeling; much like Them Crooked Vultures beforehand, AC/DC’s high-voltage rock n’ roll is an explosive, unstoppable force of power. A flawless set, comprised of a terrific selection of songs that even if you were a newbie to the Scottish/Australian 5 piece, you’d find yourself singing under your breath for the rest of the weekend. There’s no doubt in my mind that AC/DC are the best live band I have ever seen; an incredible, electrifying experience.

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Links

Download Festival
AC/DC
Them Crooked Vultures
Killswitch Engage
36 Crazyfists
Unearth

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Words: Ross Macdonald
Badly taken photo: Ross Macdonald

Posted: June 19th, 2010 in Features, Frenzied live gigs, Reviews.
Comments: none

Hi!

Currently there seems to be some issues with encoding/symbols appearing where there shouldn’t be symbols which has pretty much bodged up nearly all the posts on the site. I have no idea why, and because the tech guy is currently on holiday in Wales and is un-contactable, I’m left twiddling my thumbs as to why this has happened. I’m thinking there’s been a server move or something. Anyway, apologies for the problems, as for now updates will be on hold while I try and work out what has happened.

Cheers,

Ross, Editor

Posted: June 5th, 2010 in Videos.
Comments: none