In the spirit of doing this whole review properly and watching all the bands I arrive before anything has begun. I spend the first 15 minutes marveling at the fact that, on average, I have a good 10 years on the crowd (I have a good 10 years on the headline band as well but more on that later) and remain undecided as to whether this positions me as some kind of tragic elderly figure or not. Luckily before this reverie becomes potentially ego threatening a group of sallow youths saunter through the audience and onto the stage as Throats commence preparations for rumbling.
I hear a lot about this band; mostly because being such a highly web-literate creature leads me to follow Holy Roar records dude Alex’s twitter and he ‘ain’t half keen on ’em. Throats combine power violence and sludge in a way that many would say is ‘just power violence’- well in reality not many would say that because it’s hardly a well-known enough genre to begin a comparative analysis with, but I’m trying to lend myself credibility here so go with it- but I notice a distinct ‘proper sludge’ influence on their music. In fact I think they did slow much better than fast- sidestepping any possible accusation of speedgrindmadness failure by inhabiting a fruitful place where pumping D-beat protogrind fugues pleasingly into powerful breakdowns. It’s about now that I bump into renowned local playa Noel Gardner who decrees that the vocals lack passion or originality, and threatens to beat me up I if differ. Directly from this discourse I encounter another regular who really enjoyed Throats, so there’s balance for ya.
Trash Talk are up next. This troop is from America and are out to impress, with some success! Their music is basically similar to that of Throats (whom they graciously big up at various intervals) but on a slightly punkier tip. They slam out their nice-n-loud attitude rock with a respectable sincerity that, like great punk, makes it fresh despite risking being something of a nostalgia sound. Which it isn’t here. They feature some great riffs and gang choruses that encroach on catchy, in a pleasing way. Full props go to the energetic vocalist who, via much ‘crowd interaction’ , manages to cover me in his sweat and spill my drink despite having seated myself in the grandad’s corner for safety. Marvelous.
After a protracted period of synth wrangling Rolo Tomassi finally bounce out from the corridor that’s next to Clwb’s top story stage and plug in with a languid confidence that for many would find incongruous when compared to their young age. Not to me though because you understand I love this band. I love them for being born in an alternate yet somehow un-decohered reality where original punks took primary influence from Robert Fripp and no pop number is complete without a good ol’ 7/4 riff to round things out. It’s true that their main (sort of) vocalist may be a Northern girl possessing of a rather diminutive frame, but that doesn’t stop them bringing the brutal. Or the prog for that matter- the influence of which is increasingly in evidence with RT’s newer material. They blend irregular song structures, startling dynamics and grooviness (gulp) with aplomb. And I’ve seen the Magic Band so I know, OK.
They didn’t play earlier favorites like Film Noir or Cirque de Funk but some of the stuff off Hysterics more than makes up for that. I award them 10 gold stars.
As an after note we emerge from the venue and are beset upon by some kind of monstrous heaving mass of lark-hungry hen party. Chilling.
