Whilst I’m not sure what an Echostone is, I should probably just focus on the band of the same name’s less confusing qualities, such as assertive vocals and a flowing sense of melody that allowed their songs to branch out freely. They also boasted a fine set of riffs, one or two of which I’m sure Soundgarden would be happy to steal (come to think of it, what exactly is a Soundgarden?). A little edgy on stage at times, they nonetheless made a fine opener, raising cheers from all corners of the room.
Ascending Fall (OK, now I’m stumped) played best when they kept it simple and within their limitations. That’s the only even vaguely negative comment I’m going to make though, as their set erupted with an obvious chemistry and the kind of togetherness that can usually only be achieved by sharing the same womb. With bona fide singalong choruses and a finely calibrated trajectory of arcing energy, their songwriting was so accomplished I could’ve almost believed they were playing covers, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.
A three-piece who play lead guitar, lead drums and on the mic, lead attitude, Wikid Fury’s deconstructionist take on ‘80s hair metal isn’t for the faint of heart. Wikid Fury don’t care. They’re the kind of band that will march into a restaurant and start kicking tables over. Props must go to singer Luan and her ballsy gender reversal of ‘80s-style Guns n’ Motley Twisted Poison Rockets chauvinism, an ugly trait she convincingly exploded, particularly when she mimed having balls. I kind of got the impression she might be tonally challenged, but as the band closed with the rabble-rousing You’re A Fuckhead & I’m Not, I was the last person to argue.
The decision to conclude a night of rawk and punk noise with some stinging, blue-eyed blues was deft, as Matty T Wall proved his technical chops by playing guitar behind his own back and maintaining a slick legato even when aggressively shredding all over his fretboard. Capably backed by some well-poised bass and a drummer who knew how to use his kit as a palette rather than simply an anvil, Wall’s Spillane-esque storytelling illuminated an atmospheric number packed with femme fatales and grimy machismo; one of the night’s most compelling moments.
Written by Christopher H James
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