Drunk MumsLocals White Lodge open to a mostly empty and unenthused room, but plough through their set admirably. It's pretty standard but enjoyable, garage-riff stuff, however, there's something missing; maybe another guitarist or more interesting vocals, which currently occupy a weird no-man's land between shouting and singing.
The Good Sports have been playing a lot of opening slots around the place lately, and it really shows. The band are confident and likeable on stage, sounding a bit like Thee Oh Sees' straighter cousins. A super tight rhythm section keeps the ball in the air, leaving lead guitarist and singer Nash Johnston to do some tasteful shredding over the top of these tracks, mostly unhindered by a string breaking in the third song. They close with punchy current single Early Riser.
Woodboot contains members of The Sulphur Lights, Tiny Migrants, Occults and Donovan Miller from Roku Music playing drums for this set, and if that doesn't excite you you've got a serious problem. Apart from the fact that only one tinnie gets shotgunned on stage (weak), they're everything you want a punk band to be but so rarely are. Julien James and Daniel Dunne primarily share singing/snarling duties, with bluntly funny lyrics about shit that sucks, and their banter mostly involves yelling obscenities across the room. This is furious, aggressive music that's rotten to its fucking core and fun as hell.
Drunk Mums have a bit of a reputation for letting debauchery get in the way of their music when they play live, but tonight, apart from a polite request for weed mid-set, most of the antics are coming from the crowd. Dudes who are obviously taking full advantage of not having to work tomorrow are quickly whipped up into a fight-mosh frenzy by the frantic Sewing Up My Mouth early on. This set is a mix of the dank, base garage music of their debut self-titled album and new stuff that's more stripped back, with laconic drawling vocals and scrappy guitar, as well as a cool cover of The Zeros' Don't Push Me Around. It's a suprisingly tight and succinct set, and though the band apologise multiple times for fucking up new, unrehearsed, songs, mistakes are easily covered up by their formidable energy. They close with the delightfully crass Big Titty Trippin', which more vocal members of the crowd have been calling for all night.
