Live Review: The Bronx, Violent Soho

Violent Soho's reputation precedes them to the point where the Corner is heaving and chockers before they've even arrived on stage. There's a lot of hair being flung about up there and the band's short, aggressive outbursts of songs – probably best exemplified by Jesus Stole My Girlfriend – make the perfect opening act with the punters appropriately salivating for The Bronx by set's end.     

The girth of average The Bronx fans is such that they should only have sold one quarter of the usual Corner capacity tonight. Shitty Future comes early on and bald, squat frontman Matt Caughthran – who gives hope to those who ain't genetically blessed 'cause he's pretty cool regardless – paces the width of the stage like a caged big cat. After asking us what day it is – “TUESday!” – Caughthran counters, “In rock'n'roll it can only ever be Friday or Saturday,” and then tosses a coin to decide which. Turns out it's 'Saturday'.

Youth Wasted, the lead single from the band's new album, attracts no crowd surfers, which is kind of like The Bronx barometer for what's hot (or not). Maybe fans are still recovering from the song's Magic Mike-esque flimclip (we reckon it's choice). Caughthran, who tells us he's come a long way since Pocket Full Of Lint, that Christian band he was in when he was a teen, is a bona fide banter expert who imparts his message with preacher-man charisma. He assures us The Bronx do exactly what they want, not what's expected of them, then demands he be crowd-surfed onto a high bench that circles a pole several metres from the stage. Meanwhile, a random lady dressed in black stage invades, more than filling the space Caughthran has left vacant. White Guilt “goes out to the Catholic girls”, the throng goes wild and crowd-surfers' shoes escape from feet. “Our hearts will stop if we don't play fuckin' music, man,” Caughthran shares, all earnest-like. He hands his microphone to a front-row punter who, surprisingly, belts out some classic Vanessa Williams: “You're gonna save the best for last.”

As always with The Bronx, it's a riveting, exhilarating show from go to “WOO-HOO!” But we're left with one gripe: after admitting he caught Black Sabbath's show the night prior, Caughthran indulges in a 20-second impersonation of Ozzy Osbourne's between-song gee-ups. It's downright cruel and, apart from the fact that we doubt Caughthran even had to pay for his Sabbath ticket, there's no mention of how incredible the band sounded or their legendary contribution to music. Unwise move, brother! Let's see what sort of capacity arena crowds YOU'RE performing in front of aged 64.