Live Review: The Love Junkies, Pat Chow, Health Legend, Ruby Boots

Billed as Ruby Boots but performing solo this night, singer Bex Chilcott set the scene with stories about being too bedraggled to get through US customs and suggestions that we should check out her sexy seven inches (of vinyl) at a stand near the toilet. Under the spotlights, her flame-haired locks matched the electric undercurrents of sexual tension and doomed romance that coursed through her most evocative country-influenced songs; filled with tales of handsome cowboys with accents like aphrodisiacs. This beguiling opening was followed by something of a rude and crude slap to the chops with the Sabbath-esque riffs of Health Legend. Possessed by fits of bare-chested aggression, the singer barrelled through the audience, igniting sudden fits of fight-dancing in his wake.

The only things fuzzier than the free flowing facial hair of Pat Chow were their low, rumbling riffs; full-bodied grooves that intermingled with the sweet compound aroma of spilt beer and sweat. The trio know the value of keeping it simple, and by playing comfortably within their limits the collective personality of the band shone through. Their boozy, rabble-mobilising rock was eagerly gorged on by the moshers at the front who shunted each other around like delinquent livestock in a pen.

The launch of an EP is always a watershed moment for any young band. With a batch of their best material committed into a definitive historical document, it's not uncommon to witness a mood of confident, or even triumphant, closure. Drinking it in, The Love Junkies captured the moment by snapping polaroids of the cramped throng squeezed into a sold out Mojo's. Awesome, feral and pungent, their combined instruments locked together with war machine synchronicity and power, as the eager crowd sang back choruses with minimal prompting and no instruction as to the lyrical content. Resourceful tunesmiths, their set was consistently fresh and surprising throughout until a psychotic Blowing On The Devil's Strumpet came close to literally bringing the house down. As drummer Lewis Walsh performed a final victory surf and belly-roll over the upheld palms of the devoted front row fans, many took a moment to breathe and ponder the carnage. Who knows, maybe in ten years time we'll look back and say the future of west coast punk'n'roll crystallised here.