 |
| Sex Hands, doing it. At the Castle Hotel. |
The people behind Reeks of Effort made what I think might have been their first sojourn to Manchester. A measly £3 bought you Mowbird, Sex Hands and Furrow. Three bands that flirt effortlessly with brilliance and disaster for less than a McDonald's meal. Ridiculous value.
Sex Hands arrived at the gig off the back of a mini tour of the UK. Tales of five hour journeys left them looking understandably jaded/tired. Aberdeen, one of their stops, is deceptively far away, something like three hours beyond Edinburgh.
It was easy to forgive a set that was a little sluggish for that reason -- as well as the fact that a Sex Hands struggling to get out of second gear still outstrips many other bands performing on all cylinders.
As with each time of seeing the band, their penchant for writing songs about Friends moves itself further into the back of your mind. Gay Marriage in particular is as brilliantly warped a pop song as you are likely to hear. Ever. Their approach seems almost flippant, a complete disregard for normality but a dedication to what are essentially great pop songs. Everything is as messy as it is excellent.
Mowbird, the mighty Mowbird, have developed into a different beast to the one I saw on the day Prince William married Kate Middleton and drove off in a little red car.
They are essentially the same band, jittering wedges of off-kilter surf pop and squalls of guitar are all present and correct. They are though, more toned and glossy, like some pulp fiction magazine.
The attributes that made them so exciting then -- charm and enthusiasm from a band walking a tightrope between sublime and shambolic -- are still present but there is an added rigidity and confidence. It suits them.
I've said before that to crash and burn, it is best to soar majestically beforehand. Tread the fine line between ambition and failure, otherwise what’s the point? Not flying so close to the sun is usually taken as a warning against hubris. That’s boring. Boredom is not in the vocabulary of Mowbird.
As is often the case, they start off a little scratchy but grow throughout a set indebted to Grandaddy, Beat Happening and Guided by Voices. But. It is all well and good listing bands Mowbird sound like, they have and have always had enough individuality to carry their influences to other exciting places. Above most things, they're fun.
A closing duo of Happy Birthday Dad and Playmate were as good as I have seen the Wrexham group. The latter particularly swelled into a wonderful cacophony of noise.
Sex Hands arrived at the gig off the back of a mini tour of the UK. Tales of five hour journeys left them looking understandably jaded/tired. Aberdeen, one of their stops, is deceptively far away, something like three hours beyond Edinburgh.
It was easy to forgive a set that was a little sluggish for that reason -- as well as the fact that a Sex Hands struggling to get out of second gear still outstrips many other bands performing on all cylinders.
As with each time of seeing the band, their penchant for writing songs about Friends moves itself further into the back of your mind. Gay Marriage in particular is as brilliantly warped a pop song as you are likely to hear. Ever. Their approach seems almost flippant, a complete disregard for normality but a dedication to what are essentially great pop songs. Everything is as messy as it is excellent.
Mowbird, the mighty Mowbird, have developed into a different beast to the one I saw on the day Prince William married Kate Middleton and drove off in a little red car.
They are essentially the same band, jittering wedges of off-kilter surf pop and squalls of guitar are all present and correct. They are though, more toned and glossy, like some pulp fiction magazine.
The attributes that made them so exciting then -- charm and enthusiasm from a band walking a tightrope between sublime and shambolic -- are still present but there is an added rigidity and confidence. It suits them.
I've said before that to crash and burn, it is best to soar majestically beforehand. Tread the fine line between ambition and failure, otherwise what’s the point? Not flying so close to the sun is usually taken as a warning against hubris. That’s boring. Boredom is not in the vocabulary of Mowbird.
As is often the case, they start off a little scratchy but grow throughout a set indebted to Grandaddy, Beat Happening and Guided by Voices. But. It is all well and good listing bands Mowbird sound like, they have and have always had enough individuality to carry their influences to other exciting places. Above most things, they're fun.
A closing duo of Happy Birthday Dad and Playmate were as good as I have seen the Wrexham group. The latter particularly swelled into a wonderful cacophony of noise.
Furrow, who were on first, really were something else. A wholly different prospect to the lo fi haze that blankets their recorded output. A blend of loops, bass and drums was earth-shatteringly loud and primal.
In retrospect it seems I might have been a little dismissive of what I originally took as a passably enjoyable mix of The Fall, Ikara Colt and Joy Division. Live, the Oswestry group were a kick to the bones. A huge and incredible punch to the face.
Awesome.
In retrospect it seems I might have been a little dismissive of what I originally took as a passably enjoyable mix of The Fall, Ikara Colt and Joy Division. Live, the Oswestry group were a kick to the bones. A huge and incredible punch to the face.
Awesome.
