'Rock Night Satellite Christmas Special'
Wednesday 21st December 2005
109 Commercial St
The Art Of Burning Water
+ Special Guest's
'Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho and a bottle of Rum!'
That's what an intoxicated Santa will be saying when he slaps his tum, to the beat of a relentlessly frenzied kick drum, in tonight's, 'Rock Night Satellite Special,' before waking Dancer, Prancer, Blitzen, Rudolph and the rest of his four legged slaves from a ketamine addled orgy and riding them off into the snow filled sky to wreak havoc and ill health upon all who cross his fated path.
Ok, it's not quite Christmas yet, but, you can be rest assured Mary's bowels will be moving and children will be forced to hide behind the tree - risking electrocution - to the serious noise assault we have in store for you tonight, when we bring together five of the fiercest live bands on the London 05' circuit for a passing out parade to rival Herod's rascalous reign.
TRENCHER. A nasty piece of work if ever there was one. Decadent and debauch these self styled wise men of Casio grindcore will have you pinned to a cross before you can say, 'Our Father.' and quoting the Marquis de Sade to toddlers.
Having released records with titles such as, 'When Dracula Thinks Look At Me,' and having put out, long since sold out, splits with San Fransico's, Black Queen, you know your going to be in for an aural assault of the sort that leaves your head banging and your cerebral throbbing for days on end afterwards. But, it's worth every second, as quasi-Gothic keyboards conjure up images of the most brutal of slayings in dark alleys sanctified with rains that'll wash the blood away before the police arrive, even if your conscience remains scared for life.
Having ripped the hearts out of venues across Europe, where the locals now fear the mist as a result of their visiting and playing some delightfully demented support to the likes of Lightening Bolt, Trencher are Golblin-esque and playful, in the sense the child jests with you before biting your fingers off, their music taking the best body parts of the eerie and progressive sound of yesteryear and torturing it in a future world inhabited by flesh/metal grotesques dressed as harlequins and brandishing blades.
If the infamous Zodiac was to give himself up, he's probably cite these guys as one of the voices in his head.
As Lady and The Tramp snuggle up to Darlings and their little boy opens a present that, unfortunately, turns out to be a bomb, ART OF BURNING WATER will enter to the tune of an old Christmas favourite to warm the cockles of your heart, 'Ave Satani,' played by none other than Jools Holland and accompanied by Damian himself. ( whilst Nanny McPhee still waits to be cut down in time for mince pies and mulled wine) Then, on the stroke of midnight, they'll foolhardily launch into one of their classic album tracks, 'I Know Someone Who's Tasted David Yow's Piss.'
An intriguing band who's sound has been described as having, 'vexed volcanoes erupting in one's rectum,' They are a treacherous trio made up of two Celtic warriors and a an Iraqi playing loud music in the vein of Killing Joke and Jesus Lizard. Having toured substantially over the last few years since being tipped as one of the best newcomers in the British band scene in 2004, they are a one hell of a sight to behold, throttling the life from their guitars and buggering their drumkit, like a shepherd would his prized ewe on the edge of a cliff before settling down to some home made broth and a pipe.
Catch these sonofabitches ahead of Judas' kiss.
Quaint, well mannered and polite are only three of the many positive adjectives i could use when describing the next band to grace the stage...if they weren't all bloody lies.
Pack your children away, hide your sisters and for god's sake get your mother locked up in a home as you're about to bare witness to the anything but a, SILENT FRONT.
Demanding, vicious and raucous are far more fitting ways to describe this dastardly duo made up of an unholy male Magdalene and a malevolent Joseph that seem convicted in not only destroying the nativity, but, musically fornicating in its burning ruins as the donkeys scarper for a better life humping baskets up and down Peruvian landscapes with a 1:8 gradient and the three wise men hitch up their sarongs and make for the hills to form Switzerland.
A progressive hard-core group that cited Shellac, Fugazi and Uzeda as influences whilst gassing them with Zyclon B, their Delete EP was revered by many a music journo as they autoasphixiated themselves with their iPod headphones. Organ, previously having given them demo of the week, touted, ' squalor is alive...slashes at your bare flesh...go on....GO ON!' whilst Gigs Unlimited branded , 'scary monsters...collecting human ears, left, right and centre.'
So, as you can see ,a band very much in the spirit of Christmas, this crazed coupling is as far from the immaculate conception as a Finnish boarding house.
Meanwhile on Calgary, as Jesus nails himself to the cross for pleasure rather than attend the rock night of the New Testament and Mary gets wreaking on a cocktail of Buckfast and White Lightening, another two mischievous little elves are ready to raid their armoury and set about ending the festive season once and for all. Tooled up to the hilt with a plethora of mechanised sonic weaponry that includes; samplers, drum machines and Steven Hawkins, the ferocious TIGER FORCE will be sledging into town, bestowing their poisonous gifts upon all the good children and befriending the bad. Then, as the fairy lights dim and midnight mass is called, they blow everyone's eardrums out with some of the dirtiest and a la mode rifts known to man.
Easily one of the best live bands on the scene at the moment, Andy Force and Helen Tiger take no prisoners when they take to the stage.
Their self titled split single won critical acclaim from all corners of the noted music press and me because it tried to capture the essence and spontaneity of their explosive live shows. Described by DiS as 'Le Tigre crossing swords with Bis... belligerently playful/experimental...loud and driving.' I once caught Andy utilising some form of exotic mouthpiece to conjure up sounds reminiscent of a caged animal.
Quirky competence, humour and cutting edge musicianship lead the way, as the troublesome twosome sing, shout and fire lines between each other, building layer upon layer of beats, melodies and harmonies, before rocking out on their guitars and fiddling with the numerous gadgets huddled round them like a bunch of adoring cats; a bunch of cats blissfully unaware that their tails are about to be lifted, a firework inserted and that they'll be passing by the moon humming John Williams scores in a matter of seconds.
MONSTER PUSSY are tonight.s special guests. Hailing from the late John Peel's one time record label of the month and now championed by Rob Da Bank, Adaadat, this deranged two piece band are the new kings of drone out noise with their midi guitars (looking like a re-machined KITT from Knight Rider), rewired Gameboy tools and good old fashioned drums. A sacrilegious pairing, who're only happy when your sternum has been shattered by their vicious walls of sound, where each brick comes complete with a full set of fangs, Monster Pussy are the type of band that your parents would detest and your pets would commit suicide too. Behold these guys as they lovingly abuse the animals of the manger in what is only their third and final show of the year, having destroyed the ICA last week.
So as the fairy lights go down,
Upon this little Christmas town,
With all the kiddies tucked up in bed,
I hope, you've enjoyed some of what I've just said,
Indulged i have, in fantasies of murder and deceit,
But, please don't view me as a creep,
But, a rhymester, all be it macabre,
After all, I am a drunken Scottish bard.