Hot Snakes

The Camden Underworld is the perfect venue for a Hot Snakes gig. You need a dance floor and a stage, but most importantly, you need as little distance between the audience and the band as possible. The Underworld provides these things – the condensation on the walls and the thin clouds of cigarette smoke are free atmospheric extras.

See, Hot Snakes sweat bucket loads of enthusiasm and their music demands a certain amount of intimacy with its audience. In this case that means being pressed against the stage, as part of a seething, churning mosh pit, mirroring the goofy grins of the band as they burn through the set. Their songs coil and twist, packing fat amounts of tension that burst offering sweet, deafening release. This is music that hits all the adrenal boosters and pleasure centres. It calls on the body to move while punishing the eardrums. It’s straight-up, teeth-gritting, fist-pumping rock and roll, you fuckers, and you will have less fun if you stand at the back.

John Reis, Eric Froberg and Gar Wood don’t just play their instruments – they lay into them. They wield them like chainsaws. And behind their combined attack of visceral guitars and rumbling bass, Mario Rubalcaba hit his kit so hard I’m surprised there was anything left of it by the time the band left the stage.

The only criticism I could possibly level at the gig is that the new songs didn’t garner as strong a reaction from the crowd. Tracks like ‘Retrofit’ and ‘Brainstrust’ inspired mostly head nodding, while ‘Automatic Midnight’ and ’Who Died’ kicked the front of the stage into overdrive. So the new songs aren’t as beloved as the old ones, well whoop-dee-do. Of course they aren’t. The new album was only released two weeks ago and fans haven’t had all that much time to bond with the new tunes, no matter how much downloading has been going on. At any rate, this is something that will vanish at the next gig – which the rumour mill states will be sometime early next year.

What’s left to say? They came, they saw and they kicked almighty arse. If you were there you can testify to that fact. If you weren’t, you missed out on one of the best punk rock gigs of the year, hands down, and it's your loss, mate.