65daysofstatic

The best thing about Rolo Tomassi, as Joe Fro from 65daysofstatic remarks to DiS as the Sheffield rapscallions commit aural genocide, is that they don’t make sense whatsoever. And he’s right: in the best way possible, they really don’t. Vocalist Eva moves gently to an unheard-except-for-in-her-head beat as razorblades of sound twist out of the PA, forming bolts of energy that actually hurt as the rest of the band jerk around like fishing lines are attached to random parts of their bodies. Theirs is a naked talent that is made all the more terrifying by the fact that they’re so darn young, and as they show scant regard for all those disgusting conventions like genre and structure, instead making up their own rules just for the sheer hell of it, the only word that comes to mind is ‘violence’. But in a beautiful way. Of course, that doesn’t make sense. But then neither do Rolo Tomassi.

If that was the sound of the future to be, then Josh T Pearson is a warming reminder of a time past. He is, for all intents and purposes, a cowboy (Stetson? Check. Alarming beard? Check. Texan? Check.), but his music is more along the lines of the tortured Johnny Cash model rather than jaunty ditties about shoeing horses and the like. And even when you can’t understand the drawled words that tumble out of his mouth there’s something undeniably vulnerable about him – maybe the way he hunches over the microphone – that is beguiling. The country stomp of his songs thuds around the venue as he howls his heart out, and even if no one from this northern city can relate to his tales, everyone wants to hear more.

But 65daysofstatic only deal with the here and now. If any band can be described as the permanent soundtrack to every fleeting moment it is they, and as their pent-up energy bursts into form eyes are closed and heads nod as they bring the noises in their heads out in the open. ‘Await Rescue’ is the glitchy lifeline everyone wants it to be and slowly, gently, the blue lights start flashing and there is the imperceptible sense of everyone just… going for it. Of course, any band with songs even slightly as good as ‘Retreat! Reteat!’ or the majestically gentle ‘Radio Protector’ in their arsenal is always onto a winner, but the reason 65dos continue to be so thrilling is that they’re always mutating into something else. They could just walk onstage, click ‘play’ on a laptop and watch everyone still go mental, but that’s not as fun as carving new electronic symphonies out of thin air, is it?

_ ‘Install a Beak in the Heart That Clucks Time in Arabic’_ crashes and swoops like something out of Casshern and, Jesus, ‘I Swallowed Hard, Like I Understood’ has the heft and weight of anything any so-called metal band can come up with. The new material from The Destruction of Small Ideas, notably _‘A Failsafe’, is received in the same way as the old favourites, with open arms and an unspoken longing for this band to continue doing exactly what they’re doing. If 65dos keep on playing shows this good new words are going to have to be invented to describe them.