The Icarus Line

…And he thrust himself upon the stage, leering menacingly at the audience with a disconcerting familiarity; the remarkable likeness to two of the worlds greatest, most memorable rock stars, but with his own distinct air of sensuality and conceit. Two entwined personalities; the snarling, vicious roars of Marilyn Manson contradicted by the vivacious pop growls of Iggy Pop. Icarus Line front man, Joe Cardamone has it all; passion, beauty, panache and presence.

The high speed, scaling bass lines of Lance Arnao bare the weight of two of the most raucous, honest and gritty guitarists the yanks have thrown our way in years. Uniform black shirts and red ties clinging to five lean, distinctive figures in the almost unbearable heat of The Old Angel. Their matching crimson face paint streaked with sweat and smeared indistinctly across viscous faces bearing gritted teeth.

The sound quality is appalling, the lighting is worse and it’s too hot to even breathe comfortably, and yet somehow, The Icarus Line manage to convey what is possibly one of the most brutally honest and down-right dirty shows this run down tiny little toilet venue has ever seen.

Bringing the evening to a head, Joe paces out into the audience as far as his microphone lead will allow, singing amongst a magnificently intimidated crowd, before sending the sweaty mic crashing to the floor and vacating the room. The perfect dramatic ending to a spine-tingling dramatic performance.