FEBRUARY 2007: Live Review – Madkaps (w/ Deluxe Inspiration), Bar Fever, Wigan

Who: Madkaps, Deluxe Inspiration
Where: Bar Fever, Wigan
When: February 7th, 2007

Rock ‘n’ roll is a funny thing in that, by its very nature, even when things spiral beyond control, there’s still a pretty good time to be had.

That’s more or less exactly the way things go down to night at Bar Fever.

When we turn up, eager to escape the bitter cold and warm ourselves on a fire ignited by four promised bands whilst standard background music blares out in vain between sets.

What we get instead is something slightly different, a night that goes something like this:

Walking down the stairs into Fever’s underground lair, we’re greeted with an eerie silence; it seems someone forgot to bring the tunes, or maybe just something to play them on.

As the place slowly starts to fill up, the hustle and bustle of the audience makes for a nervous atmosphere, which may go someway in explaining why Deluxe Inspiration make a slightly edgy start to their opening set.

Almost immediately we want to like the band and shower praise on them for their groovy, stomping brand of blues rock that reminds us of Maryland monsters Clutch getting down at a funk convention.

With simple lyrics and simple riffs, it’s all basic stuff, yet somehow, it all seems to work.

Yet what starts off as simple-yet-effective music wonders off into being somewhat primitive. Couple this with a frontman who wears an ill-fitting red and black shirt like a bad Dennis The Menace costume, and you get the impression that you’re watching a group of blokes in the midst of a mid-life crisis, eager to recapture their youth through the power of punk.

And if ever there was a time to beg the lads to grow up, it’s with a song about the internet, a juvenile jam about the dark side of the web that is almost embarrassing to listen to.

We don’t usually mind immature rock n roll, in fact, some of it can be pretty funny, but this is just weird. Come on lads, even Blink 182, the most juvenile group on the planet realised enough was enough when they hit a certain age.

Next up, we’re expecting one of the other advertised support acts, but instead, as someone finally turns up with a ‘Best of the 90s’ mixtape for tween-set entertainment, Madkaps set up their gear and it seems we’re skipping straight to the main event.

Heading over to Wigan from France as part of a UK tour, it doesn’t take the French punk rockers long to demand the crowd’s attention and keep it for a full, hour long set.

Lead by Anglo-French front-woman Ella, who packs more energy and vigour than her diminutive frame would suggest, Madkaps specialise in the kind of hard, solid riffs, deep bass and unrelenting drums that have been the basis for many a modern punk band, and whilst it’s hard to compare them to any one band, they do have a familiar sound.

Which is perhaps the band’s biggest weakness. Sure they’re good, there’s not a person in here tonight who would argue with that, but they’re good in a way that so many other great punk bands are good rather than in any way they can call their own.

Our only other problem is that most of the time, we can’t tell what they’re saying, not due to any language barrier, but more that the venue’s PA system is about as much use as the  proverbial chocolate teapot.

Yet these are small complaints, and on the whole, Madkaps are an impressive band. Though our interest may wane towards the end they have no problem in keeping the crowd entertained with their powerful and catchy punk rock and a 4-stringer who must surely be up for the World’s Most Enthusiastic Bassist Award.

And that’s pretty much it. With scarcely any time to fit the other two bands in, most people call it a night, a night that didn’t quite go as expected, but was pretty fun anyway.
By Jack Conner

 

MARCH 2006: Live Review – The KBC (w/ Money and the masses + more), Bar Fever, Wigan

Who: The KBC, You Bitter Ex-Lovers, The Ups, Money and the Masses
Where: Bar Fever,Wigan
When: March 23rd, 2006

Heading down the dimly lit stairs to Wigan’s Fever, The LINC are met with a familiar, unwelcoming sight. Indie poseurs gathered around in their charity shop clobber like the high society of the music scene, waiting to be impressed.

Yet tonight’s opening act, Your Bitter Ex Lovers (YBEL) seem less intent on impressing as they are on creating a nihilistic fusion of aching guitar and impassioned wailing that seeks to serve as slap in the face to the uber-cool.

There’s a bootleg floating around on the Internet of Nu-Goff warblers Evanescence jamming on a cover of Nirvana’s Heart Shaped Box, and as YBEL kick things off with a trudging, grunge riff laden with haunting, female vocals, such song quickly springs to mind.

As guitarist and bassist bury their heads, lost in the music, there seems to be little to get excited about here, and you find yourself taking your mind off the monotony of it all by playing a game of “Spot the vocalist”. For whilst the moody stringsmiths are all too visible and there’s some slapdash drumming coming from the wee girl behind the kit, this lulling vocal seems to be coming from nowhere. That is, until you look a little closer and realise that ‘the wee girl behind the kit’ is also responsible for yelling down mic with an unrepentant rage.

Yet, though we teeter on boredom, we finally receive a punch in the mush as one flesh-eating monster of a song crashes against the other, and we realise that YBEL are actually quite cool. Cool that is, in a self-indulgent, guitar-stroking, chaotic jam sort of way. If you’re a fan of the more mental, less radio-friendly parts of Nirvana’s “In Utero”, chances are you’ll get on with Your Bitter Ex Lovers.

St. Helen’s mob The Ups take to the stage next, and are absolute rubbish. As criticism goes, that isn’t very constructive, yet neither are The Ups. Fronted by a tallish bloke who dresses like someone’s dad, The Ups take the music of The Coral, play an Arctic Monkeys track over the top, record the whole thing and play it on repeat for half an hour. This is lazy, uninspired, processed and formulaic, where every song sounds exactly the same and is pin-pointed by a repetitive yelp of “woah-ohhh” . Yeah, “Woah, oohhhhh what on earth is that awful racket!?”

Down with The Ups!

Hometown favourites Money and The Masses put a bit of bite back into the proceedings, sharp vocals cracking out over some boisterous rhythms and thumping beats that see the more lively parts of the audience flocking to the front for a closer look. Some jovial banter from the ‘Masses frontman (not to mention his comical repetition of the term ‘Money and The Masses Maniacs’) add to the bands warmth and charm, as they bounce through their spirited set. True, there’s nothing here that really stands out as far as killer tunes go, but if it’s a fun, memorable performance your looking for, you could do worse than putting your cash on Money and The Masses.

As midnight draws closer, thoughts turn to heading back for a nice hot cup of Horlicks and a bed time story, yet minds are changed and heads turned as Preston heavyweights The KBC hit the floor to dish out some of their trademark funky, punk-lite pop.

After supporting New York indie kings The Strokes and signing up to Manchester label High Voltage, The KBC hit Fever as part of their nation-wide tour in support of their double A-side single Pride Before The Fall/Poisonous Emblem, and proceed to make feet jive and heads bounce with gusto.

Having been compared to everyone from The Rapture to Franz Ferdinand, tonight, the boys bring something to the dancefloor that is uniquely their own, as though they were custom-built by groovy, party-loving scientists to bring good times to the masses and force anyone within their vicinity to cut a rug.

And as they play into the night, The KBC make you forget all about the mediocre sounds that had slid before them, and prove just why they’re one of the biggest buzz bands in the country right now.
By Chris Skoyles

APRIL 2005: Live Review – The Beat Poet, Bar Fever, Wigan

Who: The Beat Poet
Where: Bar Fever, Wigan
When: April 13th, 2005

Imagine the most important band you have seen. Got it? Right, now double, or even treble, that and you may have just arrived at the feeling you get watching The Beat Poet.

From the moment their first note rings out across Fever, the audience is in a state of surrender, heads involuntarily begin to nod in time with every beat and feet pulsate as if possessed.

Simmering bass lines, accompanied by aggressive drumbeats and disturbing vocals culminate in truly explosive choruses, launching the whole room, along with the band into manic fits that truly take hold.

Each song has a sense of urgency, as if the whole filthy ensemble is being ripped, torn apart in a complete frenzy before your eyes, with each drum beat attempting to claw back a sense of control, but failing, so instead they fall in line with the chaos of the guitar and bass.

Importantly though, this chaos is somehow organised and never fake. Each member is playing as if electrified by their own music, shocking themselves with the sounds they are producing, but thankfully going along with it anyway.

Ben Wolland’s vocals range from utter desperation, “tear my heart right out of my chest” to a bitter anger, sending him writhing, spitting out a vitriolic attack on the Iraqi war, providing lyrics with an intelligent edge that further separate The Beat Poet from the stream of timid/bland/mind numbing bands that have the audacity to pretend what they have to say is even remotely noteworthy.

The Beat Poet carry a definite air of pretension, occasionally getting so lost in what they are doing they end up having jamming sessions on stage that would be perhaps best kept in the practice room, but who cares?

The Beat Poet are not your average band.

They will not play nicely in the background, they do not stick to their own instruments, they do not have A-symmetrical haircuts, they do not play verse, chorus, verse etc. But it is every single one of these things that make the Beat Poet what they are. This band are going places, catch them in Wigan while you can.
By Kate Moore

*Do you have photos from this gig? Want to see one featured with this review? E-mail us at linconline@wlct.org and we’ll be sure to give you full credit for any photos we use.

APRIL 2005: Live Review – The Suzukis (With Dirty Circus + more), Bar Fever, Wigan

Who: The Suzukis, Dirty Circus, The Loop
Where: Bar Fever, Wigan
When: April 6th, 2005

Hype can be a beautiful thing, or it can leave you feeling robbed. Tonight at Fever, things could go either way as the tiny basement fills up with Wigan’s faithful gig goers, waiting in anticipation to give their verdict on the recently signed and much hyped beast that is The Suzukis.

Think about electronica and you are pelted kicking and screaming back into the eighties, with polyester doused in enough hair spray to create yet another hole in the ozone layer, or at least add to the one that is already there. Tonight however, we have electronica mixed with the latest in indie chic, very 2005 wouldn’t you say?

Synthesisers and keyboards accompany each lazy guitar riff and bass-line that Dirty Circus serve up. With each beat the band positively swagger, drudging up a type of arrogance any parker wearing, beer guzzling, Mancunian would have been proud of ten years ago, when the music world was in love with Brit Pop.

It is the confidence, and sheer front that keeps you watching Dirty Circus, they know they are good, and you are left waiting/hoping for a chance to believe them. The songs are well constructed, occasionally working their way into anthemic choruses, which manage to kick a somewhat static audience into life.

The Loop take to the stage, and if you were hoping to hear another act layering their rock with all the gadgets/synthesisers/pedals etc possible, you couldn’t be more disappointed.

However, if you like your music stripped down bare, please step right up. Two acoustic guitars meander their way through hazy Indian-esque melodies that semi entrance you, coaxing you far away from this smoke filled bar in Wigan to a much more exotic landscape.

There is a gentle accompaniment from tablas that strengthens the somewhat romantic and surreal Indian edge. Vocals soar over the delicate guitar, adding another layer of melody, so removed from the usual garage rock drawl, that your ears do not quite know what to think.

What is certain is that this is music for staring at clouds to, music for every time the last thing you want is reality, created by people who could not give a toss what the latest craze is. They are ready to tell stories and I most certainly am ready to shut up and listen.

Continuing with the summery vibes that the Loop left lingering about the place, Brothers With Different Mothers emerge. Straight away we are shaken right out of our semi-dazed state, as BWDM inject us with a sharp shot of pure energy, that proves to be highly contagious and, dare I say, addictive? Each band member is practically bursting with enthusiasm and, as they rattle through each song, they ensure you get caught up in it to.

The drummer provides an intense, unstoppable rhythm, making it impossible not to at least nod along, when inside all you actually want to do is drop everything and dance as if your life depends on it and you have every intention in the world to keep living.

With each strum, wail, beat, cymbal, the stench of chilled out August bank holidays is getting stronger. Brothers With Different Mothers should be made a mandatory accessory for every step you take this summer.

After just about getting our breath back, Delta Sonic’s (home of the The Zutons and The Coral) new signings take their place on stage. It is evident from the first strum that the Suzukis are here to make a stand, against every piece of oh so “trendy” yet insipid indie rock that dared to rear its ugly head. The Suzukis are rallying against the current, endless stream of bands, each full of pretty boys with perfect haircuts, who just happen to have slung a guitar around their neck.

Pounding drums carry along what could be described as ‘a wall of sound’, littered with lyrics full of simplistic social commentary, fainling to hit home even half as well as those of a certain Mr Cocker. The front man clutches the mic, fag in hand, looking at the audience with an obvious distaste, which could be justified if he was a Gallagher, and we were back in 1995.

The problem is we are not. Agreed, the Suzukis are laced with a pent up aggression that refreshingly sticks two fingers up to every wannabe Libertines band of the moment but, unfortunately, they fail to offer up anything revolutionary themselves. Granted, The Suzukis are good at what they do, but since when has “good” ever truly been enough?
By Kate Moore