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The Pattern take us on a half-hour crash course in popular music history, a bastardised lesson in playing blues-ridden trashy old noise from a posing, preening motherfucker of a band grooving straight from the hip. But how vital can rocket-fuelled Stones riffs sound in 2001? On this evidence: 11 songs in a tad less than 30 minutes, only about as vital as you want. The Pattern allow all those who join them to rejoice in the spirit of the Stones and the Stooges, MC5 and The Who, and still create a thrilling 21st Century spectacle. The lineage may be obvious and well-documented, but there is a vitality about their sound and its delivery that, through the sleazy dynamics of 'Finger Us' and the huge, driving riffs of 'Untold', constitutes a pure distillation of everything that makes rock n roll the essential beast it should be; invigorating energy, righteous anger and the irresistible urge to dance. Chris Appelgren leads his pack of true believers, gyrating and cavorting with the mic stand, falling to his knees to press his face into the crotch of guitarist Jason Rosenburg. Then Rosenburg himself is up on a monitor, staggering backwards and crashing into bodies and equipment. As they stalk off, leaving trashed drum kit and buzzing crowd in their wake, you realise that the only thing which matters is quality. And this is. So surrender your cynicism to the power of rock n roll and you will be soundly rewarded. Steve |