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BUT! Enough of all that. Billy Mahonie were replacements of Rothko, who cancelled amid unfortunate circumstances. They have to point this out to people, despite not sounding the same. Perhaps closer to Mogwai, though it isn't blatant copying whatsoever. There's a difference, and an important one. They sound mean and feisty, with hardcore undertones. They begin each song like they are still tuning up - they may well be - but then spot a tune up in the ether and grasp it, before smothering it with bludgeoned guitars. Definite lurchcore tendencies: once they've ripped though the flesh of each song, they're rocking back and forth onstage in a delightful manner. 'Watching People Speak When You Can't Hear What They're Saying' is the most exciting track of the night, spiralling atomic riffs stopping for a brief post rock breakdown, before it all takes off one final time. There's real substance to what they play, and it's executed with a tight panache. One has his back permanently facing the audience. How rude. They sound in places like all those American bands I do not know the names of. Arse. It's really sharp; and something very very special. Monkey Boy, meanwhile, are just loons. One bassist in the Sonic Youth t-shirt looks like a dangerous care-in-the-community escapee. T'other one in the Starsky & Hutch top is concentrating very hard. It's probably because he's trying to work out which way drummer and lead singer Paul (Dickies t-shirt + cycling gloves? Nice) is going to twist the songs next. But overriding everything is a sense of dangerous, knife-edge FUN! It's warped, unique, peculiarly funky, and messily controlled. The scummy grunting bass mixed with jazz drumming breaks and barked vocals. It's what forms 'Monkey In A Rocket Ship' and 'Planet Paul Pope' as they lurch along, hurtling, hurting, and then stop. Then start again. And then stop. And then go on AGAIN. Lunacy! Ridiculous, inexplicable, nerve-twitching, fucking great fun! Cay had the muscle to follow that though. Unfortunately returning home meant your pissed reporter saw less than he had wished to. But dammit I wish I could've stayed longer. 'Neurofen And Brandy', 'Reasonable Ease In Chilled Out Conditions', they all are soldered together in a furious, gnarly, psychotic drugged up frenzy. Schizoid guitars, slashing all over the place, drums scattered everywhere; and at the front, the flame-haired minx of Anet Mook wretches out the vocals. Hurling from being early angry and fucked Courtney Love, to Kim Deal cool the next minute, she cuts an unassumingly imposing, yet vulnerable and frightened figure. The vocals and the music slip in and out one another with fluid ease, she's gentle and tired on moments of calm like 'School' and the few seconds of tuneful peace at the beginning of 'Neurofen...', before everything explodes like primed early Sonic Youth in a car crusher punching and kicking guitars and she howls and cries out suitably. Everything is nicely matched, and as they start to rattle through debut single 'Better Than Myself' it couldn't be a worse time to have to try and find out way back to Kings' Cross tube. Rah. Then fall asleep and turn up in Eastleigh. Oops. Cay, Monkey Boy, Billy Mahonie = oh, at least a 9+ all round. At LEAST. Pete Flynn |