Live Music Review: Sleigh Bells @ Heaven

(Londonist, February 2011)

http://londonist.com/2011/02/music-review-sleigh-bells-heaven.php

A mix tape containing Abba, Mary J Blige and Fleetwood Mac ends abruptly, and as they gaze with trepidation at the tower of Marshall amp stacks above them, a furious torrent of unidentifiable death metal pours down upon tonight’s audience. They’ve already warmed to TEETH!!!, who were a riot of primal screams, pounding percussion and Kill Bill-style sirens. They’ve also danced themselves dizzy to JD Samson’s MEN, who manage effortlessly to be simultaneously confrontational and euphoric. However, half-blinded with white light and deafened by a high-decibel barrage of distorted bass crunches, the onslaught provided by Sleigh Bells is something else entirely.

Tearing straight into 'Infinity Guitars' and 'A/B Machines', Alexis Krauss is initially only visible as a hooded silhouette against a bank of strobe lighting, but still compelling to watch. During ‘Kids’ she prowls menacingly along the edge of the stage and, much like Alice Glass or Alison Mosshart, enthusiastically whips her hair, leans into the crowd and grabs at the sea of outreached arms below. Derek Miller prefers to lurk in the shadows, casually embarking on a full-scale invasion of the auditory canals. Such is the cacophonous wall of sound which ensues, it’s often difficult to determine whether he’s playing a guitar or firing a machine gun at us.

Having served their apprenticeships in both hardcore punk and bubblegum girl-pop, it’s easy to see why label boss MIA gave her nod of approval. It’s essentially Atari Teenage Riot juxtaposed with Destiny’s Child (and we’re frequently reminded of the potential greatness of that rumoured collaboration with Beyoncé, should it ever surface). Tonight, a celebratory 'Crown On The Ground' ends with Alexis diving headfirst into the pit of raised hands. And that’s it. Ten short, sharp blasts of visceral ‘Treats’. No messing, no compromising and no encore. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Review: Gang Of Four @ Heaven

(Londonist, February 2011)

http://londonist.com/2011/02/live-music-review-gang-of-four-heaven.php

With an eerily similar economic and political climate to that of 1979, you could argue that now seems the perfect time for Gang Of Four to release their first material in sixteen years. It was just weeks after Thatcher’s ascendance to power that four fine art students from Leeds unleashed a danceable alternative to punk in the form of debut album ‘Entertainment!’, widely regarded as the defining post-punk artefact. Publicly praised by Michael Stipe and Kurt Cobain, and an influence on bands from the Red Hot Chili Peppers to Bloc Party, they’ve returned with their first album in sixteen years, ‘Content’, copies of which even come with a sample of Jon King and Andy Gill’s own blood.

A mad-eyed King paces the stage tonight, arms flailing in front of a sea of predominantly receding hairlines with as much agility and enthusiasm as a young punk would have. At one point, he pauses to reflect on his last visit to Heaven on the night of ‘The Great Storm’ in October 1987, after which he emerged onto Villiers Street and walked directly into the path of two oncoming trees. He later enhances the percussion on a glorious reading of ‘He’d Send In The Army’ by beating the crap out of a microwave oven with a stick. Damaged Goods, indeed.

Ensuring this is no reunion purely for nostalgia’s sake, ‘You’ll Never Pay For The Farm’ and ‘I Party All The Time’, full of jagged, razor-sharp guitars and lyrical venom, sit surprisingly comfortably with older favourites, whilst ‘Anthrax’ and ‘I Love A Man In Uniform’ remain as provocative and as relevant today as they did three decades ago. King later bemoans the fact we have a “reactionary government crushing the poor” before hurtling headlong into a spirited ‘To Hell With Poverty’. As a rallying cry and a beautiful wreck of nervous energy, it’s as good a reason as any for Gang Of Four to continue to exist, and as the bass reverberates into Heaven’s darkest corners, you can almost smell revolution in the air.

By Kevin Robinson