Arrows Of Love
Turbogeist
Claw Marks
Puffer
Scala, London
Wednesday April 30 2014
A big gig tonight, for Arrows Of
Love. The Scala might not quite be the
Enormodome, but it's certainly a cut above the back rooms and basements
of the
London underground rock circuit where, over the last few years, the band
have plied their trade and made their name.
It's been a long old scrabble
up the ladder for Arrows Of Love - possibly a bit longer than the band
themselves care to admit. Their Wikipedia page rather coyly states that
the band's "line-up was finalised in the Summer of 2011" - which hints
at a prehistory which played out before the
line-up was finalised.
There was even a previous appearance by an earlier
incarnation of Arrows Of Love at the Scala in
2008 - along with much encouraging talk about recording
in Trevor Horn's studio, no less.
Maybe all that amounted to a bit too
much, too soon. At any rate, Arrows Of Love spent the next few years finding
an audience (and, possibly, finding themselves) on the UK toilet circuit.
At any rate, there was no more talk of Trevor Horn. But now, they're back
at the Scala, launching their debut album Everything's Fucked -
recorded, as far as I can make out, without any hotshot producers getting
anywhere near it. This time, maybe, they've earned it.
Let's warm up with some support acts. I walk in on Puffer,
doing their heavy-duty clank 'n' churn in front of a sparse early-doors
crowd. Hefty
basslines whump and grumble, the guitars are never less than large. It
all gets a bit Treponem Pal at times, in a post-rock-but-totally-rock kind
of way.
Not bad
stuff, but there are plenty of bands in the same sort of
area these days - including, it's probably fair to say, our very next band:
Claw Marks.
Heavy,
fuzzy, fast-moving and manic, Claw Marks represent the wigged-out end of
modern rock. They're a cross between Cro-Mags and Hawkwind: hardcore hippies.
The singer darts about crazily - he runs on the spot, hurls himself over the crowd barrier (disconnecting his mic lead in the process, which does rather take the wind out of his sails) and generally acts as if he's on a very different trip to the rest of us.
Meanwhile the band keep slammin',
and even a mysterious conk-out in the guitar department doesn't stop their
feakout workout. I suspect Claw Marks' natural home is the Weird Tent
at Glastonbury, but in the prosaic surroundings of an old cinema in King's
Cross, they're not bad at all.
Turbogeist look like
they've won a competition on a packet of cornflakes to be here. They seem
curiously clean and fresh-faced, as if they've only
just been unwrapped from the cellophane. They throw rock band shapes with
such careful attention it's as if they learned the moves from an instructional
video.
When the guitarist essays a bit of a
cock-rock pose - angling his
guitar upwards, as if to accentuate a crashing powerchord - it's downright
risible. You'd accept such moves
from - say - Steve Vai, but to see Turbogeist
do it makes the band look like they're only a few steps on from playing
air guitar in front of the bedroom mirror.
Now, before you say "C'mon,
man, what about the music?" - well, what about the music?
If a competent but essentially anonymous rock-blare is your thing, like a glossed-up Misery Loves Co, you're going to dig Turbogeist. As, it seems, plenty of people already do: the band certainly has fans, many of them elegant girls in designer rock gear, who watch Turbogeist's curiously unconvincing portrayal of a rock band with cool detachment and indulgent half-smiles. Boys will be boys, eh? Best let them get it out of their system.
And here come Arrows Of Love, in a cloud of smoke and a cacophony of guitars.
They're a ramshackle bunch, a random gang, rocking a scruffy-but-glammy look - and also rocking a fractious, fractured, all-over-the-place racket.
Arrows
Of Love songs are the rock 'n' roll equivalent of falling downstairs in a tangle
of limbs, but somehow landing in a standing position wearing an expression
that says, "I meant to do that."
Everything is a blattering blur
of fast 'n' messy punkzoid rocking, the guitars pushing and shoving each other
though the songs, the vocals fighting their way to the front of the crowd.
But Arrows Of Love know how to keep their sonic mess under control. Behind
that virtuoso display of crazed all-over-the-placeness is a band with a sure
grip on their noisy art.
The band knows instinctively how far to push the pandemonium,
before reeling in the incipient chaos and nailing everything down to a surprisingly
firm structure. They might look as loose as a moose, but Arrows Of Love are
actually, effortlessly, just as tight as they need to be.
It's
all a good old mash-up of of sturm
and drang, and the band seem endearingly chuffed to be at the centre of the
storm.
Yep, it's been a scrabble. But Arrows of Love have earned their big
night.
Arrows Of Love:
Website | Facebook
Turbogeist:
Website | Facebook
Claw Marks: Facebook
Puffer: Facebook
For more photos from this gig, find Arrows Of Love by name here.