Reunited with original drummer Richard ‘Moz’ Morris sees Leeds/Manchester trio I HAD AN INKLING moving towards an even greater good. Songs such as ‘Pastime’ benefit from a bit of remoulding and of course Moz’s supremely proficient trapsmanship. Ever a sign of virtuosity he reels off complex, dance-proof rhythms with incredible fluidity and power; perhaps akin to John Bonham playing jazz. I Had An Inkling themselves jut a little further into more abrasive land but it seems that attention to concision has be dutifully paid translating into a truly memorable live performance.
The use of 80s Casio keyboards invariably guarantees a certain degree of ‘kookiness’ but it’s pleasing that Leeds three-piece COWTOWN are considerably more than twee existentialists. You’ve heard countless derivative bands denying that they fit, quite deservedly into the “shit Oasis type band” or the “wank nu-metal” or even possibly the “crap post-rock by numbers” category but Cowtown are genuinely on a plain of their own. Of course this is all academic if it sounds like a tool shed during an earthquake but Cowtown are enviously cohesive. Sometimes grungy, frequently noodley, and sometimes, as you’d imagine slightly kooky but always loud as hell they’re a compelling blend. At present it seems that ‘LS6’ (that’s a postcode – Ed) is producing one of the most important independent music scenes; somewhere where new freethinking possibilities are embraced rather than feared. Cowtown are one such fine example of this.
It’s hard to shock these days, at least for the right reasons. We become immune to colourful language, nudity and even violence all too easily. Shock almost by definition is caused by exposure to something unpredicted and preferably threatening all in the shortest time possible. MUGSTAR are a set of live wires; a disconcerting looking bunch and certainly one with few inhibitions. While his band tune up Pete Smyth, makes an instrument out of his set list crumpling and shaking it into the microphone, pressing up again it and droning notes through the paper. Then the machine starts to roll, much to the observer’s fear, to a destination unknown.
Sonically you could loosely describe their sound as space/post-rock but taken to levels that only seem attainable on the most brutal of hallucinogens. There are committed riffs and structures here of course but that too is only half the story. Mugstar are hardly short on pyrotechnics but with firework you know when and how they will go off. Mugstar however offer no such comfort. Halfway through and Smyth is screaming what sounds like “Lenny Henry!” repeatedly. It almost certainly isn’t but again it’s the not knowing that creates the most disquiet. Two minutes later and he’s out in the audience battering his telecaster before ascending the merchandise table. Sure every wanker that wants to be Iggy Pop has at some point ventured out into the audience but it bored you, because you knew they were going to do it, besides there was never a racket quite as iniquitous pushing back the walls of the venue.
Mugstar’s set concludes with ‘Man With Supersight’, a piece of quite unspeakable evil; the sounds perhaps of the ice lake in hell where Satan spends eternity chomping on the body of Judas. Like the slow and unstoppable advent of something really horrible it just builds and builds on a single-minded and unforgiving two note theme played with such force and resolution that you almost feel sick. By this time Smyth is bouncing off the chairs and tables, until everything comes crashing to a juddering halt. To feel anything other than apathy in this cynical age is a bonus. Mugstar may have left some people with the need for counselling. One of the best live performances I’ve ever seen.
Following Mugstar’s set perhaps except for the invasion of the lost Red Army almost anything is going to seem a little bit tame. Nevertheless Nottingham’s LORDS take trashy, distorted Jon Spencer style blues to admirably skewed levels incorporating warped structures and unfathomable meters. Wholesome and fairly spicy it’s a reasonable conclusion to one hell of a night.
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