FUTURE OF THE LEFT
TJ’s, Newport
Although tonight’s gig is a fundraiser for cancer hospices, that’s
about as far as the charity goes with Future Of The Left. The Cardiff trio
have morphed into a formidable live machine in three short years since detonating
onto their hometown scene; they’re now so tight onstage it’s positively
miserly. Even a slightly ropey bass-swathed mix in TJ’s strangely-shaped
confines can’t halt the momentum, callously ripping flesh from the bones
of the latest album, Travels With Myself And Another, alongside tested favourites
from its predecessor Curses.
Frontman Andy Falkous is the defining vocal focal point. When not spitting
venomous non-sequiturs, simultaneously coaxing walls of nosebleed-inspiring
guitar volume (and, on several instrument-swapping cuts, keyboard and bass),
he indulges in playfully hostile crowd banter fit to leave hecklers traumatised.
The verbal sparring includes a surreal nod to Michael Jackson’s death,
to curiously declaring athlete-turned-peer Sebastian Coe has popped his clogs
(at time of writing, accuracy fans, Baron Coe was alive and kicking).
Said chatter is nothing compared to the songs that bookend such shenanigans,
however: FOTL’s set-list is a well-stocked arsenal. Manchasm and the
underrated My Gymnastic Past provide sing-a-long thrills for an excitable crowd;
ditto You Need Satan More Than He Needs You’s t-shirt slogan-tastic devil
worship. But the pummelling fun of adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood represents the
true climax, the set culminating in now-customary fashion with bassist Kelson
Mathias clambering atop onlookers’ raised hands, still attacking his
instrument. The future of Welsh music is in safe hands, indeed…
Adam Kennedy
SUPER FURRY ANIMALS
Sub 29
The band begin proceedings with new album opener Crazy Naked Girls - a stomping
prog-rock groove accompanied by lead singer Gruff Rhys’ bellowing, repetitive
mantra ‘Crazy, crazy, naked girls’.
Rhys outlines the itinerary for the night, ‘We’re going to be playing
Dark Days/Light Years in its entirety for the first time, OK?’ but a muted
response from the crowd signals their obvious disapproval. The string-laden folk
of MT is a shambles as keyboard player Cian Ciaran fights against a wave of sound
glitches. Rhys feels the need to apologise, promising a repeat of any tracks
that are 70 percent less accurate to the original recording. One punter cheekily
asks for his money back, but Rhys says that’ll only happen if the band
doesn’t get to 95 percent.
Dark Days/Light Years is the SFA’s finest album in a decade, but a huge
chunk of the glossy production is lost in its live translation, especially evident
on Cardiff in the Sun - an industrial, slow-burning electronic masterpiece that
withers towards its conclusion. The Turkish rhythms of The Very Best of Neil
Diamond has Gruff underpinning his vocoder-fuelled vocal with an electronic saz
riff - it’s the SFA at their idiosyncratic best.
The spaced-out rhythms of Pric signal an end to the band’s foray into new
material and a mini greatest hits set ensues. The techno-bounce of Slow Life
finally loosens the limbs of most in the crowd and Rings Around the World sends
the masses into a unified pogo. The blissful pop of Juxtaposed With U is trampled
on by the bombastic, expletive-ridden The Man Don’t Give a **** and Keep
the Cosmic Trigger Happy concludes the greatest hits salvo.
Michael Took
THE VICTORIAN ENGLISH GENTLEMENS CLUB
Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff
Push an animal into a corner and it will come out snarling. And though no sane
mind would claim there’s anything especially vicious about The Victorian
English Gentlemens Club – think the Pixies raised on twee indie-rock – the
restrictions of an overrunning show certainly brings out the best in the newly
expanded Cardiff quartet. Dispensing with anything more than abridged thank yous
in the face of curfew constraints, they plunge headlong into a honed half hour
or so that suggests exceeding three minutes per song is somewhat taboo in the
world of VEGC.
Returning after time away recruiting new personnel and readying forthcoming second
album Love On An Oil Rig, a fresh two-boy/two-girl line-up presents an infinitely
more satisfying balance than their previous three-piece incarnation. Muscular
drums now trade with an endearing dual female backing harmony attack, treble-happy
guitars and churning low-end topped by frontman Adam Taylor’s urgent yelps,
his stripy top/blond mop combo not a million miles from aping Kurt Cobain’s
wardrobe.
For all the clothing of art-rock, though, VEGC’s new material keeps everything
admirably straightforward. Latest single Parrot, for which tonight is a homecoming
launch party, proves a standout; Bored In Belgium is better still, while Periscope
Envy and The Venereal Game bury dirtier edges beneath politely discordant ditties
your mother could tap a heel to. In fact, all the evidence hints that when Love
On An Oil Rig arrives in September it could re-launch VEGC as genuine contenders.
Adam Kennedy
We love it live and kickin’