Live

Rip It Up, Issue 235, 1 March 1997, Page 33

Live

Burning In The Light

BURNING IN THE LIGHT Lancaster Park Christchurch February 1

What a superb idea. Let’s assemble a swag of noisy rock bands and stage an all-day concert, then switch on some big lamps that’ll mostly be used for sporting fixtures, and we’ll call it a celebration. I’ll drink to that. Christchurch was bathed in brilliant sunshine on the morning of the Burning in The Light concert, an event organised to “usher in”, according to an official, Lancaster Park’s new floodlights. Today’s set-up is similar to Auckland’s Big Day Out, only on a much smaller scale. There’s two adjacent stages ensuring band change overs are prompt, and an electronic scoreboard situated opposite the stage at the other end of the stadium flashes messages equal in their banality to those spied at the BDO.

With the Port Hills in the background, blue skies above, and a lush green paddock below, the day was already shaping up to be awesome. Just after midday,

watched by a slowly building, largely teenage audience, local trio Hawaii Five-0 plugged in, and opened with a squallish keyboard instrumental called ‘Soda Stream’. With one member alternating between guitar, bass, and keys, Hawaii Five-0 excelled at the art of surprise, as their sound veered from gentle, mind bending organ tunes, to maudlin guitar pop, to epic feedback-drenched soundscapes. Bidding farewell with a Snapper-like keyboard dirge, they made way for a group of more boisterous mainlanders.

More than one, but less than two seconds after Gluefist pump -up the volume, a spirited mosh begins at their feet. Today’s performance is a drastically more confident set than their Auckland debut at the BDO a fortnight earlier, and the three former Pumpkinhead members in the line-up (David Hunt, Vaughan Watson, and Aaron Hogg), actually sound like they’ve played together before. ‘Eat the Dirt’ and ‘Unnecessary’ are attention getting blocks of roaring bent-metal, but it’s Gluefist big pop number, ‘Pak

‘N’ Save Girl’, that I dig most. Bassist Donald McClure lets slip the saga behind the song. “This is about Aaron’s true love, it didn’t work out, they were living different lives. He wants to be a rock ’n’ roll star, she just wants to serve.”

With the time nearing two o’clock, the small number of people gathered at the Park is alarming, and no one’s stampeding to gain entrance either. The scoreboard is going off though. A computer generated graphic depicts a head banging guitarist with long locks and a Flying V, and his foot raised on a speaker, directing the crowd to (be), ‘Rock Hard Kids!’ Awesome.

Maybe it was the early hour, but Salmonella Dub seem to be floating well over most people’s heads, though I can’t understand why, as the groove they get happening is undeniable. ‘Dub Tom Foolery’ sets the tone, and is followed by a hypnotising, 10 minute long, stoned tune that suits my mood just fine, as does ‘Strung Out Between the Beach and Heaven’ (that sounds exactly

like the title suggests), and the Young Gods-ish closer, ‘Suicidal Patterns’. Out the front to catch Seaworlde, Garageland’s Jeremy Eade surveys the scene. “It’s got a real Summer Series vibe to it,” he notes, referring to 95bFM’s annual Sunday afternoon concerts (held in Auckland’s Albert Park), that are traditionally laidback affairs. And that’s spot on, the usual charged atmosphere of most outdoor concerts is absent today. Aside from the diehard moshers, most punters are sprawled on the grass, totally chilled out, a few are even picnicking. Seaworlde are an energetic quartet, clearly in command of their instruments, but the set they knocked out this afternoon didn’t contain a single song. Their calling card is a structureless, sleazy pop-grunge hybrid, that rapidly becomes tiresome, and I’m forced to retreat elsewhere.

In the communal backstage area, the bands are toeing treated like kings, and it’s wonderful to see. All day there’s an endless supply of buffet food and alcohol, and late in the afternoon a roast meal is made available. But don’t misunderstand, this isn’t the norm at events such as this, it’s extremely rare for local acts to be looked after this well. Congrats to the folks responsible. Back in the main area, the peeled back Headless Chickens

are settling into their, first Christchurch show in almost three years, but it’s not an easy task. Throughout their set, the PA cuts out repeatedly, minimising their impact, and a further affecting element, the reduction in band personnel, means old classics like ‘Railway Surfing’ and ‘Donda Esta La Polio’, sound thin. Chris Matthews points out Mr Flying V on the big screen; “Look at that, that’s...

way cool.” At half-time, Fiona McDonald bounds on stage, “Hi, howaya!” Numbers at the front double as they sail into ‘Cruise Control’, and later, ‘Gaskrankinstation’ is wicked, marred only by Matthews’ guitar phasing in and out. On ‘Black Water Rising’, he distorts his vocal until I think I’m hearing AC/DC, and when McDonald returns, the Chooks boogie their way to the finish line with ‘George’. Let’s here it for more cheesy big screen announcements! ‘Uh! Let’s Rock!!’, ‘Are we having fun now? I can’t hear you. Everything louder. All the time.’ Good grief. The pit begins bouncing instantly when Garageland spark up with ‘Fay Wray.’ I’ve heard these songs so many times now, it feels as though they’re playing a ‘greatest hits’ show. And to the crowd also, every one’s a winner; ‘Pop Cigar’, ‘Struck’, ‘What Will You Do’, ‘Nude Star’, are all greeted with fevered screams, the loudest reserved for ‘Beelines To Heaven’ and ‘Comeback’. The

kids demand a lot from Eade, and out the back straight afterwards, exhausted he says, “That was our last gig, I’m going into real estate.” It’s after five now, and it seems the overall crowd size has remained static for the last hour, which probably means attendance is at a peak. Someone more informed than myself, claims around 4,000 rock fans are here when ex- Chch trio Loves Ugly Children begin to rock’ It was the best show I’ve seen them play. Collectively they were blistering, and individually, each turned in a compelling performance. There was a new one called ‘Six Pack’ that took off like a rocket, and when the chorus of ‘Suck’ hit, LUC were unstoppable. Best Loves Ugly lyric; ‘Satan’s coming round / He’s my only friend’.

Tonight, I’m standing with someone who is witnessing Shihad live for the first time, and much to my delight, they thoroughly blow her away. ‘Home Again’ just teases, then the firepower behind ‘Ghost From The Past’ drops like a sledgehammer, and she smiles. ‘Get Up’ builds drama like no other rock song I know, and when it peaks and finally comes crashing down, I don’t have to think, ‘Whoooosh! Take off!’, my mind’s already there. “This feels good”, says bassman Karl Kippenberger. Ditto. During a mammoth version of ‘Screwtop’, the hired security team decide>

>to be thugs, and begin violently dragging crowd surfers out of the pit to evict them. One especially vicious asshole hovers beside me for a moment, and I literally see him drooling as he scans the mosh pit like a predator, for teens a third of his size to beat up. It’s fucking sickening. Here’s a riddle for the organisers — if you’re inviting kids to, ‘Rock Hard', why employ a goon squad to assault them for doing so? Shihad’s finale is ‘La La Land’, that breaks all land-speed records, and I pity the poor sods who have to follow their barrage of tricks.

Australian trio Regurgitator had drawn that short straw, but in the end it wasn’t Shihad who made them appear lame, they looked after that area quite adequately by themselves. With virtually zero direction, groove or tune going on in their hip hop flavoured, angular metal, Regurgitator came over like a goofy, novelty act, present simply to fill in time.

Okay. Silverchair. What are the chances of them being more dull tonight, than they were in Auckland two nights ago? Fairly fucking good. Silverchair churn out most of the new record Freak Show, with the same degree of excitement that accompanies a tooth extraction. There’s no menace or primal power to their tuneless, bleak grunge, that rips off Nirvana even more than last time. Silverchair’s prize moment comes when singer Daniel Johns stops mid-song to berate a security bully who’s roughing up a punter; “Oil Don’t think you’re tough. They’re just crowd surfing, they’re not hurting anybody.” This is followed up with a bloated rendition of Black Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’, and the early hits, ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Pure Massacre’. To end, Johns trashes his gear while in the

depths of a well choreographed, spontaneous temper tantrum, and slopes off stage. Double yawn.

As silverchair fans leave in droves, San Diego’s Rocket From The Crypt hit the floorboards with the force of a bomb blast, and demand attention. It’s irresistible. A large share of the departing masses suddenly make a u-turn, drawn back toward the stage by Rocket’s instant burst of energy. Numbering seven, and clad in matching rhinestone shirts, RFTC rip through ‘Middle’, ‘On a Rope’, ‘Ball Lightning’, and ‘Young Livers’, as if the world was ending tomorrow. Take a slice of Elvis, add in the zealousness of a gospel preacher, and blend with the showmanship of a Vegas show compere, and you’ve got Rocket’s main man, Speedo. An instant charmer, it’s obvious the audience adore him, and it’s obvious Speedo loves his rock ‘n’ roll. RFTC are a band as hot as hell, and couldn’t squeeze a single drop more of passion into their performance if they tried. It’s full up already. There are three live shows I’ve been privileged to experience, that were so inspirational and uplifting, I’ll remember them till I die. This was the fourth.

As Rocket wind things up with ‘Come See, Come Saw’, the new Lancaster Park lights fizzle into action. No one I can see is awestruck by the brightness, it merely means it’s time to go home. The next afternoon, Jason Young of Loves Ugly Children hoists a guitar onto the scales at Christchurch Airport, then turns and grins, and reflects on the day before.

"Fuck that was good. Cricket paid for my good day yesterday — free food and alcohol all day, and great bands... and you don’t get kicked off the team for smoking a joint. Fuck it was fun!” JOHN RUSSELL

OMC Lee’s Palace Toronto, Canada February 25 Canada has already been very good to Pauly Fuemana (OMC). Thanks to massive radio and club play of his international hit ‘How Bizarre’, the album of that name has reached the Top 40 and gone Gold (over 50,000 sales). OMC finally supported it here with some TV and radio appearances, and a few gigs.

The fact that OMC sold out this large club is a good sign, although the low ticket price (seven dollars Canadian) may have been a factor. Another good sign was the strong turnout from OMC’s record label here, Mercury/Polydor, but they and other local industry types loitered at the back bar, as is their custom. To be honest, there wasn’t too much to urge them onto the crowded dancefloor. OMC put on a pleasant enough performance, but one rather low on electricity. Given that OMC to date has primarily been a studio project for Fuemana and co-writer/produc-er Alan Jansson, there were questions as to how that would translate into a live ensemble — comprising a scratcher, guitarist, female backing singer, and Auckland multi-instrumen-talist Nathan Haines. Nathan’s fluid flute playing was, in fact, the most prominent musical componenet of the night. It added a melodic touch to proceedings, but the laidback vibe it helped induce eventually got a bit tiresome.

As a vocalist, Fuemana doesn’t have great chops or power, but the amiable cool he projects went over well with the fans up front, who offered handshakes and bottled water between songs. As a performer, he lacked dynamism, and the response generated when he and his backing singer broke into a few smooth dance steps suggsts it wouldn’t hurt him to move more. They ran through album tracks like ‘On the Run’ (the second single here), ‘Angel in Disguise’ and ‘She Loves Italian’, but, of course, all present were waiting for ‘that’ song. Sure enough, less than 40 minutes into the set, the opening riffs to ‘How Bizarre’ drew huge cheers, and a major audience sing-along. The band exited to ringing applause, and were then lured back on for a radically different version (heavy on the flute, scratching and voices over a throbbing rhythm) of the same song. Give them good marks for inventiveness, but to do one song twice in a 45-minute set

does raise questions about a shortage of rehearsed material. These misgivings aside, it has been great to see the hybrid, but proudly Kiwi, pop sound of OMC make a splash here. Yes, it has been a slightly bizarre phenomenon, but let’s hope Pauly and co. have a few more songs of that calibre to ensure the ripples linger. KERRY DOOLE DIRTY THREE @Luna, Auckland, February 16. I hardly saw Dirty Three at all, for most of this night my eyes stayed closed. I’d been waiting to really hear them again for a very long time. My rush of joy when they walked on stage was immeasurable.

Warren Ellis was grand. When he raised his violin to play, often he played with unbearable fragility, and often he played with unspeakable violence, but he always played possessed. He gave us a wry smile after every song, and he told funny stories; “This song is about going home one night with Eddie Vedder, and he looks at you and whispers in your ear that he wants to play you his songs all night, and all you can think is, ‘Fuck off, you boring SNAG.’”

Jim White drums the way a tornado swirls, yet he’s forever composed, like he’s dealing a pack of cards. Only his eyes reveal that he’s actually somewhere else.

Mick Turner looked shy where he stood, as though he was still getting used to this kind of attention. When he plays his guitar, it sounds like beauty, stripped back to its core. All together, Dirty Three, they make magic. Each one of their songs unleashes a power that is untameable, and conveys emotions that can’t be expressed with mere words. Song titles act as guides, ‘I Really Miss You A Lot’, ‘I Knew It Would Come to This’, ‘I Remember a Time When Once You Used to Love Me’, but the true meaning is in the sound. Words would be useless. Ellis talks a lot, it’s just the right amount. To each song announcement, he adds an explanation that hints at the bigger picture; “This is called, ‘Sue’s Last Ride’, or, ‘lt’s a Bummer That You Died’.”

One after another, every tune sounds amazing, and affects me the same. The instant Ellis glides his bow across the strings, and the violin begins to soar, my heart and head go along on the ride, until I arrive at a place feeling blissed and

weightless. Honest. When they play ‘Everything’s Fucked’ and ‘Hope’, the sensation becomes more intense. It’s difficult to describe. It feels like you cease to exist, your individual self melts in with everything — the audience, the band, the music — everything comes together in this one flowing, unified stream of energy. It’s very cool. When they’re done, I feel physically drained, and intoxicated with exhilaration.

No matter what the fashion is, it is what moves your soul that is most important. Dirty Three are pure and real, and what they do hits home somewhere so deep, it’s beyond being rationalised. In this world, Dirty Three are alien, for the music they create is a gift. If you accept it, be prepared to experience one of the most transcendental thrills in life. And feel honoured. JOHN RUSSELL PETER JEFFERIES SHAYNE CARTER SUBSTATIC @Luna, Auckland January 31 Substatic are from Hamilton, two guitars, bass and drones. They suffered from an early inaudible guitar mix, and later went on to emulate the sound with inaudible shoe gazing vox, sort, of like a half hour of ‘Transparent Radiation’ by Spacemen 3. The crowd liked it. Shayne Carter had a new delay pedal that could loop the first couple of chords endlessly — that proved interesting. He used it for most of his eight songs — that proved a little tiresome. Mr Jefferies joined Mr Carter for three songs, confusing the rumour that they hate each other’s guts these days. There were no versions of ‘Randolph’s...’ or ‘Hooked Lined Sunken’, but . a thing called ‘Evolution Part Two’ passed time progressively. By set’s end I started a little game, whistling an illusive melody along to the Dimmer/Carter improv’s. I wasn’t disgusted, but I wasn’t moved — maybe stronger drugs than Strongbow White were called for.

Peter Jefferies is a fucking genius! Anyone who can play drums,. keyboards and vocal chords all at once is a freak, and therefore must be a genius. Combine this with fine songwriting skills and what more could you ask for? How ’bout a glorious set including a robotic version of ‘World in a Blanket’, pumping in Suicide fashion at four times the recorded speed. Or for true fans, a powerful

haunting version of Nocturnal Projections’ ‘You’ll Never Know’. The cream and strawberry highlight though was ‘Come Down Easy’ by Spacemen 3 (the only English band worth anything in PJ’s recent estimations). In all there were 10 songs on his set list from all over his solo history, with kick, snare and keyboard punctuating the emotive streams of wit and verse. Truly an indelible solo performance. MAC HODGE SPIDERBAIT MARY Powerstation Auckland February 8 One misplaced passport saw to it that Spiderbait were stranded at home in Oz when they were scheduled to play two New Zealand gigs with silverchair, a week prior to this concert. So, someone, somewhere, decided two free all-age shows — one in Auckland the other in Christchurch — would compensate nicely. In reality, what it did do (in Auckland at least), was demonstrate one point; some kids will respond favourably to anything as long as they get it for nothing.

In the downstairs, no-alcohol area of the Powerstation, Generation X (don’cha love it! And it’s back in fashion!) burst into action the second Mary struck a chord. The desperate moshing and surfing that accompanied the more sedate tunes played early in the piece begs the question, were these ragers even listening? I don’t believe so. And more fool them, ’cause Mary have a couple of dandy pop tunes (still no clarification as to who the author/s is/are) to sell, that more than make up for their comprehensive lack of stage presence. My favourite is called (I think), ‘Follow Me, I’m the Enemy’, though it took a zesty 3Ds-ish number to really get the entire crowd fired up. Mary raised yet another cheer later in the set, when a well-aimed jumper tossed from the crowd wrapped itself around the bass player’s head. Rock... and... roll.

Spiderbait, in old rock parlance, ‘a power trio’, should know first impressions count. So, why wander on all dry-balls like, and dress down a bunch of excited kids with a clipped lecture condemning stagediving... before you’ve even played a note! Who the fuck do they think they are? Dire Straits? Lucky for them their opening song — an extended remix of the Goodies’ hit ‘Run’ — confused the fuck out of everybody, so no one>

>could decide if they should stay or go.

Mercifully, the Aussies loosened up as they crossed each song off the set list. And what of the songs? Both ‘Don’t Kill Nipper’ and ‘Jasper’ were too similar to any early Soundgarden track you care to mention; ‘Calypso’ and ‘Goosh’, the squeaky bubblegum tunes sung by bassist Janet hark back to Juliana Hatfield’s repulsive, feigned tweeness, and the Throwing Muses are painted all over, ‘Hot Water & Milk’.

That said, Spiderbait did have awesome moments, but only one of them was a whole song. In other words, Spiderbait were good at bits — specifically, the bass line in the otherwise dull grunge number, ‘Chest Hair’, and the vocal trickery courtesy of Kram on ‘Conjunctivitis’. Their finest song tonight was a hypnotic instrumental, ‘When Fusion Ruled the Earth’.

Just before the finale, I felt a conclusion coming on; Spiderbait are essentially a combination of a handful of indenial MOR guitar bands, none of whom I particularly wish to listen to. SB were okay, but I’m grateful it was F-R-E-E. Some people asked after the whereabouts of the encore, for me the pressing question was, who paid for the free shows? Was it the record company? Or will Spiderbait be washing dishes at Polydor for many years to come? JOHN RUSSELL PALACE TALL DWARFS RENDERERS @Luna, Auckland February . ■ 14 I’m late, but fortunately so are the Renderers. @Luna has had a cosmic makeover, which looks fine, but it’s a little unclear what the rings of connected polystyrene are above the stage - a UFO or a stairway to heaven? In any case, once the Renderers are playing this is of little consequence. The band have a knack of drawing an audience into their often sombre but always soothing world, and leaving them feeling better for the experience. When the otherworldly Maryrose sings about pain, it somehow seems more real than the contrived soft focus melancholy of Mazzy Star’s Hope Sandoval (you’ve sold millions of records honey, go buy yourself some Prozac). The performance is complimented by nice vocal harmonies from bassist Denise Roughan (of the 3Ds), and aside from a couple of guitar solos that sound a little out of tune, the country-tinged Southerners start the evening’s entertainment real nice, like, good buddy. Tall Dwarfs next — can they beat their EDO performance? Do they care? Once again ‘Nothing’s Going to Happen’ works its ■ magic alongside Stumpy material and a surprise in the form of ‘Woman’, which I’ve never seen them perform. Warm fuzziest lyrical soundbite: ‘All I ever wanted you to do was smile.’ Best modern primitive dancing ritual is performed by a punter who combines expressive movements with plenty of alcohol and a broken jandal. Most convincing Eddie Van

Halen impression: ‘Lightning Fingers’ Knox, on his custom piece of Deka-grade electronics. Tonight’s incarnation of Palace consists of Will Oldham backed by the Renderers and an American pal on keyboards. Will looks like a cross between a leprechaun and Beck’s twin brother, the one who wasn’t allowed to play with the drum machine in his youth and didn’t discover the strange mental effects of sniffing petrol. Soon after the band begins, his strengths as a songwriter and performer are clearly evident. The songs are simple, honest and moving, avoiding grandiose subject matter in favour of more down-to-earth content like working hard, playing hard, friends, family and God being the answer. Oldham sings with his mouth open as wide as Bjork’s, and the confidence of one who appreciates the qualities in his voice that others may call deficiencies; the distinctive wavering only ever serves to heighten his performance. As the last show of this New Zealand tour concludes, Oldham gallantly shows his appreciation to the audience and his band with low bows and everyone leaves with a smile on their face. JUSTIN REDDING STEVE VAI BLACKJACK Powerstation Auckland February 16

Ticketeless hopefuls waited outside in vain as the capacity crowd inside readied themselves for a night of guitar heaven. A hastily assmebled version of Blackjack (with drummer Aland Grady from Knightshade) got things rocking and warmed up well with a solid set of mainly original songs. Hailing from Hamilton, they are known solely as a metal band yet it was their ballad which came across best, with Paul Martin adding some good lead fills. At 10.30 the lights dimmed and the sirens signalled the powerful intro to ‘There’s a Fire in the House’. Steve got his guitar to say “hello” to everybody, and the band let rip with some intense musicianship. This was obviously going to be a very loud show of wicked proportions and the audience were not only listening, they were going nuts! Bassist Philip Byno laid down the heavy groove of ‘The Animal’ on his Yamaha sixstring, with Vai playing so hard out he broke one of his strings. He had to change guitars quite a few times throughout the night for this reason. ‘Deepness’ was the first number to feature Steve singing (in a scat vocal), as a prelude to the incredibly heartfelt performance of ‘Tender Surrender’. He was wringing tears out of that Ibanez as if the future of the world depended on it. Later he played likewise on his piece de resistance, ‘For the Love of God’, lifting the mood to a higher spiritual level. After the whammy bar wildness of ‘Bad Horsie’, Vai and fellow ex-Zappa man Mike Keneally went into a superbly staged extended guitar duel, a la Crossroads, where the fretboards were burning hot. A hilarious theatrical piece ensued during ‘Answers’, when two lucky participants were invited on stage and sprinkled with

invisible magic music dust. They now held the power to conduct the band by their movements, with bizarre, cacophonous results! Another memorable moment from the two-hour concert was when Vai let himself fall onto the fans and be carried along by their sea of hands. The only minor quibble is that they could have played a Frank Zappa tune insead of ‘Twist and Shout’ and the inappropriate ‘Waltzing Matilda’. The bulk of the material was from Fire Garden and Passion and Warfare (nothing from Sex and Religion), but to finish off there was a stunning rendition of ‘The Attitude Song’ from Flex-able. Despite an unsuccessful plea for the return of his stolen shoe, Steve looked very happy and genuinely blown-away by the enthusiastic reception he got from the Auckland audience. Let’s hope he visits our planet again before the next millenium. GEOFF DUNN NONPLACE URBAN FIELD UNITONE HI-FI PITCH BLACK 214 K’ Road Auckland January 31 Friday night, Auckland city. At the Supertop Kiss are slobbering their way through a set of sonic tongue-dive, and an accountant wearing a ‘Hooters’ T-shirt reigns supreme on the dancefloor of the Loaded Hog. None of which matters to those who have come to K’ Road to re-calibrate their internal compasses with a few bin-fulls of bass. Within seconds perspiration glistens on those who enter the fast overcrowding sub-pave-ment venue, whether they are moving or not. Laying down the soundtrack for this sweat-fest is Pitch Black, featuring Mike Hodgson of Projector Mix and Paddy Free from Mesh. Pitch Black’s short set is a hit; their sound is simple but completely effective. What’s more, the two of them appear to be totally getting off on it, and are grooving as hard as the rest of us.

Stinky Jim throws on a couple of records as yet more punters fill the space and oxygen becomes a fading memory. Just to ensure we all suffocate, Unitone HiFi soon kick in with material from new album Boomshot, including ‘Natural Progression’ and ‘Race Horse’. From this blunted beginning the threesome slowly wind up the pace until the beats owe more to a rave than a dancehall. In fact the HiFi are pulling a fast one — changing pseudonyms half way through their set, the tricky buggers. They end up as their alter-egos the Crazy Baldheads and pound the crowd into a frenzy with a remix of their Incoming! labelmates Cee-Mix, among other nasties. A perfectly paced set, easily the best I’ve witnessed from them to date. One of Unitone’s last numbers went by the name of ‘Friedman’, an ode to Burned Friedman, aka Nonplace Urban Field, also an Incoming! artist from Germany, and tonight’s last act. NUF’s recorded output is nothing short of excellent, but I couldn’t help but wonder how it would be received here tonight. Burned begins with an explanation of what exactly he is about to do, which doesn’t really leave anyone the wiser due to the mic’ being turned down too low. After a pastiche of pretty out-there noise, which although interesting left a few a little confused, NUF delivers a deeply layered collection of tracks. The night had really peaked with the previous act but this was a great way to continue: diverse rhythms with plenty of ambience over the top. NUF’s style may have challenged the audience a little more than they were expecting, but if you’re going to go to sound-system style gigs you’re going to have to expect some weird shit sooner or later.

All in all a great gig in a venue that unfortunately is now a pool hall. Still, with over a hundred turned away at the door, Unitone Hi-Fi and friends will be needing somewhere bigger next time.

JUSTIN REDDING