I did have some trouble finding the Beat, having never been there before and unfortunately after being redirected to the Bird (“Do you guys know where Beat is?” Bouncer: “Yeah its just down the street couple of shops before the Train station” “Not the Bird.. the Beat?” Bouncer: “Yeah”) I arrived for only the end of Antelopes set. My advice for future navigators is don’t ask bouncers for directions cos you might miss out on some hectic, yet ultimately shit-balls awesome music. Combining your usual post-rock fair with tribal drumming and a fair bit of noise and samples Antelope created something somewhere between 65 Days of Static and Radiohead, without the latter’s predisposition to smooth licks and strained vocals. These guys set the bar high really early on and I would strongly recommend that you go see them.
Only Hope opened with ambient strains of guitar feedback driven in part by violin bow and in part by a supremely tight rhythm section, they burst into a wall of grinding power chords and searing guitar leads. Driven by the sort of live intensity that most bands aspire to, OH set out to command and conquer the Beat one break-neck track after the other. Front-man Jacob “Unknown Last Name” dominated the stage despite his relatively small stature (compared to his band-mates), spitting fire and brimstone on those unfortunate or lucky enough to be caught in his relentless onslaught. Howling and growling his way through the set, the man barely needs a microphone, despite the churning riffage and thunderclap beats. Shuddering to a halt amidst squealing guitars and a seemingly endless shimmer of cymbals Only Hope opened the night up to a world of hurt.
Not content with the amount of dancing room the stage provided Foxes moved 60% of their personal off the stage and onto the dance-floor, embodying the phrase “up in your grill”. Short of actually jumping onto people Foxes’ live show is as close to the punishing antics of Dillinger Escape Plan as a band who list Sigur Ros in their influences is likely to get. DEP these guys are not, what they are is a pleasant strain of shoe-gaze mixed with the aggression and anguish of post-hardcore bands such as Eleventh He Reaches London and ATDI. Off kilter rhythms and angular noisy leads mix to create something set apart from your run of the mill hardcore groups.
Spilt Cities took the stage amongst a packed floor, unassuming and quite polite (like Walter Cronkite) you could mistake these young fellows for an Indi-pop group. 3 minutes in though any doubts were dissuaded from the room and while Spilt Cities have there fair share of melodic breaks, reverb drenched guitar and angsty vocals they hit as hard as they hug. Alternating between slow builds reminiscent of Bloc-Party and Mogwai and soaring choruses probably representing the heavier aspects of those bands and then some. Post-hardcore is a phrase that gets thrown around a lot, often to bands that would just as easily fit into punk or math-rock, however Spilt Cities embody the truest aspects of the genre sounding like a conglomerate of the genre’s early noughties heyday. Somewhat calmer than their forerunners for the evening the boys won over the crowd with a tight and earnest performance, launching their new EP onto welcoming ears.
By Triston Mamotte
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