Tin Foils @ Fuel Cafe
-FUEL CAFE, MANCHESTER-
Furrowed Brow
A live debut serves as the opening for this overbearingly heated evening; their approach of using a bipedal drummer, much like how I would envision a stationary marching band, is a noted distinction from your run of the mill sit-and-hit methodology. The synthesiser’s mimicry of archaic instruments (flute, accordion), the quasi-mangled tone of the guitar as well as the strident tone of the bass highlight a degree of potential, tracks like ‘Kissing Superfluous’ indicating where they could go in regards to dynamics.
A recurring issue throughout the night was the sound hamstringing the vocals; in this case causing the male-female harmonies to suffer. For a debut gig, it’s a respectable shot; I observe several mishaps and a kind of awkward stiffness associated with a band in its infancy, though of course with the passage of time this will soon dissipate into memory.
Giant Boys
Subtracting 2 from 4 = a duo; the two of them share vocal duties, a sort of good cop/bad cop routine where one bellows like a town drunk and the other is a more reasonable, less inebriated guitar wielding cohort. Their use of a drum machine, effects like loops on the vocals as well as additional backing tracks supplant the need for a physical rhythm section.
They close with ‘The Other Man’, appropriately projecting their constructed tension onto the audience in addition to providing fertile ground for the co-headliners. Analytically, I quite like many of their set elements, however the limitations of a two-piece and the fact that a drum machine can’t really replicate the propulsion a well-suited drummer could have had in this pseudo-punk scenario softened an otherwise strong impact.
Springfield Elementary
Double 2 and you find yourself with a quartet (again): opening with an eastern style chord progression in conjunction with the accurately claimed ‘fuck loads of fuzz’ turns the sweat on all present into a microwaved stew; it’s pleasant yet unpleasant simultaneously. The Neo-Sabbath musings progressively become instrumentally incoherent (a more laid back Flipper?), though momentary ventures into a faux-lounge act as well as gifting the audience with a bag of treats and other equally miscellaneous items cement a charitable edge to an otherwise aggressive live set.
The virtuosic precision of the drummer, from piercing an airborne ‘balloon’ to fills I would deem inventive, alongside bass lines that seem to slowly evolve away from Geezer Butler and more into a collective of bees in turn enable the guitarists to do as they please on the metaphysical pallet I envision them painting on. The unrefined, not-so-melodic vocals fit well, though the recurrent sound issues didn’t exactly help matters. Closing on a cover of Screaming Lord Sutch’s ‘Jack the Ripper’ satisfies the band’s consistent steamrolling and proves clear as a particularly cloudy cider; it’s apparent that you can in fact be a fiend to machinery.
Tinfoils
Subtract 1 and you revert to a trio: like their new single, it appears the audience have answered a call of sorts, one that involves enough shifts in the tempo to wear out even the strongest of escalators. Earlier single ‘Royal Baby Machine’ reminds me once more of how much I’d love to throw a custard tart at the nearest Windsor, while other familiars like ‘Overdraft City’ (a nod to that upbeat trumpet/sax song but electrified?) and that one about the glorious fining system are a fatalistic warning that we are all but economic assets to be plucked about with (like a guitar?).
Instrumentally they showcase their cohesive volatility better than ever, serving as the evening climax in the worthiest, and unfortunately sweatiest of ways. The ruination of the bass drum pedal has little effect on impeding the rhythm, nor does the sound’s unsupportive policy on vocals take away from the slightly idiosyncratic vocal delivery. The ‘Call of the Abyss’ single highlights a coiling bassline that for some reason has the guitar act as a dog chasing its own tail (coerced instinct?). As we reach the epilogue, using a song about what appears to be (on the surface) a subject matter regarding espionage or even voyeurism seems like something you wouldn’t send to label reps… but then again look at the Pixies.
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Recent career decisions have compelled me into the journalistic... thing; I could list my literary influences or even debate which 3rd rate beverage has the best economic value per litre (But I won’t). Oh, in addition, I write reviews for the Independents Network.
