(review by Combi Chris) With all the subtlety of a shotgun blast to a nun, Braxton Hicks
(pic above) are next up, and are a spitting, swaggering salute to the
classic days of punk. The Christian Union meeting must’ve seemed like
catnip to guitarist/vocalist Joe, who decided to address them directly:
“If you’re Christian, give us a shout!” A meek, terrified response
followed, but hey! it’s the meek that’ll inherit the Earth, right? Well
played, Christians. Well played.
These punks are really fast: Joe’s strumming skills are a lesbian’s wet
dream, Neil Crud becomes a Tourette’s sufferer when he straps on his
bass, whirling, twitching and capering his way everywhere, yet somehow
not managing to miss a single note. Getting flipped off by him mid-song
was just lovely – cheers, mate! Haha! As for Gwion, the drummer? An
angry, pale, technically-proficient musician, his battering of his poor
drumkit can only be truly described as musical spousal abuse.
Their set was a roaring, frenzied statement of musical intent, punctuated by their amazing closing song, ‘Never Kill Yourself’. I have to admit, I did sing and bang my head to this tune: it’s just too catchy not to. Punk’s not dead, people: it’s still as weird as ever.
(from Crudblog) We played our set, we dripped our sweat. We got a good response, hell, some even knew the words! Which ain’t bad, as the songs will be alien to the vast majority and not a cover to be heard; more so because we lack the talent to master anyone else’s tunes! Our 28 minutes of making a racket consisted of Macho Man / I Don’t Wanna Be You / Depression / Get Outta My Head / Poison By Rancid / Gone Fishin’ / Government To Be / This Song Was Never Written / Never Kill Yourself.
These punks are really fast: Joe’s strumming skills are a lesbian’s wet
dream, Neil Crud becomes a Tourette’s sufferer when he straps on his
bass, whirling, twitching and capering his way everywhere, yet somehow
not managing to miss a single note. Getting flipped off by him mid-song
was just lovely – cheers, mate! Haha! As for Gwion, the drummer? An
angry, pale, technically-proficient musician, his battering of his poor
drumkit can only be truly described as musical spousal abuse.Their set was a roaring, frenzied statement of musical intent, punctuated by their amazing closing song, ‘Never Kill Yourself’. I have to admit, I did sing and bang my head to this tune: it’s just too catchy not to. Punk’s not dead, people: it’s still as weird as ever.
(from Crudblog) We played our set, we dripped our sweat. We got a good response, hell, some even knew the words! Which ain’t bad, as the songs will be alien to the vast majority and not a cover to be heard; more so because we lack the talent to master anyone else’s tunes! Our 28 minutes of making a racket consisted of Macho Man / I Don’t Wanna Be You / Depression / Get Outta My Head / Poison By Rancid / Gone Fishin’ / Government To Be / This Song Was Never Written / Never Kill Yourself.
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