Fuzzkill Records @ Stereo, 12 Dec

★★★★
Live Review by Chris McCall | 22 Dec 2015

Label showcases can be sterile affairs if they're used as excuses to show off new signings and stick a finger up at rivals. But we're far removed from that world tonight at Stereo. Fuzzkill aren't the kind of people to make grand public statements – even if they do have one of Glasgow's most notable propositions of the year on their books. The mood here is Christmas party; bottles of communal Tonic rather corporate bun-fight.

First up are Sweaty Palms, three of whom have gone taps aff for the occasion; all the better to show off their painted nipples. Once you see past the purposefully in-yer-face stage attire, there's a slightly unsettling, glamorous sleaze to their set. Stand-out song Captain of the Rugby Team, from recent EP Hollywood Wax, is shockingly addictive. These boys could play the game and write some trendy pop if they wanted, but instead they've created a racket like a bastard son of The Cramps, and they'e all the more likeable for it. This is an opening set as frantic and show-stealing as any young band could reasonably hope for, complete with guitar breaks and flying cymbals.


The Bellybuttons are charged with following that performance. Handily,  their own stellar EP, Play!, is an impressive affair, and lead vocalist Conor Quill has a rich voice reminiscent of the Beat Happening's Calvin Johnson. On another day, with a longer set, they would be worthy headliners, but tonight they're merely an aperitif before the main course.

Catholic Action stroll on stage with the confidence of a band with four albums under their belt, rather than a group who were apparently worried about headlining a venue of this size. It's fair to say they couldn't have filled it six months ago, let alone 12, but here they are, playing to an adoring crowd with just a couple of singles to their name. Sure, there's a whole load of friends and family in attendance, but they've already won out-and-out fans.

Opening number L.U.V. is sung along by at least two dozen punters, and the band themselves sound air-tight. Chris McCrory is face-paint free tonight, following his Kiss-like effort at the Wickerman festival in the summer, keeps the on-stage chat to a few thank yous. The band breeze through several glam-rock nuggests in 30 minutes, which just sound better the more you hear them, and leave the crowd genuinely wanting more. There's time for a one-song encore and then it's lights-up. "This is the last time they'll play a venue this size," says one chap to his pal on the way out. In Glasgow, probably; they've already won this town. Now they have to convice the rest of the world.

http://fuzzkillrecords.bandcamp.com