Kerrang Radio Breakthru Tour @ Cabaret Voltaire
The lead singer's hair - long and greasy - should fall across the face like Cobain perfected, not sculpted by a Dutch professional known only as Hans.
| 11 Apr 2007
Tonight, opening band Spider Simpson (2/5) play to an almost empty venue, being the first of three acts on a bill with little hype. However, the unsold tickets at Cabaret Voltaire are no indication of the evening's quality.
Though a functional rock band, Simpson's compositional inexperience begins to show after a few songs of noisy but empty tracks. The emphasis of sound over substance is a pitfall for many new bands and Simpson's eventual evolution - which comes with experience - will directly define their success.
The Mexicolas (3/5) are an energetic three-piece whose post-grunge guitar rock echoes the sound of My Vitriol, the London based band whose single Always (Your Way) brought shoegaze rock to the 21st century. Though the Mexicolas are like an echo of a band reflecting a scene, it's no bad thing. If they'd played tonight's set in London five years ago their pictures would be all over the NME. Unfortunately, their grungy, heavy rock lost the war to Franz Ferdinand's art-rock revolution.
The same could be said of headliners My Alamo, who follow up with great grunge noise - although discouragingly, the venue is still near empty. Kids today go to concerts to dance. Badly. That My Alamo do not yelp and clap their hands should not be held against them. "I'm not the enemy" they scream in tandem, as if apologising for their musical isolation. But frankly, they shouldn't apologise at all. In fact, they should stand resolute. The twangy guitar dance rock scene is done to death and it's about time for mutiny. Jackets should be made of black leather or denim and that's it - not Peruvian mink from posh spice's winter wardrobe. Furthermore, the lead singer's hair (long and greasy) should fall across the face like Cobain perfected, not sculpted by a Dutch professional known only as Hans. The band should mumble. The drummer must keep time to an 80s track he heard on the radio earlier, which the bassist frantically struggles to understand. Only the guitarist is allowed to look cool. And if your songs begin to sound the same after a while, screw it! You're on the road to grunge greatness.
Sure, sometimes My Alamo's 90s revival stretches too far back, incongruous Metallica riffs open some tracks, and My Friend Said veers dangerously close to Bon Jovi territory. But when they lock into the Pavement cum Soundgarden sound of 1995, they're going for gold, as on tracks like 1994 - mashed guitars and perfect hazy lyrics. Fittingly, their instrumental closing jam brings back memories of better times. [Hamza Khan]
Though a functional rock band, Simpson's compositional inexperience begins to show after a few songs of noisy but empty tracks. The emphasis of sound over substance is a pitfall for many new bands and Simpson's eventual evolution - which comes with experience - will directly define their success.
The Mexicolas (3/5) are an energetic three-piece whose post-grunge guitar rock echoes the sound of My Vitriol, the London based band whose single Always (Your Way) brought shoegaze rock to the 21st century. Though the Mexicolas are like an echo of a band reflecting a scene, it's no bad thing. If they'd played tonight's set in London five years ago their pictures would be all over the NME. Unfortunately, their grungy, heavy rock lost the war to Franz Ferdinand's art-rock revolution.
The same could be said of headliners My Alamo, who follow up with great grunge noise - although discouragingly, the venue is still near empty. Kids today go to concerts to dance. Badly. That My Alamo do not yelp and clap their hands should not be held against them. "I'm not the enemy" they scream in tandem, as if apologising for their musical isolation. But frankly, they shouldn't apologise at all. In fact, they should stand resolute. The twangy guitar dance rock scene is done to death and it's about time for mutiny. Jackets should be made of black leather or denim and that's it - not Peruvian mink from posh spice's winter wardrobe. Furthermore, the lead singer's hair (long and greasy) should fall across the face like Cobain perfected, not sculpted by a Dutch professional known only as Hans. The band should mumble. The drummer must keep time to an 80s track he heard on the radio earlier, which the bassist frantically struggles to understand. Only the guitarist is allowed to look cool. And if your songs begin to sound the same after a while, screw it! You're on the road to grunge greatness.
Sure, sometimes My Alamo's 90s revival stretches too far back, incongruous Metallica riffs open some tracks, and My Friend Said veers dangerously close to Bon Jovi territory. But when they lock into the Pavement cum Soundgarden sound of 1995, they're going for gold, as on tracks like 1994 - mashed guitars and perfect hazy lyrics. Fittingly, their instrumental closing jam brings back memories of better times. [Hamza Khan]