The singer runs offstage, and comes back as a nun. Halfway through the next number, a melismatic
gospel paean to the saviour, the nun costume is off. The singer finishes the song wearing nothing
but some (rather snug) knickers. During
the following tune, a man in a mysterious shiny mask dresses her in a
tutu. The set ends with the singer
sitting on this vaudeville gimp, playing guitar and singing through a gas mask. This is not the sort of theatre one usually
finds at bottom of the bill at The Wheatsheaf, and for thinking about stage
presentation to a greater extent than “Will these pizza stains show up under
the coloured lights?” Gemma Moss deserves credit. But, frankly, even the most interesting
presentation won’t rescue a whole set of unconvincing music, and luckily
Gemma’s dark cabaret songs and vocal acrobatics impress without the Ken Russell
trappings.
Her style is somewhere between smouldering and emphatic,
like an R n B diva doing Jacques Brel in the waiting room to Hades. There is a lot of despair in Gemma’s music,
words like “help” and “crazy” seemingly only ever a chorus away, but her voice
has a rich soulful warmth that dispels any fears of a hectoring miseryguts
(there are quite enough of those on the solo artist scene already). It’s early days for Gemma, who came out of
the friendly crucible of Oxford’s open mike nights, and she’s only done a
handful of full gigs, but we suggest you seek out the next one. Unless you actively like mediocrity, that is.
OVERLORD/ XII BOAR/ 13 BURNING. Port Mahon, 8/2/14
Metal is a music of extremes. Nearly all the best bands are too fast, or
too slow, or too loud, or too Nordic, or too dressed as decomposing priests,
whereas 13 Burning are just too pallidly anonymous to make much
impression. There are definitely
positives to note, especially the vocalist who has a powerful keening high
tenor, like a crooner version of Bruce Dickinson, but then again he also mimes
along to the plodding guitar solos whilst looking like George Michael circa 1988,
which reduces our good will noticeably. As
this is their second gig, we’ll not write them off, but they need to become
more...something. More anything. More metal.
Now, Aldershot’s XII Boar are not sonically extreme,
playing a whiskey-marinated mixture of Sabbath riffs and Motorhead growls set
against the slack depths of early Mudhoney, but they are extreme in their dedication
to head-kicking numbnuts rocking. Which
makes them fantastic, obviously. Whether
they’re playing stoner thumps, Southern boogie or sloppy half-inched solos,
they do it with that winning mixture of total sincerity and cheek-tonguing
cabaret that only great heavy rock bands can pull off. The guitarist also has an LED knuckleduster
and the ability to shout “fuck yeah!” with the theatrical timing of a master
comedian. This shit is much harder than
it looks.
Overlord are a young band – we’re informed that their
guitar- and vocalist, Nightshift
writer Tal Fineman, was legally allowed in the venue scant days ago – and they
have an awful lot of talent to admire.
Unfortunately, as yet the overall effect is a little muddled. Entertaining chugs suddenly turn awkwardly
introspective, and infectious party-on cowbell parts are abandoned at
frustratingly odd junctures. The set is
like a Rubik’s cube that might be rearranged into a number of quality tracks,
but at the moment is a tantalising jumble, not quite Zep-rock, not quite
classic metal, and with uncertain nods towards prog. Their cover of Sabbath’s “Electric Funeral”
shows how good they can be when they stick to one furrow. It’s OK for a song to do one thing well, but
lots of Overlord’s song try to do 12 things, and wind up a bore.
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