"Talk us through your asnwer."
"Nicaragua is what it is."
"OK."
THE BREW, Haven Club, Bully, 2/11/15
Led Zeppelin were one of the greatest groups that rock
music has ever seen, exhibiting levels of intuitive ensemble playing generally
only found in the very best classical and jazz outfits, whilst retaining an air
of unhurried looseness and still sounding like Satan’s convoy delivering
juggernaut-loads of haunted pig iron direct to your eardrums. Trouble is, they were also not that bright, and
so many classic rock acts get the good mixed up with the bad, proffering chunky
riffs and elegant licks alongside all that shit about hobbits and big willies
and sex with schoolgirls.
Grimsby trio The Brew are clearly heavily influenced by vintage
Zep and Cream, and for the most part are outstanding, but they do come with a
side salad of cliché. There are little
things like the drummer’s obsession with holding one stick in the air, like he’s
acting out the poster for Star Wars IV,
or the singer and guitarist’s loose neckerchief, which is probably supposed to
conjure Jimi or Jimmy but mostly resembles Fred from Scooby-Doo, and some more
serious niggles, like a singing voice
that is too thin to last 90 minutes of chest-beating rock action. Amusingly, the vocals are in such a “cummawn
airboddih!” panto drawl, than when asked to sing along to one tune nobody can
make out the words (we alternated between “I’ve seen your face” and “1, Semen
Place”).
But, that’s the bad side, and as we say, this comes with
the territory to a certain extent, like greed in hip hop, homophobia in reggae,
and horrible bloody hairclips in indie.
The fact is that The Brew is a hugely enjoyable band, with gallons of
talent and a fair few ideas bubbling through.
And energy. Blimey, you don’t see
a band, grown-up classic rock or otherwise, having this much fun onstage too
often, leaping about like loons and infectiously buoying up the quiet Monday
crowd: we wouldn’t be surprised if there was a reverse phantom power set-up,
and the band were actually powering the venue.
Plus there are addictive grooves, from double-ply Deep Purple stomps to
elastic mid-era Floyd landscapes, in which you can easily lose ten
minutes. The Brew might be too frivolous
for some dessicated old Mojo readers,
and too traditional for cutting edge kids, but if you relish old-fashioned rock
music, volume and fun, then you could hardly do better.
