Cuppa Class

"Nicaragua."
"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.