Panzer People

The opening paragraph was cut for publication. Fair enough, can't say it adds much to the review, but I do like to cover every act on the bill, it just seems lazy not to...plus the first band on is regularly the best. Is that because I get bored/drunk/cynical as the night progresses, or that accomplished, popular performers don't interest me that much? Questions questions.

THAT FUCKING TANK/ MONSTER KILLED BY LASER/ IVY’S ITCH/ BALLS DEEP, Poor Girl Noise, Wheatsheaf, 15/8/09

Bass and drums duo Balls Deep create all the thump and buzz one would expect from a PGN opening act. The amp-vibrating bass burr sounds wonderful, like Mechagodzilla snoring after a few pints, and a jugband cowbell section is well placed, but neither the performance nor the compositions offer a justification for the stark focus of a rhythm section duet. Fine for a second gig, but nothing special yet.

Since we last saw Ivy’s Itch they’ve changed, perhaps in the way a red giant changes into a white dwarf. Everything is heavier, denser and more oppressive. Gone are the spacious goth passages, replaced by mismatched metal pummelling topped with orc tantrum vocal tirades. The sound is fascinatingly agressive, akin to Babes In Toyland folded intricately in on themselves like an autist’s bus ticket. It’s a brilliant set, and made even more intriguing by the degree to which Eliza Gregory’s outfit and mannerisms remind us of Morwenna Banks as the five year old on Absolutely.

Aside from a slightly messy synth noodle intro, which sounds as though two kittens had got loose in Klaus Schulze’s studio, Yorkshire’s Monster Killed By Laser produce a proggy breed of contemporary instrumental rock that often sounds enticingly like Dark Side Of The Moon reinterpreted by Mudhoney. At times they can become overly introspective, and spend too much energy focussed on miniature twiddles like some post-Slint version of Sky, but in general they produce an impressively well-structured take on wordless post-rock. Plus the guitarist’s waistcoat and gestures make him look like an amateur magician, perhaps they could incorporate some conjuring into the show.

Having heard Leeds’ That Fucking tank on record, we’d dismissed them as one more guitar and drums act littering the byways and culs-de-sac of hipster rock. Seeing them live is a different matter altogether. Ignoring a stately guitar intro that sounds strangely like Dowland, their music is dirt simple, primarily just straightforward rhythms and two or three note motifs, but they perform it with such energy, tension and elasticity that they could spearhead a Bungee Rock movement. It’s sets like this that remind us why we spend so much time in dark cellars and drizzly paddocks, as a great performance holds pleasures no recording can possibly capture. Perhaps not the best band in the world, but one of those lovely gigs that justifies all the night buses, tinnitus and bad plastic pints we endure in the search for exciting music.

I've Just Invented The Word "Paupette". In My Head.

This review isn't really up to standard, having reread it. Gets the point acrioss, but hardly memorably, wouldn't you say? If I didn't know better I'd say it was from the old BBC days. Still, we all have off nights; it's not as if some cunt has been unreasonable enough to judge my entire output on the strength of it. Imagine, what sort of scum would do something like that?

Charlottefield split up approximately 20 minutes after this review was published, so there's the reverse Midas touch in evidence once again.

CHARLOTTEFIELD/ ACTION BEAT/ THEO - Poor Girl Noise, The Wheatsheaf, Feb08

Like the first snowfall of the year, live looping is a minor miracle that never fails to impress. Theo once again proves how useful a tool an infinite delay pedal can be in his opening bars, twining thick guitar lines together to create a wiry cord of dense riffing. Then he drops the guitar and starts slipping some chunky drums behind the loops. The resulting noise is clinical but remorselessly insistent and effective, something akin to AC/DC tunes under construction on the Cowley car plant's conveyors. A secret part of us wonders what it might sound like if we could have drums and guitar at once (you know, like a band), and whether there might be another way of ending a piece than simply overloading the pedal and puffing out a hiss of white noise, but this ultimately feels like cavilling. Go and see Theo, his music amply repays the patience needed to watch its genesis.

Adventurous locals might like to think of Action Beat as a cross between The Corvids' kraut thump and the fuzzed reproach of The Holiday Stabbings. The aural density of the thunderous noise initially excites, but the (unreasonably short) set ultimately fails to convince: too regulated to be an eviscerating noise, but too messy to succeed through hypnotic repetition. You could have the time of your life watching Einstellung or Ascension, but it appears that they don't mix well.

Let's get one thing out of the way before we go any further: Ashley Marlowe, Charlottefield's drummer, is phenomenal. He powers into the kit with force yet restraint, and the contrast between prog embellishment and punk incision reminds us of Karl Burns' work on the first Fall album. Frankly, for the first ten minutes of the set we barely noticed the rest of the band. Eventually our senses returned to normal, and we discover that the band make a most pleasant sound, shot through with flashes of Fugazi and tiny flecks of Part Chimp whilst a monolithic bass gels it all together. However, just as we had them pegged as a riotously adept and entertainingly generic alt.rock act, things start to shift. Slowly the music is changing gear, until finally we are left in the midst of endless deserts of guitar tones with deft cymbal flicks dancing above them. After a simply wonderful set, it's easy to see why Charlottefield are always so welcome in Oxford, and we wonder how we've managed to miss them before.