As Belfast’s annual Belsonic brace of gigs draws to a close (previous nights having seen the likes of Florence And The Machine, Paul Weller, 2manyDJs and Paolo Nutini face the great unwashed on the great outdoors of Custom House Square) it falls to the Lostprophets and Biffy Clyro to entertain the sold-out crowd on a typically grey, drizzly Norn Iron summer’s evening.
Welsh emo-tinged skate rockers Lostprophets – a band who once seemed perfectly poised to beat the Americans at their own game of big-trousered metal with their first album ‘thefakesoundofprogress’ – take to the stage with the naggingly Maximo Park-ish sing-along of ‘Can’t Catch Tomorrow’. Maybe it’s the weather, or maybe every other conversation going on in the area really is just that interesting, but straight out of the gates the band fail to ignite the crowd – at least judging by the direction the bulk of them are facing.
‘Burn Burn’ is more successful, inciting some spontaneous pogoing and a timid singalong from those assembled who can recall the chorus. An ill-advised and pointless cover of Faith No More’s ‘The Real Thing’ (which serves only to highlight the disparity in skill and charisma between Ian Watkins and Mike Patton) morphs into ‘Last Summer’, which is of course hilarious, given that it’s currently raining and all that. ‘Last Train Home’ – a highlight from the ‘Start Something’ album – provides an opportunity for an extended breakdown / en masse singalong which fails to get the ‘en masse’ part right. When the same muted reaction occurs during ‘Where We Belong’ and ‘Rooftops’, it becomes mildly embarrassing to watch Watkins’ continual attempts to elicit a sing-along from a crowd which appears to be pretty much unaware of the material, or uninterested. It’s telling that the crowd is finally galvanised into movement by a cover of The Prodigy’s ‘Omen’, and some of this energy translates into a mighty ‘Shinobi vs Dragonninja’ (which admittedly sounds as fresh as ever) but it’s too little too late. On this showing, the Welsh lads appear to have taken their eye off the ball, incorrectly assumed all their songs are anthems and gone too stadium too fast – forgetting their strengths in the process.
No such problems face Biffy Clyro, who continue their unassuming upward spiral into the enormodomes off the back of increasingly accessible albums such as ‘Puzzle’ and the current, chart-straddling ‘Only Revolutions’. ‘That Golden Rule’ arrives at a breakneck pace, so much that so that it seems as if it’s finished before an appreciative crowd knows what has hit it. The staccato, string-led intro of ‘Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies’ provides a precious moment to catch the breath, then its straight back into effortless, polished alternative rock which should have had the support band scribbling notes at the side of the stage. The disco riffage of ‘Glitter And Trauma’ throbs through the crowd, showcasing the band’s knack of welding huge, radio-friendly pop songs to slightly off-kilter rhythms betraying their more experimental roots. The dual vocals of ’57′ proves that Biffy Clyro had the huge singles taken care of long before they joined the Radio 1 A-list playlist, whilst simultaneously displaying that the band have lost none of their legendary live passion in the translation to the big leagues. ‘Born On A Horse’ provides an uncharacteristically funky, yet typically left-of-centre approach which keeps the crowd moving despite the intermittent presence of that fine rain that soaks you right through.
It’s a seamless set, delivered with flair and technical precision: always renowned for their tight live performances, Biffy Clyro now give the impression of a band who could easily play all night without dropping a note, and who have been quietly generating a back catalogue of quality tunes that would enable them to do just that. The anthemic ‘Many Of Horror’ brings the set to a crescendo, each soaring chorus suggesting that the band are ready to take the next step and join the likes of Foo Fighters as an arena act able to reconcile the demands of the casual listener whilst still retaining an authentic edge.
An encore of ‘The Captain’ sends the crowd jubilantly into the night, rain-soaked but happy: perhaps to get more drunk, perhaps to keep dancing, perhaps to fall in love, or perhaps to ruminate on why the queues at the bar and the toilets were much bigger during the Lostprophets’ set.




Presumably The Revellions chose the 100 Club for the launch of their new single ‘Sigh’s’ because of its legendary status as a space for live music. But while the famous Oxford Street venue has a rich history that spans jazz and punk, and a lengthy list of illustrious names who have plugged their gear into its sound system, it wasn’t really rocking at this show.

Plus One finds lively, emerald green caterpillar in her salad; Plus One complains of a migraine; Plus One heads home early, trailing clouds of thunder. Not the best build-up to a gig and one that left this reviewer somewhat crumpled at the edges. Fortunately, Stockholm duo Stefan Storm and Oskar Gullstrand were on hand to revive the corpse with an invigorating dose of ‘80s revivalist synth-heavy dance. Bolstered for the occasion by a drummer, a keyboard player and some rather nifty back projection, Sound Of Arrows filled Hoxton Hall with a warm electropop sound that nestles comfortably between indie and commercial – like fellow Swedes Peter, Bjorn and John, the group has already been pounced upon by the ad men – and has garnered inevitable comparisons with the Pet Shop Boys.
On reflection, it’s one of the stranger reunions of recent years. When Rage Against The Machine released their eponymous debut album in 1992, they were immediately adopted as the flag-bearers for politicised rap-rock. Over the years, they demonstrated as much ability to burn flags as to bear them, so when their eventual split was announced, it was almost fitting: that sense of a fire burning out. Their influence, however, reverberated through a million subsequent ‘nu-metal’ bands, and since their sound arguably never lost its relevance, their reunion in 2006 was no surprise. What was surprising, however, was the new face of ‘The Machine’ they found themselves raging against. No strangers to rattling the cages of the likes of the U.S. Government, Fox TV or the New York Stock Exchange, the band found themselves at the heart of a hugely popular Facebook campaign to ensure Simon Cowell’s latest ‘X-Factor’ winner would not secure their customary Christmas Number One slot. The campaign’s success saw the expletive-laden ‘Killing In The Name’ anthem secure the coveted top spot, catapulting the L.A band alongside such luminaries as Slade and Cliff Richard. It was a strangely appropriate face-off for a band with its roots in underground hardcore punk and hip-hop, but an unpredictable one nonetheless. It was also really rather funny.
For a folk singer like Martha Tilston, Islington’s Union Chapel might seem like the ideal venue. It’s a beautiful building in which you can forget you’re in London and imagine the more scenic settings that Tilston evokes in her songs. And it’s full of pews, so you get to sit down: at a serene show like this no one wants to stand around getting sore feet. But it’s also a functioning chapel, so when Tilston sings in ‘Artificial’ the line ‘fuck your company policy’, she inadvertently raises the slightly murky question of whether or not it’s OK to swear in church.
Moments before The Antlers made their way onto the Scala’s stage, a space in the crowd suddenly opened up around one person standing close to the front. The reason why this man was given so much elbow room was that he had just dropped to his knees and proceeded to vomit copiously across the floor. As a result, the moody first few notes of the Antlers’ set was accompanied by the awkward theatre of two members of the Scala’s staff clearing up a pool of puke using only a roll of paper towels and a bin liner.
In one of our Lord’s less well known parables, he reminded his followers that cold Sunday nights in Glasgow maketh verily for empty venues. Apart-eth from the SECC where Kiss are on. This doesn’t deter Funeral Party, who have come all the way from Los Angeles, and are determined that they’re going to give the 50 or so punters in at the start of their set a good show. They play a short, high energy post-punk set; think a scuzzier Gossip with insistent driving bass and and fuzz guitar, and Chad Elliott is an engaging frontman; all monitor-hovering and flailing limbs. If they don’t have a killer track – and ‘Finale’ isn’t far off – then they win over the expanding crowd with their energy, the applause getting louder each time.
May 13th 2010 marked the third and final night of Pavement’s sell out shows at Brixton (O2) Academy, the same location as their famed 1992 live tour of the classic ‘Slanted and Enchanted’ album. Now let me lay this down from the start; Pavement are my favourite band and they have been my favourite band since aged 16, I picked up the album ‘Crooked Rain’, on cassette, at WHS Smith in Southampton with a £10 gift voucher my aunt Janet bought me for Christmas (1994). Pavement will probably always be favourite band and over the years I have bought and listened to pretty much everything they have ever released. As a music reviewer, I guess they also act as my benchmark for the kind of music I like. I apologise for this indulgent wank down memory lane (not a typo), but the story continues…In 1998 I came within a whisker of seeing Pavement live. I had a ‘Sunday’ ticket for the V Festival, which I unwisely switched with a tout for £40 and a weekend ticket. A fake weekend ticket. As I trudged crestfallen from the festival site, I remember hearing strains of Pavement playing live, mocking me through catches of summer breeze. So here it was, after all these years, Pavement live.