Tonight, [a]Symposium[/a] bury the remains of their hopeless indie past and instead, like, rawk...

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Glasgow Cathouse

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Glasgow Cathouse

It’s like milk-break in the Devil’s playground. Small children are moshing themselves into a state of pureed disrepair. Blazing clouds of molten punk-metal billow from the stage while, in the middle of it all, pop’s own demon headmaster holds court.

“We’re all gonna have fun tonight, right?” snarls Ross Cummins, fixing his unruly charges with a threatening stare. Well, um, yes we are actually. For tonight, [a]Symposium[/a] bury the remains of their hopeless indie past and instead, like, rawk. On record they may suck Satan’s sherbet dip but, live, the fivesome wring seven shades of ferocity from even their most perfunctory songs.

Carving ‘Fizzy’ and the ace ‘What’s What’ into sizzling neo-metal chunks, it’s hard to believe this is the same band who reduced us to tears with the Lamacq-approved drudgery of ‘Drink The Sunshine’. See, for all their baby-Beavis attitude, [a]Symposium[/a] actually exude more live passion than most of Britrock’s rheumatic ranks put together.

And though their angst is, at times, undeniably adolescent (‘The Answer To Why I Hate You’ sounds like a tussle in Marilyn Manson‘s Wendy house), you need only witness Cummins’ magnetically frenetic stage presence to realise [a]Symposium[/a]’s allegiance to metal’s mighty court is sincere. Yes, we had fun. And, if [a]Symposium[/a] can catch even a tenth of tonight’s wrath on record, the last laugh may yet be theirs.