Another great night - and a noisy one...
London spews up The Libertines, Glasgow hit back with Kain. They’re a hustling, nervy, knowing lesson in how to dry hump the Strokes/Jam-adoring New Wave to within an inch of its dignity. ‘Most Of My Heroes Are Probably Fakers’ is their perfect mission statement, while their singer is a smirking hipster who was clearly rocking the thrift store chic look way before it became the pinnacle of cool.
Terra Diablo don’t care what they look like. These local noiseniks are just obsessed with creating the ultimate post-hardcore cacophony. They kick off gently with the angular melodicism of Idlewild and Foo Fighters before hammering down hard on the distortion for a journey into the heart of Mogwai‘s nightmares. It is the height of avant-rock excellence.
Ikara Colt cram three decades’ worth of garage mayhem into one hyperactive, irresistible whole. Just look at them. Singer Paul is part ranting sidewalk preacher, part smooth barroom conman. Guitarist Claire summons a squall of delirious feedback as only a fuzzbox-stomping fox can. The other two play like Lower East Side college kids on a mission to search and destroy. The band ricochet with energy and high octane confidence, even ending with Paul ranting over a burst of fuzzed-up electroclash noise. Ikara Colt have come for your adrenalin gland. Time to hand it over.