London Highbury Garage

Come on, you pasty-faced jessies. Sell your souls to heavy rock'n'roll...

You only need four riffs to be in a great rock band. Just ask Californian desert rockers [a]Fu Manchu[/a], they’ve only got three and they’re still one of the most blistering live acts you’re likely to catch this year.

Sounding like [a]Black Sabbath[/a] beating The Stooges to death with a rusty carjack, the Fu‘s may stick to tried and tested methods of rocking our world, but they do it with such ferocity that it’s a poor soul who can’t feel their magic.

Because these rockers – who count ex-Kyuss drummer Brant Bjork among their ranks – have the lot. Songs, dynamics, attitude and 100 per cent unrefined rock power. Our malnourished, anaemic rock scene demands more bands like this and on the strength of tonight’s show, [a]Fu Manchu[/a] – along with Queens Of The Stone Age and Unida – look the most likely contenders to break through the stoner underground scene and give the outside world a taste of total energy rock. God knows we need it.

When show opener ‘Hell On Wheels’ kicks in, a packed Garage of metallers, indie kids, squares and townies goes apeshit. They can’t help but be rocked by the 100mph Harley Davidson riffs, Bjork‘s octopus-on-speed drumming and frontman Scott Hill‘s wasted, [I]”Hell on wheels/It’s no big deal” [/I]drawl. Thank fuck, we’re at a proper heavy rock show.

Singing mostly about driving dune buggies across the desert, drinking, taking drugs and skateboards, the Fu‘s are brilliant, trashy, even poppy, fun. The clap-your-hands, singalong stormer ‘Blue Tile Fever’, for example, is the best song those cabaret phonies Kiss never wrote and – shock horror – it could probably even get played ON THE RADIO!

To the unitiated, their live rock experience can be a difficult one, but [a]Fu Manchu[/a] have enough tricks and tunes up their sleeve to entertain and convert even the most lily-livered among us. Just give them an hour when they come back to this country at the end of the month and see what they can do for you. Come on, you pasty-faced jessies. Sell your souls to heavy rock’n’roll.

You May Like