Live

The Brownies, Fever Fever, Cold Hands, Ladypanther

Alex Nelson 21/01/2011

Rating: 4/5

The Marquee in Norwich is a hole. A dive. A wretched hive of scum and villainy. But it's ever degrading charm lends itself perfectly to the four acts on offer here tonight. Be it the woozy night-out blur of Cold Hands' slatternly set, the sexually charged grrr rock of Fever Fever or The Brownies sending desperate punters off to the unsightly piss soaked toilets to copulate into the wee hours of the morning (probably).
Ladypanther (who were undutifully pipped to the post in last year's "Next Big Thing" competition by tinny yawn inducers Hello Bear) take to the stage first and rip into a furious barrage of drums and fuzz bass before segueing into their Strokes-sold-their-soul blues infused shout rock. Placed in the right music-journo hands, some would have this lot down in the new breed of guitar-music-saving bands. In the wrong hands, a second act in the brit/gritpop revivalist's handbook; a band to compliment the sound of much touted cocky knobsters Brother and their ilk. It's a fine line to tread, but Ladypanther manage to rein their music to the right side of ladism, and their set is tight as a gnat's chuff (although apparently unrehearsed as bassist Adam Moss informs me after the show).

Continuing the much fuzzy tradition, Cold Hands are up with the next chapter of their ever evolving exploration of the genre of lo-fi. In the space between their now rare live appearances, the band obviously have a chance to go off and listen to new sounds, and then have time left over to then write these new found influences into their material. Whereas before we were experiencing scuzzy flower-punk rage in the vein of Black Lips et al, now it's more akin to the drugged out bliss pop of San Diego weed-noisers Wavves. Gone are the blisteringly breakneck punk thrills of '126', replaced with the modest tempo and comparative tuneage of songs like 'L.A. Trekking'. But it's still gloriously unhinged and on the verge of collapse at all times.
Fever Fever are on third, and their clattering disco-punk grooves quickly encapsulate the rapidly filling Marquee pit. 'Monster' with its wobbly guitar lines and machine gun drums proves a worthy highlight, and the set bleeds with slight atonality and aggressively competing vocals. A new song given an early airing tonight signals a slight departure from the standard Fever Fever set-up, its provisionally phlegmatic pace providing a welcome breather from the raucous clacker-punk which sandwiches it in the set.
One time Guardian Album of the Week holders and tonight's headliners are up onstage last to lose their sordid Marquee virginity in front of a crowd of rabid fans who have come out tonight to catch an attenuated glimpse of this much loved Norwich band. Shredding through their set of animalistic canticles (exampled greatly by "Cougar's" example lyric "Fresh flesh/it turns me on" - giving a distinctly cannibalistic vibe), The Brownies are on fine form and clearly loving playing their songs together again for the first time in a while; drummer Michael Sheils now thumping the tubs for Leeds thrash riffers Dinosaur Pile-Up and therefore being a little hard to get hold of. Coupled with the surprise announcement of new record label venture 'Gravy Records' from guitarist Maxie Gedge, and the rapid fire delinquency of the music, this makes for quite a riotous and exciting set.
So there we have it, four great bands in a great big stinking hole. Just the way we like it.

Continuing the much fuzzy tradition, Cold Hands are up with the next chapter of their ever evolving exploration of the genre of lo-fi. In the space between their now rare live appearances, the band obviously have a chance to go off and listen to new sounds, and then have time left over to then write these new found influences into their material. Whereas before we were experiencing scuzzy flower-punk rage in the vein of Black Lips et al, now it's more akin to the drugged out bliss pop of San Diego weed-noisers Wavves. Gone are the blisteringly breakneck punk thrills of '126', replaced with the modest tempo and comparative tuneage of songs like 'L.A. Trekking'. But it's still gloriously unhinged and on the verge of collapse at all times.

Fever Fever are on third, and their clattering disco-punk grooves quickly encapsulate the rapidly filling Marquee pit. 'Monster' with its wobbly guitar lines and machine gun drums proves a worthy highlight, and the set bleeds with slight atonality and aggressively competing vocals. A new song given an early airing tonight signals a slight departure from the standard Fever Fever set-up, its provisionally phlegmatic pace providing a welcome breather from the raucous clacker-punk which sandwiches it in the set.
One time Guardian Album of the Week holders and tonight's headliners are up onstage last to lose their sordid Marquee virginity in front of a crowd of rabid fans who have come out tonight to catch an attenuated glimpse of this much loved Norwich band. Shredding through their set of animalistic canticles (exampled greatly by "Cougar's" example lyric "Fresh flesh/it turns me on" - giving a distinctly cannibalistic vibe), The Brownies are on fine form and clearly loving playing their songs together again for the first time in a while; drummer Michael Sheils now thumping the tubs for Leeds thrash riffers Dinosaur Pile-Up and therefore being a little hard to get hold of. Coupled with the surprise announcement of new record label venture 'Gravy Records' from guitarist Maxie Gedge, and the rapid fire delinquency of the music, this makes for quite a riotous and exciting set.
So there we have it, four great bands in a great big stinking hole. Just the way we like it.