Buffalo Bones, Wot Gorilla?, Death Rays and Dead Sons @ The Harley
Opening duties was by Buffalo Bones, from Leeds. Starting with some mild blues rock which progressively got more and more interesting (and, yeah, heavier), they went for some grunge stuff. The very tribal ‘Strangest of feelings’ (all about that creepy intro and wicked bass-love this one) and ‘Silence is golden’ were cool ditties. They closed the proggy-lite ‘Left before I arrived’, a prime cut saved for the last. Top choice.
It was a cold day in August and the weather prediction was cloudy with a high chance of rambling and ranting. I have to interview Nat Johnson and the Figureheads. They are Nat (vocals/guitar), Kevin (guitar), Chris (bass) and Neil (drums).
One of the bar staff graciously puts a table for us outside, and we sat for a few minutes, with mouths agape towards the visually striking imagery that is the Sheffield rush hour. Some rambling about a half naked man appearing in some of Neil’s previous gigs goes on for a bit and then I remember I have to actually interview them …
Our previous online editor, Orestes, was killed by the minions of the Angel of the North (true story, I have the video to prove it!), but waaaaaaay before that unfortunate incident (see what I did there? tee hee), he/she/it managed to get an interview with equally dead sock monkey Jonny Sock in the now soon to be deceased The Grapes.
It was a cold, bitter October afternoon (leading to a hypothermia-laden night) and the text message in my shitphone (i.e. any smartphone that doesn’t bear the Mark of The FruitBeast) read: “get yo’self to Budgie and the Toad”.
The skinny: A cotton swab to the timpanii. Allegedly. With fuzz.
The review proper: Pretty lo-fi and rocking effort from this band comprising members from everywhere else (Smokers Die Younger, Nature Set) and exmembers of somewhere from past yonder (Long Blondes, Navvy).
They say that misery drives art. I don’t know who “they” are nor can I muster up to say where I got that quote. For all I know, it’s something I just made up.
There’s no worse misery in this world than the misery we inflict into each other. Whether for greed, envy or for the illusion of power, man is the wolf of man, and from that conflict, art arises as a response, whether as condemnation or as a cry for help.