Band – The Bronx
Support – Blackhole, Hexes
Location – Kings College, London
Damage – £12
Beer – laughable

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What Blackhole lack in originality they certainly make up for it in aggression. Their vocalist stalks the stage like a starving predator, ready to rip the head off anyone who doubts his band’s integrity, whilst barking lyrics in a strange jarring squeal, much like the eccentric screech of actor Rich Fulcher. The rest of the band plough away with their straightforward, no frills, hardcore and scuzzy gang-backing vocals, which brings to mind the work of Kevin Baker’s BARS, albeit a more scrappy one. A strong sounding support act full of promise.

“We were supposed to have some electronic-beats and stuff during some bits, but because the laptop isn’t working, you’ll just hear fuck all” says Daniel P. Carter, formerly of ‘NUFFIN! NUFFIN!’ pioneers ‘A’ and now the singer/guitarist for Hexes. When the laptop finally does work (the drummer had the sound turned down, cue much heckling) the trippy sounds, dance-orientated beats do add something to Hexes’ throaty hard-rock, but is unfortunately drowned out at times by the over-zealous guitar and drums, leaving it to resemble a cheap ringtone going off in a busy kitchen. Praise has to be directed towards the second guitarist, who pulls off some truly fantastic riffs and with Carter’s slow transition into Danny Farkin’ Dyer-isms, they prove to be an entertaining 4 piece.

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The Bronx are quite clearly punk rock through and through. If you cut Matt Caughthran in half he’d bleed Black Flag lyrics all over your shoes. Hell, Joby Ford possibly shits early Husker Du albums. The Bronx are, as the lyrics to ‘Rape Zombie‘ will attest, an “endless wrecking ball.” What it all boils down to though, is their relentless, persistent nature. There’s very little respite in their live shows, as they pound and pound white-hot blasts of scathing punk rock into the listener’s ears, mercilessly clubbing them into submission until they can’t stand/dance/fight each other anymore.

Caughthran’s demand for “the drinkers to drink, the moshers to mosh and the crowd surfers to get the fuck up on stage!” Is greeted with such gusto and enthusiastic whooping from the crowd, you’d think he’d declared tonight’s gig as ‘free money night’ and started lobbing bundles of £50 notes at everyone.

The raw, white-noise blast of punk that is first album opener, ‘Heart Attack American‘ is shunted so violently at the crowd, it causes what can only be described as an indoor, drunken tidal wave of screaming bodies.

Already the LA 5-piece have created total carnage in just over 2 and a half minutes with a song rife with undertones of disillusionment in the American workplace and possible relationship conflicts, but you know, less lame. Plus, that opening scream – fuck me; it’s like someone spitting acid-coated broken glass in your face.

Like Dirty Harry at a shooting gallery, The Bronx fire out hit after hit, consistently blasting great bullet-shaped chunks of angry, cleansing sound through the diminutive King’s College venue. This is a band that really means it – you can see it in the way they play; the way Caughthran stalks the stage, occasionally launching himself into the crowd to be hugged, mauled and pawed at by the enthusiastic audience. Guitarists Joby Ford and Ken Horne stand at opposite ends of the stage throwing out riff after riff with rugged determination, whilst Brad Magers and drummer Jorma Vik bring the much needed dirt-filled rhythm.

Sound problems affect ‘Kill My Friends’, which becomes buried underneath a wave of distorted fuzz and mumbled screams, before normal service is quickly resumed with the 2-minute rollicking of ‘Shitty Future‘, which introduced with such grace and poise by Caughthran, you can’t help but love the big-faced goon. ‘Transsexual Blackout (The Movement)’ gets a surprise airing and after the vicious kick in the teeth that is ‘Rape Zombie’ I just know that this band are more than on fire ”“ they’re practically an inferno; hot enough to snuff out the sun.

The big guns though are in the form of ‘They Will Kill Us All (Without Mercy)’ a song which contains possibly one of the finest choruses ever and the ability to reduce even the fittest individual to a wasted, empty husk of exhaustion. Plus, the sight of seeing several people miming ‘shooting up dope’ is somewhat disturbing and amusing. At the opposite end of the spectrum, “this-song-is-about-drugs” anthem ‘White Guilt,’ heralds the biggest sing-a-long of the night and only strengthens my verdict that it is truly one of the best songs put to tape. After introducing himself as always being “a hardcore kid,” Caughthran then cheekily states his true punk credentials as the thundering drum-roll of ‘False Alarm’ (played about 100% faster than the album version, much like all the tracks) kicks in and the creepy, creaking coffin-opening bass drawl breaks through, staggering along with a drunken, cocksure swagger of ill-repute.

Despite the freshness of new tracks ‘Knifeman’ and ‘Young Bloods’ it’s incredible to see everyone singing along with such gusto. The former, playing homage to Rocket From The Crypt’s ‘Bring Us Bullets’ with the kind of familiarity that makes me scream to “slash out the windows!” Whilst the latter is a spiky, rock ‘n roll jaunt of pure adrenalin.

My only gripe is the briefness of it all. The thing with the Bronx is; they never outstay their welcome. They always leave you wanting more, teasing the listener with their rapid-fire attack, riding off into the sunset before it gets too stale, but they know it never will (“I promise you, we will never release anything shit” says Caughthran.) A truly grueling and gritty version of ‘Around The Horn’, complete with some remarkable guitar thrashing from Ford and Horne, is then followed by a sadistic mauling in the form of ‘History’s Stranglers’ to round off what has been one of the most exhausting gigs of my life. One of my gigs of the year, no question ”“ a first class band with the kind of songs most bands would burn their back catalogues for.

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Links

The Bronx
Blackhole
Hexes

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By Ross Macdonald, photo taken from The Bronx’s myspace (copyright Guomundur Vigfusson – if you want this taken down just let me know, cheers.)

Lizard Hips

Junior Vice President of Keep It Fast. In other news: I work in social media, talk about dinosaurs, run a book club and have amazing facial hair. I am also a male man who is still not dead.

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