All photographs courtesy of Christopher Hogge
A month to the day that I get to go to New York for the first time and I awoke to the news the whole of the sane world was dreading, the USA have re-elected an incoherent rambling fool to be the head of the most powerful country in the world. As if the world isn’t fucked up enough, the UK is being run by a “sir” whose socialist ideals are as far away from Labour as I’ve ever seen, and that after we finally got rid of the moral bankruptcy and increasingly fascist ideals of Tories as well. Meanwhile the world continues to close its eyes and ears to the genocide in Palestine, or should I say the people who could make a difference do, as governments ignore the calls to action of their citizens in favour of making money from arming the fascist state of Israel.
I digress, this is a gig review after all…
…but…Upchuck and Amyl and the Sniffers seemed as exasperated as I do, both KT and Amy calling out the orange eejit and leading the chants for a Free Palestine, with Amy going on a diatribe about the dystopian state of the world today…
Thankfully, we have live music to at least shut out the thought of the chithonian despots and the unrelenting chaos that reigns due to their seemingly unchallenged rise as they seek to subjugate the masses. For an hour or two nothing matters but the music.
Upchuck led the way with their Herculean aural annihilation, their impenetrable heavy auricular assault like an unrelenting punishing tidal wave of sound. A sonic boom of epic proportions. The scene was well and truly set for Amy and Co.
The last time I’ve seen the Academy as rammed was when Frank Carter led the charge with Paul Cook, Glen Matlock and Steve Jones revitalising the songs of the Sex Pistols. The renewed punk energy and attitude displayed by Carter on that night was replicated tonight in bucketloads as the Antipodean quartet took no prisoners in what can only be described as a breathless hard n heavy romp through their back catalogue. They took to the stage to a backing tape repeating only two words… “Fuck” and “Trump”… a gargantuan roar went up from the heaving mass of sweaty bodies and from that moment on the electrically charged atmosphere was unrelenting throughout.
It’s hard to describe the sheer potency of the incendiary energy and power that emanates from the pocket sized firecracker that is the bands charismatic frontwoman Amy Taylor. Her perpetual Jack in the Box exubernace pops and fizzes incessantly, her vivacious spirit infecting the entire room as wave after wave of charged pep and zing sweeps over the crowd with a knockout puissance.
The band feels harder and heavier than they’ve ever been, the spirit of Lemmy pulsing through Gus as his bass lines reverberate and shake the room, Dec was seemingly channelling the hard rocking spirit of his Antipodean guitar hero predecessor Angus Young as his searing riffs roared on his Gibson Explorer, while Bryce pounded the skins to within an inch of their lives. All the while Amy was out front being, well, Amy, her vocals expelled with a zealous force in her own inimitable style, while she displayed a vivacious unerring feistiness, spinning and bouncing around the stage like a human wrecking ball, without missing a note.
The band were clearly having the time of their lives as they hit us hard with a remorseless slash and burn fuck you vehemence and tough love, banger after banger hit us full force between the eyes, the band proving themselves to be a dead shot hitting their target with pinpoint accuracy time after time…a ferocious Some Mutts can’t Be Muzzled, a ludicrously delightful duo of Security and Guided by Angels, a high octane Got You complete with roaring chant along, a huge fuck you to male posturing on Me and the Girls, the two fingers to the haters couldn’t give a flying fuck attitude of U Should Not Be Doing That and a breakneck and incendiary GFY amongst dozens of other perfect slices of punk rock swagger with an ecstatic exuberance. All the while the band endeared themselves further into the hearts of the Glasgow crowd, not that they needed any encouragement, by swigging from a bottle of Buckfast: “this is really why I come to Glasgow” and asking “Is Sleazies open tonight. This is a band at the very top of their game and living their best lives, throwing everything, including the proverbial kitchen sink into their performance leaving nothing and no one behind. Nothing short of life affirmingly exhilarating.
Oh, and before I forget Fuck Trump…
Ooft, every word of this. Sad I missed them, they’re immense. Amy is like the lovechild of Iggy Pop and Debbie Harry. Love her.