The Hope and Anchor is the type of music venue that drips history from bricks that have absorbed a little of every band that’s ever played here. It must be an imposing prospect for a band to tread where so many illustrious groups have played before but if The Phobics are feeling the pressure, it doesn’t show. A quintet who each bring a wealth of experience, they play a fuzzed-up brand of proto-punk (think MC5) along with a definite Johnny Thunders influence, which makes for a lively set and one that rarely lets up over 35 frantic minutes and ensures the evening gets off to a lively start.
I’m picking up a gothic vibe from the Morgellons, not so much their aesthetic, or even their sound, it’s more a vocalist who operates with the kind of glacial coolness that only comes from the living dead. It’s a nonchalance that suits their music perfectly, but don’t mistake a calm exterior for lack of effort; these guys play hard, and not even broken instruments can derail their progress. A stomping version of Adam And The Ants’ ‘Red Scab’ caps an impressive set and gets pulses racing.
It’s been full steam ahead since Desperate Measures returned from their decade-long hiatus, a journey propelled by restless energy, and they bring some of that chutzpah to the stage tonight. Hot-wired and cranked off the dial, they hit the ground running with ‘Back To The Rats’ and then take us on a toboggan ride that twists and turns at breakneck speed. Like Rose Tattoo jamming with the Dead Boys (after an amphetamine binge), it’s a spiky, angular sound best encapsulated by the paranoia of ‘1984’, yet this is a finely nuanced band with cuts such as ‘Seven Sisters’ refusing easy categorisation. A cover of The Stooges’ ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’ evidences some deep roots and finds Desperate Measures departing in a tight ball of sonic fury, which is exactly how they arrived.
Valencia might not be your first thought when thinking punk-infused rock ‘n’ roll (it wasn’t mine), well the Deaf Devils are here to blow any preconceived ideas to smithereens. Putting sharpened fangs back in a genre that was becoming cute and cuddly (and sucked back into the system), the Deaf Devils look (and sound) like a gang who’ve stepped straight out ofA Clockwork Orange. As such, an air of danger emanates from the stage, and with microphones twirling and instruments flying, it takes a brave soul to stand in the first few rows. In fact, with the band making several sojourns into the crowd, it feels as if no one is safe from their restless energy.
Armed with songs that are compressed into their purest form, there’s not one excess note in evidence, just the razor-sharp attack of tracks such as ‘Gates Of Hell’ and ‘Nightstalker’. Halfway through the show, vocalist Lucyfer changes costumes, altering the show’s dynamic and giving it a darker, sinister air. For the last few songs the whole band decamp into the middle of floor (including the drum kit!) where the set list is set aflame like a sacrificial offering, while a cover of The Who’s ‘My Generation’ finds the Deaf Devils crashing down like a house of cards, a wreckage of twisted limbs and broken instruments, ensuring this gig will live long in the memory.
Review & Photos By Pete Dennis
