So you might question the ingenuity of HARRISONS' (no The) sound. They might not bowl you over with overly ambitious invention but they do the fundamentals effortlessly. Despite their Sheffield roots they aren’t an imitation of the Arctic Monkeys sound, and at times are close to British Sea Power then their Yorkshire contemporaries.
Current single ‘Blue Note’ soars and towers around the diminutive Bush Hall whilst ‘Wishing Well’ hollers and stomps with some strong Maximo Park/Futureheads vocals and a finger licking lively bass line. Unfortunately it’s a set that’s short and sweet but delivered with enough gritty sentiment and character that it’s easy to hear the Harrisons promises a lot more.
GOOD SHOES kick start their set with art rock vigour and with more of a firm handshake than a nod to Gang of Four and the like. Defining them without using the word angular is proving to be tricky but it would also be a lie. They play guitar music that’ll have you waddling to the dance floor but it lacks a discernible edge to set them apart. Still all the right ingredients are there: Art Brut shouty vocals, itchy guitar work and abrupt key changes that tease the feet from shuffle to stomp signals that they are doing something right. ‘We are not the same’ guitar jerks and gyrates as most of the crowd reciprocate but whilst the mock 60’s kids doo wop and limber up for BYOP I cant help shake the feeling that Good Shoes are just front runners in the Bloc Party slip stream, not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just there’s gonna be a hell of a fight for second place.
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BYOP take to stage to a cavalcade of stuff liberally launched into the crowd by guitarist Jonas. If the nervous energy in the room hadn’t peaked during the irritatingly impressive Good Shoes set, it’s only because it lacked a fuse. Cue Jemina. Like a frenzied Paris Hilton tantrum because daddy said no one too many times she not only increases the eye candy significantly but the noise levels as well. The kids go crazy and all because she said so. Members of Good Shoes are randomly launching themselves off stage, there’s a moshpit somewhere to the right of me and as the flow of crowd surfers swarm the solitary security guard, the Victoria Cross springs to mind.
‘All you motherfuckers at the back! You guys should come forward and dance’. As Jemina implores ‘Damn, damn leash’ cracks from the speakers and it really is all over. Amidst the cacophony of raucous punk rock n roll it’s like a special needs playgroup. There’s a kid standing on the drum kit, girls fawn over Jemina and the Thames Whale is hurling himself off the stage onto the unsuspecting front rows. They’re frenzied, immediate and barely in control but most importantly they’re BYOP and they’re here to enjoy themselves.
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