The first thing that struck me on arrival at Fibbers was the curious demographic. The place was pretty busy, with the expected motley array of rockers of all shades (there was a lot of hair and an incredible selection of beards - and that was just the women, boom boom), and a less expected smattering of chavvy-looking types. Broadly speaking there was a polarization of ages: a lot of older people (or people who appeared older due to the ravages of their rock 'n' roll lifestyles) and kids in plaid shirts who clearly weren't old enough to drink.
Whatever, they were up for it, and then some. Either that, or many of them don't get out much and don't have much to benchmark things by. The reception Turbowolf received was far more enthusiastic than I would have given countenance, because, frankly, they were lousy. Not on a technical level, where they were without question, completely competent. But if you were making a film and wanted to feature an identikit 70s hard rock band, you'd probably cast Turbowolf. Long hair, moustaches, rock poses, the singer in a paisley shirt and obligatory clap-alongs and calls to 'lemme hear you make some fuckin' noise!' might've had the people fooled, but wasn't enough to hide from me the fact that the songs were decidedly unmemorable and the band as cliche as they come.
Still, worse was to follow with Viking Skull. Bristling with guitars wielded in classic 'axe-man' poses, they cranked out a lumpen set of super-generic and instantly forgettable, textureless hard rock. Worse still are the extreme levels of testosterone these macho baseball cap sporting meatheads are pumping out. 'This one's for the beer drinkers.... this one's for the laydeez... make some motherfuckin' noise!' It's a completely irony-free zone, and there's something just not quite right about it all. Maybe it's the fact there's something dubious, suspicious, even about their excessive attempts to demonstrate their power and masculinity. Or maybe it's the fact that much as the crowd are evidently loving their show, no-one could possibly love these guys as much as they love themselves.
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So what is it about Black Spiders, who are guilty of not only replicating all of the horrific cardinal sins of rock cliche and amplifying them tenfold, that doesn’t suck, makes them cool, even? For starters, I get a distinct sense of tongues in cheek as Pete Spiby leads his band of perspiring, hairy, hoary axe-wielding muthas through a set of Leviathan riff-based rock workouts. Yes, he leads the audience through some protracted call-and-response routine. He has everyone clapping in unison. He tells us to make some fuckin' noise. He also asks, between practically every song, 'how ya doin' Yawwwwk?' and tells us he can't hear us. I should find it irritating beyond belief. But he also has charisma, and the band really pour heart and soul into the set which draws on the EPs - and not just the lead tracks - as well as the hot-off-the-press debut album.
I'd wagered (sort of) that they'd end with 'Stay Down', but no, they kick it out second and whip themselves and everyone else into a frenzy, and corny as it may be, 'Kiss Tried to Kill Me', receives a rapturous response. Wah-wah riff heaven 'Meadow' is a real highlight as they slow things down and scale Sabbath-like heights. And herein lies the crux of what makes Black Spiders so much better than their peers and their supports; they have the riffs. They have the hooks. They have the songs. They leave the stage, but they're only playing the game: of course there's going to be an encore. It's 'Blood of the Kings', and yes, it rocks. Long may they reign.
Black Spiders Online
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