Even on an off night, Blacklisters batter the crap out of 98% of other bands, and I'm yet to see Blacklisters on a truly off night. They might not have been at their absolute blazing best tonight, but even so, they tore through their set and filled it with the psychotic rage that makes them one of the most compelling live acts around. Billy's inchoate, stranguilated howls and crazed antics may provide a focal point, but they'd be nothing without the explosive percussion, shuddering basslines and lurching guitar parts that meld together to produce a truly ferocious angular racket. They launch without any pleasantries into 'Club Foot by Kasabian' and conclude with 'Trick Fuck'. You just can't argue with that.
All too often I worry that after Blacklisters, the headliners might struggle to make the grade. It's no issue for NYC's noise veterans Unsane, though. They truly put the power in power trio, the hard in hardcore, and then take it up not just one notch, but several. During the course of their relentless hour-long set that's solid and laceratingly angry from beginning to end they pour blood, sweat and tears into every note – mostly sweat, and the stage is practically awash with pints of the stuff, pouring in streaming rivers down Chris Spencer's face. And phlegm: they deposit a good half-pint of spittle onto the boards too. To say they work hard would be an understatement, although it's obvious they're enjoying themselves too, displaying a genuine camaraderie. That said, apart from the occasional retune, they don't exactly waste time between songs, and there's no strategically-placed slow, gentle number to allow them – or the audience – to catch their breath.
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With its sinewy guitar line, 'Recovery' was a real standout, alongside 'Against the Grain'. The set isn't really about standout numbers, though: it's a holistic experience, the surging power having a cumulative effect. They drive through every song with the same intense force, Vinnie Signorelli's drumming providing a rigid backbone throughout - you'd expect no less from a man who's previously played with Foetus and Swans, of course. However, it's the bass that really stands out and drives the sound, and that's not just because I find myself in the second row with my face a matter of just a few feet from Dave Curran's 8x10" bass rig, from which tears the most immense, grit-filled shredding noise I've heard in a long time. Really, these guys make Helmet sound like loungecore.
It's not the pace that's behind Unsane's intensity, but the sheer density of the songs, the way they compress 100,000 watts of energy into solid chunks of aural concrete, bludgeoning the audience with a relentless succession of sonic wrecking balls raised to the temperature of a furnace with seething rage. And they still find the energy for an encore, bringing the roof down with a massive climax of ear-splitting feedback. Nothing short of awesome.
Unsane on MySpace
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