Having sold out in advance, and with the bands playing a three-way triple headline tour with the running order rotating and not being announced in advance meant the Brudenell was packed out from early doors. METZ justified the effort of being punctual, too, with a rip-snorting set of full-on angst-laden grunge belters. Signed to Sub Pop, they sound like a quintessential Sub Pop band, and they work seriously hard. It’s been a long time I’ve seen a man sweat as profusely as shouter / howler / barker / guitarist Alex Edkins. The Canadian power trio crank out a noise reminiscent of early Nirvana with a thunderous bass, anguished vocals and overdriven guitar sound, but it’s the powerhouse drumming that really drives things. On any other night, they’d have been impossible to top.
METZ were always going to be a hard act to follow, meaning the pissweak Titus Andronicus came as even more of a letdown. Grinding out unimaginative pop punk of the lamest order, they come on like a half-arsed conglomeration of Bruce Springsteen, Good Charlotte and Smash Mouth. The cover of ‘Killing in the Name’ was the absolute nadir in a lengthy succession of lightweight low points. More disconcertingly they go down an absolute storm, which meant they were able to play for what felt like an eternity.
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Still, the right band was heading the bill, and Fucked Up blew away any TA-induced disappointment within seconds of hitting the stage, coming on full-throttle and never letting up for the hour and quarter that they played. Pink Eyes may have shed a few pounds, but he’s still a big guy – but hell, has he got energy! Swinging the mic in some dangerous-looking windmills, he’s a real performer, owning not just the stage, but the entire venue, disappearing into the crowd and re-emerging with a plastic pint pot suctioned to his forehead. Countless fans mount the stage, many stopping to give the bear a hug before launching themselves into the pit. But none of the antics detract from the band’s solid, driving hardcore assault. And that’s what was truly key to this being such a great show: they played hard, fast and loud, whipping up a sweaty riot that was, quite simply, an absolute rush. Fucked Up? Yes, and Fucking Brilliant, too.
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