One of the reasons Leeds is so prominent on the musical map right now has a lot to do with not only the bands, but also the array of venues it has. Live at Leeds, now in its fifth year, showcases both to an outstanding level. The sheer number of bands on offer is staggering, with in the region of 100 bands playing across 14 venues on a single day. Deciding who to see and figuring a timetable is a brain-bending exercise, and the logistics of organisation and scheduling simply doesn’t bear thinking about.
For me, the first few acts required little deliberation: not all of the venues were open at the start, and I’d decided in advance, while also setting my policy of avoiding venue beers, that I wouldn’t stray to the further-flung spots on the map. So after a very nice pint of Daleside Spring Frenzy in Whitelocks, I headed down to the Cockpit, which was already heaving, and kicked off my day watching KONG. There’s something quite disconcerting about 3 masked men with beer guts cranking out jarring, heavy guitar music with screamed vocals – especially when one of them is only wearing (apart from the mask) a pair of red underpants. These guys are clearly deranged, play exceptionally loud and are bloody brilliant, especially the jolting, Shellac-like ‘Leather Penny’.
I made my way upstairs to Cockpit 3, where DOUBLE MUSCLE were receiving a warm reception from an extremely tightly packed audience. They had a few reasonable tunes, but after Kong, sounded weedy by comparison, so I skipped the last number and squeezed my way back downstairs just in time for THESE MONSTERS. Guitarist / expletive screamer Samuel Prior was predictably trolleyed, and the performance was predictably frenetic and ball-bustingly beefy as they churned out monster riff after monster riff with more energy than the national grid and produced an ocean of perspiration. They sounded great, even without the distinctive sax sound in the mix.
There was no time to reflect as I hot-footed it down to The Holy Trinity Church, and arrived with time to spare as I took my pew for CLOUD CONTROL. The magnificent venue’s natural reverb can work for or against a band, and Cloud Control managed it with considerable adeptness, creating a cavernous drum sound and full bass sound that formed a solid foundation for the uplifting, harmonious vocal melodies.
Big in their native Australia, where their debut album won the Australian Music Prize, their bright, sunshine indie is perfect for the beach – or an unseasonably warm afternoon in Leeds – and their set provided an oasis of light after the heavy bands I’d seen, and those yet to come. It seems that they’re starting to catch on here, too, as not only was the venue jammed to the rafters, but on leaving, I discover they’re operating a one out, one in system for the fifty or sixty people queueing outside and halfway down the street.
Cutting up to the Met, I arrive to find that due to BLOOD COMMAND being forced to cancel at the last minute, Blacklisters’ slot has been put back an hour. This would have potentially afforded me the opportunity to see Castrovalva who were scheduled to play at the same time, but instead I elected to give myself some breathing space and instead returned to the Headrow, calling in at Mr Foley’s for a welcome pint of decent ale.
Having tidied up my notes in this down-time, I went back up to the Met just in time to see BLACKLISTERS take to the stage. Having seen them numerous times in small venues, I wondered how their ball-busting sound and wayward front man Billy’s performance would translate to a bigger venue. The answer: perfectly. Knowing absolutely no fear, the manic shouter spent much of the set on the other side of the barrier amongst the audience, much to the consternation of the bewildered security staff. As he flailed and hollered his way around the auditorium, throwing in a new song (a bizarre ‘duet with Cliff Richard’, in which he schizophrenically played both parts, which, as it happens, sound identical) the band played on, as cool as anything. ‘Trick Fuck’ brought the set to a chaotically climactic close, with the mic in the hands of audience members and Billy being wrestled to the ground. Exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure, they were going to be a hard act to follow, so I decided to go and grab some food and another drink, squeezing in another pint at Foley’s – the Summer Wine Brewery’s Nerotype #1 Black IPA at 6% ABV was simply too tempting to pass up on. It was worth it, too.
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Refreshed and reinvigorated, I made my way to the O2 Academy, where THE DUKE SPIRIT were playing to a decent-sized crowd. Deservedly so, too: musically, they’re good and solid, but it’s Liela who really sets them apart from so many other rockin’ indie acts with her charismatic stage presence. She makes for compelling watching, and her delivery is listenable while also packing some welly. The current single, ‘Everybody’s Under Your Spell’, which has been all over 6 Music of late, is a definite standout in an undeniably strong set, which, irritatingly, too many people see fit to chat through, and it’s a good job that the bulk of the songs are solid, full-band numbers and the PA’s set at a decent volume.
After that, it’s back to the Met for THE TWILIGHT SAD, who are LOUD. This is business as usual, of course, but unfortunately the vocals are badly buried, especially at the start of the set. Of course, my position in direct line with Andy MacFarlane’s guitar amp doesn’t help, as his sculpted feedback carvings are blasting straight into my face. Things to start to sound rather better as they launch into ‘I Became a Prostitute’, which is one of those songs that just always gets me. James Graham’s performance is beyond intense and he’s barely in the same room as the audience as he screams wordlessly and swears incessantly as though riven with an extreme and uncontrollable bout of Tourette’s beyond the range of the mic between songs and between vocal parts.
There are a few notable absences - ‘Wrong Car’ in particular - from the set that lasts a good fifteen minutes short of the allotted hour, but these are more than compensated by a brace of new, unreleased tracks. It might not be the best set I’ve seen them deliver, but they still piss on 90% of bands out there, not least of all the band who were at one point supposed to headline this venue, Glasvegas.
I recamp from the front row to the mid-level balcony after the ‘Sad’s set: I had a hunch that PULLED APART BY HORSES would bring with them absolute mayhem. I wasn’t mistaken, and the band didn’t disappoint a rampant home crowd who moshed themselves silly from the get-go. It’s quite something to see how they’ve grown – and to reflect on how much they’ve achieved - since their album launch at The Brudenell a mere ten months ago, and after time away touring Europe and beyond, the reception they receive is positively rabid.
The band hit the stage full-throttle and the whole place literally erupted. As they tore through back-to-back high-octane favourites from the debut album, including ‘Yeah Buddy’, ‘I’ve Got Guestlist to Rory O’Hara’s Suicide’, ‘Meat Balloon’ and ‘High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive’ the crowd response became increasingly fervent. Maximum power indeed. The new material aired during the set may take some getting used to, or even some work, but the hardcore - who actually occupied a substantial chunk of the venue - clearly had no issues as they bounced off one another like lunatics and crowd-surfed their way through the entire, rip-roaring set.
They wound it up with a ferocious rendition of the album’s killer track ‘I Punched a Lion in the Throat’: the crowd went mental, and finally carried front man Tom Hudson from the stage, right through the auditorium and out through the main doors, like a national hero. It’s quite a spectacle, and a jubilant, not to mention fitting way to end one of the most memorable days on the musical calendar of the last 12 months.
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