An exercise in exothermic reactions on an unseasonably warm Good Friday. Openers, Po-Lice from Taunton, have a kind of ramshackle Flowers in the Dustbin vibe. They’re billed as ‘ska-punk’, but there seems to be a minimum of fuzzskank in their set – no bad thing as it’s not a fusion that generally coheres with any great permanence. The group’s wilfully chaotic sound wasn’t helped by a mix that buried their top end, but every so often they’d lock into a kind of anarcho grove, aided by vocalist Phil’s angry yelp that sounded pissed-off enough to convince. They’ve a trio of gigs coming up in May, and it’d be interesting to hear how they develop once they get some more mileage under their belts.
Back from storming the capital, The Eyelids, on the other hand, are ready. Ready for you, ready for huge pits filled with flailing turkey dancing, and above all, ready for a new album. A devastating set included around ten unrecorded gems and within minutes had raised the temperature of the Clipper Bar’s back room to a level suitable for volcano-dwelling pygmies. When I saw the quartet back on Samhain, I noted how their sound had developed from that displayed on debut album Rats, six-months on this process appears to be soaring toward some kind of transcendent peak. Given that the group were debuting a grab bag of new material, the degree to which they have become a genuine gestalt is truly impressive.
Live, the band has a mesmeric quality that needs to be captured on disc. Rhythm section Michelle and Louise provide the almost telepathically attuned bedrock upon which this is founded – Lou’s slapback double bassery is always impressive, seizing you by the loins and demanding that you frug (baby). The sheer power with which the psycho rhythms are coaxed from the instrument gives every indication that she can most probably bang nails into concrete with her bare hands, while Michelle’s drumming locks the whole thing down with tight rhythms and volleys of restrained power.
There’s no fat on these rockin’ bones. Songs are delivered with economy and urgency, with Kelly’s vocals adding rich resonance to the broiling mutant gumbo. That said, geetar fiend Gary stretched into just the merest hint of a Poison Ivy-esque psych-out during the bridge of ‘Burke The Butcher’ that gave every impression that the Eyelids could bend misdirected noise into a panoply of new and interesting forms. As it stands, Gary’s doing the whole Scotty Moore-on-Goofballs thing better than anybody.
Like the individuals responsible, the Eyelids’ set is also a gestalt, combining half-a-dozen of the best moments from Rats with new and newer still material into a procession of tub-thumping greats that starts fast with ‘Ed Gein’ and doesn’t let up until we’re all sweaty and sated. That said, I could’ve lived with another airing of the mighty ‘We Always Want More’. But then I do. And so will you.
The Eyelids on MySpace: www.myspace.com/theeyelidsband
To order Rats: www.western-star.co.uk/western-star-releases_36/rats—the-eyelids_60.aspx
Originally posted 2011-03-28 11:23:08. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
