The Grates, Faker, ViolentSoho @ Bar on the Hill,Newcastle University(12/10/06)

Sat 14th Oct, 2006 in Gig Reviews

Where was the stage? Past the double rows of eternal bar lines. Behind the dodgy barrier. Bar on a hill and it’s unassuming stage. Small. Cramped. Lazy. It was almost like the calm before the storm.

The veranda creaked with the weight of drink-in-hand pretty girls and tall dishevelled uni boys. Hardly anyone noticed Violent Soho begin; a band who thinks its Nirvana with a lead singer that thinks he’s Craig Nicolls. They banged hardcore/grunge like lumbering mop headed monsters with almost only one word audible in every song, such as “generation” or “revolution”. However if this generic banging was a slipnot it was a tight one. They were, commendably, techinically insinced both in their performance and in their violent thrashes.

Faker attracted a much more eager crowd. Nathan Hudson, the awkward lead singer, from the get go reaches out towards the crowd like there was a canyon between them. His voice is a sad eager desperate plea especially as he yells “Do you really need it?” He scrambles up and down stage like a frantic young animal. Well after all, he’s the original Teenage Werewolf. Faker plays like a desperate cry towards the crowd. And as Nathan gets distracted by the spotlights I think his performance would be embarrasing if he didn’t seem like so earnest.

The Grates were preluded by an incredible “drum roll”: various roadies and helping hands setting up animal cut outs, christmas trees and various LED lighting. But as soon as Patience Hodgson, John Patterson and Alana Skyring jump on stage they immediately outshine all their props. Watching from the side it was easy to see the conversation between the Grates and its audience. Hodgson, dressed in a white leotard and a wide white tulle skirt, begins a romance with one of the audience members.

Patterson sings passionately as he strums his short eager chords. Skyring maintains a bewildered expressing on her face as if she is completely astounded by the idea of her playing the drums in public. Even the bouncers smiled as the crowd whirled like tops and Hodgson, using her unadulterated magic, conducted their throws of passion. Behind me a drunk monkey hangs off the speakers, cat calling the Grates first lady. But his voice was swallowed by the inertia of every member of the crowd rushing frantically back to their childhood.