 | | Help She Can't Swim |
Panic-stricken vocals, toy-like synths and riotous guitar gurns stab through the lukewarm air. Latest offering Midnight Garden elicits a few whoops from the lacklustre crowd, with pogo-friendly Kick Her getting the spit and sawdust flying down the front of the crowd. Barking boy-girl interchanges between Tom Deeney and Leesey Frances plant a big grin on my face and make me want to buy nerd glasses and a grey cardiagan and parade down Deansgate on a Saturday night looking for a fight. Seattle's Blood Brothers sashay onto the stage and let rip with a dazzlingly ferocious onslaught before I have chance to draw smoky breath. I've always found this band interesting, fresh and intense, and tonight, there’s no disappointment.  | | The Blood Brothers |
Great bands evolve, challenge themselves and explore their possibilities. Blood Brothers are no exception, always keeping one step ahead of their fans and critics: moving, twisting and turning away, with middle fingers firmly raised in the face of classification. The hard, sinister edge that characterised earlier releases still persists, albeit lacing fingers with a more sweetly surreal mechanism. Numerous dates into a punishing international tour, and BB are bounding and blaring as if it's their first gig of the year. Wide-eyed, dynamic, perplexing and passionate, the sound is perfectly punctuated with the vocal duelling of Jordan Blielie and Johnny Whitney. Sherbert guitar fountains explode in a sick romp of post-hardcore music hall debauchery, the crowd laps greedily and before I know it, I'm three stone heavier, mind racing, skin scabbed and breath screaming out for more. Cheaper than drugs, better than alcohol, choose this brand of music, choose a very sweet life. | 
