Dingwall’s, London
7 August 2008
Chrome Hoof should be appreciated by the light of a billion braincells misfiring; by the sound of a world exploding, because that’s what they’re capable of resembling on a good night – and tonight is one such event. Though it takes while for Dingwall’s to gather the crowd they deserve, by the time the spangle-clad crew hit the stage, the place may not be heaving, but it’s soon a-jumping. There are at least twelve of the alien invasion force on the podium tonight, but lurking beneath the sequins and facepaint are – apparently – a bunch of human musicians, intent on sending out the space waves in a funk-metal style, like no-one (but no-one) has heard before.
Actually, that’s not quite the whole truth. Chrome Hoof are proud, it seems, to wear the influences on their capes. Sun Ra, Magma and Earth, Wind & Fire rub shoulders with a whole heap of metal, not least Leo Smee‘s own Cathedral, but more of them (or more to the point, their riffage) later. With a lung-lashing performance from Lola 
Olafisoye to keep the lyrical focus tightly-wound and more than a tad operatic, and not forgetting the dynamic dancing duo sweltering in their silvery suits on the stage front, lost as they are to the absence of room on the boards. Sadly, the giant goat puppet has long since been sacrificed to the flames of a festival sunset, but the ensemble crammed onto the stage tonight more than make up for the weirdly absent caprine cavortions – and if it’s never been seen, has the metallic goat of the offworld woods been missed by the audience tonight? Then again, who needs gimmicks, grand and impressive as they might be? Who needs chemical stimulation, as beneficial to the overall experience of this most fried of bands as those powders and pills might also (allegedly) be? When Chrome Hoof are in the area, everyone in the crowd should be transported out of their face, knowing it or no, blasted into space – or they simply don’t have the funk, don’t get the essential power of a space oddity for the post-disco age set shimmering on the wings of bassoons, brass and blatant wackiness in an outré entertainment not entirely of this planet.
It’s not all disco and glamtastic musicianship – there’s pointy-headed guitars waiting to thrill, and a hetfy metal bassline to kick into touch, as the mighty Graeco-Roman-Martian helm is donned and some serious riffing goes down. Headbanging is only dancing without the necessity for a groove, so the conjunction of the two makes perfect sense – getting into the rhythms, then moshing up a storm while being pulled into the strange world which the not-so-alien after all Chrome Hoof provide. Listening to them on record is one thing; but the live experience is everthing – there is simply no substitute for being elevated to a higher plane of weirdness by this band, and it’s something which can only make the case for extraerrestial influence on the development of the human rave seem more plausible, at least for those glitterball nights when Chrome Hoof descend to Earth.
-Linus Tossio-
