Bristol
17 July 2025
We arrive early, amuse ourselves reading the lead Melvin Buzz Osborne has signed the tour posters with, something the fans just lap up as they fly off the merch table.
Nice to be back at
The Exchange though, along with
The Cube it’s one of my favourite Bristol venues — looks a lot posher now, the stage in particular has undergone a massive overhaul and been raised up a touch, so much so that
Redd Kross’s frontman
Jeff McDonald at six-foot five only just fits.
Redd Kross were more “California Dreaming” than stoner rock. The
day-glo splattered attire hinting at the ’60s / ’70s feel-good vibe they plied. A fairground of teasing signatures, plenty of fret-frolicking and some really catchy tunes too, shame some of the lyrics were too wasped to be intelligible, but I wasn’t complaining as that misty psych distortive was just what I needed and the cloth over the singer’s head seemed to make perfect sense.
The Melvins on the other-hand were super-heavy after their quick
Blondie intro. That nostril-expanding dual percussive slam from
Dale Crover and
Coady Willis and the twisty feedback that met it totally blew me away from the outset. A carnivorous pull — the charismatic Buzz (adorned in a robe of
embroidered eyes) hones, back to the audience, his guitar pushed towards the amp and wailing a wash of wholesome ugly.
Whilst Redd Kross’s
Steven Shane McDonald at the other end of the stage was serving up a pedal bath of response, Buzz, a wavy monolith turning towards the mic, sipping on some
roasty riffology, all underlined by his deep-troughing vocals. Man this was ace, and continued to bloom brilliance throughout the entire set.
Buzz striding the stage between his mic and the bassist, both throwing themselves into a frenzy — a call and response umbilical noose, gruff-throated and harmonised. Buzz burning up in a blur of white hair, both propelling a squally parade of chug-chucked stabs and sludgy bushwhacks; the validating bluntness was inspiring, consumptive.
Made me wish I was more familiar with what was being played, but to be honest it didn’t really matter, for now I was caught up in the muscled savagery of it all. That all-in passionate and
sweat-drenched prism of sharded lyrics and tons of wah-waded and drone-coated interest. A driven emphasis greedily keeping you up close and personal, crowned by this wedging might of double drums.
An
incredible feast that left my ears completely smurfed, even through earplugs. A show that will remain tombstoned on my life for years to come.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
We arrive early, amuse ourselves reading the insulting comments lead Melvin Buzz Osborne has signed the tour posters with, something the fans just lap up as they fly off the merch table.
