London
14 November 2019
I kept having to reassure myself I was on the right bus. But I was. Which is why now I am watching Yur Mum, an extremely noisy two-piece whose bass / vocals / drums assault is pure joyful righteous fury. With that combo you could always go the Lightning Bolt route, but Yur Mum’s trajectory is a more punky, grungey one, finding time for songs without losing any of that noisy chaotic edge.
Which makes them a perfect opener for the Army tonight, for tonight sees them at their leanest, meanest and angriest. If you thought the contemplative nature of much of the new material meant they’d lost their urgency, then you’re an idiot. Tonight they crackle and spark with fury, from their entrance with “No Rest” to the apocalyptic climax of “I Love The World”.
Indeed, at first it’s a little concerning — what is it Justin Sullivan is so pissed off with? Is it us? And then when he finally speaks all becomes clear. “We’re not gonna bore you with a lot of talk about FUCKING Brexit!” he yells, before launching into “The Charge”. “The Charge!” — I wasn’t expecting to hear that tonight; but this has always been the thing with New Model Army. With a nearly forty-year history and, as he tells us, somewhere in the region of 240 songs to choose from, they’ve always been good at varying their set and recognising their own past. Even though this is a new album tour, so they’re understandably pushing material from From Here, they always have time to throw in rather a lot of older material. And the From Here stuff absolutely fucking kills live. Shorn of the lush production that added an almost prog element to their already eclectic sound, the songs beneath shine. And rock. The intimate vignette of “Where I Am” becomes anthemic, while “End Of Days” becomes a crushing, brutal, beautiful thing. Well, I mean, it already was a crushing, brutal, beautiful thing, but live it’s a different crushing, brutal, beautiful thing. And the choral harmonies during “Setting Sun” are, if anything, more spine-tingling live, with the crash back into the riff providing a moment of transcendence. And, of course, increased moshing.I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again — the Justin Sullivan / Michael Dean / Ceri Monger / Marshall Gill / Dean White line-up is as strong a crew as NMA have ever had in their turbulent history, adding depth and complexity without sacrificing the wiry energy at their core.
“Vote for anyone but the fucking Tories”, says Justin, wishing us good luck. Because, let’s face it, we all need that right now. Preaching to the converted? Sure, probably. But sometimes it’s nice to have that reassurance. And when you’ve got a band this tight and majestic on your side, sometimes shit doesn’t seem so bad.This review is dedicated to Michael Dean, currently suffering from blood clots, causing the cancellation of a couple of gigs. Get well soon, fella.
-Words: Justin Farrington-
-Pictures: Dave Pettit-
