When a band is billed as 'sounding like the future' Sonic Mouth gets very excited. Not because it buys into such tittle tattle, but because it means smashing them off their lofty perch will be even more satisfying than usual. And it's usually very satisfying.
So Three Trapped Tigers were said band - billed as 'sounding like the future' - and in a warped nod to Hunter S. Thompson I got royally tanked up and waltzed on down to Barden's Boudoir for the Different Class Radio club night.
Now if you want a wafty feature filled with anecdotal platitudes, scene-setting asides and jizzy soft-focus pictures you can fuck off and read the Sunday Times supplement. Here's the bands and what they made my ears feel like.
The night of 'wanting to knock bands off perches' couldn't have started much worse as this foursome were pretty spectacular, which is something I never thought I would say about a band crafted around a lead saxophone.
But like the NASDAQ and self-raising flour, I don't understand or care how it works, but it bloody well did. Hooked mainly around a grimy thumping drum and bass synth, the real bass and drums did well to keep up - only breaking down sporadically to be built up and thumped in the gut by some mind-blowing saxophony (it is a word, dick).
Their style left a bit to be desired - I find those 'Who's afraid of the ginger beard' t-shirts have a similar effect to a tramp stabbing me in the eyes, but I'm not going to hold that against them. At least he was actually ginger and it wasn't some post-ironic stunt.
Beginning to contemplate the unsavoury thought of actually liking both bands, I waited with sharpened knives (not literally, although 'When in Rome' and all that) as Three Trapped Tigers took to the sweaty, space-restricted stage.
It wasn't long before they had dashed all hopes I had of knocking them from any fucking perch, as they launched into some sublime mind-altering electronica.
Their songs jolted unapologetically from twinkling solar melodies to raw synthy filth while still managing to feel seamless. They held the attention for exactly the right amount of time, gave you a chance to begin to think about heading to the bar and then hit you with the next wave of aural pleasure.
But because Sonic Mouth feels wrong being entirely positive about a band, we did manage to find a negative. They really need to sort out some song titles - the track list on their innovatively titled 'EP2' reads '6', '7', '8' and '9'. That's not edgy, it's fucking annoying. Especially when trying to remember which song you liked.
So, I began the night with a hideously low opinion of instrumental music (I also began the night by drinking enough rum to kill a dwarf, but that's neither here nor there). I thought music like that was for pretentious helmets and that even those jerk-offs were only pretending to like it to look good in front of Jonny Art Student. But these two bands have convinced me that if you look hard enough, there's some diamonds hidden amid the dirge. I'm off to find something to hate now....
...Oh hi Paloma Faith.
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