Feeling like a twat on Halloween really is as simple as dressing in
your everyday clothes. Not even the Mario Bros. or Zelda will talk
The rugby team – who’ve fashioned costumes out of short
shorts and little else, naturally certainly won’t.
But while even the less-than-half-arsed with meek splatters of fake blood on their civvies ignore us, it’s probably for the best.
It exempts us from the ‘what are you studying?’ mating call of the wild fresher. Less unsociable are No Pain In Pop.
This spook-fest is theirs, most frightening in its awesome lineup. Deep Sht – showing us right up in black hooded capes and green body paint – play their bitter, garage-gaze to just a cluster
of straight faces, not because their wall of sound and slurring vocals are unconvincing
(far from it, as Radio Dept.-esque ‘Hector’’s druggy, doss melody shows) but rather due to their early stage time clashing with grub-up in the nearby halls of residence.
An hour later a few more (only a few, initially, mind) congregate for Gold Panda’s last London gig before his debut album is completed.
Flicking switches and twisting dials that poke through a tabletop of wires and fx boxes, his trip-hop-py instrumentals click
Hop and Mazes. The latter we know well from their lo-fi transistor indie, mixed through TV’s to produce their brilliantly swaggering debut single ‘Bowie Knives’,
but from the former we expect something different to what we get. Their buzzgenerating demo ‘Rad Pitt’ is perfect, forlorn electro pop – Metronomy meets
The Cure and is thus, unsurprisingly, the best track we hear played live all week.
But the young four-piece also have a brasher side that makes their set one part foppish, new romantic and at least two parts crunchy grunge.
However masterful their pop melodies are, we thought they’d be predictable in their sound; turns out they only are in their undeniable
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