Drink first, ask questions later

This is precisely the kind of reckless attitude that leads to a chap drinking shots of absinthe with Dozer, Sam and Ultimate Fighting Rich at 1am after drunkenly stumbling home from a splendidly face-melting gig.

No, I will not ever learn.

The gig in question took place at The Croft, and first up were local nobodies The Truth About Comets. They kicked out a confused montage of all their influences, but played well, and seemed quite unperturbed by the fact that their meagre audience was insistent on standing at least 20ft from the stage at all times. Derivative metalcore can be contagious, don’tcha know.

Then came Ella, another local band – albeit a tad more established. Less derivative, more forgettable. Moving on…

Throats were splendid. Crazed death-punk-thrash-screams were interspersed with dark, groove-laden grindcore jams, which acted as a counterpoint to the… yes, I am just talking nonsense now. But I maintain that they were splendid.

Not as splendid, however, as the mighty Johnny Truant. I last saw these guys some five years ago, touring in support of Isis, Cult of Luna, and, er, DJ Speedranch (ahem). I seem to remember arriving late, and having to squint at them from the back of a sold-out LA2 in London as they completed the last half of their set… This time around, things were different. The five of them wandered through the crowd to the stage, picked up their instruments, and proceeded to annihilate all that lay in their path. My memory’s a bit hazy from all the booze ‘n’ that, but I believe that the entire planet was destroyed.

Nice.

It was all very cathartic. Punishing, but cathartic. The next gig is Red Sparowes, on Monday; until then its all painty-painty drink-drink. Anything to drown out the sound of thinking.