News / / 14.05.14

The Amazing Snakeheads

Start The Bus, Bristol | 13 May

We enter Start The Bus to an unmistakably American accent screeching poetically into the microphone. “Didn’t know Husker Du had reformed…” our mate snidely chortles. Milo’s Planes, who speak with unmistakably English accents, are on stage and slinging their brand of early 90s, college radio influenced indie to a room that is already teeming with movement.

Not that surprising because Milo’s Planes are actually worth moving to. Then again it’s only half past 8. It must be the anticipation of seeing much lauded Glasweigian punk band The Amazing Snakeheads. It’s palpable, both in the vibe and in the overheard conversations in the smoking area “They’re fucking great live, can’t take your eyes off them.”

We head back inside to catch The Plainviews, a kind of Bristol supergroup, made up of members of Idles and The St Pierre Snake Invasion. They swipe, growl and screech their way through a handful of Mclusky-tinted sludge and Shellac indebted post-hardcore tunes. The three-piece serve as a perfect introduction to the Snakeheads; fierce, emotive and genuinely unhinged. We can’t help but find ourselves repeating lines of lyrics on our trip to the bar.

The Amazing Snakeheads take to the stage in typically trashy attire, all paisley shirts and high waisted trousers. The Glaswegian band can rank among their members a stone mason and a postman; neither have managed to give up their day jobs yet but they’re already gracing the pages of every credible music publication going. There’s a real sense of ‘no fucking about’ with these lads. Launching, without hesitation, into opener Flatlining, its droning, cacophonous racket captivates the audience, flogging us mercilessly. We’re one song in and we’ve already bought into the Snakeheads’ twisted, red wine stained world.

By the time the band are halfway through their third song, Here It Comes Again, frontman Dale Barclay is shirtless and mid-audience bashing out the modest solo to an amorous crowd as the rest of the band hammer away back on stage. When Barclay returns he pushes his sweaty head into the back of bassist William Coombe as they grind out their scuzzy rock ballads to a room that’s teetering on utter chaos. Before we know what’s hit us clamourous saxophone drone is tearing their short set to an end as the band grimace and taunt the audience with a venerable hostility. If they’re playing near you we have one piece of advice, just fucking go. Even if you hate the music you’ll be captivated by the sheer intensity; these boys don’t let up.

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facebook.com/theamazingsnakeheads

Words: Billy Black

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