Always Wanted War

The Stag and Hounds, Bristol | 9 March

Sunday afternoons can be cruel. Wanting nothing more than a cuddle and a hot beverage – we’ve all been there. The head’s taken a battering and the last thing you want is to get out of bed. Least of all if it’s to stand in a dark pub and listen to three bands who are all, by any definition, fucking loud. We got an early night on Saturday though. We couldn’t think of a nicer way to spend our Sunday afternoon.

Bristol promotor Cheap Words on Handbills is only on its third gig. So far though, they’ve played host some of the finest alternative punk and metal the UK has to offer, and this third offering is a matinee show in a well established boozer. The turn out’s brutally disappointing, but the vibe is low key. There’s a strong feeling that the few who are here are all here for one reason. Good, old fashioned, Sunday afternoon powerviolence.

When we arrive, the day’s first band This Ends Here are outside, drinking, enjoying the unexpected March sunshine. There are five minutes before their set. Such is the nature of today though, everything’s casual, it’s a Sunday matinee for Pete’s sake. They howl, grunt and crash their way through a brooding, black metal inflected, sludge, with nods to the ambient, visceral onslaught of Liturgy, all smothered in downbeats and affected shrieks and grunts. They set the stage for today’s international offering, Always Wanted War.

The German three-piece are undeniable in their attack. Everything about the way they sound is reminiscent of something else and somehow completely their own. When singer Dennis steps away from the mic to scream during Stars Hollow it’s cutting, gut wrenching. It’s what’s been missing from the watered-down, post-Underoath approach to screamo that always disappoints. The influence of bands like Funeral Diner is strong, but Always Wanted War carve out their own sound. The metallic riffs and occasional double pedal tap for good measure are original (for this genre), not to mention the fact the band are struggling to contain their excitement at being on stage. It makes for a near perfect set and the sun’s not even down yet.

Last up is Birmingham’s Dreameater. We hadn’t heard them before, but the genre description ‘jangly-screamo’ on the poster is enough to convince us we need to stay. Another charismatic frontman, just self deprecating enough to make us believe he could well be feeling genuine anguish as he screams his way through a cover of Keaton Henson’s The Party. Again it’s a mid 90s – early 00s affair, with hints of Ampere in the short bursts of noise and the jangling guitar echoes La Quiete. We’re suckers for it though, so it’s not a turn off. As they play their last 30 second song we’re left with only one disappointment, and it’s nothing to do with the music.

While we’ve enjoyed the gig, we’re left with the knowledge that there are less than 20 people here. It’s disheartening to think that no-one wants to get out of bed for this. Yeah, the sun was shining and people were nursing hangovers. Still, it seems that a city the size of Bristol should be able to make a better effort to support DIY culture. When Dreameater finish singer Will cracks a joke about playing to an empty room and the strangeness of the matinee. He then thanks the small crowd for being different and making the effort to come out. A sentiment nobody could disagree with. After it was all over it felt almost insane to think we’d just spent the hottest day of the year so far in that dark room. We could have been scoffing Mr Whippy and lying around sipping cold beers. Instead we were inside, listening to abrasive emotional hardcore at dangerous volumes as the world fluttered madly on. But why wouldn’t we? Faith No More said it best; it’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it.

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Words: Billy Black