Torn between watching the Brit Awards on the idiot box, and a night at Surya with The Chapman Family, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out which one I chose.
Kings Cross’ dubious reputation has still not entirely been killed off by the appearance of health clubs, glass mini-skyscrapers and smart bars like this one, and the cramped basement with the tiny stage proved to be the perfect venue to hear Stockton’s finest.
I hesitate to describe music in terms which would have sounded oafish even a few years ago, but there’s no denying the film soundtrack quality to their work. This time, it’s more a measure of the versatility, rather than the disconnectedness of the music, as the response from this small but energised crowd proved.
With their rhythms held down just below eruption’s point, and Kingsley’s pugnacious presence delivering heartfelt, angry lyrics about the wretched state out country is in, they recall the heady, politicised days of the 80’s, with even more to be furious about.
In an age when most bands are settling for the second-best of familiar rock riffing or quirkiness for its own worthless sake, it makes a welcome change to hear a tight, torrid set of rock anthems, atmospheric soundscapes and vocals that went from low whispers to full throated howls, all performed new minted and bristling with rage.
