First published by Nottingham Live http://www.nottinghamlive.co.uk/live/2011/09/live-review-new-disorder-festival-the-m-f-n-17911/ September 2011
Photos reproduced by kind permission of Sue Paterson Photography www.suepaterson.co.uk
At the end of the festival season, you’d be forgiven for thinking that what Imperial Circus singer, Leigh Dickens, described as “Unsigned Download” might struggle to pull in the punters. Well, you’d be wrong. Christ, would you…
With a footfall of over five hundred through the doors on the day, twelve excellent sets covering just about the entire spectrum of rock and metal, morris dancers, wildlife exhibitions, face-painting, stalls and all manner of other japery, not to mention the minor detail of racking up close to two grand for Rock Against Child Pornography and Abuse, the first New Disorder Music Festival was a success of gargantuan proportions.
The vision of one woman, former Isolysis manager, Tracy Holland, you can now be assured that the event will return for a second year in 2012. In the meantime, cast your eye over the acts that made this year such a runaway success…
Given the thankless task of opening a twelve-act bill, featuring some seriously heavy-duty quality, North Nottingham trio, Art of Deception, must’ve been pleasantly surprised by the respectable crowd they drew. A surprise, it’s fair to say, shared by the audience as the trio turned in a cheerful and unexpectedly competent set, high on enthusiasm, with a least one gem in their set, the ballad, ‘Farewell To Yesterday’.
While enjoying a reputation in their native North West, Manchester Rock Radio Battle of The Bands winners, Hell to Pay, were unknown quantities to many here. The second surprise of the day arrived when the scruffy grungey-looking looking quartet shuffled on stage and then hammered out a half hour of polished, but incendiary, melodic metal completely at odds with their appearance.
Helium-voiced front-man, Dan, was nothing less than a revelation and to find his vocal acrobatics matched by his band mates, as they belted out those Leppard-esque, three-part harmonies, was a treat.
Although some of the influences they site are Megadeth, Iron Maiden and Racer X, their joyful and infectious 80s-style hard rock was far more redolent of the glossy, metallic pomp of Dokken, a band who, funnily enough, have an album entitled Hell to Pay nestling in their back catalogue.
Melodic, energetic and entertaining, what’s not to like?
Now then; Signify. A band that, on a previous encounter, made it clear that if a little discipline could be injected into their ranks, they could well be on to something. Happily, today’s outing saw a much tighter and more focused attack and that potential became more apparent.
Vocalist, Craig Keating, was a lively and engaging front-man and if his voice started to crack towards the end of the set, well, that’s easily rectified by giving the pre-gig pints a swerve.
A shudder-inducing cover of ‘Helter Skelter’ aside, this was good stuff.
The post-Andy Kulesza Spirytus is a now a very different band from its earlier incarnation.
While his last few shows were self-indulgent, alcohol-fuelled exhibitions of sloppiness and chaos, there is no denying that his good-humoured warmth, and a certain roguish charm, offset and contrasted favourably with front man, Ryan Walton’s, brooding anger and cold violence.
Replacement axe-man, Alistair Bell, is an altogether different beast, too. Where Andy K’s extrovert personality and flashy skill almost meant the band had two front-men, Bell’s aloof, introverted and quietly industrious stage demeanour now leaves Walton the undisputed ring leader.
And while the humour and fun of Kulesza-era Spirytus may well be missing, along with his harmony backing vocals, the absence of which left one or two choruses sounding a touch flat and hollow, there were a number of fans here today who thrilled to the leaner, meaner and tighter new-look band.
The pummelling onslaught of ‘You Don’t Know’ typified proceedings and the band attacked their set, sparking bobbing heads and stomping feet.
It’s been a long time since their debut and, thus far, only album, so the new song aired today, ‘Patience of a Saint’, injected some welcome variety into a set that was in danger of becoming tired and jaded.
Bass funkster, the likeable Edis, bounced and bobbed, rhythm man, Burman, kept the riffs churning and Walton ensured this was a rage-filled and committed display.
Their distinctive funk-infused nu metal unquestionably won them new fans here today.
Thrash, and the harder end of the metal spectrum, but with clean, powerful vocals? Now there’s an idea you’d think would catch on.
Fortunately, Deprevate fill this yawning chasm in the market all by themselves, it seems, and fill it admirably. Their contribution to today’s shenanigans was a heady brew of traditional rock, extreme metal and a rhythmic nous that saw rolling waves of grooving metal heads spreading across the floor like a forest fire.
Hard to resist and most were happy not to. A job well done.
Fresh from their well-received slot at Bloodstock, Grand Ultra, lead by whip-thin singer and purveyor of sculpted cheekbones, Joe Hill, were greeted by a coterie of enthusiastic fans, keen to see their boys do the business.
Theirs is a modern take on traditional classic rock, reinforced by the classic four-piece line-up, and if Hill’s gestures are oddly reminiscent of Paul Rodgers, his sound is uncannily akin to original Diamond Head main-man, Sean Harris. Guitarist, Justin Larner, on the other hand, surprisingly, had more than a whiff of George Lynch about his licks. No bad thing, then.
A no-frills, no-fuss approach saw their tunes go down well as the band simply went about their business with a brisk efficiency that let the music do the talking.
No complaints from the punters at the front and another successful set chalked up in what was looking suspiciously like a perfect day.
Alex Thomson, bass, backing vocals and perspiration, insouciantly strode on stage wearing the day’s most ridiculous trousers and defiantly held his Guinness aloft. The cheers rang out, the hammer came down and then they started…
The unique blend of alt, prog, classic rock, indie and unashamedly glorious pop that constitutes Captain Horizon’s songs is clearly made for enormadomes and, for a mesmerising half-hour period, the MFN was transformed into the California Bowl.
A fabulous sound, packed with power, punch and balls, provided the perfect foil for gravel-throated, chest-beating, alpha-male singer, Steve ‘Whitty’ Whittington, to strut his stuff.
‘Anxiety Breaks Us All’ is still the greatest summer hit single that never was and it has never sounded more uplifting and life-affirming than it did here today. Similarly, the sparkling and inventive indie-pop of ‘Bring Back the Sun’, complete with pitch-perfect backing vocals and descants, had the biggest crowd of the day roaring along in delighted support.
A crowd, it must be said, that were utterly transfixed and the band just kept ramping up the pace as naysayers, cynics and partisan metal heads alike fell, disarmed, before their utterly superb display.
The slithering rhythmic intricacy of ‘Radiostasis’ provided ample opportunity for scientist-drummer, Merrix, to demonstrate a level of technical proficiency and attention to detail that was a privilege to witness.
‘Stop’ was simply sensational while ‘Shell’‘s grungy riffing and huge slabs of sonic heaviness, lent depth and variety to a set that was over all too quickly.
The demented brilliance of Evil Scarecrow aside, Captain Horizon were the best band of the day by a country mile and the ecstatic cheers of the venue-bulging crowd dared anyone to disagree.
Following Captain Horizon’s show-stealing brilliance was a task that would have left lesser acts quaking in terror. JD & the FDCs, however, are not a lesser act and, therefore, made the correct decision; they made no attempt to follow or emulate the Horizeneers and simply did their thing.
And marvellously effective their thing was, too. Opener ‘Burn This City Down’ is quite simply a pop-punk rock ‘n’ roll masterpiece, infused with a brazen melodicism. During its reckless freewheeling exposition, JD himself provided the perfect springboard from which lead-man, Dazmondo, showed how playing real rock ‘n’ roll guitar should be approached.
Nice, too, to see a band, for a change, not looking like their own roadies. Their image provided a gang-like cohesion which sat perfectly with their brand of compelling, stripped-down, bare-knuckle rock ‘roll rollickings.
While the music might share a certain commercial accessibility with the likes of, say, Green Day, its roots are to be found in the firing-from-the-hip anarchy of Johnny Thunders and The Ramones and comes from an altogether grittier and far more authentic place.
Delerict himself oozes a dark and sleazy appeal. Don’t ask him home to meet your parents. Sure, he’ll charm them but then he’ll screw your mum, kill your dog and raid your fridge.
Professional, tight and slick but always with that edge of dangerous unpredictability that characterises the very best rock ‘n’ roll. Mr Delerict and his FDCs are the ultimate party band and tonight were an unqualified success.
Ilkeston’s wayward sons, Imperial Circus, have had a busy and successful year. Under the stewardship of manager, Dave Wiltshire, the alt metal quartet has worked hard, upped their live appearances and, as a result, is a much improved unit.
Across the aboard reviews of their somewhat patchy debut platter have, nevertheless, been overwhelmingly positive.
Nothing patchy about today’s explosive set, though. Erupting with the ferocity of a land-mine separating legs from torsos, new song, ‘Hail Command’, swept the Imperial legions into battle and soon the stage-front area became something of a cauldron.
Boasting some of the most committed fans of the day, the Circus gave ‘em what they clearly wanted and they responded with furious glee to the band’s American-style carnage.
Still the best song the band have yet penned, ‘15 Stitches’ was a perfect and fitting closer to thirty minutes of full-blooded mayhem.
Toxic Federation were sadly visited by a technical gremlin in the guise of singer, Mitch Emms, who accidentallyripped the lead from the bass rig, damaging the input. For large parts of the set thereafter, bassist, Stroud, was unfortunately absent from proceedings.
That said, the Feddies did their best and ‘Distance’ still sounded satisfyingly huge while newies, ‘Motorway Asylum’ and ‘My Resolution’ triumphantly announced the arrival of the heavier, darker Toxic Federation fans will met on the forthcoming new album.
Given that the band had only a half-hour set, Emms’ decision to halt proceedings on two occasions to indulge in rambling and lengthy discourse was frankly mystifying. A sentiment clearly shared by one impatient heckler who audibly responded with an irritated, “Get on with it!” Mystifying indeed, especially after Captain Horizon’s slot, which was a master class in how to pace a set.
Having said that, a band with so much going for them still have plenty to offer a crowd and one that comprised such a large number of their loyal fans was never going to be disappointed.
‘Dark’ showcased Jake Graham’s trade-mark melody-based riffing while a face-painted JR Windsor provided one of the day’s most powerful and physical displays of skin-bashing.
The Federation have played better gigs, not least their recent roof-removing rampages at The Greyhound and The Half Crown, but they still did more than enough to leave the punters chuffed and happy indeed with their lot.
Sarf Laaandhan minstrels, Mordecai, an extremely talented and experienced act, nevertheless got off to a wobbly start. The down tempo opening seemed to last an age and signs of restlessness were evident among a crowd high on a near-twelve hour diet of booze, metal and, ah, other stimulants.
Thankfully, like an ocean liner making a slow turn, the tempo of the set gradually increased and with it, the energy of the crowd. By the mid-way point, the band’s appealing amalgam of Brit metal and bourbon-soaked, southern Americana was working its gritty magic.
They had some great songs and the band carried with them an undeniably gravitas. Front-man, Dan M Hicks, generously invited another wayward son, local legend and former Isolysis mainman, the irrepressible Bane, to share the stage and vocal duties during the superb ‘Simple Deal’.
A highlight of the day, the roof was in danger of falling in and the gently smiling Hicks endeared his band to many with the generosity of his gesture.
Into the home straight, then, and Mordecai erased their shaky start with a stylish and classy performance that finished with an appreciative crowd firmly on-side.
Pantomime metal mentalists, Evil Scarecrow, can seemingly do no wrong, currently. Their well-deserved and hard-earned rapidly ascending star shows no signs of dimming and their first visit to the MFN facilitated an enjoyable deflowering for many scarecrow virgins.
Architects, not so much of songs as comedy sketches of ironic invention, everything that is brilliant about this act was, tonight, on vibrant and multi-sensory display. ‘Morbid Witches’ kindly purchasing pints of mild, fashionistas sporting ‘Vampyre Trousers’ and “…the most evil, most metal, most violent cover of a cartoon theme tune ever” (Thunder Cats, natch) were just some of the attractions on show at the Evil Scarecrow circus of comic madness.
‘Robotatron’ worked it’s failure-proof, nutty magic, Dr Hell and Brother Pain each had their very own face-painted mini me and a guest appearance by celebrity-groupie, Slagbot, ensured everything that was needed for the most fun to be had since, well, the last Evil Scarecrow party, was present and correct.
Dr Hell, even by his own particularly high standards, was on singular form and his doomed attempts to conjure the mass-sob fest that was ‘Blacken The Everything’, were hilariously subverted by Brother Pain leading the rest of the band into an impromptu hoe-down.
His crazed rush around the venue, dispensing high fives along with the licks, kept the grin-quotient high while Ringmaster Monty Blitzfist’s manic and tireless theatrics, it has to be said, have raised the Scarecrow game to even greater heights.
The icy beauty of Princess Luxury thawed several times to reveal delighted grins while Kraven Morrdeth, all hearty Viking machismo, hammed it up marvellously. When a band is having as much fun as the crowd, magic happens. And it did.
Fast becoming an institution that is virtually criticism-proof, Evil Scarecrow delivered yet another outstanding slice of tongue-in-cheek metal theatre that still, somehow, retains freshness, vitality and sincerity.
Six hundred and sixty six out of six hundred and sixty six. Top of the class, guys.