First published in Moonshine Magazine, May 2011 www.mickmoonshine.co.uk
Even by the standards of their own unfeasibly high work ethic, Toxic Federation’s recent level of activity would make lesser bands wince. Not content with their usual, punishing schedule of gigs, the Feddies have been burning the midnight oil in their Breaston-based studio, writing and recording, for their forthcoming third album. A lengthy video shoot and ten-hour, post-shoot editing sessions have also eaten into the chunks of time normal people might spend eating and sleeping. To top all that off, they recently crammed in a short tour of Turkey, culminating in a prestige slot at the Istanbul Rock Festival.
No surprises, then, that exhaustion had set in and by the time the quintet took to the stage, signs of fatigue were obvious.
Even the reliably effervescent Jake Graham, not so much mortal flesh and blood, more a Duracell bunny, permanently high on a cocktail of Red Bull and rock ‘n’ roll, was visibly run down and, in what must surely be a first for that young man, lethargy and tiredness were the hallmarks of his performance tonight.
Ironically, from a purely musical perspective, there was little cause for concern. The road-hardened youngsters are now so tight and so in command of their material that they could pretty much deliver a respectable set in their sleep. A good job, really, as that was effectively the case here this evening.
New tracks, Distance and Life Of Mine still sounded spine-tinglingly great and the all the pointers suggest the new album will be all killer and no filler. Another newbie, Self Inflicted Fate, a classic rock-style, mid-tempo barnstormer, showcased the collective’s exponentially improving song writing as they continue to move ever closer to a definitive Toxic Federation sound. The sub-Iron Maiden widdly-widdly indulgences of their earlier material are rapidly becoming a thing of the past.
Set staples, Dark, Broken and Patriot’s Gamble packed their customary punch and the sprinkling of covers, She Sells Sanctuary, Highway To Hell etc drew rousing cheers from the small, but appreciative, audience.
So what, then, you may well ask, was the problem? Simply this; the static and by-the-numbers nature of their physical performance this evening revealed cracks usually well disguised by the high energy and celebratory good cheer normally a given at any Tox Fed show.
Most obvious was front man, Mitch Emms’ irritating and inexplicable need to halt the band before and after every, single, solitary song to indulge in entirely unnecessary verbiage.
Any energy that might have been building was killed stone dead on every occasion by the lengthy gaps between the songs. Pacing must now be addressed in a far more considered manner. Dividing the set into well-chosen chunks of two and three songs, with no gaps, would keep interest levels up and ensure energy levels remain high.
Secondly, do not, ever, introduce classic covers! Sweet Child Of Mine, Highway To Hell and She Sells Sanctuary are among some of the most iconic songs ever written. If you need to tell the audience that, “This is a little track by…and it’s called…” then you’re playing to the wrong crowd.
And, finally, the individual members of the band do not require three separate introductions; tell the audience who does what, by all means, but there is no need to then do it again on two further occasions.
Again ironically, Emms was in superlative vocal form and his voice grows ever stronger and more impressive. Coupled with his undoubted personal charisma, he could lift his stage presentation to dizzying heights by adopting a more thoughtful and considered approach to his onstage raps and their timings.
The other problem, and it’s becoming more noticeable with each gig, is guitarist, George Coleman. An undoubted talent, his prowess as an instinctive, improvisatory guitarist is beyond question. Similarly, his backing vocals and pin-point harmonies continue to impress and his growing reputation as a first-class producer, songwriter and arranger is heartily deserved.
What a shame, then, that he lets himself down with a complete absence of image and such a scruffy on-stage appearance. When a member of the audience mistakes you for the band’s roadie, you really ought to be take notice…
Harsh? Not so. It’s the little things, the attention to detail, that separates the great bands from the merely good and Toxic Federation has the potential for greatness, no question.
Better getting it right now, lads, than when the record labels come sniffing. And they will. Trust me…