LA-Fest
The Castle & Falcon
Review by John Kennedy
You Me And The Trees
Leila A – Maria As Gundogs
Gundogs (For Leila’s Boys)
Jimmy Weston
King Adora
Blue Nation
Casino
Meme Detroit
OMG/WTF! Rally the gillies, masters-of-hound, game-keepers and poachers alike. Lock-up the live-stock, daughters and wives. Cry Havoc! Someone’s let slip the Gundogs of Awe! Pedigree mayhem unleashed on gullible humanity. Spock to Kirk: ‘It’s music Jim, but not as we know it.’
Style? Grace? Harmony? Discretion? Oh, please do fuck-off. Gundogs are for grabbing you by the fun-horns promisingly in preparation for a white-hot anvil head-butting of unmitigated meta-sonic, Rock n‘ roll red meat mayhem. More, you want even more? Oh, yes salivating please. Are chainsaw guitars, power-chorded distortion scorpions up your arse, snogging werewolves up to 11 & beyond in a banshee, save the wail, wonderland enough? Just about.
A long-ago gig at The Hare & Hounds, some eleven years past, saw one Gundog encore the set by languidly prostrating herself across the drum-kit much to the drummer’s unsurprising resignation. Not to mention such derrière indiscretions a photographer fainted/the sounds-desk man was temporarily struck mute (ironically). To an individual Gundog, self-expression is a matter of degree. Their previous stage attire comprising of micro-dress, weapons-grade tights and, ‘Who you looking at, you Bastard?’ psycho-clown smear lipstick. It’s not so much stage-presence, more Indominus Rex in a playgroup, pandemic, polemic bombshell bombast.
By way of raucous, riotous, some might say, revelatory means, Gundogs ingratiate one’s very mortal fibre to such a degree that the ears petitioned serious words with evolution. A relentless, kick-the-shit out of apathy, acid-bath plunge in to sensory oblivion. But, doing as they do, they’ll open with an acoustic set: sort of, unplugged/leashed. And harmonies? Oh, they do them alright.
Tonight’s gig is a near instant sell-out, multi-line-up love-hug, power-chord, celestial shimmer heart-songs dedications for Leila. She, the alt.tyrana-vox, atomic-twin combo beating-heart of the Gundogs front-line. Maria by way of being the quiet one – apparently.
You & Me & The Trees (No, come back please! No barking-up the wrong trunk here) open the evening. One acoustic guitar and a very spiky songs-weaver. Lyrics of wry and quirky reflection, introspection and laments for the bed-sit innocence. Possibly. Disarmingly engaging and charming and a little bit more so. Check them out.
Eviscerating the bowels of all things plastic/attachment Girlie – it’s full-on fishnet-tights and hair-glitter Gundogs. See above homage, with a nuance of maturing modesty, but not that much.
If the all-conquering singer/song-wright of heart-breaking melodic lyricism, Jimmy Weston, doesn’t, well – break your heart, then what the hell you doing with one? Shame on you. Go suck on Love Island ersatz instead. And why does he have to be so self-effacingly nice about it as well? A ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ dedication to Leila is complimented by the shimmering reverb lament of ‘When We Were Young’. A few stifled, Jug Of Ale reminiscence, tears for sure. With the promise of, ‘Your giblets being rattled.’ King Adora are on next.
Sadly, reviews for them, Blue Nation, Casino and Meme Detroit are more honoured in the breech than the observance. It was urgent Uber-time. Word reaches the Reviewer the dog-sitter’s just been dumped – on Twitter.