Live Review : Eyehategod + Billyclub + Gandalf The Green @ Rebellion, Manchester on October 14th 2019

Huddersfield’s Gandalf the Green have both a fantastic moniker and a massive Electric Wizard fanboy crush. They trade in massive scuzzy fuzzy riffs and psychedelic widdlings. What they do is under-produced and rawer than Sushi that is still swimming around the pool but is full of passion. This is a band that is loving the music they are playing and the fact they are playing it in front of a paying audience (admittedly not theirs). This blazoned enthusiasm manages to paper over any inadequacies there is in their musicianship, ensuring that a fun and exciting set is well received by all.

Billyclub have been around the block a billion times. Formed over twenty five years ago, in Wisconsin USA, but currently based in Bolton UK, they are the greatest underground punk institution that you have never heard of. Brimming with earthy northern charisma, frontman Mok immediately brings us up to date with some line-up changes. There is a new bassist in the form of Mark Burton and original drummer Matthew Mcoy, from the late nineties transatlantic incarnation of the band, has been whisked across the Atlantic as a super-sub. Mok makes a thing of the fact that they had mere hours to gel as a unit, but if there is any rusty components then it doesn’t show. This is primal in your face punk, short sharp and simple. The set list contains well over thirty songs and they are all delivered at light speed. It might not be pleasant and it won’t win any awards for musical precision, but boy is it bloody good fun. The audience are initially cautious, but they warm up and by the end of the set the dance floor is a swirling mass of slamming bodies. Billyclub are essential punk in its most undiluted state; unrepentant, unrelenting and highly infectious. By the end of the riotous set, I am left sore from pogoing with a massive grin on my face and frankly I can’t think of a better state of being.

Live, Eyehategod are always a messy chaotic proposition. They shun subtlety and charm in favour of ferocity and raw power. However tonight feels more shambolic and unhinged than usual. References are made to a heavy night in Helsinki. Whatever did go down in Finland, Mike Williams looks like he is yet to sober up. Initially the fragile, slightly ramshackle state of the band just adds to the pure driven feel of their music. 'New Orleans is the New Vietnam’ flows with even more guttural blues than usual and 'Sister Fucker' is pure twisted nihilistic rock n’roll. Bluegrass for an apocalyptic generation. It is with the latter that the pit comes alive. Bodies flay, pints fly and the atmosphere ratchets up, edgy but deliciously invigorating.

For most of the set Mike is a twirling dynamo of brutal emotion and white wine. He doesn’t sing the songs, the lyrics escape from his mouth in a gut-wrenching out-pouring of primitive energy. You just can’t take your eyes of the stage and more importantly him. It feels dangerous but enthralling. He wraps the microphone lead around his neck and tries to take bites out of the wire. He doses himself in bottled water and swears he sees the ghost of the Ginger Baker skanking in the middle of the pit. He destroys the mic stand and contorts his body across the stage. And behind him, wave upon wave of authentic down-tuned blues are sent tumbling into the audience.

But there is always a feeling that we are one slip away from disaster. Then it happens. A front row punter decides to get in on the act and throws his pint of water over Mike. An act that the lead singer does not take too kindly to. He throws back at the offending geezer whatever he can get his hands on, making his objections and anger clear. Then he grabs a glass bottle, smashes it on the amp and hurtles it towards the fellow. Suddenly the bubble is burst and the whole thing stops being fun anymore. The water chucker is initially removed by his concerned friends, later, by security. The band play a few more songs but the swagger has gone. There is no encore, both the band and the audience seem equally happy to get out of the place. 

Eyehategod live are raucous, untamed; in the main, an utterly amazing experience. They push everything to the extremes and usually manage to keep it within those confides. Tonight however, it goes over the edge and one act of stupidity tarnishes what had been a hugely exhilarating evening.