6th December, KOKO, London
Neurosis are a band deep in the heart of many a true music fan. Intensely ferocious, abrasive and atmospherically brutal they stand as the paragons of what contemporary music is all about. It’s well founded that they are experimental where they need to be and rocking in massive doses in the same regard.
On this bitter evening in a cold month I discovered that I am out of step with their audience. Despite being so moving that tears sprang unbidden in eyes of true disciples their audience were a basic bunch of cunts. If ever there was a whinier rightfully maligned cadre of the piss poor fuck ups I’m hard pressed to find their equal.
No one moved, shook or displayed any emotion, previous concerts entailed happy dancing amongst a throng of weird human accidents however here the regimented cancers of society gathered to swap fashion tips and be irrelevant, barely present through what was objectively a life changing set.
In December 2010 I witnessed rock and roll’s nadir, the point where you look upon a crowd of stupid fucks and wish that each and every one of them would fucking die. My disgust cannot know any bounds, the subservient and bitterly self effacing crowd with fashionably long beards had me reaching for the razor. Pity, pity these evil charlatans who seem set to spread their pointlessness on everyone, curses on their mothers and a pox on their fathers, whose issue was better absorbed in a tissue than walking amongst the revolution ready and life confirmed.
London audiences you suck a thin dick, Neurosis are all and more and how dare you half heartedly demand what you could never deserve, an encore. Go fuck yourselves, you are unworthy of life and only testicular cancer will give weight to your sacs.
Last words: A brilliant concert, of too much awesome for anyone present, exceptions being an energetic Scotsman and an Italian journalist. Both of you got it. Everyone else… fuck off. Laugh it up, I’m probably talking about you.
At the End of the Road
Given to the Rising
Water is not Enough
Distill (watching the swarm)
Stones from the Sky
Through Silver in Blood
London based writer and photographer whose work has graced the grimy pages of most UK music publications. Marshmallowed with age he dreams of touring the Cairngorms and writing romantic prose about semantic pathways. As it is, until that cliché he is this one.