For a start it’s the earlier version of industrial cyberpunk.
Watching the acolytes pile into the Islington academy one witnessed a grimey cinematic mis en scene unfold; exposed metal, washes of bacterial neon, blackened grates and grills, oil shadowed denim, and that which isn’t shaved, pierced, or tattooed, is knotted with grease and grinning. They call it industrial but it’s much deeper than that.
For a start it’s the earlier version of industrial. The older, grosser, grittier kind. The kind that reminds you of a bust seaside town that flirted and failed with industry, whose crumbling chic contains elements of glitz and stalled reconstruction, stains of which have rubbed onto the flesh of the stuck, lost, or sinking. A romantic shabby town before a slick realtor called Trent Reznor installed a monorail, converted the warehouse squats to student accommodation, and gave the sullen kids jobs. From kohl eyes to making and marketing the other black stuff, coffee. But it didn’t start that way… it started dirty, fun and naughty and that’s what we celebrated. The Young Gods wrote and rode the odes to that first wave’s aesthetic and sound, where the technology was fresh and the musical references bombastic. It was in essence arena rock despite it’s futuristic execution and it trod heavy in thick soled boots.
The Young Gods Photos shots taken at the performance 23rd March 2019, Islington, UK.