This isn't a gig, it's a bloc party in a lunatic asylum. Burly, balding blokes in skin-tight H&M T-shirts slam recklessly into scarf-wearing scene kids, sending their skinny asses flying into the Cluny's quaint Victorian brick walls or over the dangerously unprotected monitors at the foot of the stage, bruising a fair few ribcages and doubtless causing the put-upon sound guy to have a heart attack. And this, ladies and gents, is just during the support acts. Fellow Leeds noiseniks These Monsters set the tone for the evening, firing wave after wave of barbed, incomprehensible speed rock at an already agitated audience. Lead singer Samuel Pryor spits and snarls his way through a brusque set, making absolutely no sense whatsoever and flitting around the stage like a caged animal, full of nervous energy.
It's a thrilling ride, and is one that continues apace during semi-sorta-super-group (Gordon from Bloc Party's in 'em!) Young Legionnaire, whose weirdly sporadic sound - think Future of the Left fucking Minus the Bear's brains out - is intriguingly obtuse. Drums, guitar and bass rarely seem to work in tandem, instead playing off one another, keeping separate time, working to a different beat. The human anatomy doesn't really know how to respond to such schizophrenia; consequently, everyone just jumps around recklessly, keeping no discernable time, which in turn spurs the Legionnaires to up the ante and give Newcastle their all.
And so to Pulled Apart By Horses. Having been forced to cancel their November show at the last minute due to illness, the Leeds four piece are in high spirits this evening, making screwball wisecracks about 79p condoms made of sheepskin and remarking on the philosophical delights to be found in the Cluny toilets. None of this detracts from the music, however, as tonight Matthew, the Horses make just about the most invigorating angry white boy noise that it is possible to create with two guitars, one bass, a hefty drumkit and a few larynxes. The onslaught is unforgiving: 'Hey Buddy', 'Back to the Fuck Yeah', 'I Punched A Lion In The Throat'... one by one, they slay the hungry masses, belted out with unrelenting fury and unparalleled passion.
Newcastle responds in kind: bodies fly across the room, over-enthusiastic teens climb from floor to balcony and leap off, T-shirts, sweaters and hats are torn to pieces in a whirlwind of aggression, and around a third of the crowd manage to share the stage with the band, making it a clusterfuck of blood, sweat and adrenalin. To the latter, the Horses respond by pushing unsuspecting audience members floorwards, to make room for lead singer Tom Hudson's own foray into the crowd. It isn't long before he makes his escape, however, and soon enough, he's clambering over the balcony, falling onto tables while hammering his guitar, subjecting our ears to howls of violent feedback.
And if this isn't sufficiently thrilling, try out a prolonged 'High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive' in which guitarist James Brown abandons his instrument and swings from the ceiling immediately above the stage onto the lighting rig that hangs over the pit, hovering there for minutes, threatening to bring the whole structure crashing down onto his audience. The sound guy has his head in his hands (probably) and doubtless health and safety would have a field day with this naughty scamp but fact is, if the 300 or so punters found their young lives cut short this evening, they'd probably think it was an appropriate way to go. Newcastle and Pulled Apart by Horses get along like a house on fire; kicking the shit out of each other and loving every bloody minute.
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