The Head of Steam isn't exactly the most forgiving of venues. Crammed into the back of an all-too-minute shoebox of a room, bands tend to find themselves faced with one of two less than desirable situations: overbearing indifference, wherein a handful of punters stand so far away from the makeshift stage area that they're invisible to the naked eye, or, as is the case on this most bitter of January evenings, the considerable crowd shoves its way to the front enthusiastically, and you're forced to play in their faces, making direct contact, looking into the whites of their eyes and realising that, yup, your fuck-ups are sodding unmissable. It's a terrifying thought and one that would perturb even the most consummate of professionals. It's testament to the steadfast brilliance of This Familiar Smile's blistering live show that it doesn't faze them one bit.
Tonight, the Ayrshire four piece are positively gargantuan; in the face of unprecedented, demanding devotion (check out the hecklers, howlers and the downright insane boys and girls who make up the first few rows), they harness as much energy as their youthful bodies can muster, launching themselves and their instruments head-first into a thrillingly chaotic haze of distortion, aggression and mind-boggingly sporadic tempo changes. Passion seems to ooze from every pore in lead singer David Samson's diminutive body; he screams, snarls and throws shapes throughout the blink-and-you'll-miss-it thirty minute set, taking out all his frustration on the venue's poor microphone and his own battered and bruised guitar. More often than not, he's bent double over the well-worn instrument, thrashing relentlessly at a speed previously unbeknownst to man, letting the music swallow him whole.
And what music. This evening's performance is cut primarily from debut release 'Ribbons, Regards and the More Machine', one of 2010's independent highlights, and consequently, there is a distinctly edgy undercurrent to events. Opener 'How The Conversation Started' sets the tone perfectly, amalgamating shards of scattershot post-punk, prototypical Scottish rock 'n' roll (think Twin Atlantic), early noughties/late nineties emo - you know, the kind that's actually listenable, a la 'Your Favorite Weapon' - and, most importantly, both the ethos and the sound of math rock. Yes, you read that right folks: the genre most commonly associated with such indie luminaries as Foals and Battles is right here, mixed suitably well into This Familiar Smile's delicious melting pot, giving them the extra ingredient needed to set them apart from their peers. Songs change rhythm without warning; tempo adjusts so often, you lose the ability to keep any sort of time; and the conventional 'quiet-loud-quiet-loud' formula is reshaped into something far, far more invigorating.
And while this is undoubtedly the band's greatest strength, it is their ability to juxtapose such frantic unpredictability with moments of the most tender beauty that ensures they'll go far. 'More Machine's wonderful bonus track, the untitled end to '...And Other Short Stories', is two minutes and thirty seconds of paradoxically delectable heartbreak, a song positively drippimg with melancholy. David is left alone to pour his heart out, wrenching each line from the deep, dark denizens of his gut, loading the lyrics with meaning. There's a rapturous round of applause once he's finished - almost a standing ovation - and it's undeniably well deserved.
Don't let the moniker fool you: there's very little familiar about This Familiar Smile. Their music draws from myriad influences, sure, and you might be able to catch a snippet of Brand New here and a glimpse of Biffy Clyro there but for the most part, these guys make their curious blend of punk, thrash, emo and math rock their own, and do so with style, panache and a healthy dose of impassioned aggression. The Head of Steam may be unforgiving but TFS are unrelenting and at the end of the day, that makes them pretty darn unforgettable.
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