Hardcore music has always been an integral part of the Leeds music scene, bubbling away in basements and sweaty rooms above pubs for many years, and judging by the turn out for last Friday’s show at the Brudenell Social Club, it is showing no signs of going on the defence. Rather, it is grabbing your throat in a Somalian death-grip and sheering off your corneas with nothing but aural force. First on the bill were newcomers The Flex, whose approach to music is intense, raw and heavy in the best traditions of UKHC (think Vorhees, Walk the Plank). After a late start to the show that saw some flagging, this got people’s attention in a fucking hurry! They even got some people moving at the front, a rarity for the first band of the night but something which was fully deserved. They were followed by Shoot the Bastard, a band slightly on the Spazz-y, screaming side for my liking; but it was hard not to be drawn in by their flailing approach which reeked of cheap cider and dusty squats.
After a further wait, which we filled with smoking and cheap booze, we found ourselves in front of the Dry Heaves. I have to make a conscious effort sometimes not to go on about the same few artists who I appreciate, but fuck mine this band are good, tempering their 80s hardcore approach with a scuzzy guitar sound; like a wild animal with a sedative dart not quite yet taken effect in its side. They were followed by the Afternoon Gents, who I hope I don’t offend, but to my drink-raddled eyes they seemed to be Shoot the Bastard after an instrument swap. Possibly a one member difference? Anyway, accordingly their music was in the same vein. Not my cup of White Lightning, but undeniably enjoyable and successful in getting people moving. The headliners on the night were Chicago hardcore mob the Weekend Nachos. Not a band that had crossed my path before this show, I was mildly unprepared for the assault to my system…this band is fucking heavy! Gnarly as fuck hardcore in the vein of a freight train heading toward you while you’re tied to the railings, they finished off the night in fine, ear melting form. After a long day battling with the British public transport system, a night of the hardcore scene’s finest was what I needed to let me go home with a smile on my face and a ringing in my ears.