Serafin - London Barfly @ Monarch - 30/7/03
4/5
By: Toby L
Set-List: 'Cowboy Song', 'Things Fall Apart', 'Numerical', 'Build High, Tear Low', 'Drug Dog', 'Lethargy', 'Ordinarily Me', 'Day By Day', 'Who Could I Be?', 'No Happy'.
Serafin: the oldest new band in existence.
No, not wrinkles-wise - we're talking sheer, unrivalled experience here. Rockfeedback first viewed the Scots/London/New Zealand foursome support Irish indie-rockers JJ72 a whole two years ago. Back then, they were touted as a fearsome, hot prospect.
Yet, fast-forward to 2003, and - somehow - they're still touted as a 'fearsome, hot prospect'. Seemingly fans of the foundation-building, fanbase-accumulating slow route to success, the 'Fin have toured excessively since first surfacing on the scene in '01, and have steadily amounted a live-performance captivatingly second to none in the ragged rage of the presently teeming, angst-rock circuit.
Now, the fruits of their tiresome labours are finally starting to ripen. Every instant of their sold-out show at London's Monarch tonight - the completion of a successful three-week residency at the venue - is an unadulterated masterclass in ravaged skill and haphazard franticness, songs veering and swelling from every change of a chord, or a chilling stare to the back of the room from frontman Ben Fox Smith... Menace, embodied in a full rack of expertly-crafted, multi-faceted eruptions of uncompromising, intense noise-sound-vision.
The riot begins with the agony of 'Cowboy Song' before corroding into a flawed 'Things Fall Apart', where all manner of feedback and onstage sound-issues conjure possibly the only lack of assurance in an otherwise belligerent array of growl-pop; the steely, perfunctory 'Numerical' - which comes across like Elastica beating up the wussy-asses of Placebo - rattles and takes off in all the right moments, chunky bass battling with squealing guitars and drummer Ronny Growler's distinctly overbearing, ingenious pace never letting up.
'Lethargy', meanwhile, is somewhat less true to its name - big, bulky Manson-esque riffage and pummelling snares forming one of the band's somewhat bleaker moments - 'WAIT 'TIL I GET INTO MY OWN SPACE,' Smith blares with all the vivid, terrifying urgency of a freshly-straightjacketed freak. The closest they come to a ballad of sorts is the depresso-chug of 'Who Could I Be', or grungy rasp of 'Ordinarily Me', which both provide (temporary) breathing-space for an increasingly fiercer mosh-pit - one which sends any crowd-surfers to a grisly hammering to the ground (note: the sighting of two exploded, busted-up noses to either side of our spot).
In spite of the grisly exertions, the band themselves are ebullient throughout - notably bassist Ben Ellis, who seizes a high-five with a front-row member of the room without, worryingly, any sign of irony. Thereabouts, embers of keyboard-doused, arty Blur are recalled in the messed-up racket of 'Build Up, Tear Low', whilst proceedings near desperate-perfection during an enraged, manic outing of new single, 'Day By Day', and the killer-thrust of a morbid, ending 'No Happy'.
Exultant, the band leap from the stage one-by-one into their steamy pool of rapturous admirers, save from Smith, who audience-dives - guitar and all - and Growler, who performs a desirable primate-impression as he climbs the ceiling's perimeter, prior to falling off the stage, crate of beer in arms. All this, and still even yet to drop their surging, Dave Sardy-produced debut-LP, 'No Push Collide' to an unprepared public.
Where others bearing as rich a track-record already as Serafin's will have filled their live-predicament with a stale scent of the contrived, somehow, the foursome remain enthralling and almost wearingly erratic. It promises extravagantly for rock's future.
Artists in this article: Serafin
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