Gallows & Future of the Left - London Barfly - 6/6/07
5/5
By: Thomas Hannan
I've seen a lot of bands recently who, whilst I'd admired their craft, didn't make me think that they had anything to say that could resonate with me being the person I am at the minute, yet however I've thought of a lot of modern music that, had I been sixteen when I'd heard it, it would have been the most amazing thing in my life. Yet there's that LCD Soundsystem song isn't there, the title track from their excellent 'Sound of Silver' LP, about a sound that "makes you want to feel like a teenager, until you remember the feelings of a real life emotional teenager, then you think again..." Whereas a lot of the bands I'm talking about would indeed have found favour with a sixteen year old me, none of them possessed enough vigour to make me actually want to be a sixteen year old again. That's why Gallows are special - it's not music for me, but it's objectively stunning enough for someone of my mellowed-out (if not exactly mature) demeanour to genuinely desire that time defying trip back to an age where this could have been the most important thing to ever happen to me.
Future of the Left however are the sound the me of last night wanted to listen to right there and then. Having grown up with the likes of Mclusky and Jarcrew, both great and now sadly defunct bands, it's a delight to hear them join forces and launch their sound head first in to the future, without any apparent regard for trends or common tastes. They're growing up faster than I am, trying new things, playing new grooves, telling filthier jokes. Frontman Andy Falkous steps behind a synthesiser for a few songs, aggressively playing some otherwise rather jaunty electro after he berates anyone in the crowd who might think that putting down his guitar constitutes some form of selling out. Though he's decidedly hairier (we spend the first whole song debating whether his newly grown locks are in fact a wig or not), the previously slap-headed Falkous still maintains the look on his face that he held all the way through Mclusky songs - the look of 'I am genuinely and wholly satiated with an overwhelming desire to witness your imminent death' - except this time his fingers are moving faster, to screwier rhythms and more infectious riffs. You can do really weird dances to this music. We did.
John Kennedy - bless him, for many many reasons - looks like he's about to be crucified before he introduces Gallows in his oh so polite, chequered-shirted way. This room is about to explode, and there's the XFM DJ and promoter of new music without compare trying to introduce what will be a particularly foul mouthed set to a crowd sitting listening to this at home, doing their coursework on a Wednesday evening. The audience in the room are a volatile, but a very good natured one - these kids throw themselves about within seconds of opener and current single 'Abandon Ship' to an extent that the Barfly instantly resembles a bar brawl more than a gig, but if you can catch a glimpse of one of the faces on a body flailing past you, you'll see they're all smiling. Everyone's friends here.
So friendly in fact that the stage invasion that was always on the cards happens just two songs in to Gallows' incendiary set. There were two bouncers, one sat at either side of the stage, monitoring the rowdy crowd, who seemed to get very confused at this point, bizarrely holding singer Frank in a headlock whilst he continued to scream his lungs out. As the song ended, Frank gave the bouncer in question the most extreme (and we have to say deserved) barrage of abuse he will ever receive, eventually forcing him and his colleague both to leave the venue altogether as a result of his peculiar, misguided and frankly rather stupid behaviour, throwing kids about and completely misunderstanding the nature of such a show. After they'd departed, silently, Frank is officially crowned king of these followers Gallows have amassed, and the rest of the show becomes a blur between stage and floor, band and audience, in the most remarkable way.
He's got a stare that could freeze a forest fire, that boy. And whilst it's difficult to take ones eyes off him, if you do manage to look anywhere else on stage you'll find that Gallows are one of those great bands where, in fact, all of them are front men - each member bellowing out every last word of every last song as if it were they who were the only one responsible for the vocals (regardless of whether they've actually got a microphone in front of them or not). The other Gallows should not be underestimated as musicians either - this is painfully tight, alarmingly fast and crushingly heavy music that owes as much to Iron Maiden as it does to Black Flag, and is in debt to Mastodon as much as it is to Minor Threat.
After a closing double punch of 'In The Belly of a Shark' and album title track 'Orchestra of Wolves' (which sees every single person in the crowd on lead vocals one by one as the microphone is passed round whilst Frank jumps off the bar at the back of the venue, only to be carried 'round on his devotees shoulders), I offer a hand out and let them know that I've not enjoyed a gig on quite the same level in six years. The music now stopped, I'm offered a very polite, collected and sincere thank you for evening coming. Seeing so many youngsters adoring these skinny runts, covered in tattoos and swearing their heads off for the best part of an hour, many in society would predict the apocalypse within a few hours. Me, I go home feeling that the world might not be doomed after all. If kids are listening to music this brilliant, there's hope for us all.
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