Crocodiles OX4 Festival @ The Bullingdon, Oxford 9/10/10
3/5
By: Liane Escorza
I plunge into the Crocodiles gig like an amateur diver, not knowing at all what to expect, to see or what to hear. My one preconception is that I’m often left cold by neo-punks (and I’m told Crocodiles are just that). It’s not that I dislike their genre or their tendency to act with disdain towards the likes of me onstage; it’s the fact that, more often than not, such bands form with a re-packaged but identifiably old look. Wrapped in glitzy new expectations they might be, yet many remain little more than copycats of their predecessors at their core. And I’m not the antiquary type when it comes to music; I support evolution.
So here I am, snorkel and flippers in tow. Crocodiles start off like a roaring tsunami, and the same vigour with which they being is how they continue throughout. There’s no time taken to warm up, no stretching of the muscles. It’s as if they knew of my misgivings and decided to take massive ride at my expense.
In merely 25 minutes this American duo make our ears bleed and eyes bulge, and seem to be involved in the same kind of state themselves. Twisting, turning, twitching and convulsing like in an exorcism exercise, singer Brandon Welchez (and guitarist Charles Rowland at the back) spill all one could confine within the predetermined walls of punk, rock and noise. This mishmash is bloody, insane, direct and short-lived. It does not necessarily mean tasteful or memorable in a detailed sense (I couldn’t recall what one of these sounds specifically sounds like) but it definitely leaves you with a shivering feeling that might be claustrophobia, or might be elation. It’s difficult to say what it was, but we definitely saw something.
Artists in this article: Crocodiles
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