Caspian / Gallops

Caspian

Once again I'm heading down to the big smoke. Actually, it's not a regular occurrence but when it happens it has to be for a bloody good reason. Its not like I'm going down for the black snot that tends to form in your nostrils because that's just weird, right?  After spending much of the day walking until my feet hurt and being inspired by the Occupy London march congregated outside St.Paul's cathedral, I gather my wares and head on over to Cargo in Shoreditch, the venue for what is set to be one of my most anticipated gigs of the year so far.

What makes tonight extra special is the fact I get to see Gallops for the first time too, double fuckin whammy. After being overly obsessed with their début EP for the better part of the last couple of years, getting the chance to see them perform in the live setting is more than exciting. Without any introduction they get straight to business and start their set to the trickle of bodies coming through to the main room. They play an array of tracks unknown to myself but that doesn't stop me moving; well, I say moving, what I really mean is that I stand there with my arms crossed, nodding my head like a boss. I'm trying to do the gear nerd scan to see what equipment they are brandishing; I'm amazed at the amount of DI boxes on stage. I get to double figures and lose count. Double guitars, synths and samplers and the tight-as-a-ducks-arse drummer hammer out some math-infused synth prog masterclasses, looking cool, calm and collected on stage, seemingly oblivious to the fact they are handing out goosebumps like madheads. I look like I’ve been attacked by a swarm of invisible bees. I'm momentarily distracted by some long-haired stavros-looking cunt in front of me with his 'Beats by Dre' headphones on display; getting a little too intimate with his little lady in public if you ask me. So I decide to re-locate my ass before I end up getting dragged in. New, more central location, new song and even bigger chest-rattling attacks being thrown out into the ever growing crowd. They are tight, exciting and ruthless in their approach, but all too quickly the set closes to a rapture of applause. It's hard to imagine that these are merely the palate-whetter for tonight's main dish: a portion of Caspian with a side order of fuck yeah.

They open their set with the title track from the new album Waking Season which is a huge false crescendo, it builds up and up but lacks that end climax, its like they just want to tantalise you before they empty a fully loaded sack full of crescendo all over your face with Procellous. I'm nodding like an epileptic spastic to Malacoda as they thrust a strobe-driven robotic wall of sound right into me lug‘oles, It's a catastrophic attack on the senses. I've been drinking since mid-afternoon and I have to make a mid set dash for the pisser. Unfortunately, Cargo is split in two and I have to fight my way through a bunch of cunts who think Sugarhill Gang remixes are the best thing since sliced bread. Whilst in the toilet a group of young uns with overly-obsessive fringe addictions all start to sniff ketamine off the top of the hand dryer. I skip my hand wash this time to avoid making eye contact. Back to the music; as Caspian build and build to the ultimate crescend-orgasm of Halls of Summer, the lights bounce off the mirror ball in the centre of the room making it feel like an Earth, Wind and Fire gig. Obviously with a bigger set of knackers.

They leave the stage to a deafening roar and return for an encore to an even greater tumult, to play Moksha. As I glance around the room, pretty much everyone I can focus on has their eyes closed nodding in unison. This is it, this is the moment that we will remember, here is the glorious end to an ecstatic evening, and pay-offs don't come much more awesome than this. As they hammer away the rhythm on the kit for set-closer Sycamore, I'm trying my hardest to contain the excitement on my face; it's midway between a bass face and the face you pull when you’re just on the vinegar stroke. I must have looked like a right cunt.

#Cargo, Shoreditch #Caspian #Experimental #Honch #Math-rock #Post-rock #Gigs