You don't expect a band with the name of Fucked Up to be a barbershop quartet, a doo-wop ensemble, or a gospel choir. And, spoiler alert, they are not any of those things. They are a hardcore punk band and as with most hardcore punk bands (though, sadly, not all) they have a empathetic beating heart that underpins every intense roar and shredding guitar riff that makes up their music.
Though their songs do, after a while, sound a bit samey. That's not actually a problem. Me and my mate Rob used to split bands up into sound bands (Jesus And Mary Chain, Pixies) and song bands (Blur, Primal Scream) and Fucked Up, it's no big deal to say, are very much a sound band. The sound, however, is both enormous and brutal and much of that is down to Damian 'Pink Eyes' Abraham and his larger than life vocals - and his larger than life presence - and his larger than life size too for that matter.
With his gut spilling out over his trousers and pants, and a bald head and bushy beard combo that splits the difference between Built To Spill's Doug Martsch and Grange Hill's Bullet Baxter, he is, along with bassist Sandy Miranda, very much the focal point of Fucked Up. Even when he's not singing, or informing the audience of his views on trans rights and ceasefires, you can't keep your eyes off him.
I didn't actually know many of the songs played last night at Oxford's o2 Academy (a great venue in many ways but £7.80 a pint and a strict no bags rule - what the fuck?) but that didn't deter my enjoyment of the gig one iota. Maybe I was just happy to be out on a Friday night following my second full week of work in over two years, maybe I was simply pleased to be hanging out with the lovely Colin and Patricia (and meeting their friends Steve and Nick), or perhaps I felt at home in a room full of superannuated punks and indie 'kids'.
Who knows? Sometimes you can just be happy - and for all the righteous anger in Fucked Up's music they come across, primarily, as a band that are very happy being a band. As were support act The Tubs. The Welsh indie rockers were formed from the remains of Joanna Gruesome (not a band that ever really troubled me) and proved for a great support act. They had elements of Pearl Jam (the singer certainly had Eddie Vedder's hair) but combined that with the likes of Husker Du and early REM to provide a supercharged, and very agreeable, take on what was once called 'college rock'.
Scottish drummer Matthew Green proved a bit of a character, offering members of the audience a fight and even slagging off his fellow band members between songs, while posh sounding vocalist Owen 'O' Williams made for a conciliatory character. Guitarist Steve Stonholt was rocking the foppish beatnik John Cale in the VU look, and bassist George Nicholls was brave enough to wear a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt on stage.
Mind you, he looked like the sort of man who could fill you in if you dared to question his fashion sense so why not. Fucked Up, Pink Eyes and Miranda apart, don't really go for image. Function rules with these Toronto veterans (they've been going for 21 years now so I guess that makes them veterans, The Beatles only lasted for ten). Roid rage thrash anthem followed roid rage thrash anthem as they blistered through Tell Yourself You Will, Being, and Another Day - the title track of their latest, eighth, album.
Stimming chucks in some (very brief) Beach Boys harmonies before heading off into the land of hardcore thrash, Does Your Dreams, quite remarkably, chucks in some baggy vibes and ends up sounding like The Stone Roses at their funkiest and most Madchester, and Normal People dares to flirt with trad rock, even heartland rock, even glam rock while Son the Father chucks in a soupcon of space rock while not forgetting to shred like fuck.
The highlight for me was, of course, a sped up and startlingly effective Queen of Hearts ("hello, my name is David, you must be Veronica" - a song that's very dear to my heart for all sorts of reasons) but with Fucked Up it's the cumulative effect of being punched in the head by their sonic assault while at the same time being gently caressed by their innate sense of kindness and empathy. A great gig - and one that was over way too soon (not long after half-nine).
Thanks to Colin, Patricia, Steve, and Nick for a great night (special thanks to Colin for joining me for post-gig drinks in both The Port Mahon and The Half Moon - and for making sure I got the Oxford Tube back to London okay - I finally got home at 4am) and thanks to Fucked Up (and The Tubs) for providing a soundtrack to another great night. Should probably go to Oxford more often
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