Common conventions suggest a publishing of live performance should follow certain regular formulas; track by track blow of proceedings, perhaps a smattering of crowd approval/indifference, critique of artist performance and sound within the venue perhaps? And why not some cheap and lazy comparisons to the legends of yesteryear just for good measure.
However, such supposed conventions are there to be torn down and why waste a mere formula on band deserving of so much more.
Quite early into proceedings, or rather almost immediately this reviewer took the unprecedented step of refraining from further note taking, whether it be mentally or otherwise.
All that feels appropriate is to stress to everyone and anyone that they MUST see The Amazing Snakeheads.
While admittedly rough and ready, they have yet to display any evidence of snake like qualities but amazing actually may not even be doing the band justice, particularly in a live setting.
Without wanting it to appear blatant I am on the payroll of the band its pretty simple: The Amazing Snakeheads are the real deal and deserve your attention, its no exaggeration to suggest they could be the biggest thing to come out of this here bonnie land since the Franz first landed more than ten years ago.
Like Franz Ferdinand before them, the band are now signed to Domino and this year released debut album Amphetamine Ballads, and since then it appears frontman Dale Barclay is the sole survivor of that recorded output.
His manic behaviour at The Art School includes several attempts to climb the amps and introduce himself to the crowd via the mode of crowd surfing.
The ‘taps’ are ‘aff’ and fuelled by Glasgow’s favourite tonic wine Barclay and his gang sear through a pulsating set which allows everyone to forgive them for appearing a half hour late, indeed the only complaint left to make is the non appearance of ‘Every Guy Wants To Be Her Baby’ on the set, which by the way guys, is just too good to not be given an airing.
Screeching through tall tales about knifes and vampires the band bruise The Art School for around an hour with a prowling intensity that belies their one album status, from start (with Barclay nosediving into yours truly) to finish (“here we, here we fucking go”) there is a menace and air of violence, which is soaked up by a chaotic public only too willing to venture down this darkened alleyway.
Anyway, I’ve said too much already, chuck all pretensions out the window and go and see them right now.
Words: Andy Quigley
Photos: Ruta Karolyte