I’ve been waiting for this gig for a good quarter of a year. Three months. Three months of substandard gigs on a Thursday evening, three months of pant wetting anticipation, three months of mind bending confusion. I’ve been vexed for a good ninety-something days as to why Sam, James, David and Martin aren’t filling the headlining slot tonight. For all the glossy music press inches and cropped promotional photographs that have been cut and pasted with the greatest self-absorbed neglect onto all forms of hedonistic publicity vessels they seem happy to sit third on the bill and not take the limelight as the bill toppers.

So fresh from the SXSW Festival/grotesque- industry-back-slapping-event the Nine Black Alps sit humbling beneath typically whiny female punk outfit from Japan, Mika Bomb. Ever poster around the venue advertises this fact but it doesn’t halt the feeling of pending musical injustice that pulses through me every second the clocks ticks closer to the musical avalanche that the Sylvia Plath fans are about to trigger. Can you tell I’m bitter yet?

So here we are, friends together, stood toe to toe at the foot of the stage as the drummer and roadies take an age to equip the rainbow lit platform. There’s a string of those uncomfortable silences and eyes fall on the setlists as they are tentatively placed before the bingeing masses. Necks crane and the best upside-down reading is employed to decipher the perfectly formed inkjet track listing. Excitement pangs through the crowd as tunes are recognised and just then when people see the words ‘shot’ and ‘down’ ninth and last on the list the band step out, and to a disappointing cheer to boot.

The endearing thing about Nine Black Alps is that they don’t pretend to be something they’re not. They’re not Oscar Wilde and Omar and Cedric are not band members. Here is a band that you could front. A band of average qualities. A band truly of and for the people. Their not pretending to be something their not and this is worth celebrating when unjust vulgar pretence envelopes the alternative music industry. This is a compliment.

And so Nine Black Alps tear into their set with all the vigour and angst of the post-teens pre-grown-ups that they are. Sure some songs sound like a poppy Cobain scrawls as the music press likes to broadcast but there’s something, thankfully, a lot less troubled than Nirvana’s material in this music. Instead of pinning all the blame for the painful happenings that explode around him on himself, Sam attacks those people and things that inflict a less than positive feeling on others. With the unaffected guitar sounds and garage like drum rolls the message becomes very powerful and a sense of liberation erupts within the crowd.

If anything Nine Black Alps takes me back to a time when I was discovering guitar music. The sound is easy and accessible. There’s nothing complicated here. Thoughts are expelled and are replaced with only the dumb and raw passion of feelings. The songs take a basic structure but it’s still a structure and it taps into a primeval child like side. It’s a romantic relationship between me and something that brings out the boy in me. The crashing guitars weaving a simple web of sound. The four-string following the rumbles of the bass drum. Attacking, frustrated lyrics strung together so humbly and sung so untrained that it brings a warmth to your heart. A juvenile crush blossoms for this stuff.

Long before the first stand out track plucks into force the crowd are already writhing against the sweaty bodies next to them. 'Cosmopolitan' is already nationally recognised from it’s inclusion on the ‘NME The Cool List Limited Edition CD’ or something like that. Complete with opening fret scratching before thrusting into a hi-octane beat that the guitar seems to lag behind, the track continues into a rush of high-hats and derogatory comments aimed at a girl. Maybe a cheat. A previous love. Someone who was close and now all he can do is be spiteful towards her. Chorus and verse are the same. Building into a crashing crescendo you wonder why the song grabbed you and shook you like it did but it doesn’t matter because you’ve already experienced the song and it vibrated you massively. It’s essentially a pop. If it wasn’t it wouldn’t such an immediate appeal.

The following songs take a similar form. Youthful themes to a thrashy grungy soundtrack. Nine Black Alps have succeeded in bonding with the audience. Making everyone feel comfortable and have blown the cobwebs of artrock from the corners of The Moles Club. You can’t but leave feeling as though you’ve made some friends tonight. And friends are all you’ll be.

A brief note on the other bands:
¡Forward Russia! – I arrive as the band are finishing up. Walking into the little boys room I bump into who I presume is the lead singer stuffing tissue paper up his nose and wiping bloodied hands around his face trying to clean himself of his bodily fluid. Looked as though I missed a good show.

This Et Al – Smartly dressed angular musicians with a high voice in the upper octaves. It’s Maximo Park plays The Futureheads with a lungful of helium but more serious than that. A uniquely post-prog experience. A genre that’s been kept under lock and key since ATD-I.

Mika Bomb – Not really anything new. Hot Japanese girls swoon the crowd (complete with unfamiliar middle aged punters) with they patchwork pattern of soft-punk and cutesy Engrish. Powerful stuff in magic boots. Comic book rock.

Review by Dean Samways, Photos by Claire Dainty
www.nineblackalps.net
www.mikabomb.com
www.thisetal.com
www.forwardrussia.com

Did you see this gig? Talk on the Messageboard (you can start by informing Dean of Mika Bomb's brilliance)