Live Review

Gallows – Cardiff Uni Great Hall

• 22nd Feb 2008

Forgive me if you will for desperately grabbing at clichés in the first few lines of this review, but have you ever heard the expression ‘you’ve made your bed, now you’ve got to lie in it’? Now you may well be wondering at this point what the hell I am blabbering on about (and you might just have a case), but bear with me if you will dear reader, for all will be explained. Having made their name as one the most dynamic and incendiary live acts in this country, continually packing out then proceeding to flatten the finest (read sweatiest) venues the toilet circuit has to offer, and with an (allegedly) million pound record contract tucked safely away in their back pockets; not to mention the aura of gushing praise that constantly surrounds them, tonight’s gig at the two thousand capacity Great Hall in Cardiff, one of their biggest headline shows to date, represents somewhat of a litmus test for the Watford quintet. If Gallows truly are to make that step up to the next level and justify the hype, as so many are predicting they will, well, tonight’s the night for them to do it. See how that bed metaphor works now??

But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here, there’s the small, matter of the support bands to address. Hailing from Toronto Canada, Fucked Up bring a brand of straight ahead punk rock with a rock and roll twist all served with a juicy slice of hardcore on the side. Within seconds of taking the stage and launching into the aptly named ‘baiting the public’ the considerably sized front-man and general agitator Father Damian has removed his shirt, climbed the barrier and proceeded to get quite literally in the face of anyone in his vicinity. From then on the pace is relentless until the last chords of the particularly rabble rousing set closer ‘crusades’ ring out, and the band exit stage left leaving in their wake a somewhat bewildered but none the less satisfied audience.

Next up is California’s Set Your Goals who driven by the break-neck pace and precision of drummer Mike Ambrose deliver a set of high tempo pop punk that rather satisfyingly bridges the gap between The Movielife and New Found Glory. With only a thirty minute set to fill these Bay Area boys make the most of every second they’re granted keeping the talking to the minimum and the energy turned up past eleven throughout. Dual vocalists Matt Wilson and Jordan Brown are like a pair of toddlers tweaked out on an overdose of a cocktail of red bull and skittles, seemingly unable to stand still for even a moment, and during set highlight and back catalogue favourite ‘Goonies Never Say Die’ both are head-first and several bodies deep in the outstretched arms of the front row passing the mic to anyone who fancies a few brief seconds in the spotlight.

As soon as the lights go down and the stage is bathed in a sinister green glow, the anticipation levels for Gallows imminent arrival go through the roof. Opening proceedings with a particularly brutal one two combination of ‘Last Fight For The Living Dead’ and ‘Just Because You Sleep Next To Me Doesn’t Mean You’re Safe’, tonight Gallows are right on point from the off. Frank Carter it seems was born to conduct this sort of organized chaos; both engaging and effortlessly charismatic throughout, he provides the focal point through which the band can channel their no-nonsense modern take on the hardcore punk blueprint. As is now par for the course at a Gallows show, as soon Laurent Barnard unfurls the opening riff to ‘Abandon Ship’ the audience collectively lose their minds exploding in a mass of flailing limbs and kinetic energy, while the genuinely vitriolic ‘Will ‘Someone Shoot That Fucking Snake’ is set to a backdrop of taut, thrashing guitars and jack-hammer drum patterns.

Although the bands back catalogue is stretched fairly thin over the course of an hour long set, with some songs exposed as noticeably weaker than their counterparts, all is quickly forgotten as the evening draws to a close and the genuinely potent ‘Orchestra Of Wolves’ kicks into gear with the now infamous opening cry of ‘My name is Casanova, and I’m basically a man”instigating the sort of reaction that is more usually dealt with by mounted police with batons rather than bouncers with walkie-talkies. On the evidence of tonight’s showing, Gallows it seems, despite all the hype and hyperbole that follows them, are not only genuine contenders to take that next step in their stride, but more importantly than that, to do it on their own terms.