Band On The Wall is LOUD on Friday night. That’s my first thought. On entering the venue midway through the set from the evening’s support act, Velvetine, I consider that this is louder than I’ve previously known the place to be. It sounds great though. The band’s visceral guitars have a real crunch, and it increases my anticipation for the main act.
I didn’t know much about Deadletter before this. A couple of cursory listens of new album Hysterical Strength reminded me of the many similar-sounding bands I loved in my teenage years when the post-punk revival of the mid-2000s was in full swing. This, as then, could go two ways: genuine high quality musicianship or derivative replicas of the real thing. Either way, I’m not surprised to see a full house. There are lots of people pining for those heady 2006 days. Almost as if I’ve made it up to prove this point, as I nip to the bathroom pre-main event, one bloke is telling another that “it’s all boyband girlband pop shite – there’s no guitar bands in t’charts.”
When I get back upstairs, the lights have dimmed and there’s a long drone playing to build tension. It goes on for quite a while, and to my left, my friend Andy says “who’s gonna crack first?!” But when the band finally appears, one of the guitarists does a big camp wave which amusingly dissipates any notion of cool. They launch raucously into album opener ‘Credit To Treason’, and frontman Zac Lawrence is already shirtless – which feels like a mission statement. The band’s many instrumentalists stand almost side by side which adds to the intensity of the atmosphere, and feels like they’re creating a wall of sound. Lawrence whips out a tambourine as the song reaches its noisy climax. Mood well and truly set. Big energy.
They launch straight into the similarly fast paced ‘The Snitching Hour’. As Lawrence projects the catchy “love thy neighbour” chorus, the crowd sing it back to him. I can already imagine this interaction taking place in much bigger venues. He takes a much needed big gulp of water after this one, and the band then play ‘Mother’, which is a little more mellow. The saxophone takes centre stage here and I’m enjoying the focus on the instrumentation on this one. But the tempo is cranked up again on ‘Bygones’ with Lawrence more than willing to amp up the dynamic movements required to complement the lyrical melodrama (I catch “a sinner sits decapitated in the town centre” which has a certain ring to it). I’ve mainly mentioned Lawrence so far, but that’s for good reason; the band’s singer is an electric presence, frenetically throwing the limbs of his wiry frame around the stage. It makes for an impressively entertaining stage show.
‘Degenerate Inanimate’ next with, as the title suggests, more arch lyrics about Richard Nixon and, erm, William Hill. Lawrence crouches out of view to engage with the front row for much of this, before the band play ‘More Heat!’, another album track. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t been here for ages, or whether this band can really play, but this place has never sounded so good. It’s loud but punchy – I think it’s a credit to both.
Lawrence gives us a quick “is everybody alright?” to check in. They’re not big talkers this lot, but that’s ok with me. ‘Hysterical Strength’ might be the best song they’ve played so far. With its danceable sax hook that sits front and centre, once again I’m impressed by the musicality of the band: they’re more than post-punk by numbers. The tambourine is back out for ‘Madge’s Declaration’. “I’ve got shoes but no soul” might sound dangerously close to a Killers lyric, but it’s working: the crowd are echoing the words back to our tensed, tambourine-wielding singer. I think I heard a couple of girls scream on this one, which feels appropriate given Lawrence’s Mick Jagger energy.
The band keep up a lively energy through ‘A Haunting’, ‘Hero’ and ‘Practice What You Preach’. Lawrence is back in the crowd for the latter; phones are hoisted in the air, grabbing better pictures than the one I snapped above. He calms down for ‘Auntie Christ’, holding an acoustic guitar that pins him to the microphone. But it’s temporary respite as he shouts “question: shall we dance?!” and launches into a crowdsurf for the next track. The relentlessness of this performance is impressive. You’d think it was the first time they’d played, not the 23rd show of a European tour.
The band rattle through ‘Mere Mortal’ and ‘Deux Ex Machina’, and then, two songs left. Some obligatory kind words for Manchester and then the big hook of ‘Binge’ has the crowd yelling “Wants! Needs! Hopes! Dreams! Then it’s a binge!” It’s another song simply made for venues bigger than this one. And they end with the motorik rhythm of the buoyant ‘It Flies’. Everyone – myself included – goes home energised and buzzing for the weekend. The lad behind me tells me that we’re seeing them before they blow up. I’m inclined to agree with him.
Words by Tom Burrows
Picky Bastards 