The
Spielbergs, Oslo’s hairy rabble of grunge slackers and Superchunk acolytes,
announced a new album this year in their sophomore effort “Vestli” and a
subsequent UK tour, which took in a Bristol gig at The Lanes, a new venue to me
but one which I became briefly familiar with earlier this year, due to my
grabbing a drink there before June’s Peaness gig at Rough Trade Records
opposite (gig 1.232)! I downloaded the album and on early listens it even
cranks up the heavy grunge noise, evident on their splendid 2019 debut “This Is
Not The End”, a few hundred notches, recalling the likes of “Colour And
Shape”-era Foo Fighters and Dinosaur Jr. as well as the previously evident Superchunk
comps, particularly in mop-headed vocalist Mads’ helium vocals. Likey to be
noisy, then, this one…
Tix
were “Pay What You Want” so I splashed out a fiver (hey, big spender!),
deciding to stick with this one despite The Lemonheads announcing a “Shame
About Ray” run-through at the O2 Academy across town on the same night; none of
my Boston rock pals in Evan’s band this time, and with the excellent Basement
Revolver (who’d supported Evan and Co. across Europe this Summer) also absent,
I decided against giving Mr. Dando (admittedly a long-time musical icon of
mine) another opportunity to disappoint me… So, still suffering the after-effects
of my recent flu bug, I hit the road mid-evening for a gentle economy drive
down the M4, parking in the previously horrendously expensive Nelson Street NCP
(note to self – it’s a quid cheaper than Rupert Street now!) and hitting this evocatively
dingy venue just after 8.15, only to find “PAYG” had morphed into “Free Gig”.
Bah! Despite this, only a couple of dozen hardy punters were present early
doors (possibly the legacy of that Lemonheads gig?) to welcome Brighton/
Peckham trio Muttering onstage at 8.30. Led by an elegantly dishevelled vocalist/
bassist resembling a taller Sebastian Vettel (!), they played some dour and
doomy tales of despair and 21st Century angst (“look at those broken
dreams” and “I can feel Armageddon calling me” being 2 typically cheerful couplets)
over a dissonant alt-rock/ post grunge guitar attack, some urgent and insistent
repetitive riffery and stop/start drum patterns recalling Primus or Sonic Youth,
particularly in their faster numbers. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” the vocalist
offered by way of explanation, although he briefly lifted the mood by leading a
debate about the merits of bowling! Despite the lyrical gloom, I found this a promising
if embryonic set. Not bad at all…
A
few more punters ambled in from the adjacent bowling alleys (The Lanes… geddit?)
but attendance was still fairly sparse by the time The Spielbergs took the
stage at 9.30, after milling around for a few minutes by my “leaning post” house
left spot, at the end of the bar. Squalling feedback and a casual, “hello guys,”
from Mads heralded their high-octane opener and “Vestli” track 1 “The New Year’s
Resolution”, segueing into the thrashy riffery and backbeat verse of “When They
Come For Me”, The Spielbergs’ usual pattern of full-on guitar onslaught and
punchy, hooky chorus lines overlaid with Mads’ yearning, Superchunk-like, one-octave-higher-than-comfortable
vocal yelps, already well in evidence. “We’re so happy to be back in Bristol –
our favourite city ever!” gushed the profusely curly-maned vocalist before announcing,
“It’s [keyboardist] Ole’s birthday!” and kicking into slightly slower, Dinosaur
Jr.-esque slacker rock oldie “Five On It”, followed by my set highlight “Running
All The Way Home”, an undulating and insistent rocker with a huge hook, which
would be a stadium anthem in any sane universe. Splendid stuff!
“We’re
trying to educate [our English fans] in Norwegian culture… so “Skol!” means “Cheers!””
announced bassist Stian before a slower, more considered “You Can Be Yourself
With Me”, and the extended heavy jam outro of “Familiar”. The Foo Fighters’ “My
Hero” companion piece “Me And My Friends” and the amphetamine rollercoaster
rocker “We Are All Going To Die” rounded off a 50 minute set of fine grungy
rock which, honestly, wasn’t as noisy as I’d anticipated but was still powerful
and strident, the boys peeling off one by one and leaving the stage as they’d
arrived, with Mads’ guitar firing squalling feedback through the monitors. No list
and no encore, so no “Distant Star” tonight (“next time!” Mads reassured me
with a pat of his meaty paw on my shoulder) so, flagging a little, I hit the
road promptly for another gentle drive home, back just after 11. Despite my
lack of energy tonight, I still enjoyed this forceful and propulsive set from
this Oslo rabble, and I’m happy I stuck with them rather than heading off to
the O2. So, one word for The Spielbergs; Skol!
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