Tuesday 25/09/07 Gallows @ Academy, Oxford

Some bands you hear (usually on record) and you think ‘why all the hype?’ You own the album they released back in 2005, you know that they have been signed to a major label for a reputable one million pounds; you know this because every time you open a glossy music mag, a ginger haired, freckly face stares back at you, taunting you to challenge him to some sort of "frukah" in the ol’ mosh pit. Their debut long player, ‘Orchestra of Wolves’ is a decent at best, but not outstanding, presumably loved by Black Flag and Minor Threat obsessives. To an outsider, it is difficult to see what all the fuss is about. That is, until you see them live.

Some bands revel in the sweaty fermentation the live experience, without it they are hollow, meaningless, inactive, plain; they need the mess, the perversity, the insanity that is ‘them’ live. Gallows are such a band; getting tattooed on stage (Reading Festival) and cracking a head open at a recent gig (Frank’s, in Stoke). They are a band known for violence and adoration in equal measure, attempting to transcend boundaries between audience and performer, by discarding safety barriers (resulting in the earlier skull split). This makes them exciting- but also somewhat dangerous.

The newly refurb’d Zodiac in Oxford is the setting for their penultimate UK gig before embarking on the notorious ‘Taste of Chaos’ tour. It is, unsurprisingly, sold out. This is a big deal to them, their collective parents are in the audience, having been discouraged from standing in the mosh pit; they want this to be a good gig. Frank is flapping around backstage in a foul mood; something is going to kick off.

The set starts off subdued (well, for them), pounding guitars slicing through the sweat and adoration; an insane chemistry attacks the audience and forces them to move- for energy alone, this band is infinitely great. Frank informs the crowd before ‘Kill The Rhythm’ that because they are a manufactured band, and the CEO for Warner wrote all their songs, they haven’t learnt them all yet. Frank is sneering at the disbelievers, those who challenge the band’s ‘authenticity’. During ‘Abandon Ship’ Frank leaps into the crowd, positioning himself as one of ‘us’- his faithful followers. We cheer. Frank Carter is one of the ****ed up angry kids screaming for meaning in the front row of his most loved band (ironically in this instance, his own); this is his temple, and we are his disciples.