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Seven full-lengths in, The Blood Brothers are proof that you can go longer than your average band and not become a turgid, shit spilling waste of space. The Blood Brothers are balls personified, see. They’ve dared and they’re here, in remote (ish) England playing a non smoke filled sweat pit rammed with a coupla’ hundred kids who’ve embraced their particular brand of spazzed out, camped up, riff heavy, punk-rock mayhem.
The five of them have diluted themselves over the years, shedding much of their initial youthfully savage brutality to reveal grooves and a subtlety not obvious early on. The result: a truck load of material to choose from, mixing up sharp bursts of extreme hardcore with more obviously song-like offerings.
The two ever-present front-men, Jordan Blilie and Johnny Whitney, retain their ability to inject mutant energy into the blistering onslaught behind them, co-singing / screaming/ shouting/ yelping as they do. Whitney’s the star, with his hips, his hair, his tortured feminine yelp, his kit clambering; but Blilie’s the smoke screen from which Whitney emerges: calmer, quieter, deeper of voice.
Together they obliterate. Using conversational techniques to provide a two pronged assault they cause some serious collateral damage. Johnny: “Woooooah, Woooooah,” Jordan: “We need a VACANCY,” and repeat, and repeat, until larynxes burn and ears bleed (‘Rats And Rats And Rats For Candy’); or, Johnny: “Love love love, love love love”, Jordan: “Rhymes with pity now,” (‘Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck’).
Their way of accentuating a dark lyric adds an extra level of melodrama to the whole affair. Johnny: “Everything is going to be just awful,” (‘The Shame’) rings out like gospel, while “Fire! Fire! Fire!” (‘Fire! Fire! Fire!’) sure beats a siren, and “everybody needs a little devastation,” (‘Devastator’) seems a sensible comment. They’re unforgiving entertainers, bringers of the macabre, mockers of silence, breakers of tradition.
At other times they lyrically indulge, telling stories, painting pictures, taking on topics others wouldn’t dare. They take risks. Their new album, Young Machetes, was a risk. More accessible, more hooks, more songs; the album before, ‘Crimes’, the same, but different. Much of tonight is taken from these, while the older blasts of cranked up, sweaty mania that just about makes the Cavern’s spirit gauges crack.
The best thing about them is they’ve got hits. Kiddy screams from the front are louder for ‘…Car Wreck’ and ‘Teen Heat’. Screamo bands have hits. This is refreshing. And I challenge you not to find most¬ other music muggy compared to this blast of proper fresh air.
A pleasure and a privilege.
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