Analog Bombs Go Bang on a Friday Night in Clayton More
Written By Michael Wood Saturday, July 18th, 2009
Black Feathered Feet, Analog Bombs and Young Loves. Mermaid's Flannel at Fiddler's Three, Bradford
"Its rocking on The Fiddlers on a Friday night" the singer shouts.
Black Feathered Feet are pub rock pure n' simple and very simple they are too wailing between verses and noodling on guitars. It is rough and ready rock but that is no bad thing on a Friday night in a suburban pub a stones throw from the suburban house this writer grew up in Clayton - a typical suburb of Bradford.
The criterion for gigs in walking distance aside Black Feathered Feet do growling Chris Cornell style rock decently and are worth your attention if that is your bag. If it isn't your bag then take a look just to see how much the drummer looks like the one from Lost who was also a Hobbit.
Not at all like a Hobbit is Ben of Analog Bombs. Standing at least seven foot tall - perhaps - he is as striking as he is charming fronting the band with a warm, rambling presence. "Good evening we're the Analog Bombs", he says "We've had a drink."
Analog Bombs mix musical styles but are mostly indie ska - if such a genre exists, perhaps they just look indie and play ska - and are a a blast. Ben's lyrics are based in being a local of Bradford - in parts at least - and at times can be touching and have a ring of truth. His delivery is rare and enjoyable. He rapidly fires Yorkshireisms spinning the odd tale of being unlucky in love around the Wool City.
Charming, enjoyable, and probably the best band you will see on a Friday night in Clayton. Hancock - the song about long flattened club Tumblers - is worth the admission alone. It is indie disco as tragic love affair and nudges the Analog Bombs past The Pigeon Detectives Test as in "Why is one more popular than the other?"
Young Loves come on with an "hilarious" joke about knife crime and an opening number that sounds a bit too The Libertines for its own good.
As a band they are well regarded and five minutes into their set the five yards in front of the pub corner dubbed a stage is peopled with young things dancing but something about the band seems as like it has been seen before.
Perhaps it is the contrast to the innovate Analog Bombs or perhaps it is the fact that Young Loves come behind the likes of White Light Parade and The Swing Movement in Bradford's canon of bands making this kind of sound. Indeed they lack the drive of the former and the spark of the latter.
The kids love them though and they finish the night well.
The night - Mermaid's Flannel Presents - deserves applause too for the attempt to put on good music for the drinking crowd. More power to them.