Newcastle, despite being such a small city, boasts two
universities, both of which used to have fine music venues. Used to.
Newcastle University’s once-fine underground venue is now a homogenised
plastic shell, and entering Northumbria Students Union now feels like walking
through a PFI-built hospital. There used
to be two venues in here: the smaller theatre-style downstairs venue – now a
café – and the upstairs sports hall-like cavern, which is modestly curtained
off for tonight’s show. It’s probably
telling that the University’s once-excellent bookshop is now a branch of Santander,
but I’m not 100% what it’s telling and won’t get into it here.
Life Of Agony have apparently never played here before. Despite breaking out of the early 90s New
York hardcore scene, LOA have always been more of a metal band. Like their contemporaries Type O Negative,
they threw in big Sabbath-y riffs and introspective gloom along with the
occasional punk rhythm on first two albums Rover
Runs Red and Ugly. They evolved more and more into grunge
territory with 1997’s Soul Searching Sun
before splitting, reforming, splitting again, and then returning with this
year’s patchy A Place Where There’s No
More Pain. What set the apart from
their own, or any other, scene has always been Mina Caputo’s remarkable
voice. Tortured and vulnerable, but
powerful enough to cut through the noise created by guitarist Alan Z, bassist
Alan Robert, and drummer Sal Abruscato, it made LOA a more interesting prospect
than most metal or hardcore bands of the time.
There are barely any people in the venue as I walk in. Openers Blood Runs Deep are playing what sounds
like the soundtrack to a nightmare.
Progressive, doomy, crushingly heavy and with songs that go on for about
a day, they seem to enjoy themselves but probably don’t make many new fans
tonight, such is the dearth of early punters.
The venue’s lack of filler material makes clear just how absolutely
devoid of soul this place is. It’s
honestly like watching a band in a grim community centre. The fucking academy is better than this
place, and the academy is dogshit.
I’m always wary of bands who call themselves after a
member’s name and the Somethings.
Unless you happen to be Prince, Slash, or Huey Lewis, you really can’t pull it
off. Local band Frankie and the Heartstrings sound like they should be shit,
and are. Even Frank Carter manages to
sound like a cunt with The Rattlesnakes. So up next are Aaron Buchanan (no, me
neither) and the Cult Classics. I spent
much of their terrible set Googling who the fuck Aaron Buchanan was (he was in
Heaven’s Basement, apparently. I have no
idea who they were). In possession of a
powerful voice but using it to belt out turgid, sub-Guns n’ Roses drivel,
Buchanan is the worst thing about his own band.
His Freddie Mercury stage moves, embarrassing stage banter, and
hilarious silver jacket overpower what would be a tight but forgettable
band. He looks like a matador on a
cruise ship and comes across like an absolute bellend.
LOA have attracted some very committed but not terribly
numerous fans and the venue is sadly much less than full when they come
onstage. Fortunately, this doesn’t
bother them one bit and 27 years of waiting turns into 50 minutes of awesome as
they tear through thier back catalogue with style.
Opening with the one-two combo of arguably their best songs
in ‘River Runs Red’ and the still-excellent ‘This Time’, they go on to represent
every album but are wise enough to lean heavily on the first two. We get ‘Weeds’ from Soul Searching Sun and ‘Love To Let You Down’ from Broken Valley. Wisely only dipping a toe into the new stuff,
we get pulverising renditions of ‘Lost At 22’, ‘Through and Through’ and ‘Other
Side Of The River’. It’s a crowd pleaser
set and the band are enjoying it as much as any of us in the audience.
Joey Z peels out riff after riff while ain songwriter Alan
Robert holds it all together on bass.
Caputo is the star of the show, though.
Vocally, moving from piercing baritone to something loser to Layne Staley
over the years, she hits every note and musters all the passion you would want to
see. They make jokes about how sparse
the crows is, and about firing members of the band. The diminutive Caputo, shy and reserved at
first, suddenly decides that she doesn’t like being onstage in front of so few people
and decides to perform 2/3 of the show standing at the security barriers in front
of the stage, sharing the mic with adoring fans. Despite not having written their more
heartfelt songs, Caputo delivers with passion, enthusiasm, and a surprising
amount of humour.
Despite the low turnout, the band are appreciative and belt
out handcore anthem ‘Underground’ before leaving us thoroughly satisfied yet
wanting just a few more songs. We’ve
just witnessed one of the more unique bands our beloved genre ever spawned,
mixing the punk aggression of hardcore and the bleak, introspective lyricism of
grunge. It’s been a long wait to see
them play in our home town, but worth every second. It may well be a life if agony, but times
like this at least offer some glorious respite.
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