BID FOR GREAT­NESS Post-rock king­pins get heavy at in­ti­mate home­town fundraiser

AS IT IS wel­come Manch­ester to the era of The Great De­pres­sion

Kerrang! (UK) - - Reviews -

■ With As It Is’ new, gothed-up im­age, and lat­est al­bum The Great De­pres­sion cov­er­ing sub­jects like men­tal health and toxic mas­culin­ity, tonight is all about Patty Wal­ters and co em­brac­ing their in­ner dark­ness. But de­spite pain hav­ing in­spired As It Is 2018, this per­for­mance isn’t a dark night of the soul, more a joy­ous cel­e­bra­tion of emo­tion and vul­ner­a­bil­ity.

Open­ers Hold­ing Ab­sence are no strangers to a cathar­tic dis­play them­selves. After they im­press with a blend of dreamy alt.rock and vis­ceral post-hard­core, St. Al­bans pop-punks Trash Boat keep the en­ergy lev­els high, throw­ing out the likes of Shade and Old Soul and spark­ing mul­ti­ple pits in the process.

Ar­riv­ing on­stage dressed in a clas­sic Ger­ard Way-style suit, Patty Wal­ters has never looked more con­fi­dent as he or­ches­trates Manch­ester through opener The Hand­writ­ten Let­ter. He’s re­paid with a level of loud de­vo­tion that’s some­thing to be­hold. The Fire, The Dark swells with an arena-sized pomp, while the fa­mil­iar pop-punk sugar rush of No Way Out and Hey Rachel spark ab­so­lute pan­de­mo­nium. That said, As It Is do still need to find a sound that’s truly their own. Tonight, there are

more than a few mo­ments where things feel a tad de­riv­a­tive, but the rap­tur­ous re­sponse they get through­out demon­strates how their fans have got be­hind this re­cent emo-punk evo­lu­tion.

“You mean the fuck­ing world to us,” comes the cry from one au­di­ence mem­ber mid­way through the show. “You mean the world to us, too – you have no idea,” comes Patty’s re­ply. As they strut through the re­main­der of a tri­umphant show, As It Is demon­strate that, what­ever the mu­sic sounds like, what they do best as a band is truly con­nect with their fans. JAKE RICHARD­SON

■ With great power comes great re­spon­si­bil­ity. As Scot­land’s pre-em­i­nent post-rock force, Mogwai wield more than most. Tonight’s in­stantly sold-out fundraiser for Eury­th­mics le­gend An­nie Len­nox’s Scot­tish Cir­cle women’s char­ity – sup­port­ing the Glas­gow & Clyde Rape Cri­sis and Cape Town’s Non­ceba Shel­ter – high­lights the benev­o­lence un­der­ly­ing their sonic brute force. This close-quar­ters out­ing is a prime op­por­tu­nity, too, to be re­minded of the depth, com­plex­ity and tin­ni­tus­invit­ing in­ex­ora­bil­ity at the heart of their com­po­si­tions. They start ten­ta­tively, as Friend Of The Night’s jux­ta­po­si­tion of scourg­ing six-strings and el­e­gant keys fas­ci­nate, be­fore Cody spills into a world of dreamy me­lan­cho­lia. A more mea­sured com­plex­ity emerges in the epic sweep of Ev­ery Coun­try’s Sun, con­tin­ued with the stab­bing tech-noir of Re­mur­dered. It’s not un­til Rano Pano – with lay­ers of gui­tar build­ing to an ec­static ca­coph­ony – how­ever, that they hit stride. From there, the set builds a jug­ger­naut force. Like Herod erupts in spasms of heart-stop­ping vol­ume, while cat­a­clysmic closer My Fa­ther, My King builds up a phe­nom­e­nal sever­ity. It’s mu­sic as a tac­tile ex­pe­ri­ence: proof that, when pushed, Mogwai are an ab­so­lute force of na­ture. S A M L AW

When you’ve got a gig at 8, and a shift at But­lins at 9

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