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Hinds EVOL @ Arts Club – 16/11 If The Clash and Hole had mated on a day when they were both in a fabulous mood, the band they produced would be along the lines of Spanish quartet HINDS. That’s not to say they don’t have their own voice; they are much more than their influences. But there’s no denying there’s a familiarity to their sound. While it could be seen as derivative, it’s still fundamentally good. Bringing their unbridled enthusiasm and energy to the Arts Club, they want everyone to join them for the party. The banner behind them on the stage states rather charmingly “Hi we’re Hinds and we’re here to rock”, making their intentions clear before Carlotta Cosials launches her charged vocal routine. From the looks of it, those here agree. There are a few aborted attempts to crowd surf but the attendees are determined and, with the intervention of Cosials after security tries to stop an over zealous fan, there’s a fair bit of pogoing and bouncing round on mates’ shoulders. Surprisingly it’s not sold-out, but those in the crowd share the enthusiasm with the band making it very much a party on stage and off. The thumping drumming, courtesy of Amber Grimbergen, and the bass of Ade Martín bring their punk-inspired, lo-fi poprock to life on stage with a dynamism that matches the upbeat tempo of their melodies. It’s an energy that’s infectious and one that is, at times, missing from their records. Tracks from both 2016’s Leave Me Alone and this year’s I Don’t Run litter the set, with The Club being met with even more energetic pogoing. There’s even a further nod to their musical heritage with a nifty cover of The Clash’s Spanish Bombs, which proves popular with the crowd. Hinds are a tight-knit gang who give the impression they’re enjoying every second of the show, tour and life in general. It could be misconstrued as being rather DIY in approach with the focus on fun at the expense of well-written songs, but they are technically good musicians. They make what they’re doing look easy. Cosials and Ana García Perrote share lead vocals, with both serenading the front few rows at various times, much to the elation of the youthful component gathered at the front. In between songs they swig from bottles of Bud and charm us with their sunny disposition. At the end they take their bows to the sound of Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life – a fitting end one has to agree. You get the feeling that they definitely live this aphorism, and that they find a reason to celebrate every night on tour. It’s a great night spent with a passionate band who undoubtedly have a lot more to give in the coming years. Jennie Macaulay / @jenmagmcmac Hinds (Brian Sayle / briansaylephotography.co.uk) Sophie 24 Kitchen Street – 20/10 Hinds (Brian Sayle / briansaylephotography.co.uk) As a Londoner who falls a pinch more out of love with his adopted city every day, I don’t get up to Liverpool as often as I should. Everything I’ve come to adore about this part of the UK could be seen in pop-torturess SOPHIE’s autumn tour dates. You probably shouldn’t read too much into the banalities of venue availability, but in London, she was doing midweek, early-evening dates at FABRIC, which – iconic club as it is – can be achingly po-faced at times. 200 miles north, it is a Sunday morning slot at Berlin-worthy warehouse joint, 24 Kitchen Street. This is where SOPHIE’s polyethylene beats deserve to be heard: sprayed loud onto a sweaty, smoky dancefloor to queer kids who have travelled from other cities, unconsciously decked out in red dungarees, New Rock boots and Hello Kitty tattoos, fully entangled in that four-hour micro-society buzz that keeps people surging back to clubs weekend after weekend, overdraft after overdraft. If this sounds more like some manifesto and lacking in specifics of the actual night, that’s because my recollections aren’t as sharp as they would have been had I seen her at a renovated meat store on a Tuesday evening. Even so, just as with all the best nights out, fragments reappear in the days after like finds on some PC Musicsoundtracked archaeological dig: the astringent synth scrapes of Ponyboy; the warped playground chants of Immaterial escaping into pounding crescendo; and Sophie’s red PVC gloves conducting it all, emerging intermittently from the shadows to squeeze out synthetic gems from a deck. A look at a setlist is slight comfort to my holey memory with its domination of new material from forthcoming new albums that will undoubtedly continue twisting pop music into uncomfortable shapes. Sophie acolytes (of which there are lots) are known to record and decipher songs online with the fervour of sociologists poring over a new language and they’ll be occupied for ages with the less familiar sounds heard tonight. It all sounded as manically unclassifiable as her debut album, Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides; sounding not so much ahead of its time, as coughed up by someone with sensory superpowers, someone able to wring out the cutesiest, poppy sounds and crash them into an abrasive mix. Gushing aside, it’s invigorating and right at home on a Baltic Triangle dancefloor. Joe Holyoake REVIEWS 45
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