Issue 95 / Dec18/Jan19

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