F***ed Up
THE reason experimental hardcore Canadians F***ed Up, after years of underground notoriety, are in the process of heading towards the mainstream is easy to spot – their singer Pink Eyes.
Looking more akin to someone from the WWE Wrestling than a musician, Pink Eyes is a monster of a man; big of beard and even bigger of belly, tonight he wears nothing except jogging bottoms and even they hang halfway down his legs, making him a mass of screaming sweat and flesh.
Dominating not just the stage but the entire room, he alone makes the gig an event; at various points, spending as much time off stage than on, he prowls the floor with the fans, gets up on the tables at the back of the room, even propping up the bar near the end of the set, accosting cowering bystanders with hugs, kisses and head butts.
It is safe to assume The Roadhouse can hardly have seen his kind before.
Paradoxically, in-between songs Pink Eyes is surprisingly engaging and witty, talking humorously about his rather sweaty appearance and Coronation Street, speaking more seriously about how good his band’s music is.
Ah yes, the music. What they actually sound like is nearly an irrelevance, but for the record the rest of F***ed Up make a bloody racket, plying their trade with confrontational hardcore punk (with the emphasis on hardcore) that takes in The Stooges and NOFX amongst others.
Never played at anything less than breakneck speed, hysteria is induced, the dedicated followers down the front moshing and crowd surfing themselves into a frenzy.
Pink Eyes tells the crowd at one point that F***ed Up are a "21st-century band, you can feel the sights and smells and tastes – it’s disgusting". He’s not wrong, but feeling disgusting can seldom have been more exhilarating.
What did you think? Have your say.
Reviewed: Thu, 20 November, 2008
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