Bull and Gate
NOT THE greatest night of
the Folk Devils' career. As a group they
flirt with powerful forces, seeking to
evoke a precise anger and channel it into
grandly atmospheric charges of noises.
With a song like Where The Buffalo
Roam they achieve a post dated
Pistollian invective topped with foaming
vocals that tell of the "English
disease" in a manner fit to slay
the delicate control of all this slips
from their grasp, their more musically
ambitious material limps along in a less
than obvious direction as their sense of
dynamic gets blunted. This state occurs
when the spirits mount against them, as
they did tonight, and it makes the
group's motivation look like mere snotty
room with the ambience of a village hall
on youth club night, with such a lengthy
running order of bands that the evening
was almost certain to end prematurely
and, most regrettably of all, a PA that
led to exchanges such as Folk
Devils bassist: "Can you hear
the vocals?" Spectator: "Eh?'
the circumstances colluded against the
Folk Devils delivering their finest.
response the crowd, from early into the
set, thinned dramatically and as time
passed the Folk Devils own
frustration increased. Those who remained
blamed the group for the shoddy
performance while the group hurled the
vitriol at the monitors.
two stabs at an unfortunately near
prophetic 'It Drags On', which followed a
number aborted mid intro, they concluded
with a severely ramshackle 'Sweet Jane'
and climbed into the crowd to state their
case more directly to the paying
customer. As for the man at the PA, I
dare say words were exchanged. . .