If I hadn't bought my ticket for this in advance I'm not sure I would've gone, as I'd been leaking snot all day and feeling generally shite. But I had, so along I went. Part of me was hoping that just the right amount of beer combined with a bit of sinus-pummelling bass would kill whatever it was that was lurking inside me...
So anyway, it was Limb's job to get the night off to a good start, and that's exactly what they did. They were a friendly bunch, and happily blasted through a short set that started out perhaps just a little dirge-y but got better as it went along. I challenge anyone to not feel positive vibes for a heavy band whose drummer obligingly tries her best to smash her kit right through the floorboards, and whose bassist adopts a stance so rock you could drive a convoy of tanks through it. They saved their best for last, and when the guitarist got down off the somewhat cramped stage to rip it up among the crowd, you could tell that band and audience alike were happy to be there. Limb delivered a short, heavy, blow that didn't put anybody on their ass, but rather woke them up for the fun to come. Good on 'em.
Next up was Barringtone, a trio of two-thirds top-buttoned tidiness and one-third Dave Grohl meets Nick Frost. The bill had described these guys as 'electro-pop maestros', which seemed a bit strange considering they were due to be sandwiched between a couple of riff-happy heavy hitters, and while the band were tuning up my mate and I wondered whether someone had been having a laugh, since the occasional bursts of noise issuing from the stage were more Metallica than Madonna. But it wasn't a wind-up: Barringtone were a pop band, only this was fast, hard-edged pop played with attitude and panache. Their style matched their appearance: guitarist and bassist were polished and slightly straight, whereas the drummer - the band's Facebook page suggests he might be called 'Boomer' - was an absolute beast, driving things forward at a rollicking pace while caressing or bludgeoning his kit as appropriate with the kind of finesse that should make a beginner either cry and give up or decide it's time to get serious. This was an impressive performance, if slightly samey towards the end, and not even a couple of momentary blackouts could affect the band's admirable composure.
Holy Mountain were headlining, and as soon as we saw the Glaswegians take the stage we knew they were gonna be good. Not just anybody can pull off the long hair and vests look: you have to have either earned it or been born that way. Don't ask me which path these fellas took - all I know is they didn't disappoint. This was the band's first gig in London ('Well, with this line-up'), and they seized the chance to show us foppish southerners how it's done. And that is: loud and heavy, but catchy to boot. It was a massively enjoyable set, not least for the drummer's Animal-like appearance, with his wildly flailing arms and gape-jawed grin. I could've sworn he was channelling his manic energy directly from the atmosphere via his gullet. Holy Mountain: one whole helluva lotta rock, unreservedly recommended.
And yet again, the Windmill delivered all of this for a handful of shrapnel: good times. By the way, I'm feeling much better today, thank you. Whether it was the beer or bass that did it, I'm happy.
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