words: António Carvalho (edited by Raquel Pinheiro)
photos: Ricardo Silva
At the appointed hour, Pomadinha, a quartet from Vila Nova de Gaia, took to the stage at Mouco, all dressed only in boxers. For half an hour, they warmed up the audience with their energetic, predominantly instrumental rock, with some humor mixed in. But nothing prepared us for what was to come.
At 9:30 pm, a new quartet took to the stage, all with slight clownish makeup on their eyes.
Harry Wilkinson, the muscular, shirtless vocalist, immediately established a connection with the crowd, greeting some people in the front row and asking for space in the sold-out venue, creating a brief tension.
Although the rhythm section wasn’t very audible in the initial songs, that didn’t stop the crowd from responding, and the mosh pit exploded to the sound of Bloodsport. With a vocal style between rap and punk, Harry criticizes the social pressures on individuals over a sound that is very much the band’s modus operandi: alternating between intense and serene moments, in a dynamic tension/release, and an original blend of musical genres.
Joe Carroll’s alto saxophone is almost ubiquitous, accompanying the register, sometimes aggressive, sometimes contemplative, where jazz and rock meet. Trenches infuses hip hop into the structure, with the hypnotic saxophone mantra accompanying the incitement to war against bad traditions.
Break The Tension expresses the frustration of modern times over the relentless rhythmic pace of Matt Buonaccorsi and Jacob Hayes, which doesn’t allow the tension to break. Harry briefly descends into the audience and, upon returning, abandons his score of rapper gestures for a hypnotic undulation of his arms above his head.
The debut album, Pain To Power, released last year, is the main attraction, whose live versions are more extensive and turbocharged, but there was also room for older songs, such as Zeitgeist, where a post-punk pulse intertwines with words against large corporations, punctuated by some guitar distortion and saxophone oscillations. The guitar comes in with more force in Thunder, where the discourse intensifies in a crescendo, softens in the middle section and resumes the crescendo.
The beautiful and lengthy Born To Die, in which Harry’s initial spoken word gives way to a virtuoso and powerful vocal performance has various movements, where free jazz swirls noise rock, where vocals and saxophone get lost in arabesques, where a guitar solo is soaked, and where, in a moment of near silence, Joe shouts in the middle of the corridor created in the crowd, purging his and others’ demons through shouts, before climbing back to the stage and resuming the final stretch of the song, returning to the crowd in crowd surf mode.
This is followed by the equally beautiful Saoirse, a hymn to individuality in 3/4, in which the band closes in around the drums and expands physically and musically. Mental health and the need for connection were highlighted before The Invisible Man, and we were invited to hug the person closest to us.
In this song, melancholic beauty alternates with fury and incitement, the saxophone sounds urgent, ritualistic gestures hand in hand with chants, the syncopated rhythms and breaks of the drums create organized chaos, and the deep bass stirs the guts and agitates the bodies. The intense Look Down on Us is followed by Harry’s request to “raise your fists in solidarity and love,” something we gladly did for long seconds.
They ended the concert with the instrumental Resisting Resistance, a post-rock song with the landform of a hill to rest the ears but not the consciences. The people of Palestine (with a flag displayed on stage), Lebanon, Yemen, Ukraine, Sudan, and other conflict zones were not forgotten.
Harry highlighted at the end that this concert is a unique human experience of connection, and this communion was very palpable. Spontaneous hugs at the end between the band members reinforce this truth.
No matter how many words I put here, nothing would compare to the intensity of emotions in harmony during those couple of hours, nor to everything I witnessed. If you can, don’t miss the next opportunity to see Maruja.
Mondo Bizarre Magazine 