titus andronicus: king tuts: glasgow
TITUS ANDRONICUS!
yes, you buggers, the hyperbole is gonna flow thick and fast like the sticky jism of god(dette) himherself today. i don’t have much fuckbloody time so consider this a condensed version of what would have been a joyously over-exuberant outpouring, gay rambling screed of insufficiently descriptive text.
utterly deserving of massive capitals. and i never capitalis(z)e. with big fucking exclamation marks. it’s the towering faceless galactus from that amon duul record sleeve. it’s a big name. a huge name. a monstrous name. one that (one the basis of the maelstrom witnessed) deservedly invokes images of killings, severed cocks, rape, live burial, insanity and cannibalism. ho ho.
the album (which is a beauty) is a fuggy shoegaze of euphoric bile, new jersey angst with a gluey spattering of philosophic spunk (readings from camus and the titular play) and the odd seinfeld reference for good measure.
live they owe more to the spitting and snarling and staggering swagger of the replacements on-goddam-fire filtered through springsteens bossy bombast and phil spectors wall of sound. everything from the record is played at triple speed with teethgnashing eyerolling glee. it makes an airing of grievances sound positively restrained. which, dear readers, it fucking ain’t.
reminding me of nothing less than the transcendent squall and bluster of …and you will know us by the trail of dead (god i love that ellipse) before they cleaned up their act. it is the slightly unhinged beauty of dementia, played with energy, wild goddam histrionic wire in the blood energy. even the bluesy boozy harmonica is turned into some instrument of slayer-esque obliteration.
titus andronicus like to scream and carry on at excessive volume. titus andronicus like songs which are fast more than songs which are slow. quoth the raven.
which isn’t to say any subtlety is lost. there’s still enough melody and rhythm and singeable choruses and woo-hoo’s and handclaps discernible among the destructo cement mixer turbulence. like everything else it’s just cranked up to eleven.
titus andronicus crave your approval but will settle for your utter disdain. indeed.
so go see them at the cockpit in leeds tonight or all over holland, germany, france and the you ess of eh for the foreseeable future. see if they have the big brass balls to cover elvis. and weezer (which requires slightly less testicular fortitude).
“if one good deed in all my life i did, i do repent it from my very soul.”
shit, almost forgot to mention the elvis suicide. it’s rock and roll fella. third time i’ve seen them and the third time i’ve managed to miss half their set. must try harder…
