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Inaudible. Shout. Scream. Noise. It seems Test Icicles may have left a more significant gap than first anticipated.The Pink Riot trio (drums, guitar, snyth) and Mike Yianni’s rape alarm vocals allied with a trash can rampage that sees Yianni hammer a bin, synthmeister Josh Dubell pummel a bin lid and drummer Cecil Mong hammer the kit. It’s about as rhythmical as it gets as their brand of synth disco funk degenerates into Gang of Four vs Test Icicles except no one wins. It’s refreshing to see is that no one even pretends to get it.
Air Horns, glow sticks and skinny fit Mickey Mouse tees. It’s either a squat party or Klaxons are in the building. ‘This is for all the people outside’ they quip before launching into ‘The Bouncer’ with it’s shrieking chorus "your name’s not down/you’re not coming in!" Pleasantries aside ‘Atlantis to interzone’ parties with a smiley face whilst during the scuzz, falsetto funk of ’Gravity’s Rainbow’ I’m convinced I saw a giant dummy. Clashing happy hardcore with unabashed 80’s influences they even stoop to an impressive cover of Perfecto Planet’s ‘Not Over Yet’ to the delight of the glow stick wielding horde. It’s as if EMF and GLC had a pixie dust meeting of minds. And what a fickle breed we are. Just as we were saying good riddance to Test Icicles, in Klaxons we have a band ready to step into the breach and throw themselves headlong into the black hole of hype. It’s amazing just how quick the fashionista’s are to embrace a throw back of ‘chav’ culture and make it their own. There’ll be murder on the dance floor.
Just how do you follow ‘What is love?’ by Haddaway? I’m not sure anyone knows how but in the opium den trimmings of Madamme Jo Jo’s, Shit Disco do their darndest to woop that woop! Joel Stone is swiftly elevated to the coolest man in music due to his grubby white vest get up and indecipherable Rab C Nesbitt type drawls. East 17’s ‘House of Love’ booms out, 2Unlimited’s ‘No Limit’ is criminally cut short before Shit Disco’s tight, teasing dance punk jitters and jerks through the boudoir speakers. Instruments are exchanged; Joel mumbles some gibberish that’s only punctuated by Joe Reeves yelping sporadic vocals yet it somehow remains boundlessly likeable. Despite a discernable lack of real lyrics they’ve the addictive appeal of a hand clapping monkey and bass lines that just won’t quit. With busy Futureheads style vocals and almost every band member listed as a bassist ShitDisco are what all night disco parties were made for. Woop woop.
