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The beguiling Cake Bake Betty, a singer -songwriter ladygirl hailing from NYC, appears rather inoffensive as she tinkles away on her keyboard, but with a bipolar’s ability to flit between childlike, quirky piano balladry and SUPER angry with a mere semi-crotchet’s insistence she charms, jars and induces accidental beer choking all over the shop.
The hypnotic bass and drums of The Rogers Sisters opener ‘Freight Train’ lulls the audience into acid-tinged visions of deserts, generators and all night parties before slamming them against the wall with a tsunami of guitars strangled to sound like a thousand car alarms. Co-vocalist and bassist Miyuki ostensibly unaffected by the emascalating impact of being in a band with ‘Sisters’ in the title, plays hard, his rock’noll yelp, seething and celebratory in the same breath. T’other dirgy vocalist and guitarist Jennifer provides an unusual counterpoint, looking and sounding more Seattle `94 that Brooklyn `06.
The sublime impudence of youth, sustained so fleetingly, replaced with bumbling self-doubt and rationality, stinky. Not playing your current single, constantly berating the assembled masses, and for an encore swapping instruments and forming a thrash metal group called ‘The Butt Munchers’ - culminating in formerly mild mannered bassist, Nathan Vasquez, swapping spit with his audience. All this would terrify your average band, as thoughts of upsetting your target demographic and midweek charts loom ominously. But Be Your Own Pet don’t give a fuck in a manner which is completely refreshing; when you’ve got breathless 2 minute punky odes celebrating going to the beach (‘Let’s Get Sandy’) and riding bikes (‘Bicycle, Bicycle you are my Bicycle’) which are reeled off so effortlessly, you can afford not to care.
Benefiting from a headline spot on this tour and the soundman that accompanies the honour, their trashy punk has become a subtler affair. The ingénue frontlady has evolved as well. No longer the wide-eyed goofy trainee punk of a year ago, jaded by a year of touring, Jemina has grown angry, sceptical and most interesting. When they stray near a tune they absolutely devastate the Leadmill. ‘Damn Damn Leash’ fizzes through the venue, inducing pissed-off bouncers and spontaneous relationship break-ups in its wake. BYOP know full well when you’ve got ‘the tunes’ and ‘the look’ to start a revolution, you don’t have to pander to anybody.
