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March 6, 2006 | by  | in Music |
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Cortina

With Knife Fight, and Disasteradio
Friday 25th Feb at Indigo

The problem with writing a review after the fact is that you sit down and you replay in your head all the things you thought of saying when you were there, except that then you were a bit pissed and so on. Now you have a hangover and no money, and you are inclined not to believe all the silly things your pissed self thought. However, in the interests of journalistic integrity, I shall resist any desire to edit my thoughts. Matt Cortina assures me that The (holy shit! I’ve forgotten their name, and it’s something I ought to know – ranting letters to the usual address), who are opening unadvertised will be good, and they do put up a very nice garage punk-rock clatter. Unfortunately the crowd is rather small and subdued, and their performance reflects that. Next up are Knife Fight, who I’ve never heard before, but half a song in and I am a convert to their frenetic alt-country (I swear I heard it) scream punk. Clearly I’m not the first either: the girl in front of me is screaming ‘Knife Fight I love you!’ They’ve not been round long, but play with all the swagger of a band who know there are bigger things are to come. MVP goes to the drummer for being the best drummer I’ve seen in ages. By now Indigo is full, the new look unable to scare off the dirty hipster faithful. Disasteradio’s hot and sticky synth electro meltdown is up next, and is the cue for everyone in the venue to start dancing like it’s 1982 all over. He’s got his own space age Indian dance troupe to add to the mayhem, and when he slips into a mash up of ‘12:51’ the indie crowd goes fucking batshit. Then it’s time for a quick breather while Dreamboy Cortina tries to auction off what he happily admits is “a pile of absolute crap,” to further the cause of getting the band to the US and the UK, which is what tonight’s all about. By the time Cortina take the stage I am well and truly smashed. There’s more synth and less guitar than last time I saw them, and they are possibly not quite as drunk either (they’ve also got another member), but they easily top the last two bands, brilliant as they were. Bek Cortina flails round the stage, playing keys, bass and vocals, sounding like a banshee (I promise that’s a compliment) and looking like a big piece of sexy. Matt sounds like there’s a firecracker and a cat having a fight in his guitar. It’s new wave played at the bottom of a filthy hole. Take Echo and the Bunnymen, give them some happy pills and shove speed up their bums, then get a fucked-up Debbie Harry to join in and maybe you’d be close to what Cortina sound like. The set ends in lovely sonic mayhem. Ten minutes later my card starts declining. I wisely go home.

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About the Author ()

BORN WITH a cigarette in one hand and The Trial in other, Bea meant to go on as she started. Music wasn’t her first love, but her first love ended in a fight over rightful ownership of a Velvet Underground LP and the kitchen knife, so she chose the kinder option and stuck with it. In her spare time she enjoys casting aspersions, skulking, and making sweeping statements. She never checks her facts: figures it’s a way to live a little, to have arguments with people, then meet them. She’s currently writing a collection of short stories inspired by Schopenhauer’s manifesto of suffering and the Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster. When it gets published, she’s pretty sure that boy will want to hold her hand.

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