Cabbage.
- a cultivated plant eaten as a vegetable, having thick green or purple leaves surrounding a spherical heart or head of young leaves
- a person who leads a dull or inactive life
- politically energised, wryly observant, fast and furious indie band
So it was that no. 2 (MM) having eaten no. 1, went, with middle sprat, to see no. 3 at the Oxford Academy.
Despite the band themselves declaring it was good to be playing the Oxford Academy rather than their usual Bullingdon venue, the truth is the latter is a superior venue in every way to the former. Although at least we were upstairs – small mercies.
And despite the Academy’s trademark muddy acoustics, the band themselves managed to rise above it, delivering a sweaty, churning set that took in swirling post-punk, art-rock, hypnotic psych, and good old fashioned noisy punk – all wrapped up in that classic Manc swagger.
The tracks alternated between the sinister, menacing cynicism of their excellent debut album ‘proper’ (Nihilistic Glamour Shots) and the sly, knowing groove and caustic outspokenness of old favourites. From the new we had plenty of highlights: the industrial grind of Reptiles State Funeral, the surf-tinged punk stomp of Preach to the Converted, the pummelling blast of Postmodernist Caligula and the ominous, pulsating Perdurado. From the old we had Uber Capitalist Death Trade, the scuzzy anthem Terrorist Synthesizer and a wonderfully queasy Dinner Lady – a song to put you off quiche forever. We finished with their viciously acerbic Necroflat In The Palace, an appropriately messy, dirty finale that sounded like the Butthole Surfers fighting in a sack with the Fat White Family. The only minor disappointment for a swaying middle sprat and I was the absence of Celebration of a Disease, a joint favourite song from the whole of 2017.
Live, Cabbage don’t hold back. Giving the head and the heart a sonic blast and imparting any complacency with an all too welcome boot up the backside.
Go see them!
The Mad Mackerel 