As the trend for ironic 70s rock regurgitation plods lugubriously down the track and bolts and screws fall out from all sides Modey Lemon still hop on board the rusty wreck; mobile but just barely. It’s quite possible that they wept on account of missing the aforementioned decade as the Lemon supply a crude, repetitive alternative to the kind of classic rock disco that your average Aerosmith enthusiast would doubtlessly relish.
Now McLusky work at the extremities of all that’s caustic, ugly, brutal and mordantly noisy. And rather wonderful it usually is. The fuzz bass belches and insistent jack hammer rhythms drill the biting wit of Andy Falkous lyrics through the cranium. This of course requires some volume and preferably a glut of it. But tonight it’s quiet, very quiet. Somebody obviously thought the PA needed some kick back time night and barely pushes the damned thing past the green. The result is as predictable as it is depressing. No oomph. No usual McLusky one inch punch of death, just the faint rattle of a lawnmower engine that renders their usual skin-peeling performance underpowered and nondescript. McLusky deserve better and frankly so do we.
