Easterhouse Hacienda

EASTERHOUSE 
Manchester Hacienda

DISDAIN, IT is my contention, cannot be taken too far but Easterhouse's hard line - impressive, aggressive, embittered and accusing - is turning against them. A raucous, formidably fluent form of rock (between JD and Free) with a rough compassion, a stroppy, sad anger, their best work (‘Man Alive’, 'How Would It Be?', 'Coming Up For Air') retains the confronting purpose and heavy, determined strength that captured my support last year.

Tonight though, Easterhouse with be remembered for all the wrong things..

Their attack was muzzy, blurred, hot-blooded, heavy-handed. The guitars missed their sting, there were too many morning sun's rise up and fight's, burning down’s etc: the songs lumbered under such bluster. Finally vocalist Andy Perry (who’ll still shut his eyes and sing ’til his face is red and sweating) came on with a stream of bitter, stupid insults and intense, naive speeches and lectures, letting rigid temper and vulgar pride get the better of his control, relentlessly attacking the meagre crowd before finally hurling the mic stand into the audience. Naturally his aim wasn't that good.

There are no victories to be gained from such petty slanging or cheap spite and clearly Easterhouse have more worthy targets for their honourable hatreds and driving convictions. But they still don’t remind me of anyone else, and these days, of course, that’s enough. But tonight they fought too many pointless, ugly battles to win any of the vital ones.

- James Shelley