Brudenell Social Club, Leeds 9th January 2025
“I think we wrote this on a Monday, when half of you weren’t born and the other half were already forty”, says David Yow, vocal stylist and crash-test dummy of The Jesus Lizard. And he should know – at sixty-four, in the third iteration of the band, having split and reformed a couple of times over their thirty-seven years. They even left twenty-six years between albums before returning last year with something as good as anything that had gone before.
Like a Duracell bunny, he is on a mission to either have a whale of a time or to destroy himself. Like the lyrics, it’s not clear which he’s aiming for. Those strange tales and wandering trains of thought are subsumed into a sea of noise, which is what he wants and what the crowd wants. He’s a provocateur, asking if anyone “wants their dick sucked”. Up in front of the stage a rabid entourage grab and grope Mr Yow, welcoming his attention, whether it is grabbing someone’s head or leaping on them. One lucky gent has his hand fondled, examined, then pressed to Yow’s crotch. Every so often David flops into the crowd and is borne aloft round the room like a holy relic and it’s real – David is on pure instinct, no planning, one time resulting in taking a header that nearly hit the floor.
Arriving visibly refreshed on stage, three cans of Stella aid David in creating an unsteady improvisation. Wobbly at the best of times between songs, the arrival of the yelping lyrics sees him focussed; gripping the mic stand and delivering in a rock solid fighting pose or wound intense like a coiled spring, one leg wrapped round the other, body shaking with tension. It’s visceral and exciting. Yow creates a narrative for the evening, getting us to clap at length between each song, telling us the day of the week songs were written, prowling, staring and asking us to chant about America’s president-elect. He’s unreliable, unpredictable and living his personal version of the auto-destructive rock singer. Except he doesn’t sing, he does this thing in his own way.
The band has three other people and visually, it is easy to forget that. In sound, the band is the main force. Mac McNeilly is incredible on drums – fast, intense, loud and pummelling. He’s the star of the sound and rightly gets a solo to close the set. And the sound is noisy. It owes a lot to The Fall; it’s a rolling churn of riffing without melody, propelling and launching the vocals. Not rockabilly like The Fall – this is rock-riffing – but the overall effect of shouty drunk man in a sea of noise is similar. The bass of David Wm. Sims is rubbery and solid, while Duane Denison provides a wry smile and ever flowing post-punk style riffage.
This is a band that lives for the stage. Like me, you might find the records a bit ‘take it or leave it’ if played at anything less than top volume, but the gut-grabbing punch of the live sound and lager-inspired antics of the front man make this an unmissable event for anyone who likes loud rock played fresh.
Fantastic review Ross. I seem to remember these guys being around in the 90s. Often associated them with grunge and nirvana – though perhaps they preceded and outdated them in reality.