MUSIC

The Fleece, Bristol (Thur 25 Aug)

The Fleece's current marshals - Bristol pop institution The Blue Aeroplanes - have admirably stuck to their guns. Chris Sharp and co, after their acquisition of the venue last year, made oaths to restore the one-time bastion of exciting new music to its former glory. First things first: cut ties with corporate-promoter-attracting tribute acts. To that pledge, they held strong. They swore, furthermore, to spotlight local talent again. This summer's Best of Bristol programme, which showcases 88 bands in three months, sees that vow ratified, too. So to tonight's instalment (and what a belter it is)...

First up, Lights and Clockwork: a middle-weight melodic rock trio who telegraph all their punches. They're lean and muscular, sure. But they dish out a standard wallop of stadium-gazing metal-pop, not far removed from the likes of late-90s grunge sponges Bush and Feeder et al. 'Dreamers & Criminals' sews together fluid bass and Muse-like arpeggios before busting into a cloyingly anthemic chorus that just won't die.

Says a witty chap at the bar about Daylight Fireworks: "They were as pale and disappointing as their name suggests..." But we disagree. The skinny-jeaned, flop-fringed indie upstarts do sparkle. Their effeminate, yen-for-an-NME-cover-shoot appearance is deceiving; they actually dole out the kind of slacker-tastic fuzz-rock which Yuck are currently doing the rounds with, albeit with a bent for feisty, angular riffage. 'Nothing to do with Love' is an exuberant mix of skittering beats, slicing riffs and doe-eyed, lovelorn rejection.

Zero Pilot, to be fair, could grind Daylight Fireworks' bones to make their bread. They're portly, grizzled man-mountains (except wiry bassist Wayne Lee), with a penchant for shirt-billowing stoner rock."'We're into band rape. Band rape is the new black," American frontman Robin Corcoran growls mockingly at Lee, who reportedly missed soundcheck for a gym work-out. But it's all in jest; the jibes are all part of the outfit's darkly irreverent charm. Music-wise, they smash out southern-fried fuzz-rock - belches of parched, sandpaper-worn vocal erupt out of molten riff sludgery - all the while dropping hints they listen to sophisticated metal (Tool) too.

The night, however, belongs to Planting Claymore (pictured). They've done for metal what Bristol's DJ Pinch did for the local dubstep scene: rendered it tense, dark and experimental. Though they're a strictly alterna-metal set up, they make allusions to the shadier side of the 'Bristol Sound'. Walls of orchestral ambience and programmed bass give way to incisive riffola, all propelled by Alex Woodward's machine-precise sticksmanship. Despite a technical hiccup, 'Airlock' is deployed with breakneck drums and a searing wig-out courtesy of Simon Bravery. Their fierce, melodic, synth-primed metal could be what it takes to rejuvenate a long-dead British alternative scene. (Jamie Skey)

Copyright Jamie Skey 2011