Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
According to Sir Terry Pratchett, in his best-selling Discworld novel ‘Mort’, magicians have calculated that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten.
What they haven’t considered, however, is the effect of a bolt out of the blue coupled with a blue moon. This is a much scarcer phenomenon and then factor in a trio of musicians – a band with rocks in it to further quote Pratchett – into the bubbling, chaotic broth then the likelihood of what we witnessed this evening in the Welsh capital is every bit as unlikely as returning to your vehicle only to discover a rather irritable dragon has flattened your ride home.
Are magical and mystical forces afoot here this evening in Cardiff? Or is it more of the case of a one in a million talented package winning our rock n’ roll hearts and minds with a charm offensive that elicits a wow factor the very moment the track’s final note rings out? The equivalent in hard rocking terminology of a geological penecontemporaneous occurrence, something this strong is a rare, rare thing. New Yorker triumvirate Des Rocs is that very thing based upon this evening’s showing.
There’s a quietly assured self-belief in the Des Rocs’ camp as they, along with fellow Statesiders Moon Fever and Pistols At Dawn, roll into town for the final date of the UK leg of their European tour.
It’s their second headline jaunt this side of the Atlantic this year and it’s a safe bet that their eastern seaboard home feels an awful long way away. For a sense of the mood check out our pre-gig interview with Danny Rocco – the alter-ego of Des Rocs – here.
Cut from the same Georgian DNA as fellow Atlanta outfits Mastadon and Sevendust the hard rocking four-piece Pistols At Dawn are making, in 2024, a name for themselves in the UK.
Following last year’s US tour opening for Mammoth WVH and Alterbridge the quartet, in February, toured the UK with WWE star Chris Jericho’s band Fozzy before headlining a few club shows of their own. Catching the ear of many upon that visit they can count upon a fair few fans of their own here in The Globe.
Their ‘call from the inky deeps’ intro sends shivers and chills as it builds upwards with a striking guitar’s initial notes chiming in. It’s a wee bit Pink Floyd-ish and sets the tone most tidily. Striding stagewards guitarist Will James grins broadly with his six-string silhouetted with a racing red light, pure showmanship which, getting the balance just right, endears rather than spilling over into self-indulgement.
Formed nearly a decade ago this is a band with full focus upon the highway ahead. With only drummer Adam Jaffe remaining from the original line-up this is, to all intents and purposes, a brand-new band. The latest two singles ‘Obsession’ and ‘Not Sorry’ provide a barnstorming couplet to conclude a set full of, what I believe to be material from their forthcoming second album. There’s no looking in the rear-view mirror tonight.
Tracks like the set-opening ‘Jungle’ and the following ‘Bones’ and its hooky contagion via an immediately connective groove wrap themselves comfortably around a rafter rattling version of Rage Against The Machine’s ‘Bulls On Parade’. It’s rock solid and there’s no visible nerves, why should there be with modern touches of the likes of Nothing More and Black Lakes embracing the majesty of Hendrix. Set end comes about all too quickly and I’m adding another band to my ‘Ones to watch’ list.
Booting about since the early part of the current decade heavyweight Seattle rockers Moon Fever are, like Pistols At Dawn, a completely brand-new entity to myself and I suspect the overwhelming percentage of this extremely healthy sized Cardiff crowd. Bursting onto the stage, to a rumbling intro, with seismically registering energies the quadrumvirate detonate wildly.
Hugely energetic front man Triston Bracht , cutting an early David Vanian figure, explosively requests “Cardiff we want you to make some fucking noise!” The four livewire components adopt an ‘in yer face’ attitude from the off maintaining an elevated level of output throughout their allotted half hour on The Globe’s boards.
With a contagious head-nodding beat ‘Television Skin’ forcibly shepherds The New York Dolls and The Damned into the metal arena of the 21st century. It’s brash and bold and all the better for it. With swift, pointed punches to the midriff ‘Nothing Left To Lose’ picks up from where the set-opener left off, it’s unrelenting in its merciless despatch. A mountain torrent of metalliferous punk unstoppable.
Within ‘Heavy Sad’ gothic undercurrents tug furiously at the unaware alloying with darkened obsidian fringes of Neue Deutsche Härte it’s an undoubtedly heady brew. Micoley scales the stage left speaker stack remaining up there, swathed in darkness, until part way through the following track ‘Satan Loves Me’.
There’s time enough to banter with their sound engineer Tyler – little do the band know how well versed, thanks to the efforts of Phil Campbell and his offspring, many of the local crowd are in chanting “Fuck you Tyler!” The quite literally impactful ‘Getting Loud’ keeps the blood pumping before proceedings are wound up with ‘Forever Sleep’ and ‘Feels So Good’. Another American band has shifted from unknown to the listing for further future inspection.
The opening gambits of the night have paid decent dividends with The Globe crowd nicely warmed up and eager to go by the time Des Rocs take to the stage to, what else but, a ‘phasered’ ‘New York, New York’. The stage is set for a rollicking 75 minutes rammed full of delicious rock n’ roll madness from every decade from the 50s forwards. All twisted upon themselves and launched a full bore from a modern hard-rocking cannon.
It’s rapidly apparent, within the first couple of minutes of opener ‘Dream Machine’, that we are in the company of greatness. Frontman Danny Rocco is a thoroughly compelling individual who captivates with dangerously prominent levels of addictiveness. His talented musical bedfellows, and long-term friends, bassist William Tolly and drummer Eric ‘Doc’ Mendelsohn are happy for Rocco to take the stage front spotlight.
Intensely despatched ‘Dream Machine’ growls and roars like a 60s muscle car hotfooting it off the Detroit production lines right onto the hard rocking freeway. “It’s 2.10 in the morning” snarls Rocco as we’re teleported back to the future. It’s incendiary in every sense and it’s a fire that can’t be quenched such is its glorious appetite.
Bringing a touch of Jeff Buckley and Johnny Cash, in rough equal amounts, the frontman takes a Quentin Tarantino perspective on matters. Taking the greats of the past, much in line with the inspirational film director, and turning it all upon its head and drenching it in a modern-day vibrancy thus creating something unlike anything I’ve witnessed to date.
Look again there’s a dash of Springsteen and then a glancing of Strummer but all awhile it’s Rocco enthralling in the way that Freddie Mercury scribed in his rock n’ roll manual. Hugely animated ‘Wayne’ is rapid-fire taking us by the hand in a firm grasp headlong into the driving forces of ‘Used To The Darkness’. The crowd, highly receptive, is captivated throughout.
Rocco is adept at working the crowd here in the relatively intimate environs of The Globe, but I feel, given a larger scaled production will cut the very same vibe on the larger stages that surely beckon in the not-too-distant future. Springsteen is an expert in this craft and I’m confident that this brightly burning entity is cut from the very same cloth.
‘Natural Born Thriller’ hurtles along like a midnight freight train, it’s hellfire bluesy metal thundering along the tracks. The Devil’s herd rides across the star-crossed skies. There’s a glam rock feel to the frenetic hypnosis of ‘White Gold’ to keep a meandering to the on-stage presence before Danny delivers a motivational dialogue woven about his life experiences in NYC. “Thank you for making my dreams come true” he expresses in genuine sincerity.
Singing every word of the pop-punky ‘Hanging By A Thread’ The Globe is in fine voice, well it’s Wales after all. Following ‘Never Ending Moment’ provides a spine-tingling segment, an exothermic musical outpouring that makes lava seem cold by comparison. It’s all about the fire within.
Rocco drives a heavy Sabbath groove from his red snakeskin guitar in ‘I Am The Lightning’ replete with a stoner fringe. An eclectic bundle of unbridled kinetics. Hollering at the midnight desert sun ‘HVY MTL DRMR’ takes things on to a batshit insane plane. Cardiff laps up every last morsal.
Rocco’s bluesy fretwork is ably supported by the rock-solid foundation provided amply by Mendelsohn and Tolly in the express that is ‘Let Me Live / Let Me Die’. It’s Hendrix but in the current surround not the 60s. Its utterly filthy hook possesses a ‘From Dusk Till Dawn’ vibe as the main set draws to a tumultuous conclusion.
After a furious hour The Globe is not yet fully satiated, the gathered ranks expect further. “Do you want one more?” asks Rocco furthering the enquiries “Do you want two more?” Well, we receive three! The buzzsawing arse-kicker ‘MMC’ blisters prior to the full Badlands moon of ‘Ruby With The Sharpest Lies’ and the reggae-tinged ‘Suicide Romantic’ ensure a night to be never forgotten.
We have truly been touched by greatness, a presence that could so easily be a major hit on Broadway or the West End but has chosen the hard graft of the rock n’ roll apprenticeship instead. With a final salute Rocco, Tolly and Mendelsohn depart to a rapturous reception.
With the old grey matter in a full 360-degree top velocity spin we return to the van in nervous anticipation of discovering our Merc having been reshaped into a metallic van-like pizza but mercifully the anticipated dragon-landing hasn’t actually materialized but it did feel all the more probable given the bolt from the blue that Des Rocs has just delivered.
Behind us in the skies high above the Welsh capital the clouds break, and a blueish hued moon – ripe in its fullness – is crossed by a sizeable winged avian reptile. Who ventured that magic isn’t afoot tonight?
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
