The downside of the summer festival season is the dearth of regular club shows. For those that decided against shelling out hundreds of pounds to slop around a field in Leicestershire or road-tripping across Europe, the sunnier months can prove to be relatively quiet affairs.
It does mean, however, that when a band on the festival circuit takes a moment to hang out in an unbearably humid venue, it is a treat to those that didnât fancy four-days in Donington. Therefore, it is no surprise that the âsold outâ signs are hung up on the doors as The Bronx take to the stage at Manchesterâs Gorilla.
âOh weâre going to have some fun tonight,â front man Matt Caughthran informs an audience that is already shimmering in a layer of sweat. The LA punks slam straight into the chaotic opener âThe Unholy Handâ and the Gorilla floor begins to resemble an ice rink as fans slip and slide on a surface coated in beer and bodily fluids.
Following a winter album tour of âBronx Vâ, the newer material such as âNight Drop at the Glue Factoryâ and âSide Effectsâ feel like seasoned classics. Every note is flung back with a vigour normally reserved for tracks that have stood the test of time. Caughthran plays the conductor expertly as always, directing traffic and wise-cracking when The Bronx allow very brief moments of respite.
The front man is the enigmatic focal point of the five-piece and has the audience under his spell throughout. Amid the carnage let loose during the anthemic âShitty Futureâ, Caughthran manages to hush his adoring public for a five-count before letting them loose on the breakdown with the mere instructions of âdrop this shitâ.
Hopping down on to the floor, mobbed by the masses, he opens a space. He takes a moment for everyone to calm before embarking on a rambling anecdote about life and love, how we should all take care of each other during these testing times and, more importantly, prepare to dance. There are not many better ways to introduce The Bronxâs emblematic anthem âWhite Guiltâ.
The slightly slower number does come as a welcome relief but there is not much time to bask in this as a double header of âKnifemanâ and âAround The Hornâ turns the temperature back up. They squeeze the last drop out of the audience with the huge closing track of âHistoryâs Stranglersâ before Caughthran slaps the hand of each and every outstretched soul.
The decision of not visiting the open air cauldron of Download Festival seems to have been a wise one for everyone in attendance at Gorilla. These are the settings that The Bronx seem the most comfortable, getting dirty in the dive bars where the air is thick and energy is intense.
A summer treat of this ilk can always make up for missing being in a tent that manages to leak on the second night.
TOM WALSH