die! die! die! + ipso facto + o children

Beforehand, as hardly the hippest dressers in east London, its satisfying to know that Die! Die! Die! possess more than aesthetic pleasantries. Like lunatics up close and personal there is no time to be shy, as beers go flying - as does the mic stand early in the set. From the sharp box steps Lachlan Anderson cuts with his bass - like a caged animal - this is seemingly another gig for a band caught in Bedlam. ‘Ashtray! Ashtray!’ contains the kind of unfiltered DIY punk ethics that most bands need hair gel to simulate. The show speaks for itself. ‘A.T.T.I.T.U.D’ sees Andrew once more diving crowd-wards, destroying the 4th wall (as if it ever existed with this band) and going totally AWOL while yelping his cut-throat chants. Why this band isn’t being hailed from the highest cliffs to the inner sanctums of DJs hearts is an infuriating mystery. The half-second gaps that Mikey installs into ‘Blue Skies’ rhythmic drives are enough to make this abrasive scuzz heap soar.