The Death Set

The Faversham, Leeds - 12 Apr 2008

by Pete Charles

Only losers play on the stage

"The Death Set leave the stage looking like a scud missile’s hit it, and Siera finally collapses in a pool of sweat and Vodka. New Noise nearly faints with awe"

“Hey poppy!” squeaks Johnny Siera, munchkin guitarist of Baltimore power-pop trio The Death Set, waving theatrically at a girl in the front row, who immediately turns beet red. The band has eschewed the Fav’s rather impersonal stage, opting instead to play on the floor and as close to the audience as possible. The B52s’ ‘Love Shack’ is their intro, and to be honest, it is a bit of a love-in tonight. Siera runs round hugging as many people as possible, passing round a bottle of cheap Vodka before taking a massive swig himself and launching into the set. It’s enormously shambolic from the word go; Siera bounds around like a toddler that’s overdosed on Haribo, clambering on the drums and making everyone feel nervous. By the time the incessant drum machine gets round to ‘Intermission’, you can’t take your eyes off them.

Although they have a wanky drum track, the live drums are absolutely necessary, as there’s no bass, just two guitars. Without some sort of audible rhythm, songs like ‘Listen To This Collision’ would just be reduced to a senseless noise. The vocals are a bit on the quiet side, but it just means that Siera and second guitarist Peter O’Connell have to yell louder, which they seem to enjoy immensely. There are no breaks in between songs, the whole set just being a series of two-minute bursts of shouty, frenzied spaz-pop heaven. The majority of the people here are students from the local halls of residence waiting for the popular club night Bad Sneakers to begin. Although most look absolutely blindsided by the whole charade, some are instantly won over by Siera’s über-camp brand of showmanship.

As Siera dismounts from O’Connell’s shoulders, he decides there’s time for one more, and, looking like he’s about to keel over, the band’s hobbit-like frontman thrusts a microphone into the crowd for the last song, a cover of Nirvana’s ‘Territorial Pissings’. Luckily, New Noise is on hand and drunk enough to oblige him. A duet of horrific musical standards ensues, too messy even for The Death Set. They somehow keep the song on track (albeit with the grace of a blind airline pilot attempting an emergency landing hindered by a combination of high winds and absinthe) and with feedback spewing from the speakers, the band set about unceremoniously destroying their equipment while two hundred students look on in utter horror. The Death Set leave the stage (nay, floor) looking like a scud missile’s hit it, and Siera finally collapses in a pool of sweat and Vodka. New Noise nearly faints with awe.
Carmen Sandiego said on April 18th 2008 [report abuse]

Great review. Good band.

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