How do you interpret the name Tropical Fuck Storm? For me it's the sound of a tornado tearing through a bordello, but for the Australian four-piece who actually bear the moniker it's clearly something different – something like an electrical storm in slow motion crackling around a (presumably tropical?) drug lab. Smoke swirls, chemicals which should never mix combine together and paranoia sets in.
Not to make you feel old or anything, but when post-hardcore icons Quicksand's magnificent debut album Slip came out Amazon was just a rainforest, DVDs hadn't been invented yet and the world was still waiting for the first PlayStation – this last one is a particular shame as Quicksand would have slotted right in on the soundtrack to Tony Hawk's Pro Skater.
It's been over 500 days since my last gig, my longest time between live music shows since birth to ACDC. Most of tonight’s disbelieving Brudenell throng are in the same boat, a few acquaintances joyously renewed by some regulars, the Space Raiders once again flying off the shelves, helping to soak up the beer as the famed Leeds venue finally enjoys the sort of visitor numbers not witnessed for a couple of summers.
