L7. The Donnas. The Runaways. Debbie Harry.
Right – now the names of those other priestesses of punk are out of the way, let’s get on to the business in hand.
In fact forget the lazy chick-rock comparisons…The Tommys are four pocket rockets who will happily stand toe-to-toe and slug it out with anyone who looks at them the wrong way.
All teenagers bar bassist Anna, they hit the stage in a flurry of scuzzball riffs, big hair and scuffed Converse. Blonde-mopped singer Jess, a human wrecking ball, fixes the front row with an evil eye and proceeds to lay waste to the venue and its equipment (one Daltrey-style microphone whirl results in an impromptu stage invasion by an irate sound engineer) in a 35-minute wrecking spree.
It ain’t like they haven’t got the tunes either; You’re Not The One, Did It Again and the outstanding Freakshow slice with a flash-glam-trash-punk-rock’n’roll intensity.
And Jess belies her years by belting them out in a voice for which Gram Parsons could have invented the description Grievous Angel.
Shows with the likes of Roadstar and Towers Of London behind them, The Tommys will now either become the legends they already hint at, or self-destruct in a shower of sparks, bubblegum and smashed equipment.
Either way, it’s gonna be one hell of a ride.