|Sunday International (pic: Ged Camera)|
The band deliberately avoids a homogenous distinct ‘sound’ for their output, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. What you get is a group of fluctuating components that veers from the quirky to the full on kitchen sink approach. And does the band care? Not in the slightest. One number is introduced as "Traffic cone. Probably just as dull as one, but we like it."
Named after a character from a David Lynch movie, Bobby Peru also have international influences, from the American vocalist Robert Genovese to the forever Chameleons associated Manchester legend, John Lever.
|Bobby Peru (pic: Ged Camera)|
This time they do have a more rounded sound that envelops the set, providing a guitar dominated noise that fills the intimate venue. The tall bassist – nicknamed Ding - avoids smacking his head on the ceiling whilst twisting his frame to ensure the low frequency rumbling probes all the corners.
"This equation no longer works," echoes the front man. Sometimes it does solve a problem though.
As brutal as a concrete slab hurled from a block of high rise flats, Gabrielles Wish make an overdue re-appearance on the live scene. With a new EP to promote and LP to follow, their temporary hiatus is well and truly over.
Stage illumination is by way of a projector beaming a mixture of anonymous streets and shopping centres that could form any part of modern day urban life, but are probably from the Miles Platting/Collyhurst areas that the band members know well, blended with high tech squiggles and fractals in a Peter Saville-esque abstract manner.
|Gabrielles Wish (pic: Ged Camera)|
Silhouetted against the screen, vocalist Rob Corliss moves menacingly onto the stage. With a cigarette in hand, he grabs the mic stand, and you can see where one of the challenges against smoking in public places will be made. His disconnected voice rumbles ominously as the hammering bass line rolls on.
Levity is not prevalent, and the animated writhing by Corliss resembles an ECT patient receiving treatment. The intensity and frustration expressed complements the anger in the music, that’s as bleak and as the cold, wet, Manchester night outside.
The new material on display retains the core vibrancy, yet is fringed with lighter touches supplied by Karen Leadham on keyboards/guitar. Yet it’s Corliss, with his head only visible, who focuses and holds the attention, even when he fires an unscripted salvo to an unidentified audience member.
"What am I to do?" Corliss exhorts at one point. The answer is simple - keep making music like this.