On their brand new album, Microscopic Wars, Kingswood hew closely to the sound of Queens of the Stone Age, with scrapings of Queen-like excess and an everyman arena rock bent, a la Soundgarden or perhaps Kasabian. The band’s an undeniable force, with enough chops to feed the extended Packer family. But there are elements of sweaty devil may care rock’n’roll that just can’t be captured on tape. So here we were, eagerly crammed in to Howler, ready for an on-stage eruption.
Howler did seem like a slightly odd venue for the rowdy rock & rock we were awaiting. It’s a bloody great joint, one of the most welcoming rooms in town with an enormous P.A. and an outstanding beer selection to boot. Only, it’s a little neat and thus doesn’t lend itself to the reckless hedonism we were prepared to experience.
Scruples aside, after support act the Sinking Teeth ran through a set of rather dated suburban emo-core, it was time for our nominated icons to ascend to the podium. They kicked off with album opener Sucker Punch and right away our gobs were filled with slatherings of testosterone-loaded energy. Accordingly, a pleasing preponderance of hair had taken over the stage; hanging down from scalps and faces with equal surfeit. Guitarist Alex Laska used his mane as a ceaselessly swinging stage prop, while bassplayer Mango Hunter had more of a contemplative Middle Earth air about him.
It didn’t take long for Kingswood to prove that they’re all masterful players and a very well-practiced unit. This is a band determined to not let any cracks show in their robust display. Well, at least not when it comes to technical details.
There’s nothing like rock done hard and precise to hoist one’s buzz upwards. Tonight’s crowd quickly latched on to this promise of levitation. However, like an immaculately dressed toffee apple, once you crunch through what’s initially tantalising, there’s always a risk of the flavour fading away.
Those opening compliments can be applied to the whole of tonight’s performance. It’s just that, as the show stretched out for more than hour, the yearning for the precision to be spliced with an element of danger was never quite satisfied. And, without the performers pushing close to the edge, that giddy initial buzz struggled to sustain its breath.
Laska is in many ways the band’s heart and soul. While perhaps not a herald of innovation, his Jimmy Page meets Kim Thayil guitar solos – particularly in the extended Micro Wars jam section – instilled many a hair-raising thrill. Front man Fergus Linacre was a positive presence, but he didn’t own the room. Heck, he didn’t even own the stage. He sung ruddy well, but the delivery didn’t compel you to bow down before him.
Granted, Microscopic Wars is Kingswood’s first album and this show was early in the tour, so perhaps these features are still on the way to becoming more pronounced. The songs are strong, but without a bit of bite, the band seems limited to a world of affection rather than wall-crushing domination.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
Loved: TGIThursday.
Hated: No Howler ping-pong.
Drank: Steamy Liberty.
