by Armchair Anarchist
Image courtesy of his mobile phone
It’s not often you get sent to review a band and discover that it’s their last gig, but that is exactly what The Skuds announce before they start their set. Barring the possibility of some bizarre publicity trick, it would seem this is the end of the road for them, at least in this incarnation. But they’re a plucky young bunch who seem fairly at ease with being on stage. Punk rock is a broad church with many little side-chapels, and woe betide anyone who should inaccurately pigeon-hole a band. Therefore I shall say that The Skuds have the fast pace and simplistic political anger of the more shouty and basic punk bands that maintained the scene in the eighties. It’s just simple root sixteenths from the bass guy, who has to sing as well. He does so with a rapid guttural chatter that’s heavy on the profanities; the lyrics have the mantra-like sound of shouted slogans in the street. The drummer is very tight even during the high paced bits (which is a good thing, ‘cause there’s loads of them), with good fills and tricks that seem a little wasted on the songs. The guitarist’s chops over the simple bass seem to have the urge to go further, as if there is unused technique waiting to be deployed. The timing is good, with the band working together as a team, but there is a sense of difference in the content of the songs coming from the three members. In a broken-string hiatus later on, it is revealed that these musical differences are the cause of The Skuds’ demise. Their set closes with a rough and ready rip-off of ‘My Generation’, complete with guest BVs from assorted mates of the band, and that is goodnight from The Skuds. They were never going to set the world alight, but they have given these three musicians their first experiences of playing in a band. It will be interesting to see where these lads turn up next, and in what form.