Flats @ The Victory

I read the funniest interview with Flats the other day. In fact, it was less of an interview and more of a declaration of hate for various people. Firstly their fire-spitting angst and claims of just how punk they are teetered delicately along the line of cliché. “We’re the only band who are for real, out there smashing it,” stated bassist, Craig Pierce. It's dangerous territory this early on in your career, but you've got to admire the bravado.

The second thing that tickled me was frontman, Dan Devine, and his distain for mods as displayed in the visceral holler of 'Rat Trap', “I hate Paul Weller!, I hate The Jam!, I hate Roger Daltrey!” Someone needs a cup of tea and a nice lie down, I thought, as I sat there in my penny loafers and Harrington.

So I removed my paisley scarf and Wigan Casino t-shirt and geared up for Flats' show at The Victory in Dalston, with images of bloody revolt and murderous interaction swarming round my brain like the elated treasures of half-bit anarchy. It was quite exciting, if not a little scary.

From early on in the gig, the truth of these previous statements soon becomes clear and an overshadowing thunderous wave of sudden throttling noise is waved over The Victory by the dark hand of Flats. This is punk. Not garage rock or new wave hardcore or anything you might tend to bracket these guys in. It's an alarming projectile of anger, kicked in the behind by speed and the fowl, lewd bile of Dan’s uncompromising, rough slur that fuses The Damned, Ian Dury and Gallows into one fierce shrill.

‘Big Souls’ is a gutter-dwelling pit of doom breakdowns: unrestrained and feral, edgy and punchy, and equally as heartless as ‘Never Again’ with its rowdy, provoking overtones of fear-inducing wails. As Dan coughs up screams, his coiling and wiry figure seems unstable, but with a certain air of power about it. He will not be moved. I'd suggest you avoid eye contact because it looks like he might begin foaming at the mouth, ready to attack your face.

At points it’s hard to see a line of distinction between the songs, but then that’s the nature of this sort of burning onslaught: audio intrusion into the mind, screw with heads a little, bash about your thoughts of comfort into on-edge surprise. Don’t settle for any less.

So while Dan and co. hate everything except from themselves, I remain pleasantly surprised at the level of intensity knocked out by a band who are still taking their first steps. Their confidence is alarming (in a good way) and their arrogance sits well. But then what do I know? I’m off to watch ‘Quadrophenia’.

FLATS - EP 2 by flatsofcourse