 
 An average Thursday evening in Cardiff, I’m
chilling out with Fucked Up in their über-glamorous
Barfly dressing room. Sadly, minus the vast array
of penis graffiti that once filled the void but
thankfully all of the turd band name efforts still
intact on the back of the door (New Found Glory
Hole? Lynyrd Skynturd? Brilliant). Sampling the
delights of Digital Drugs was never on my to-do
list, but here we are. Unless migraines are your
idea of a high, I’d steer clear. Support
noiseniks, Fecal Veda are filling one of Cardiff’s
grunge Meccas with their Walkmen-inspired chaotic
punk noise. Keeping the ever-filling cave entertained
through a concoction of very decent vocals and
massive amateur-dramatic esque mosh shapes. Following
on, Japanese Voyeurs continued to add to the party,
installing loud rockness with a certain sense
of style.
I have never been at a gig in Barfly where full
on metal barriers separated us and the stage.
Tonight, that cherry got popped. As revellers
took to their chosen places, the security guards
settle into their respective spots and bottles
of water are being piled neatly around the stage
adjacent to towels whiter than Julia Roberts’
teeth; whiteness offset perfectly against blood
red instruments. Then it began.
 The Toronto hardcore pioneers are treating us
tonight. From noose-and-gag mic lead strangulations
to smashing up Pepsi cans with his head, Damian
Abraham and co left no one with their full range
of hearing as full throttle tunes like I Hate
Summer, Crusades and Two Sticks encapsulated the
room. Pepping every soul up with their in your
face punk thrashings, lashings of witty banter
and frontman Damian hurling his half naked body
into the mosh pit and beyond, screaming proclamations
of: “I love this town! I love this town!
Check out Victimized!” and “I’m
bad with words except when it comes to laying
down sweet rhymes!”
At times it seemed as though the band are literally
a little fucked up, the band are seemingly meek
and mild until they set foot on stage. Something
changes. Their rib tickling mix of comedy, rock
and inter-crowd rockeoke; Damian spent the majority
of his set in the pit. Rocking out, moshing out,
screaming and causing havoc with plastic cups.
As his half naked, rock-out sweaty body slipped
and slid throughout the packed out venue, to the
bar top and back again, the frontman made memories
as everyone got a piece of the action; all the
while the rest of the mentalists, completed by
bassist Sandy Miranda, guitarists Mike Haliechuk,
Josh Zucker and Ben Cook and drummer Jonah Falco,
keeping the riffs and beats flowing for fearless
frontman to brand our frontal lobes with his fat-guy
vocals.
Sporting a delightful Jeffrey Star poster on one
of their amps, Fucked Up are promoting the “new
face of white power” with more than a tinge
of sarcasm and mischief in their antics; frolics
involving “getting all 90’s on y’all,
not like Pennywise. Christ!” and cucumber
devouring, over powering the normally sweaty aromas
of the front row for the more Pimms’ freshness
of a fresh, juicy, hard cucumber.
Studio recordings are one thing. Live however,
Fucked Up’s penchant for party wounded psychosis
fun is unparalleled. Nothing but good times.
Fucked Up - 4/5
Japanese Voyeurs – 3/5
Fecal Veda - 3.5/5
Review By Jessica Acreman
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