Narc. Magazine Online
Reliably informed
James Hattersley has a riotous baptism with punk purveyors Bad Nerves
Image by George Driver
On a brisk and miserable Tuesday in mid-November, you’d be forgiven for staying inside; locked in your fortress and waiting for all this to blow over. However, if you’re brave enough and have a coat that zips all the way up – you will be rewarded. The Grove is buzzing with anticipation. The crowd is clamoring for its jittery punk baptism.
Bad Nerves strut onto the stage with the drawling drone of Television echoing out. They pick up their instruments and immediately start assaulting the audience with rapid stabs of drums and overwhelmingly supersonic guitars. The gentleman next to me immediately sticks his fingers in his ears and they will remain there for the whole show. And yet, his beaming grin says it all. (Ear protection is cool kids – get some). With singer Bobby Nerves egging the crowd on to be as raucous as possible, a mosh pit devours the middle of the room, forcing myself back and others to run for cover. A mulleted Marlboro jacketed man leads the body slamming through first album classics like the melodically delicious Palace, the sardonically catchy Radio Punk and the ramshackle rumble of Last Beat.
This brand of razor sharp and stilted punk is striking a chord – a whirlwind of energetic hooks bombards every sense. Bad Nerves have played with such ferocity and speed that it’s unclear if they or the audience are going to break first…
“READY TO TAKE IT UP A NOTCH!?” The whole room explodes in a further heightened frenzy to USA, culminating in one of the most respectfully savage circle pit coming togethers I’ve ever witnessed with Electric 88. The final communal cries of Can’t Be Mine and Dreaming end this spicy affair and echoes out long after the dust settles. A proud night for Newcastle gig audiences – baby it’s cold outside but inside, we’re having a fucking riot.
