Beckoning forth onto a welcoming stage five men known collectively as The Dead Betas approach the crowd, proceeding into a blistering and dynamic set of jaded punk-electro-trash, introducing Glasgow to the fiercely misunderstood Transhrek on the opening night of this UK tour. Warm, exciting and with an endearing candor they played vociferously, gratifying the inquisitive and eager crowd.
Continuing the vicissitude artisans The Red Paintings deepen the mood. Maneuvering onto the stage with an outfit complimented by sanguine painters and a trolling hamster, to inspire La Vie Bohème in Lewis Carrolls’ darkest dreams as if played out in some punks rowboat. Candid they played a grilling set as their aptitude for sensationalism is fettered by technology only.
The Birthday Massacre launch to acclaim and with much anticipation they waltz onto a heated dais, their definitive spark bright to establish their crystalline presence without hesitation. Enthused to make the most from a sweet Tuesday night the introduction to the latest album Superstition is made with live familiarity as modeled on 2014s’ release.
While styled with a single boot, singer Chibi excites the audience with the hopes of customized socks being available at the merchandise stand, unfortunately this is not the case, as like the copies of the new album it must be on a soulful walkabout.
Shifting down through their back catalog The Birthday Massacre are playing to boisterous delight, throwing plenitudes of love into the crowd who respond willfully in kind. Unexpectedly a few duffs are obscured by the wistful glide and melodious professionalism of the keytar. Joyously the band move on, playing through their anthemic back catalog as though sliding through time. The cohesion of the group is self-evident.
It was not to say they lost any involvement by those technical hic-ups. The attention was well spent on, well, everyone. Chibi was a master at effortlessly engaging the crowd with such glee as to encourage them to pick-up and raise their hearts.
On closing The Birthday Massacre moved off in beauty at the request of another encore. Curtailed by sonic intolerance, the uninspiring hindrance imposed by the limits of a curfew. However, unsatiated by “time gentlemen, please,” the crowd wants more.