At least it doesn’t waste my time. The Brute Chorus were worth it. Well worth it.
These East London blues punk rockers are on the verge of a brutal worldwide conquest of headphones.
Maroon 5 – who are shit – were supposed to herald a new era of blues rock. Then The Brute Chorus showed up and the new era dawned, bringing with them a great balance of grit and glee, crunch and fluff and madness and sanity.
Reading fantasy is a guilty pleasure of mine, but tells me two things: I want to be taken some place else and that I love all things epic. And despite The Brute Chorus‘ tight musical confines, their sounds are unworldly and their lyrics most certainly epic. Babylonian kings, Biblical saints and Greek heroes are even older than Margaret Thatcher, but the front man, James Steel, sings about them in a way that would even make the Iron Lady attractive.
James Steel says “St. Vitus himself taught me to dance“, so beware, you may get infected with Saint Vitus Dance Disease listening to this holeytonal exclusive:
Be sure to join me at their gig at 93 Feet East in London on 14 August.