Nobody walks away from a gig by The Bronx. You might sort of shamble off out of exhaustion, sore-limbed elation or maybe just slightly broken with a stupid grin on your face. When singer Matt Cauthran is nose to nose with the crowd on the floor, there’s a subliminal acknowledged countdown that as soon as he’s back onstage, that’s it, no holds barred, sweat-soaked bodies will be vaulting over each other, making their way towards the barrier (and in fairness, the pit crew at The Garage are patient, ready and waiting), because this is Punk Rock with blood and energy.
Since 2003, The Bronx have been destroying Glasgow on a regular basis (there goes a friend of mine, upside down, he’s about 6 foot plus). 4 albums in, with plenty from each getting thrashed out, including their just released long-player ‘IV’, but Glasgow, and what about the songs?
Oh, we had songs. ‘White Tar’ furiously bled into ‘Shitty Future’. We didn’t even see it coming. ‘Under the Rabbit’, ‘Rape Zombie’, I’ve been watching this band regularly since their debut Glasgow show, and this feels like the first time. This is The Garage, it could be The Barfly, but the venue becomes unimportant when a band like this take to the stage. From ‘False Alarm’ to ‘Knifeman’, it doesn’t stop, people are bouncing from the back the front, this band doesn’t take a break; this is an all-out 5-man battle against everything tainted by the ineffectual. I’ve just had a pint of lager and a shot slapped out of my hand by a flying boot, but I don’t care. ‘They Will Kill Us All’, ‘Heart Attack American’ and finally ‘History’s Stranglers’. Breathe in, breathe out. How many bands do you get to see in your life, multiple times, when every album isn’t a reinvention but a continued assault against everything that’s vague and boring. The Bronx: constantly fucking obliterating Scottish audiences for nearly a decade.