12

Dr Razzu and The Florists

Tonight for me is a celebration. A monumental occasion celebrating all the great things to come, as on this sunny Brighton evening the Engine Rooms has become a surrogate breeding ground for two future successes. Two local bands of infinite potential who both manage to exuberate eclectic originality and both of whom seem unfazed and dramatically grounded, perhaps Dr Razzu and the Florists do not understand what a special thing they have both created?

The first treat of the night was hardly an appetiser, but more of an all you can eat buffet which leaves you overwhelmed and exhausted after simply inhaling the sheer punch in the ribs that is local home grown trio, Dr Razzu. A band who have been gracing the Brighton circuit for around a year now and who have managed to create what I see as a mini subculture with a handful of dedicated and loving fans who follow their every step, and how could they not? It seems almost a religious occasion when guitarist Jamie Cakes steps to the stage and bellows out "I love the way you love my bones" over a wall of colossal tweaked rambling instruments and backing vocals from Alex Taplin.

"In A Nutshell" is weaved with punched breaks and bridges that raise your hands into the air to simply feel a part of such fuck-you-festivities, and "My Ulysses", a song which takes you on a spectacular trip doused with a scattering of inebriated lyrics that swim like absinthe around your skull protected grey matter sends you on a trip through a quirky romantic odyssey.

They move around the stage, not with finesse or ease, but with an aching aggression that is yearning to escape and infect people, and in all fairness create something of a riot beneath yet more fast and hormonally beaten guitar riffs and perfectly timed drumming.

And after what felt like a quick burst of music this mind bending journey was sadly at an end. I have never felt so content at having done absolutely nothing. The three sweat soaked pioneers in front of me had finished for tonight, but tonight was tonight and tomorrow is another day, a day that is soon to be the day of Razzu.

But before the night ends, a locationally diverse gang of English eccentrics decided to fuck with my head even more and bring to the already burning hot podium a selection of songs that fall into no category.

After around a year of gigging The Florists have began to make a name for themselves and the experience they have picked up demonstrates that they are more than capable of creating a noise, a sound that can only be described as the poetic ramblings of four teenage boys who have grown up in a generation that has forgotten certain lovable British traits.

After the spleen splitting, rugged riff of "Mountains Doused" and the short sharp chants of "Stolen Love", The Florists bring to the stage a new anthem of great importance. Its beautiful sound and distinctly British lyrics resemble that of a Dickens novel. Its subtle patriotism is charming and The Florists have once again proved that they are not only talented young musicians but that their understanding of song writing and British literacy makes them a special contribution to the English music scene.