“We played in Brooklyn last night. It was… horrible. Once you go over the bridge, all the kids seem to be backwards over there,” Gallows singer Frank Carter exclaims, scowling and sneering at the start of the band’s set.
Standing a little over 5’ with his wiry frame covered in ink, the redheaded Carter bears a striking resemblance to another diminutive UK singer: Amy Winehouse. Unlike Ms. Winehouse - along with many of his fellow punkers - Carter doesn’t drink or do drugs and under the bright lights, he’s a fiery ball of energy. At the 2007 Reading Festival, he famously got a tattoo live onstage during the set, and has garnered a reputation for his amusing banter between songs. And last month, Disney cancelled a Gallows show at The House of Blues after listening to their album Orchestra of Wolves.
It’s a tough job living up to the oh-so-eminent position at the top of the 2007 NME Cool List, but Mr. Carter seems to be doing his damnedest.
Led by the slight front man, UK’s Gallows took the stage and immediately swept up the intimate environs of the Bowery Ballroom in riotous 3-chord mayhem. They sound like many of their West Coast labelmates at Epitaph, shredding and shouting their way through tight, 3-minute headbangers.
Surveying the Bowery Ballroom audience prior to show time, there was a distinct cross-section of fans: casual listeners who showed up to catch the latest UK buzz band; angry emo kids thrashing their bodies in a display of teenage angst; and the more passive, pierced emo kids who didn’t want their perfectly-coiffed hair getting fucked with.
Then, there were the two older women standing next to me by the stage reminiscing about the halcyon days of Minor Threat, and wondering what exactly this music should be classified as. I’d call Gallows’ brand of tunes “emocore” - an amalgam of emo and hardcore. (Ed Note: I’m loath to use the term “punk,” because as far as I’m concerned, that movement died at the end of the Reagan administration.)
Many of Gallows’ songs are like a party - they start out riotous, and slow down towards the end, paving the way for the repetitive yelling of agonized lyrics, as in “Come Friendly Bombs” (“We’re not the same - you and me!”) and “In the Belly of A Shark” (“I’m gonna show you / exactly what you mean to me!”). “MEYDAY, MEYDAY!” signals the opening to their catchiest track “Abandon Ship,” and their messy cover of Black Flag’s “Nervous Breakdown” incites stage diving among the more dedicated fans. Unfortunately, not everyone was on the same page and instead of landing in a sea of helping hands, many of the stage divers faces met with the unforgiving floor (one kid stumbled past me towards the bathroom, his face covered in blood).
Throughout the evening, there was a mad maelstrom in the center of the concert floor, filled with a group of faceless, emaciated bodies, whipping and jerking with reckless abandon. Surrounding the circle was a gaggle of onlookers (mostly female) who were mesmerized by this cathartic display.
The main thing that sets Gallows apart from their contemporaries is the charismatic Carter. Strutting across the stage, Carter commands his audience, whether it be through simulating masturbation (and then spitting in the air at the climax), blowing snot rockets, or leering dementedly at the crowd while dragging his thumb across his throat.
Unlike many other UK buzz bands who stand there like robots going through the motions (*cough* Arctic Monkeys), Carter entertains the crowd with cheeky banter, at one point joking about delivering a suckerpunch to chunky Biohazard bassist Evan Seinfeld, who would obviously be too slow to catch to him.
I don’t know if he’s the “coolest” guy in rock, but Frank Carter is definitely worth the price of admission.
--Marlow Stern
