Live Review: Eastpak Antidote Tour in Glasgow

EASTPAK ANTIDOTE TOUR - MILLENCOLIN, FLOGGING MOLLY, RANDY, THE UNSEEN, LIFEBLIND
Glasgow Academy 31.10.05

Turn off the lights, lock up the doors and keep the TV down low. Children you've never met asking for Mars bars, hooligans egging windows and parents being dragged through the pissing-down gales of Scotland's late October. Whose idea was this Halloween rubbish?

Fortunately for the punters of Glasgow's Carling Academy, October 31st is a night to revel, with the Vans-sponsored Eastpak Antidote Tour rolling into town for a welcome alternative to skate-punks and rockers who can't be arsed dragging their knee-high siblings round the doors. Pirates, Freddie Kruegger, Spiderman and zombies are all in attendance tonight, but instead of lollipops and tablet, these ghosts and ghouls are to be treated to a healthy dose of punk-rock.

First up are local lads Lifeblind. Even for a metal gig, the PAs seem unfathomably loud; what should be a set of crunching guitars and crisp, searing vocals becomes a rather murky affair of instruments drowning each other out. This is a problem that plagues the entire night, and Tuesday morning doubtless saw a few ringing ears.

Sound problems aside, Lifeblind make frantic, relentless metal at its best. Their proud Weegie frontman wants to show tonight's high-billed bands that his home crowd is something special, so he encourages each and every one of the fight-hungry pitters to engage in piggyback warfare. Best mates, girlfriends and perfect strangers are hoisted up for battle, and Lifeblind's bruising metal soundtracks a you'll-never-see-this-again battle. The standard is set for the night.

On march US rascals The Unseen. Their hardcore metal soon grows samey, but the pitters' circle forms and grows, if only through a desire to beat shit out of each other. There's no denying that this is the right noise and the right pace for a good, hard headbang; but songs merge together in an uninspired half-hour set that never really answers the gauntlet laid down by the openers.

When third act Randy appear in skeleton outfits, the tone of their set is laid bare; this is fun, no-nonsense rock. Theirs is a sound somewhere between Millions Of Dead Cops and fellow Swedes The Hives; off-beat capers that rock hard and heavy enough to be credible. Again, you wouldn't want more than half an hour of this, but at least it's enjoyable. Quote of the night goes to singer Stefan Granberg, who encourages us to seek out their album with the line, "Fuck record companies, just download the fucking thing!"

Irish pub-folk is about to be given a kick up the arse, with the hugely welcomed arrival of seven-piece Flogging Molly. Grinning frontman Dave King charms the crowd with a toast to the drunks of Glasgow, before shifting into first gear for a three-chord, fiddle-stroking, drum-thumping opener. Skeletal rock-horns are raised, red afros headbang violently, sparklers are lit and Santa Clause starts tearing through the moshpit. Under the spell of this noise, a funeral home would soon party away its worries. With a sparkle in his eye, King's banter over the next few songs finds him praising Scotland, saluting the weird and wonderful costumes of the audience, and wishing us all a 'Happy Halloween!'. The next track, he says, is dedicated to the Irish, as the band fire up the anthemic fan-favourite banjo-tickler 'Drunken Lullabies'. The barrier descends into a blaze of jigs and jumping. The typically fast-paced 'Selfish Man' is a track, they tell us, for US pres. George W Bush - this elicits a few chuckles, a couple of boos, and a lot of middle fingers.

By the time the sombre strumming of 'What's Left Of The Flag' marks the beginning of the end, the change of pace is entirely welcome for this knackered crowd. But this is Flogging Molly, and mellow they don't do. The acoustic guitar is soon drowned out as the drums build up and the guitars itch to burst, the song exploding into one last rabbit punch of raucous dirty punk, fiddlesticks ablaze. Amazing. The multi-layered Academy offers many vantage points, with several raised platforms, an upstairs floor and balconies. Busiest of all, of course, is the large area at the front, which over the course of the night has grown from Lifeblind's small crowd into a choc-a-bloc all-encompassing moshpit. But, bizarrely, a trickle of punters start to leave the throng before Millencolin have even surfaced from their dressing room - with over a quarter of Molly's crowd gone, it's noticeably quieter for Millencolin. This, it appears, is a case of the promoter calling it wrong.

The anticipation of an approaching shark soon becomes the realisation that Millencolin are due on any second - with a trick stolen from the Foo Fighters, their set opens with thick, crunching guitars that warn of something imminent, and Batman-like spotlights circle the hall. This signals the start of something special...The band appear to ravenous cheering, and tear into the first of their hard and fast skate-punk rock n roll rhythms. Their big slab-faced drummer is merciless towards his tubs; the duelling guitarists beat out chord after chord; and the singer screams like a man possessed. This is Green Day at double-speed (and without the make-up). That promising opening, however, never really builds. As with most of the bands tonight, Millencolin's set is dogged by the inability to move away from the one sound, each song sounding like a regurgitation of the last. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, 'cause these Swedes rock like hell; but with only a handful of tricks in their arsenal, this isn't a band worthy of such a spectacular intro.

The Eastpak Antidote lot put on a good show; heavy-as-bricks rock anthems, a moshpit the size of a tennis court, and a good dose of Halloween madness. All of this made up a fairly average (albeit enjoyable) punk gig. The saviours of the night, then, were Flogging Molly - their Irish-whirled take on rock and roll elevated the night to something really memorable, charming an entire audience into a headbanging, jigging, gibbering mess. It was effortless and without pretence, a set of unrivalled entertainment. If you can't party at a Flogging Molly gig, check your pulse.

Graeme Johnston.