Heavy guitar walls, pounding drums and distortion, all carried across through dreamy pop melodies.
On this showing Wolvon were rabid and bestial, veritable Gabriel Ernests of Rock: battering their equipment and shredding the atmosphere like a bear in a supermarket. At one stage singer Ike was writhing on SUB’s filthy floor, eyes rolling and gob agape, howling through some form of bozo incantation, waiting to be beamed up to some guitar playing alien world where beer was permanently cold and Ash Ra Tempel played all day on the coin-op. Some of the audience were howling at this point too, things got ridiculously loose and things were going decidedly fuzzy at the edges, like a barn dance where someone’s put acid in the lemonade. Not only that but the place was in near darkness, as someone had knocked the lights off in the SUB. In true werewolf fashion, Wolvon played on, howling and crashing with only the light of two underpowered disco lights and a phone flash. Epic. Bananas.