The Horrors – The Garage, London 16/12/2011

Teens draped in disgustingly over-sized jackets and emo fringes are absent from The (usually leather-heavy) Garage queue tonight as East London hipsters wait in line to see The Horrors. With eighties icon and former Blitz kid Princess Julia – who you wouldn’t see queuing up to get into an exclusive Vivienne Westwood after party – patiently standing in the cold on a Friday night…you just know this is the place to be. Crowds eventually surge through the doors at 10pm, leaving the commercial promotion of the gig itself completely defeated: no-one gives a fuck about about its association with Fred Perry, or the brands apparent popularity with by various musicians. They’re here for the music, for an intimate gig that anticipates spilled beer, flying drops of sweat and unrestrained moshing.

Psychedelic grungerd TOY open the show, stepping out of a seventies-themed party, long hair draped over their eyes – it’s a miracle they found their way up the stage stairs unhindered. As soon as guitar strings are gently caressed and drums softly hit, any thoughts of a depressingly cold winter drown in a whirl of musical warmth. The band pulls the crowd in with ease, as people sway in time to the carefully strung riffs – grungy elements still present.

“If I was on LSD right now, I’d be having a fucking awesome trip, seeing rainbows and shit,” I hear an audience member beside me say. He’s right: the music seeps out of the speakers, synths creating a third dimension to TOY’s sound. You feel like you’re elsewhere, a place denounced of doubt and deprecation.

As the clock near midnight, people pour out to smoke a quick cigarette before the Horrors hit the stage. “Faris passed out the other night, he wasn’t meant to play tonight, they had to cancel his other show at Brixton,” a tall blonde says in the smoking area, hastily looking around to make sure no-one else hears. On re-entering the venue, sickly green and blue lights force people to squint as they focus in on the Goth geniuses making their way up on stage. Turning round to face the audience, Faris belts out “It’s Christmas time motherfuckers!” and keeping it together well considering his state of health. With little space to move, the venue becomes a sardine tin as people pack themselves in tight, ready to embrace the iconic wrath of the band.

The euphoric ‘Changing The Rain’ opens the set, fusing different rattles and strings and materialising them into a musical movement. Lyrical depth locks the audience into silence. For that one moment, it feels as though the audience and the melodically perfect music are alone in the presence of a God-head. ‘I Can See Through You’ moves everyone to sing in unison. The only thing absent at this point is swaying cigarette lighters and a tender breeze sweeping the sweat from our foreheads. Faris ends the set on a strong note with the crowd in sheer adoration…maybe the new grunge ‘thing’ is to be merely sick rather than fuelled by drugs – it certainly worked in their favour tonight, that’s for sure.