Super Furry Animals

Super Furry Animals

How could I miss the opportunity to review one of my all-time favourite bands? If only my word count had been bigger I could’ve properly explained their inherent madness.

Date: October 22, 2010

Venue: Rock City

Watching a Super Furry Animals gig is akin to sticking your head in a vat of ice cold blancmange: it’s mind-mangling, colourful and delicious.

This delirious, psychedelic-leaning, puzzle-pop outfit are let loose on stage – no constraints, no barriers, nothing. Fuzz guitars and scrumptious melodies electrify the air; they merrily make musical mischief, evoking sun-drenched afternoons one minute (Hello Sunshine), spout cryptic musings about drug overdoses the next (Baby Ate My Eight Ball), and offer nonsensical new-rave sermons about rocks backed with squelchy bleeps and pulsing beats (Slow Life).

Elsewhere it’s like Elliott Smith meeting the Beach Boys in a space odyssey far, far away as new harmony-infused album, Hey Venus!, gets intertwined with past classics.

Criticised in these very pages (The Nottingham Evening Post as it was then) on release for eschewing the outlandish edginess of yore, Hey Venus!’s songs’ sunny demeanours appear exalted, and only deaf amoebas on Saturn could argue otherwise.

But it’s when they delve into their diverse box of favourites when SFA excel. Tearing through a beefed up Northern Lights – tonight without the mariachi horns – and venomously slaying the mosh pit with the spectacular histrionics of The Man Don’t Give A F**K, they remain like no other band past or present.


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