Back in the basement of life again.
Smoke. Screeching, wailing guitars. A sonic assault on the senses. She's Hit have just walked in to the stage and let rip. No fanfare for this band. They barely pause between songs leaving no time for any applause. Hell, they barely acknowledge that there is an audience. They are the Jesus and Mary Chain reborn. Super cool in that way that only delinquents can be, She's Hit are the new bad boys in town.
Red curtains line the back of the stage. Red lights cast their shadows on the stage. The sound of an electric piano escapes the gravitational pull of some entrancingly melancholy vocals from Hillary Van Scoy, the voice of Blood of the Bull. Then she escapes from the piano and exorcises a Tom Verlaine shaped demon with her guitar while the drums beat solidly behind her. Fade to black.
Then there's a voice. The voice of a siren calling men to their doom. The songs she sings evoke elemental forces crashing around you like waves in a storm. The saddest, angriest guitar you have heard cuts those songs up with total precision - not so much a musical instrument as a weapon. How do I describe Louise McVey and Cracks in the Concrete? Dark cabaret? Art house pretention? A Devil sent temptation sent to get me to sell my soul? Run if you like but there's no escape for you have already fallen under their spell.
The Devil has all the best tunes.