Gallon Drunk

1990s England wasn't just home to harmless brit-pop bands, it also spawned cult acts within the underground rock scene. Among them, Gallon Drunk, who came to Rome for their only Italian date. A minor event, given both this fact and that the show was free. That, however, doesn't seem to have stirred much interest among Rome's rock crowd. James Johnston's band played to a few dozen spectators, all of whom nonetheless came away thrilled by the show the four of them delivered. A violent, powerful, dark, dirty, sick sound is what James Johnston and co. served up, with Johnston himself, singer, guitarist and keyboardist, turning in a performance fuelled by a high alcohol content, where the watchword was to hold nothing back.

Johnston, a kind of Nick Cave disguised as Jerry Lee Lewis (thanks to his lyrics and look), pounds hard on the keyboard, giving it the role of distorting element, just as he coaxes riffs with a strong shoegazing flavour out of his six-string. All of this is backed by a tight, driving rhythm section, enriched by the constant use of maracas. What comes out of it is a nocturnal blues that's nonetheless wild and unruly, the ideal soundtrack for a noir film — directed by Tarantino, though.

It's hard not to lose yourself in front of such a varied and chaotic sonic universe. You let go, you dance, until James Johnston collapses, exhausted, to his knees in front of us.

We end the night raising a great racket at the foot of the stage, hoping the band will grant us a well-earned encore, which however never comes. "Reasons of exhaustion," we're told from reliable sources. Maybe so, but either way it's the only flaw in an evening of great rock'n'roll.

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