Being As An Ocean Hurl Heatwave At Hobos
Hobos was once again host to a gathering of musicians, music enthusiasts and Bridgend town regulars but if any advice could have been presented before hand to the raring rabble, it would have been to exchange those skinny-fit black jeans for a baggy pair of loose fit board shorts as the show ahead not only promised a heat wave like no other but also desired the necessity of waterproof attire.
Cardiff-based quintet Holding Absence may not be your most accomplished artists out there at the moment, but they definitely hold potential to grow in the eyes of alternative minds.
Zac Vernon fronted the band with a perturbed attitude but strong confidence, scaling the stacked amps on either end of the stage and occasionally joining those on the main floor.
His grimy growls held a component that separated him from most like dragging nails through dirt, leaving impressions that marked his very presence.
Bassist James Evans also appeared noticeably disturbed by the body of their own tracks, but each aided one another with a recurring union of embraces, examining the strength of their bond in between intervals of Welsh melodic hardcore.
Napoleon shuffled underneath the burning heat of stage lights, ready to divide and conquer. Like a clock without gears, the Exeter boys would cease to function without the swift finger work of Sam Osborn, the unyielding fills of James Mendoza and general composition of soaring sound the quartet had developed over their five years together.
Wes tried every attempt to engage with the audience and spark the fire that their music generated but unfortunately only a few felt the heat as those select leapt to the front, throwing arms in the air to their ‘melodiposipassiongroove’ selection which included Youtube favourites “Brought Here To Suffer” and “Afterlife”.
Mr Thompson also took to a natural groove himself as he swayed left to right, delivering his vocal onslaught with the energetic bassist, Jacob Brelsford, assisting in backing vocals.
The observable life surge that began to burn up Hobos established a firm relation to who the majority had come to see and just like an ocean, wave after wave of tracks brought the crowd to the peak of physical exhaustion.
It was apparent how torn Joel Quartuccio was between bouncing the stage and burying himself in the crowd. He understood however, exactly what he needed to do in order to get everyone involved, even if that meant clambering through every person and brushing through every outstretched hand until he reached those hidden in the back and kicked them into response with his intimidating range of screaming vocals.
The temperature suddenly dialled up from uncomfortably warm to hell of the hottest order as tracks such as “Dissolve”, “Little Ritchie” and “Death's Great Black Wing Scrapes the Air” swept the venue with a sweaty sea of reflective foreheads and waterlogged shirts. Crowd surfers bounding from floor to air as people writhed underneath the weight of Ralph’s bass lines and Tyler’s guitar riffs, both locked in a practical meditation.
Mr McGough truly wore his heart on his sleeve as his emotion-packed vocals bled out the bands intelligent and personal lyrics across the scene with the spectator’s voices carrying the words out into the hot song-soaked air.
Finishing up with “Nothing, Save The Power They’re Given”, the group were immediately offered a series of hands to shake and congratulations to accept that had been outrageously and rightfully earned to the Californians who can crank up the volume and give everyone’s dry lips gracious words to speak.
Photo credit: Nathan Roach (COAL POET PHOTOGRAPHY)
