Under sultry lighting, crammed onto stage and basically touching the ceiling are the doe-eyed and slightly hairy My First Moustache.

St. Moritz of Soho, London, welcomes the six-piece outfit to break the roof, rather than raise it.

Once the band had found two feet of space to stand in, they begun the quake that was their setlist.

The three guitars whirred and gurgled, catapulting their audience into a vacuous landscape. Meanwhile, chug-chug-chugging bass and dense drums relentlessly kept everything grounded. At the forefront of the group is vocalist Fionn. Muffled, speakerphone screams and shouts gave their sound a poetic yet robotic edge.

It wasn’t just the speaker racket that was bouncing off the walls – rascals in the crowd were going wild, ricocheting off of each other.

Frontman, Fionn, had the audience in his pocket, completely hypnotised. When he hollered at the crowd, the crowd hollered back. Mid-way through the set, Fionn had the band and the rabble on the floor, waiting intensely to spring back up and go crazy.

The boys in the band are stipulating new boundaries for the modern punk scene with their gruff thrashing about whilst remaining completely sonic.

Where noise is needed, My First Moustache delivers.

 

Words: Megan Berridge

Image credits: Aleesha Lönnkvist

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