The Scratch
Electric Ballroom, London
Thursday 30 April
Dublin quartet The Scratch’s thrilling live brew has carried them to the cusp of a major breakthrough. Steve Morgan (h)itches a ride.
As the last stragglers crunch across a sea of plastic pint glasses swamping the Electric Ballroom floor, a line from Apocalypse Now pops into my head. Observing the latest US airstrike carnage, Martin Sheen’s Captain Willard notes: “what they were mopping up now hadn’t even happened an hour ago.” If you want a similar exercise in shock and awe, The Scratch don’t just deliver; to filch another fabled quote from a Coppola movie, they make you an offer you can’t refuse.
It’s been a steady climb for this Dublin four-piece since 2019’s seven-track debut The Whole Buzz, but this raucous sell-out to promote third album Pull Like a Dog suggests the summit is within reach. What began as a busman’s holiday from the decade-long day job in a metal band, embracing folk and busking for the craic, accidentally birthed a beast; an explosive sound capable of searing your lugholes with relentlessly pounding 100mph riffs. It’s no shock Ace of Spades is kept up their sleeve for an encore – don’t forget the Joker. But, do as the band’s name implies and get under the surface, you’ll find moments of pathos and self-reflection, explorations of love, loss and a healthy examination of male bluster and bravado. It’s that point of difference – together with some gorgeous harmonies and key changes – that gives The Scratch the edge. Pigeonholing them as ‘folk metal’ does them – and those genres – rough justice. You’ve got to see them live to really get it, and on this evidence you’ll have to fight for your ticket when they’re back in London early next year.
They saunter on stage against a backdrop depicting their cartoon likenesses, drawn Viz Comic style, with accompanying nicknames. Then it’s straight to business. Lurching into Pullin’ Teeth, a circling, spiralling riff with maze-like twists over spat-out lyrics about identity – “what are you so afraid of?” – it feels like a challenge to be your true self. It’s a signal for the crowd, a healthy mix of ages, to lose their shit. It doesn’t let up, either. For the next hour and a half, it’s a gripping spectacle, eyes constantly switching between stage and audience, as sink holes open and close amid the seething, sweaty mass of limbs and crowd surfers. The band milk it for all they’re worth, with the stage smarts of an act really hitting their straps.
They are led, nominally at least, by the centre-stage figure of drummer Dan ‘Lango’ Lang, who coaxes a staggering array of sounds not from a drum kit, but from a bass drum and cajón he fair beats the crap out of. It’s a democratic set-up, though; the work is shared fairly around. Guitarists Conor ‘Dock’ Dockery and Gary Regan flank Lang right and left; bassist Cathal McKenna, stripped to the waist from the off, shimmies his angular frame for all its worth. The sound is early ZZ Top in parts, Queens of the Stone Age or Faith No More in others. When the guitars duel on the crunch of Roses n Poses, it could be Thin Lizzy, only without the leather. The lion’s share of the set centres around the new album, but the template is consistent, the sound carefully finessed.
The call-and-response stomp of Flaker is a particular standout, with its insidiously repetitive admonishment of an unreturned text message – “but sure didn’t he forget to get back to me” – and they offer a breather amid all the gut punches. Halfway through, Dockery performs a solo acoustic version of Christy Moore’s football-tinged tale, Joxer Goes to Stuttgart, in honour of his late father. It’s a welcome change of pace. There’s also a feisty take on McAlpine’s Fusiliers, Dominic Behan’s celebration of the migrant Irish building task force popularised by The Dubliners. Associations with the latter never hurt The Pogues, and while The Scratch’s sonic template couldn’t be readily confused with Shane MacGowan and company, there’s synergy in the rebel streak of free-spiritedness.
A ferociously intense Blaggard – where they get to show their full metal racket – and Cheeky Bastard, from 2023’s Mind Yourself – a tale of bar-room bravado and “piping up”, in which our ragged subject “won’t stop singing Champagne Supernova” – close the set proper. After fine encore versions of Old Dog and a blisteringly brutal Ace of Spades, the night ends with a mass sing-along to 2023’s crowd-pleaser Another Round. Here, the band let the audience sing the bar-room shanty ‘Aah aah aah’ refrain for a full two minutes before winding it up to a delirious climax. Before they recommenced proceedings, they’d cracked open and passed round a bottle of bubbly. They deserved every last drop. Champagne. Super. Over.
~
The Scratch can be found on Here and on Facebook
All words by Steve Morgan. Steve is on Bskysocial and Instagram
Photos by Robyn Skinner. You can find more of her work on Instagram
A Plea From Louder Than War
Louder Than War is run by a small but dedicated independent team, and we rely on the small amount of money we generate to keep the site running smoothly. Any money we do get is not lining the pockets of oligarchs or mad-cap billionaires dictating what our journalists are allowed to think and write, or hungry shareholders. We know times are tough, and we want to continue bringing you news on the most interesting releases, the latest gigs and anything else that tickles our fancy. We are not driven by profit, just pure enthusiasm for a scene that each and every one of us is passionate about.
To us, music and culture are eveything, without them, our very souls shrivel and die. We do not charge artists for the exposure we give them and to many, what we do is absolutely vital. Subscribing to one of our paid tiers takes just a minute, and each sign-up makes a huge impact, helping to keep the flame of independent music burning! Please click the button below to help.
John Robb – Editor in Chief
PLEASE SUBSCRIBE TO LTW
Leave a comment