Jesus Christ. Certainly not my personal saviour, but nonetheless the only apt expression to convey the visceral power of Rolo Tomassi. I had entered the venue cold, with no knowledge of this band whatsoever, and left a convert to a cause I can't quite explain. I could assume at least, that they must have dug LA Confidential, and that was ok by me.
I was told by crowd members that the band had been touted due in part to the relative youth of its members (teenagers all), but any preconceived notions were smashed once vocalist Eva Spence took the stage. The growls are guttural, the screaming intense and I realise I've stumbled upon a wonderful, unholy mess of a band.
Keyboardist James Spence is gesticulating wildly, and is gentleman enough to lend his vocal chords to the chaos, making a noise that shares the wavelength of two braying walruses mid-heat.
Guitarist Joe Nicholson is a constant, at times the only member not seemingly in the throes of musical seizure, while drummer Ed Dutton's arms are beating the pigskins so fast that he's taken on the illusion of the multi-limbed Shiva.
Thor knows if I can remember the names of most of the songs - I'll be perfectly honest on that point. The band slapped me in the face too hard to remember the details.
I recall Film Noir - I'm listening to it now in fact - and it is what can only be described as music in the key of doom.
By Cirque de Funk I can't tear my eyes away. "This isn't music, it's noise," I keep telling myself. "Yes it is," growls the voice in my head, "and what's more, you love it to death."
High points were the band's final jolts of Seagull and Curby (which I had mistakenly assumed was spelt 'Kirby' in reference to the legendary pink glutton of SNES fame).
The former is the best song of the evening, never settling into one particular style in its five epic minutes. It's part jaunt, part dirge, part sonata - nobody knows quite where Rolo Tomassi are going with this lark but everyone's glad they're in on it.
Eva's an erratic dancer and her movements are distracting me by this point. They've just finished with closer Curby and she's muttering a shy 'thank you' to the crowd. Some guy walks by me and compares them to (bizarrely) Beethoven and I'm feeling pretty much as deaf as said German maestro.
Post-gig I am a little drained, and I know that I'm going to have yet another late night writing about this experience. I rush for a pen and some paper.
This is the band's second time in Cardiff and they are enthusiastic. Bassist Joe Thorpe implores me to get their ages right as it's a point of consternation for the band's portrayal in the music press. I have overcome this difficulty by simply not bothering to note age. It shouldn't matter anyways with material of this calibre.
Singer Eva is accommodating regarding my request for a chat and I'm kicking myself for not preparing better questions, but this is the trade-off for the energy that comes with spontaneous writing. She hands me a Rolo Tomassi badge (I feel like I'm on Blue Peter) and we part ways. We don't even talk about the music, there really doesn't seem the need to.
Hearing it is quite enough.
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