Grammatics - 28 February 08 - Buffalo Bar, London

If Wagner had been on the UK music scene in the spring of 2006, he’d surely now be dolled up in his skinniest skinnies, a little red cardi and plimsoles and be delivering Over the Top Strop Pop with Leeds-based quartet Grammatics.

Every angst-ridden teenager’s dream and Mum and Dad’s worst nightmare, their sound ranges from driven and urgent to dejected and sullen. However, it's never half-hearted; Grammatics are fully committed to creating an intelligent, emotive, high drama vintage of unhinged pop music.

Singer Owen Brinley’s voice is an instrument in and of itself, its heartbreaking falsetto mingling with the strains of Emilia Ergin’s cello. During the melancholy ‘New Franchise’, his despairing squeals of malcontent could rival a banshee whose flatmate's spilled a glass of port over his favourite Dostoyevsky anthology. It’s tragic, it’s blissful, it’s pissed off at the universe.

Conversely, their April release single ‘Dilemma’ has a sensual, teasing backbone and artfully layered vocals. ‘Broken Wing’ is introduced as a power ballad, weaving in and out of the borders of emotional extremis, occasionally punctuated by the percussion of Brinley pensively plunking his forehead against the microphone.

By the end of the evening the stage is palpably radiating angst, and the Grammatics’ set concludes with the sentiment, "everyone loves a breakdown". After a trademark screamo screech, 'Relentless Fours' spirals into a tumultuous mass of noise. Brinley launches himself at bassist Rory O'Hara. They tussle for a bit, then chuck their instruments at the drum kit. Dominic Ord obligingly smashes the hell out of the guitar with what’s left of his drumsticks. Brinley adds his mic stand to the wreckage and stomps off stage whilst O’Hara makes his exit by climbing through the window of the sound booth.

This is what’s known in the highly cultured world of wine and Whistler as an Uberstrop and it leaves the crowd looking bemused, awestruck, and tickled a tasteful shade of pink. These kids are geniuses. The bottom line: this opera is a soap, and we want more. And a glass of chilled Chardonnay. So there.

Polly Rappaport
Freelance Journalist

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