Words: Nick Harland
In the main room, five long-haired Australian men are headbanging and screeching and whirring their way through garage rock stompers and extended psychedelic jams. The crowd – delirious, sweaty, semi-deranged – pogo and mosh to every lick and riff.
In the adjoining room, a smattering of academics are nodding and hmmming and chin-stroking their way through a talk about ‘Manifesting Imagination with Robots.’ They sup pints of Smiths and Stones, occasionally looking up to see what all the fuss is about next door.
This could only be the Psychedelic Porn Crumpets, and this could only be Crookes Social Club. The main room has been modernised enough to be able to put on an Australian psychedelic rock band. Yet the adjoining room remains a working men’s club and occasional events space, with the sound of tuts and hums replacing the crashes and bangs of the main room.
One can only wonder what the old patrons of this club would’ve made of the cacophony of noise happening in the main room. It’s a long way from the times of bingo nights and bad comedians, but that was then, and this is now. And the Psychedelic Porn Crumpets are very much now.
The Crumpets are in Crookes tonight for the sold-out Sheffield leg of their UK tour. They’re part of an increasingly long line of Aussie bands of the acid-for-breakfast variety; see also Pond, Tame Impala and King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard.
Coming out to the sound of ‘Nessun Dorma’ being played at ear-bursting volume, it’s a suitably off-beat opening for a band who like to do things differently. A mosh pit forms within about 4 seconds of the first notes of opener ‘Bill’s Mandolin’ – and it stays there for pretty much the whole show.
Fast, furious, exhilarating, intense – however you want to describe the Crumpets’ live show, you could never say it’s dull. 500 heads bang in unison to crowd favourites ‘Cornflake’ and ‘Cubensis Lenses’, whilst the sprawling slow-builder ‘Found God in a Tomato’ (yes, a tomato) hints there’s much more intricacy and technical proficiency to this band than the name suggests.
After the band closes with the mosh pit-inducing ‘Hymn for a Droid’, the room next door keeps its doors firmly closed to the sweating masses pouring out. ‘PINT OF SCIENCE EVENT, BURLESQUE AND MEMBERS ONLY’ reads the sign. The members gaze out, fascinated. The gig-goers gaze in, fascinated. Never change, Crookes.
