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The Higsons

King Trigger

April

1982

Sounds

live review

 
 
THE HIGSONS

KING TRIGGER

London The Venue

KING TRIGGER are lead on by drummer girl Trudi who wriggles around for several minutes pre set performing a kind of sleazy, downmarket belly dance, clad in something resembling a torn sheet.

The rest of the group comprises four young men. A guitarist who specialises in spraying the mix with delicious splintery throbs of bubbling rhythmic aggression, a bassist who plays (for real) the decadent wasted rock star while underpinning the sound with an incisive rumble, a singer whose warblings are unfortunately buried in the explosive frenzy, and a percussionist (additional to Trudi's muscular drum hitting) who adds a substantial dollop of tribal pounding.

At times King Trigger can harness immense energy and power, and direction these into a cerebrally stimulating dance beat. But, as yet, they can't manage to maintain a completely challenging racket for the whole duration of the set (and they've only got nine songs!).

Plus there is a nagging sameness which creeps in before the end. Although the wonderful Trudi livens up proceedings by taking a turn at vocal duties, the overall feeling is one of promise which may be fulfilled. If it is they'll be a real force.

During last summer's outbreak of hollow funk noises the Higsons narrowly avoided being snapped up by a major label and catapulted to a (probably) short-lived fame. When the big company interest waned the plucky Higs gigged solidly and built up a fair-sized fan quotient by the sweat of their brows, along the way setting up their own label to service this grassroots following and maintain a regular place in the indie charts.

Tonight their set is liberally peppered with new songs and they've borrowed a three piece brass section (cornet, trombone, sax) from Norwich neighbours Vital Disorders which gives the material a much needed bold new dimension.

Unfortunately the rather sloppy sound mix allows the blasting horn salvoes to all but drown out the essential tight rhythms. Although frontman Switch still sports a marvellously tasteless suit and wipes up his dribble with his maracas, he looks tired and despondent.

Earlier, the whole band had been moaning about having to play second fiddle to Chrysalis darlings King Trigger. Curiously enough the newly vamped Hig-beat is eagerly lapped up by the packed crowd them three encores While attempts restructure their sounds are commendable, I’ve a nasty feeling that, given the current low morale, the end could soon be nigh.

   

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To read many more articles and reviews (over 140,000 words-worth!) written by Mick Sinclair, buy Adjusting the Stars: Music journalism from post-punk London