One of a quartet of newer songs, ‘Weekend Millionaire’ is a juggernaut. In vision, as the three minds crack, it exemplifies the way in which the trio of Sarah Marie Tyrrell [guitar/vocals], Ele Lucas [bass/vocals] and Sammy Downing [drums] continue to reach, then surpass successive creative peaks. At times, it can be a lot to take in. There is simply too much happening: Ele’s bass ploughs a thrumming subsonic trench through the room’s ale infused air; Sammy detonates. Again and again salvos of powerhouse fury combust, spraying the room with polyrhythmic shrapnel; Sarah’s guitar skates, a skeetering onomatopoeic bouquet of wires, gouging – then coruscating. And then she sings – The gestalt is complete. A trio locked together, creating sonic gravity wells that only Blue Cheer and Motörhead could previously achieve. But there is more than just power here, the subtleties are everywhere; rhythms mutated from Christian Vander, motorik twisted into new shapes for a new world, Levine’s guitar is migrated to an abattoir by Francis Bacon, internal organs are stroked by silken heavywater bass runs. Shit goes down.
This has been going on for some time now. The secret word is ‘momentum’. Honey go back a way, but the current, definitive line-up coalesced across the back end of last year. They have released one EP – Suckle, which has already kicked up some dust around the Mighty World of Mudkiss. They have built a set of such bounty that tonight sees only two of that disc’s stalawatt quintet; the grinding ‘DFK’, which sees Ele’s bass propel the song through a submarine mission (for you, babeh) while guitar particles collide with rhythm quarks and a new rock DNA recombines; Suckle’s ‘Love Sick, Sick Love’ closes the set – opening slowly to reveal its sonic labia, reaffirming the link between sex and rock ‘n’ roll that soundtracked the conceptions of us all. Fittingly, this song is universal, engulfing all, one of those rare instances when it is not a ‘track’, or a ‘number’, but an experience.
There is no pretension here. No po-faced manifestos, contrivances, clichés, or posturing. There is rock’n’roll, there is fun. It is that simple. Three very special people, dressed as an assortment of jungle beasts (it’s still Halloween) making pretty much the best bag of sound you’re likely to hear anywhere, anytime soon. ‘Deviant’, another of the newer tracks, surpasses its predecessors, unfolding wings of obsidian that glitter and sparkle, established live favourites ‘Gibson Girl’, ‘Rapunzel’ and ‘Feral’ continue to gain new impetus. A third newie, ‘Black Teeth’ stretches out from earlier, shorter versions. It expands to fill the room. For all I know the whole place may have assumed a super dense doughnut shape (with the toilets on the outside). And there was still time for ‘Love Sick...’
Honey are a special group. We are lucky to have them. They need to be seen live. Howl for them. Demand them. Write to your fucking Ombudsman. Then when you get them, you will want them again. It’s the bees, see...
Set List: Weekend Millionaire / Celestial Burial / Deviant / DFK / Coffin / Gibson Girl / (I Wanna) Be Your Dog / Rapunzel / Feral / Black Teeth / Love Sick, Sick Love
Review by Dick Porter