Live Review: Killing Joke, Fear Of Comedy

That local dark lords Fear Of Comedy managed to make the stage at all was miraculous. Having lost their long time guitarist with no warning, immaculately hair-slicked singer Laith Tyranny had just five days to learn how to play their set. Just 30 minutes confirmed them to be the right choice to support being obvious fans of the headliners. The result was rusty but for determination and valiance, they must be commended.

Through the course of their triple decade spanning history, Killing Joke have played substantially larger venues than The Rosemount. The already tangible intensity was condensed by such cosy squishiness. The stage barely looked big enough for their oversized monitors, let alone singer Jaz Coleman's tribal shamanism who, coming across like a hybrid of Alice Cooper and Igor from Young Frankenstein, revelled in his barmy, barking rock God persona. 2012 was a year of mixed blessings for Killing Joke. They delivered a superbly fiery album (MMXII), then Coleman went AWOL in a hissy-fit best described as “typically loopy”. But fuelled by a new retrospective compilation and with legendary producer Youth surreptitiously tucked to one side of the commanding Coleman, it would seem the Joke are in a very good place indeed.

There were clearly many old school fans here who'd been waiting to hear these songs reincarnated in the flesh for literally decades. The band didn't disappoint with an '80s-heavy set (which included Eighties naturally enough). Maybe it's the effects of time, but Coleman also appears to have installed five Lemmy-from-Motörheads in his larynx. But let's face it, you'd probably sound a tad hoarse if you'd spent most of the last ten years shouting “ASTEROOOOOIIID!!!”

They could have gone easy on us by slipping in a few of their slower, pretty numbers, but nay, a hundred solid minutes of pneumatic riffs and fierce political missives were delivered. Youth's bass intro to trance-rocker Love Like Blood was by itself worth braving the cold for, and it was matched pound for pound by Paul Ferguson's ecstatic drumming. The encore rained the guttural eco-cry “This is madness!”, Crazy Uncle Jaz proving that while he may be scarily angry about the world, he just wants it to be a better place.