Discernible tunes are absent and melodies were apparently banned in an Act of Parliament, along with the importation of birds, but none the less, their disjointed rhythms whip the crowd into frenzy.
 | | Test-Icicles (photo: Ged Camera) |
Movement between the threesome resembles that of a wrestling tag team bout, and in a similar vein, much time is spent up against the edges of the stage, leaning or walking into their lapdog acolytes crushed at the front, occasionally allowing them to sing into the microphone, but frequently laughing at/with them ("You should have gone to Specsavers" is just one of the terms of endearment). The blurring of bodies stops momentarily between songs and an air of wonder exudes an unspoken ‘What do we do next?’ before the next amalgam of guitars and keyboards cuts the suspense. Twee, chirpy, singalong indie rock this isn’t. Lyrics are hurled from the speakers and the vocalist, whoever it may be for a particular song, has to be approximately two inches from your nose. With their debut album getting reviews of approval in the media, it’s hard to see how the visceral like live performance can translate into the mundane listening media only. Only a DVD tuned up to 11 could approximate to the spectacle. So perhaps it’s better to listen to their sounds first, and then experience them live. But you will have to be quick; energy and passion rarely stay this intense for long. | 
