On wander Colour of Fire, who don't just have a damn good name, Yorkshire accents and Queens of the Stone Age stickers on their beat up guitars, oh no, they got a whole lot of rock erupting from their skinny lil' frames. You probably couldn't guess but these guys like their post-rock… their discordant edged melody-ridden noise howls outta the speaker stacks, sounding totally universal. Totally huge.

This band are perfect for the here and now, the way I feel and long for something more. My back teeth are spitting out pus cos of all this new formula, horse piss in a can, apparent rock, fancy-dressed with nowhere but backwards to go. Greased up and struttin' it like some eastern European dignitary who's just discovered leg wax… The Rolling Stones got boring decades ago, buster. Face it, fashions fade. Nothing ever lasts forever. It ALL blows off in a flash with a drug addiction non-scandal to gossip about, later, much later... It'll all be gone soon, I promise you! But what comes next? There has to be more than that. I know I've seen a few exhibits but until tonight a whole scene didn't seem possible. But it is. And it's something fresh, all-in-one, true to the pioneering vision of rock'n'roll. Stuff we grow old with and fall in love with, over and over and over again.

Back to the future. Back to this gig. This is it. We're two songs deep, already my head's out of control, my camera flashing through the crowd of the MTV generation who are shocked by this astounding pop. Yes, pop. Pop in the sense that people like it all of their own accord - no spoon required. Without music like this, days don't seem complete. They need it plugged into their ears twentyfiveseven until their small-time lives get herded up, packed off, luggage tagged 'the revolution'; oblivious to the screaming parents and the local end-is-nigh basher in tow. Masses follow later when it's become pop-ular, outta genuine love.
See also: Sonic Youth
See also: Muse
See also: The Ramones

'My Secret Life of Violence' blasts out, it's only the third song. Already I can tell, through their bewilderment, people are falling in love. They start to sound more and more like cousins of the Trail o'Dead - so natural, raw, untainted... Screams about the Simpsons, sex mantras for choruses "feel us cuming together now", right here, sweat in the air, the taste of things to come.

Dramatic. Pure. Somewhere amid all this you can feel they're connected to the once clot-free bloodlines of the few who've survived the mainstream crossover and kept their dignity, lived to tell the tale over and over again in books and screenplays. And anyway, it ain't an impossible family tree, we all came from pond scum. Some people were born to do it. Why fight nature? Why force it? This just flows, pebble-dashed and harmonised. Spiritual yet sporting 70s porn hair!

I leave for Jarcrew at the ICA who totally blew me away also - tho I've written about them recently and only caught half their Les Savy Fav-y, in yer face, electro-shocked up rock... But after tonight, it's even more clear that rock's been doing its homework, to wrap us in noise, bashing blood through row after row of bodies, dementedly pointing at art of the past as it boldly goes forwards. There's been evidence of this phenomenon laid out elsewhere, in the under groves, for a while now. Mumbles here, whispers there.. and the media's not gonna hi-jack this ride anytime soon. I mean, have you ever seen the acts who're gonna mean something in centuries, not frigging years, getting pop world's respect? List 'em, reel 'em off like top 5 all time band lists, the last 5 cd's you played… Tool, Deftones, Sigur Ros, Bright Eyes, The Pixies… Nirvana were just an anomaly. A one off. The biggest lapse since Jello Biafra got on the radio. This lot look as if they could be another one for that list.