Crutches in Berlin

 It was too good an opportunity to miss... A free weekend and our erstwhile D-beat crust punk friends, Crutches from Sweden are playing in Berlin. Steve Sync and myself have travelled far and wide for many years, sometimes as bandmates, always as buddies. Far from being jetsetters, we find the cheapest option available and press Go! This time, a direct flight from the North West of Britain to Berlin was way too expensive for our punk rock pockets so we found a route from Liverpool to the Polish city of Szczecin (no, I hadn't heard of it either). This involved rising at stupid o'clock on Friday morning - (my Thursday evening involved rehearsing at Orange Studios with Spam Javelin ahead of our own batch of gigs later this month). I dropped a gear and smashed the accelerator into the floor and sped to Steve's hometown of Rhyl, picking up a succulent Chinese meal along the way, and after a couple of hours' snoozing in the spare room, we headed to Liverpool airport for the 5.45am flight to Szczecin.

It was a clockwork kind of weekend - everything went to plan - everything fell into place. The car parking spot at the airport (always more expensive than the flight), through security, onto the plane, photographed and fingerprinted by border control in Szczecin, straight onto a train to the city (45min ride), and onto a £14 Flixbus for a two hour journey to Alexanderplatz in Berlin. We picked up the 300 bus to Eastside Gallery right next to the heavily graffiti'd Berlin Wall, found our hotel and then headed out to the venue, Reset (via some punk rock pubs). It was early, but we snuck our heads round the door in the venue and found Andreas, Daniel, Oskar and Tom of Crutches milling about with the other bands. I had last seen Crutches on their Greek mini-tour late last year, so it was good to catch-up with them again and share a pint (or twelve!) of Berliner with them. We were soon joined by more old friends in the form of Nic and Nina and the venue filled up with people and a party atmosphere - ready for some grinding noise!

Despite a heavy hungover head, I woke up next morning laughing. What a great night! We were eventually asked to leave the venue as those running it wanted to go home! All three bands played short but blisteringly sharp sets. CRE-DES started things off with their rumbling brutalist shouty noise from Hanover. Their Demo (here on Bandcamp) is actually better than the live set, but then again my attention was spread thin from talking to many people at the same time.

Horrific Visions were up next, and they upped the ante - like a reversal of CRE-DES, their live set was better than their Bandcamp EP, which is also very good. Visually striking, the Berlin band are fronted by Kody (who I believe moved here from Indonesia), and they've played with Crutches on previous visits to the German capitol. It's almost hypnotic D-beat (if there's such a thing) and great entertainment.

On day seven of an eight date tour, Sweden's Crutches were on fire (as were their livers). They volleyed a very short, yet uncompromising set at the German (and Welsh) crowd. They mangeled as we begged for freedom... 

You too can get mangeled here - bandcamp

Kier Starmer the gig promoter

 Woke up confused, my dream did it; Kier Starmer was disappointed with me because I hadn't followed up on the lead he gave me for my band Spam Javelin to play in Hoffenheim. I feigned that I had called the number, but I could tell he knew this wasn't the case.

With the rain mainly falling on the plain, Sunday turned out to be a pyjama day - I like these days - I couldn't do them everyday as the great outdoor forever lures me outward. The kid is online murdering aliens with his mates and I'm sifting through this week's contributions as I prepare my Louder Than War radio show.
An hour's show could easily be chucked together on the hoof, but I enjoy gathering music, listening to new stuff, researching bands - it's what makes me tick. When there was an actual studio to broadcast from there was usually a live band, eager to nervously play on air to the masses - some would travel from afar to appear on a Monday night in North Wales! I think Blanchard travelled the furthest, hailing from Lancaster (the crazy fools! - great session though!). These post-Covid days, the show is done from the comfort of my living room (usually in those said PJs!), and I'll sometimes feature a new album, depends how the mood takes me - There's no rules.

With the playlist in place, I set aside about ten minutes of free space as bands will often send me stuff during the course of Monday once they see the show advertised, and sometimes the track is too good to leave til next week. I then design a flyer for that particular show, yes, I could use the same one, but where's the fun in that? Once done I'll share it on the socials.
All this takes a couple of hours, and normally it'll be all done by around 8am on a Sunday morning!

With the Rain Gods unrelenting I took the opportunity to read the latest issue of Cubesville fanzine #27 with some cool interviews and humour driven views - I took it upon myself to go with Ritual Error's desert island disc choices (basically Cubesville asked them what three albums each of them would take), so I revved up the Spotify (yeah get over it) and skipped over Minutemen and Saccharine Trust to go for the excellent Hoover album 'The Lurid Traversal Of Route' followed by Fugazi's 'In On The Kill Taker' and Unwound's 'New Plastic Ideas.'

I then tore up my new water bill from Dwr Cymru who've increased the theft by £20 a month, and also realised I'm getting pickpocketed an extra £11 by the council. Bastards the lot of them...

Cyclepathic Cash Only Cyclist's Funeral

The weekend was slightly marred by the fact I had to work (yes even rockstars have to work for a living), so the kiddo had to string along. To keep him occupied for four hours while I made money for The Man, I coerced him into cleaning my car with the promise of money and the added bonus of commandeering a hose pipe. I've had the car for almost a year and it's NEVER been washed. Fair play, Charlie took it in his stride and did a sterling job, even vaccing the interior. Talking of sterling, I did try and fob him off with ten Euros left in my wallet after Lisbon, but he wasn't buying into that. We later agreed on a £12 kite from Smyths toys instead - alas not enough huff in the air to fly it, but I'm sure Storm Elon will be along soon.

By noon, it was time to close shop and let the leisure begin - I finally fixed the bike rack to the (now pristine) car and mounted our bikes and headed East to Llanfairfechan promenade. We hit the route on our bikes, traversing probably the toughest section of the North Wales Cycle Path around Penmaen Head and into Penmaenmawr. An ice cream on the beach was called for but the sign read 'CASH ONLY' and I sighed at the Euros in my otherwise empty wallet. I had read earlier that the Scandanavian countries were the pioneers in promoting a cashless society, but are now encouraging their populations to start using the green stuff again, and ensure some is also kept at home in case of a cyber attack. Cash should be king, with every card transaction you do, you're tracked and traced by the corporate cookie monster, just waiting to spam you with shit you don't need. Plus, if you're self employed then, money makes the world go round and the taxman, who fucks you senseless already, can't clobber you so easily.

The wonderful Bruise Control sing:

I'd rather see the grave before I see tears for the taxman

I'm gonna knock the jaw off the next toff that tells me to relax man

I'm sick to my fucking gut of you telling me what to do

The best thing i ever did was stop listening to you

Death to the jobsworths, death to the snitches

Death for the taxman, death to his riches

Death for the dead, death for the living

The decision was made to return to the car, completing a six mile cycle, and head to Llandudno pier for an ice cream, which we duly did! 

'Hey Neil!' - it was Adam of Scotch Funeral with two cohorts, also on the pier to soak in the magnificent view. The said cohorts were (I guess), Steve the drummer and cameraman Alex - they were taking a break from filming a video for the forthcoming Scotch Funeral album, called 'Ever & Ever'. This is exciting! On vinyl no less!! Fair do's... I'm really looking forward to hearing that gnarly garage punk offering (and I'm sure you are too).

(Charlie plays harmonica while I ponder over a crisp butty on the cyclepath)

#punk #cycling #northwales #cyclepath #bruisecontrol

Larissa to Athens - Crutches - Gig 3

One last gig before home. I was sat in my grotty hotel room in Larisa, frantically refreshing the Wi-Fi, trying to figure out where tonight’s secret squat show in Athens was happening, how I was going to get there — and where the hell I’d sleep once I arrived.

I ended up booking a really basic hotel just off Syntagma Square, close to the Metro, which made for an easy getaway to the airport in the morning. Then I jumped on a train and, 3.5 hours later, arrived in the organised chaos of Athens.

I’m truly useless with offline Google Maps (no roaming), so what followed was a long, sweaty odyssey — hours of walking, asking punks for directions in mangled Greek, and chasing vague leads. At one point, I wandered through a massive street market snaking up a hill, full of people shouting over fruit stands and fake designer handbags. Classic Athens — loud, beautiful, a little overwhelming.

Somewhere during that chaos, I helped pull people off an escalator pile-up. An older man fell, and before anyone could react, a slow-motion comedy of errors unfolded as others stacked up behind him. No one was seriously hurt, but for a few seconds it felt like a punk gig version of human Tetris.

Eventually, and somehow, I found the venue. I got there around 8pm during soundchecks, but the organisers immediately clocked my camera and gave me a stern warning: “No photos of the crowd. Bands only — and only if they agree.” Fair enough.

By 9, the place was heaving. Rammed, buzzing, and honestly a bit too packed for comfort. The first band was a local black metal outfit — very theatrical. Then came Bloodtrace, who delivered a tightly wound, fast-and-heavy set. I’d never heard of them before, but they clearly had a following and I found them surprisingly fresh—mid-tempo hardcore punk built on strong guitar lines and dual vocals.

Finally, Crutches took the stage and just ripped the place apart — a total blur of limbs, screams, riffs, and sweat.

Beer was cheap and paid for by donation, and no one took the piss — just gave what they could. That small gesture of collective respect felt emblematic of the entire tour.

Around 1 a.m., I said my goodbyes — hugs all round — and told the band I’d hopefully see them again in Japan this September (yes, I’m fully embracing my role as groupie at this point).

My hotel was meant to be a 30-minute walk away. I got lost, took a few wrong turns, and 90 minutes later I stumbled into Omonia Square — a place I instantly recognised from when I lived and worked in Greece back in 1990. It felt surreal, like my past had stepped quietly into the present, just for a moment.

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Thessaloniki to Larissa - Crutches - Gig 2

 Friday, October 18th, 2024 – Larissa, Greece

pre-gig Crutches

After a couple of hours' sleep at my apartment in Thessaloniki (in a super comfy bed), I caught the 12:25 p.m. train to Larissa. It was a smooth 90-minute ride through open countryside and distant mountain backdrops — quiet and scenic, a welcome pause after two chaotic nights.

Larissa itself turned out to be a bit of a surprise. A beautiful city, full of Roman ruins and hidden archaeological sites scattered across parks, sidewalks, and plazas. You don’t need to search for history here — it’s literally built into the modern-day streets. The vibe was laid-back, a touch stylish even. A slower pace that didn’t feel sleepy, just settled.

I checked into Hotel Acropol, tucked away on 142 Eleftheriou Venizelou — €25 for the night. It was hot and a little grotty, the kind of place that might once have been described as ‘classic’ but now mostly felt forgotten. It wasn’t glamorous, but it did the job. After dropping my gear and rinsing off the last two days of sweat and smoke, I went out for food.

Found an upmarket restaurant nearby and devoured a huge Greek salad with chips and cold beer — all for the same price as the room (not cheap by any stretch, but absolutely delicious). My waiter and I got chatting. He clocked my accent and asked where I was from. One thing led to another, and soon we were swapping stories about Kythera, the island I’d lived and worked on back in 1990. I left a good tip. He’d earned it.

Later, I tracked down Crutches, already mid-meal with their tour hosts: Kristo (tonight’s promoter) and Nik Godgrinder. Nik plays guitar for Greek d-beat legends Dishonor and stands at least 6'4". When I attempted some pidgin Greek, he replied in full throttle. I didn’t catch a single word — thankfully his English is excellent. We laughed it off over beers, swapped border-crossing horror stories, and hung out while the band prepped for the show.

Since these gigs are held in squatted venues, they’re only advertised by word of mouth or encrypted text — too much exposure and the authorities come crashing down. Kristo drove me to the venue, a squat hidden beneath a canteen on the university campus on the outskirts of town. It felt secretive but welcoming — the kind of place where the smell of beer and cigarettes signal you’re in the right spot.

I was with the band long before the show started, caught the soundcheck, and stayed through the entire evening. We shared beers and jokes as the place began to fill with sweaty punks, wandering dogs, and local misfits.

πάνω από πτώμα μου

The night kicked off with a return set from πάνω από πτώμα μου (Over My Dead Body), who were just as impressive as the night before. Their dense, dual-vocal hardcore sounded even heavier inside the squat’s concrete walls. There’s no performance flair — just grit, sincerity, and seismic noise.

In between, a band called Never Trust from Athens played a fairly generic thrash metal set. Technically fine, but energy-wise, things dipped a little. The crowd drifted to the grassy exterior, conversations started to drown out the riffs — the vibe just didn’t land.

Then Crutches hit the stage. Tighter than ever, absolutely feral. Their 25-minute set was pure controlled chaos — Oskar in full attack mode, Tom and Andreas’ guitars slicing the air, and Dan pounding the drums like a war machine. It was hot, packed, loud, euphoric — the sound bouncing off every graffitied wall. I was grinning like a lunatic from the first chord to the last feedback squeal.

After the gig, we swapped stories, laughed about border dramas, and someone passed around a bag of crisps like it was sacred. At some point around 3am, Kristo gave me a lift back to my hotel hovel, ears ringing, face aching from smiling.

Tomorrow: the final show in Athens. I’ll try to rest… but probably won’t.

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Sofia to Thessaloniki- Crutches - Gig 1

 

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Thursday, October 17th, 2024 – Thessaloniki, Greece

Tom, me, Andreas, Oskar, Daniel - Crutches

This day felt like a long week rolled into one. I woke up feeling a little melancholy — missing Charlie. I texted to say I was in Sofia and his reply was,
"How is she?" — totally summed up his sense of humour (and he’s only 11!).

By chance more than anything, I successfully navigated the Sofia metro and walked to Serdika bus station, where I grabbed a FlixBus for a bargain €8.50. A five-hour journey later and I was back in Thessaloniki — this time staying in an apartment about 5 miles out of the city centre, close to tonight’s venue. It cost €45 and even had a washing machine, which I took full advantage of. I must be becoming civilised in my advancing years.

On a less punk note, I stupidly forgot to pack the charging cable for my (now antique) iPod, and I’ve just finished my book (too good to put down for long). So, for Sunday’s flight home, I’ll either need to find another form of entertainment… or just sleep.

Before heading to the gig, I took a walk to soak up the buzzing, semi-urban area — full of life, a bit chaotic, but in the best way. I arrived at the venue early and met up with Crutches — it was good to see Tom, Andreas, Daniel, and Oskar again. They even gave me a little present: a miniature but mighty potent bottle of Underberg comes in tiny 20ml brown bottles, each wrapped in distinctive tan paper. The idea is to drink it all in one go, like a shot. Absolute legends.

I first came across Crutches at Manchester Punk Festival last year. To be honest, they scared the shit out of me — full-on, feral Swedish d-beat that came at you like a freight train. I watched from a safe distance. But then I got to know them properly at Levy Punk Weekender and saw the other side — humble, funny, principled, brilliant people. After that, I decided to self-appoint myself as Chief Groupie and Hanger-On for this short Greek tour.

The Greek DIY punk scene is the real deal. Self-run, self-funded, and beautifully organised — a total lesson in community. This three-night run across Thessaloniki, Larisa, and Athens is held in squatted venues with zero police interference — so long as they stay under the radar. Ask too openly where the venue is and you might get shut down, or at least looked at sideways.

But once you’re in, you’re in. Tonight’s gig is in a crumbling building reclaimed by people with passion. It’s heaving inside, wall-to-wall with punks, no stage lights, just raw energy. Beers for €1.50, a makeshift bar, and someone offering shots of homemade Tsipouro that tastes increasingly decent with each swig. A giant sign above the bar reads:
"You’ll Never Drink Alone."

Opening band πάνω από πτώμα μου (“Over My Dead Body”) don’t even have a digital footprint yet, but they tore the roof off. Their dual-vocal, slow-burning hardcore is dark, thoughtful, and heavy as hell. They finish abruptly, without preamble or posturing, and I liked them all the more for it.

Then it’s Crutches. And fuck me, they were unreal.

No lights, no frills — just 25 minutes of pure sonic destruction. Oskar’s screaming and climbing the walls, Andreas and Tom murder their guitars, Dan is a machine on drums. The crowd goes off. It’s sweaty, joyful, totally fucking unhinged — in the best possible way. The band nearly sold out their entire t-shirt stash tonight. Says it all.

Their message is clear: unity, resistance, fuck the fascists. Their latest album Dösreveljen carries that spirit front and centre. Their tagline is “Mangeling For Freedom”. Someone asked me what mangeling means. I wasn’t sure how to answer — not in English, let alone Greek. But I know this: after seeing Crutches, your brain feels like it’s been through a mangle. And weirdly, that’s a good thing.

Bruise Control / Fuzz Lightyear @ Big Hands, Manchester

 

Big Hands is such a great venue - it has cool staff and a cool vibe. Drinking our way there from the centre of town it turned out the first band weren't on until 10pm. So this meant two hours of supping and chilling out to the best playlist I've never heard... The tunes were perfect for the mood; all dirty, sleazy and all from the garage of life.

Fuzz Lightyear had played a festival earlier today and waded into Big Hands a little flustered, but were ready to rock and roll by the promised 10pm. I'm still pondering as to whether the name Fuzz Lightyear is pure genius or totally ridiculous - probably both. This doesn't detract from the fact they deliver an audacious sound straight outta Leeds. It's noisegaze, post-hardcore, garage-fuzz, call it what you want, I thought it was simply neat. Psychedelic intricate guitars are built around Ben Parry's distinct vocals and the band pull no punches. The recent expansive addition of Alex Calder on guitar / synth brings a hint of the direction they're heading and the destination is exciting. Their volatile debut EP 'Fuzz II' brought a welcome grunge strewn barrage of noise, but there is more to come out the Fuzz locker.

Bruise Control are on home turf and the cruise control is set to max. The pedal is rammed against the metal and there's RedX in the tank. The turbo-goths have necked a fistful of pills from their Nan's medicine cabinet, washed them down with cans of Monster and they're gonna get GTA on your ass.
Fronted by the cartoon character that is Jimbob Taylor, who must live in a tin shack, surrounded by chickens on the side of a dusty highway, Bruise Control rocked my world. They trashed through their repertoire, kicking, screaming, spitting and shagging. Your head is forced down the toilet and is repeatedly flushed as they laugh at your misery.
This is cowpunk hardcore nonsense for deadbeats - YOU are a deadbeat - catch Bruise Control on tour with Sniff in May.
I have just ticked a box I didn't have to tick.