Jarcrew
Jarcrew

THE REVIEW

If we stopped at the cool magazines, we might get the impression that today rock is in the hands of powder-puff groups like The White Stripes, Franz Ferdinand, etc. (sure, even Interpol).
If rock today were really all there, all we'd have left is to dust off some old albums, get angry along with Fugazi, Sonic Youth, Royal Trux, and regret the good old days.

But no.
Fortunately in London, there aren't just offices of hype magazines. There are still thousands and thousands of tiny stages, and also a bunch of truly talented young people.
It was at the Barfly in Camden Town that I discovered (after years and years!) a strange and healthy, very angry rock that the old sacred monsters (American) would greatly appreciate. They come from Wales, they call themselves Jarcrew, and they rock hard.

Voice, two guitars, a keyboard, bass, and drums.
Schizophrenic riffs, screams, choruses, dragging tempo changes; plus, an irregular electronic sweat. Furious, especially in Paris & The New Math and Komputer. Irresistible: you can't help but squirm, and if you don't, there's him who comes to dance in front of you while singing, and in the end, you do it too.
Even they can't quite explain what kind of music they make: when asked, they stutter "noise-core", I hear the guitarist confidently declaring "Fugazi" and "Les Savy Fav", while my colleague Antonio thinks the drummer even says "Mogwai". Now, dear Anto' was drunk, and so was the drummer; and now that I think about it, so was I. But I'll write Mogwai anyway.

The self-titled album (from 2003) captures the incredible energy of their live acts; it's for a never-heard label (Gut Records), and in Dischord's catalog, it would fit perfectly.