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Maines
are like Frank in the film Hellraiser, they come on stage, plug in and with no messing slam straight into their opening number. This opens the door to another dimension and we are all torn to pieces by Cenobites…
Jesus well and truly wept as we were treated to the extreme end of post-punk-post-hardcore-post-pat in a Shellac / Big Black monstrous birth and resurrection cycle.

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Both internal and external forces play havoc with Maines’ existence. This means a performance by them is a rare feat, and I did have money on them not showing up tonight.
When they do hold it together to function as a unit, it is a sound to behold…
They don’t belong here… They come from Llandudno Fucking Junction, but they are not of this patch of land. Maines should be from somewhere post-exotic like Detroit or Brisbane or Fluidic Space…
While a million bands play unimaginative metal or dull indie or plod punk because that is what they think will please you… Maines choose to do what they please… And that pleases me…

I’m not even sure if the off-key vocals work in every song; I didn’t recall them singing the last time… Maybe shouting would be better on occasion, but that’s perhaps the selfish me who loves shouty bands.
Lots of guitar dynamics and effects to open the songs; some sounding like Andy Summers of The Police, some like Joy Division before BAM! Guitars and drums thrashing while the cool Gaye Advert bassist remained totally disengaged from the audience, in her own Hellraiser dimension.

It was all over before it started in thirty glorious minutes that left your imagination bankrupt where you could no longer differentiate between extreme pain and extreme pleasure.

There may even be an EP on the event horizon to ensnare you with hooks and chains and tear you to pieces… ‘Jesus wept,’ as Frank would say…
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