Fat White Family deliver an unforgettable performance at Belgrave Music Hall

Aimee Ferrier on 14 June 2022

Fat White Family have often been labelled with words you may consider negative: “offensive,” “gross,” “terrifying.” However, for the band, formed in Peckham during 2011, these words are not necessarily bad, in fact, they seem to welcome such connotations. The release of the band’s first album Champagne Holocaustin 2014 contained some provocatively titled tracks such as ‘Bomb Disneyland’ and ‘Cream of the Young.’ Their second album Songs for Our Mothers followed in a similar vein – its mixture of drones, krautrock influence, and often murky, dingy guitar sounds perfectly accompanied musings on decisively bleak topics such as Goebbels (from the point of view of Hitler) and prolific serial killer Harold Shipman. By 2019, the band refined their sound with Serf’s Up, Fat White Family’s most cohesive work to date, blending danceable disco-inspired beats with instrumentation and vocals considerably more melodic than their previous albums. Yet, all throughout their career they have continuously kept music publications on their toes, appearing more often out of controversy than because of their music. They have been accused of racism (despite being of Algerian descent) and feuded with everyone’s favourite uninspiring middle-class punks Idles, leading to FWF frontman Lias Saoudi to pen an incredible thought piece on the matters, labelling the Bristol punks as “everything that is wrong with contemporary cultural politics.” It’s safe to say that Fat White Family are not everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s okay with them. Their latest album may have impressed critics, suggesting that they were moving away from their heroin-fuelled shock-inducing previous efforts, however, their live shows prove that they are still ready to disgust, to disturb, to repulse. 

As the band emerged onto the stage in one of Leeds’s most well-loved hangout spots – Belgrave Music Hall and Canteen, everything seemed pretty normal, with Saoudi sporting a suave suit. The band began playing a track yet to be released before Saoudi disappeared from the stage, leaving the audience in slight confusion as the rest of the band played on. A few minutes later and the missing frontman returned, only now he was wearing nothing more than skin-coloured tight shorts to give the illusion of nudity, his whole body doused in some form of lubricant. Powering into the audience, Saoudi pushed his way through the unsuspecting crowd, screaming into his microphone whilst frantically running circles around us. After throwing his body against naïve audience members he laid on the floor, arse-up, head pressed to the ground as he continued desperately to screech, sing, scream – whatever you would prefer to call it. Once Saoudi returned to the stage, the band played ‘Wet Hot Beef’ which sent the audience into wild excitement. As I grappled to stay upright and find my friends that I had lost in the opening performance, the sheer insanity of Saoudi’s behaviour bled into the audience, making it one of the most intense crowds I have ever found myself in. Yet, unlike my panic-inducing experience at Amyl and the Sniffers, there was a much greater sense of community and friendliness that flowed through Fat White Family’s crowd – it was clear that everyone was in awe of the band, especially Saoudi’s incendiary stage presence. 

The band charged through an impressively energetic setlist, playing hits such as ‘Whitest Boy on the Beach,’ ‘Touch the Leather,’ ‘I Am Mark E. Smith,’ and ‘Fringe Runner.’ Saoudi frequently returned to the audience, otherwise he could be found crouching on the edge of the stage, pouring water over himself and the front of the crowd (much to my dehydrated and sweaty joy), or throwing himself around in a passionate frenzy. Despite everything the band have been through in their twelve years – from homelessness, heroin addictions, breaking up, reforming, losing members, gaining them back – it is clear during their live performances that they enjoy what they do. I have seen few frontmen with the same amount of fervour and intensity possessed by Saoudi – and it was frankly inspiring to witness. Ending the set with ‘Bomb Disneyland,’ Belgrave was filled with chants of “all your kids are dead kids” and “dirty bomb Legoland” as sweaty bodies thrashed around to arguably the band’s greatest live track. I left the set covered in a collection of substances – beer, sweat, water, bodily fluids – a few bruises adorning my arms. A DJ set by Saoudi ended the night where unsuspecting Belgrave drinkers in the downstairs canteen were subjected to the sounds of hard noise and BABYMETAL. I spoke to Saoudi later on, who, now back in his suit shook my hand politely. You would not have believed that this was the same man who had paraded his oiled body around stage only a few hours earlier. 

Whether you only know one song or Fat White Family’s entire catalogue, they are a band not to be missed live, and one you will not forget. 

Amyl and the Sniffers show at The Stylus let down by violent masculinity

Aimee Ferrier on 14 June 2022

I stumbled upon Australian punks Amyl and the Sniffers a few years back through their connection to Flightless Records, the independent label founded by former King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard drummer Eric Moore. I became enthralled by recordings of the band’s raucous live performances, which featured lead singer Amy Taylor screaming lyrics about the socio-political state of Australia whilst shaking her bleach blonde mullet with an uncontainable energy. On the evening of a rather placid Sunday, I finally got to see the band in action at the University of Leeds’s very own Stylus. 

My first qualm with the night came from the support act – a local Yorkshire band called Geoffrey Oi!Cott. The four-piece made up of middle-aged balding beer-bellied white men, all sporting cricket uniforms and instruments plastered with Leeds United stickers, took to the stage chanting ‘YORKSHIRE, YORKSHIRE!’. The band began playing their poor imitation of punk with a technical skill level comparable to that of GCSE music students. I imagine their music is what non-punk fans think punk sounds like. As they sloppily made their way through their mind-numbingly dull set which consisted of songs about cricket, beer, and Yorkshire, I was left wondering where Amyl and the Sniffers had found such a poor excuse for a punk band. Furthermore, the band played a track entitled ‘Dawn of the Dickie Birds,’ a rather misogynistic tune dedicated to the women in the audience (of which there were very few, especially in comparison to the sea of ageing white male punks in the crowd) that included lyrics such as “she’s as good as it gets” and “push against the wall and tamper with your balls.” These men were the epitome of aggressive masculinity, too preoccupied with beer and their Yorkshire pride to write anything that could actually be considered true punk. Why couldn’t Amyl and the Sniffers, arguably the most successful punk band currently operating with a female lead, give this opportunity to a band with underrepresented members? After all, punk truly belongs to those of marginalised genders and races, not middle-aged white men who already dominate our mainstream. What have they got to be angry about? The rising price of beer? According to their music, that’s about it. 

Once they had finally left the stage it was time for the main act. Tearing onto the stage in a T-shirt that read ‘Fuck You You Fuckin’ Fuck,’ Amy Taylor began singing one of my personal favourites from the band, ‘Control.’ Almost instantly the crowd were slamming their sweating bodies against each other with uncontrollable excitement. I am no stranger to mosh pits and rowdy crowds, however, something about this felt different. Within the first song my friend was lifted over the barrier by security, unable to withstand the violent men that were throwing punches at every given chance. I had no intention of moshing from my place at the barrier, however, the intensity of the crowd led me to be thrown so hard that, as I write this, there are a large collection of bruises decorating my arms, legs, and hips. There was a severe lack of respect for personal boundaries and the well-being of fellow gig-goers in the crowd that left me feeling unsafe. One man, old enough to be my dad, was pressed so hard against me that I had to fight back tears. I could not concentrate on the music, sounds blended into white noise as I felt the weight of this man against me. There was definitely opportunity for him to move with the crowd, yet his front stayed firmly pressed against me. The pits were nothing more than great exertions of masculinity – men preoccupied with displaying their ability to withstand harsh crowds with no respect for those who had no interest in joining in. I was lifted out of the crowd by security with an overwhelming sense of anger inside of me. Women should be able to enjoy live music without feeling as though their bodies have been violated and made to feel at risk. It’s times like this that I don’t think men will ever truly understand the implications of their actions. 

Once I was away from the aggressiveness, I was able to actually take in what I was watching. After removing her t-shirt to reveal a sparkly bra top which accompanied her cherry-patterned short-shorts, Amy strutted around the stage with admirable confidence, flexing her arms and sticking out her tongue. The band were on top form, driving through tracks that were mainly from their 2019 self-titled album, and their newest release Comfort to Me. A standout moment of the set was their performance of ‘Knifey,’ a track about violence against women that draws lyrical parallels to fellow Australian Courtney Barnett’s song ‘Nameless Faceless.’ Hearing the voices of women dominate the audience as they shouted along to the lyrics about simply wanting to walk home safely made me feel a little less alone, particularly after what I had just experienced near the front of the crowd. The band ended their set with the killer ‘Some Mutts (Can’t be Muzzled)’ which stands out as one of their most impressive tracks. With intense guitar riffs and heavy bass, the song was the perfect outro for a high-octane performance. 

To conclude – I think Amyl and the Sniffers are incredible performers, who delivered every song with impressive stamina and energy. However, considering they have songs such as ‘Knifey,’ I would have appreciated if they were more active in looking out for the audience. It was clear that many people at the front were being squashed to the point of danger, yet they ignored this. It would have also been nice to see a support act that weren’t laughable middle-aged white male punks. You can still enjoy a punk gig without hurting people. You can enjoy it without disregarding people’s boundaries. Gigs should be places for people to collectively enjoy music they like, not fear for their safety. Sadly, I left Amyl and the Sniffers feeling upset, violated, and angry. An intense display of masculinity ruined what I hoped to be a fun night of female-centric punk. That’s not to say I wouldn’t see them again, because musically they were great. Next time I’ll be stood far away from the aging men attempting to relive their punk youths down in the pit.