The half light before a show starts can feel like a lifetime under the right chemical circumstances. I certainly found this to be the case as an anxious crowd waited for Thee Soreheads to take the stage just past midnight on FME’s Saturday night. As the minutes stretched forth, we watched for any sign of vocalist Maria Jimenez and her merry band of punks. In classic punk fashion, they kept us waiting, allowing the crowd and its anticipation to grow before finally opening up with the first of many fishtailing freakout tracks.
Thee Soreheads careen through each track, equally haphazard and precise. Unlike many punk outfits, they don’t hide the riffs and melodies amidst a totally washed-out wall of fuzz. There’s room for everything here, whether it’s a sensibly timed, roaring bass riff from Hugh Lapham, another daredevil fill on drums by Seyjii Schultz, crushing, relentless riffs from guitarist Ally McPake, and, of course, the catchy declarations of violent intent from Jimenez on vocals.
With a background in theatre, Jimenez seems to step into a character and a suit of armour at once onstage. Her words carry poignant messages on the objectification of women, consent, and the daily agony of life as a woman. Her words fly out ruthlessly. She locks eyes with the men in the room, delivering condemnation and cold-blooded clarity, then stepping back so the band can erupt into another raucous passion of thrashy, surfy rock and roll.
Thee Soreheads just felt right in my brain. Scratching a deep-seated, gnawing itch with surgical precision and manic intensity. It’s a masterful, fun execution of straightforward ideas, refining this well-loved genre into a potent freebase solution that few can ignore.
