A week which started with complaints about the current quality of guitar music has unfolded in a way to disprove virtually every complaint. Fine. I’d rather be wrong than live in a world of flaccid Coldplay and Los Campesinos doppelgangers.
Fever Fever don’t just protest against the blandness of their peers, they thrash wildly, viciously; pulling teeth for the fun of it. If you’ve ever experienced the visceral thrill of the mosh pit, your skin will prickle in anticipation of the friction, the sweat and the reckless abandonment approximately 15 seconds into Monster.
Their songs sound entirely carefree and cast-off, and yet this music is a diamond-sharpened splinter, shooting straight for the heart. You don’t make those songs without caring.
Fever Fever don’t so much demand attention as claw it from you whether you like it or not. Chances are, though, that you will – gutsy, guttural and gung-ho doesn’t begin to describe a band which sounds, frankly, fed-up of their surroundings and are shaping it to their preference by sheer force of will. Excellent.