Dillinger Escape Plan + Three Trapped Tigers
Relentless Garage London
26th April 2012

By Leo Kindred

You get a good mix of people at a DEP show. From the hardcore crowd, to the black shirts of metal heads, the kids out to mosh away some youthful frustration, not to mention some completely left-field random shit; like the guy in a Bob Marley shirt, or the bloke aged 50+, who is later seen crowd surfing during the headliners’ set. But we’ll get to that.

First Three Trapped Tigers, who I admit to ignorance on previously, put out intriguing material. And boy are they loud.
As a three piece made up of guitar, drums and synth/keyboard, they’re a high-tech offering, and pretty heavy on the synth side of the affair, giving the whole thing a pretty neon, mathy vibe.
Predominantly instrumental the result is somewhere between the crashing post-rock style of And So I Watch You From Afar and the synthesiser-rich, carnage of Genghis Tron, finishing up not too far from 65daysofstatic territory.
The result is interesting and certainly all the elements are in place for some great noise/post/math rock, but their sound is not quite up to the quality of all the bands mentioned above. That being said, whilst they’re not jaw-dropping there aren’t many detractions and there’s promising stuff at work. Could be one to watch here.


It’s not really possible to review the avant-garde, mathcore rock assault of the Dillinger Escape Plan effectively, it’s sort of more of an experience. Like the Matrix.
And you took the blue AND red pills.
“Chaos” is a word that comes to mind when, after a rather lengthy intro, the headliners emerge and immediately attack the very reality around them with ‘Panasonic Youth’ followed by a deafening sing along to the chorus of the swinging ‘Milk Lizard’

It’s remarkable that when they play it’s almost like they’ve been on stage forever, only 3 songs in and we find ourselves watching guitarist/longterm nutter Benjamin Weinman playing the massive breakdown riff to ‘Roomful Of Eyes’ standing on the crowd, waving his guitar and gyrating like a epileptic muppet with tourettes.

One song later and ‘43% Burnt’ heralds further destruction as singer Greg Puciato scales a dangling PA speaker and starts rocking the lighting gantry, eventually he stops and jumps down. 10 feet. On top of the front row.

Outrageous stage terrorism and stage dives from all concerned are ubiquitous but the band’s music does the most brutalising.
The sporadic quirk of ‘Hollywood Squares’, a song not performed for years, is a very pleasant surprise and the performance of ‘Weekend Sex Change’ as an intro the the mind-meltingly vicious ‘Sugar Coated Sour’ are all welcome parts of the band’s savage repertoire.

But the pace of the set is a killer. The unremitting incendiary tracks mostly offer no let up and no breathing space – the turbulently violent ‘Fix Your Face’ overwhelms, and there’s a circle pit under way before the cataclysmic ‘Good Neighbor’ drops like a shard of malice into the proceedings.
‘Setting Fire To Sleeping Giants’ adds some boogie to the insanity, this before a 50 person crowd-invasion during ‘Sunshine The Werewolf’, during which Ben Weinman plays the song crowd surfing on them…until the song seemingly implodes. “Oh, someone knocked the drums over!”, explains Greg Puciato.
They resume the song after everyone’s climbed down, and Puciato joins the audience on the floor, no doubt bruising a few.
Some discord seeps in- no doubt during the melee some of the guitars suffered, and whilst it makes little difference to the intensity of the song’s massive refrain the subsequent ‘Farewell Mona Lisa’ loses something of its clarity, although still an ordeal of disjointed agression.

When they leave there’s an expectation of an encore, but none is forthcoming despite the chants, cheers and eventual boos- no one starts clearing away the equipment either which fans the flames. Or inflames the fans…
We give it 5 minutes but then decide to leg it.

1) I can’t think of anymore likely songs & 2) Some of us have trains to catch.
It’s the only unintentional sour note of the evening.

The Dillinger Escape Plan, everything else is just music.


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