PET LAMB/MEXICAN PETS/FEMALE HERCULES

PET LAMB/MEXICAN PETS/FEMALE HERCULES (Whelan’s, Dublin)

FEMALE HERCULES look absolutely fabulous, this much is inarguable. Conso’s Afro alone is a reason to shout their (also excellent) name from the rooftops. How they sound, though – particularly when placed next to the might of either of tonight’s Pets, with less drink taken than when either set of Pets is playing – is, I think, a little more debatable.

Female Hercules themselves admit that their live performance technique is a “no nonsense” one. Which is fine, but this brings to my mind phrases such as ‘pummelling’ and ‘relentless’ and ‘Henry Rollins’ and, especially, “ho-hum, I’m off for a pee.” ‘Inside You’ rocked, their ballad was funny, but a melody wouldn’t go amiss. If that makes me a wuss, well you knew that already.

The Mexican Pets are finally bound for glory. There’s no doubt about it. Their songs stun you. Pat Clafferty sings with eyes closed and head tilted, looking like if he didn’t have the song to concentrate on he’d collapse. His intensity reminds me of Bob Mould and, somehow, Bill Janovitz (I think of this gig and I hum Buffalo Tom’s ‘I’m Allowed’ as much as I hum the Pets’ divine ‘Subside’).

The remarkable contrast between Pat’s world-weary tones and the fresh-faced charm of new boy Brian (whose virtuoso performance on the cheesy organ was one of the set’s many high points) will win over any audience, anywhere. They know how to ease up, how not to be constantly corrosive, and they could teach the other groups on this bill a thing or three.

Pet Lamb, you see, left their tunes at home. Why, I don’t know, but their refusal to play what are clearly the most moving moments on the Sweaty Handshake LP was more than infuriating, and had there been a riot goin’ on after the the gig I would have gladly joined in so as to vent my frustration.

They were fine, though, really, by the standards of most other groups. ‘I Got Played’ got played, as did ‘All Time Low’ and ‘The Bastard’ which I find hilarious for its title alone, though I suspect Dylan doesn’t, if his supernatural volcanic scream is anything to go by. ‘Where Did Your Plans Go’, the imminent single and as aching an evocation of the sliding away of youth as we have this side of Sunbear by Sunbear, formed the finest four minutes, and no evening that involves sitting through that beauty is wasted.

But what about ‘Little Meaner’, ‘Insult To Injury’, ‘Never Rest Again’, ‘Black Mask’? Pet Lamb have an embarrassment of startling songs; if only they’d play them, we’d be sucking diesel. Maybe next time.

• Niall Crumlish