First things first: Eagulls are absolutely brutal. If you’ve seen them live - and you’ll remember them if you have - then you’ll know that they’re one of the most thrilling, visceral experiences around at the minute, managing to be both ramshackle and ridiculously tight in the same breath. Labelled as hardcore and punk by lazy journalists, both have had their influence on their sound but the band manage to embellish upon both.
Perhaps the true difference is that they manage to capture all that bile on record where many of their supposed peers have failed. Debut cassette Songs of Prey is now so rare that it’s talked about in hushed tones, mp3s of those early recordings eventually leaking through to every in-the-know blog on the internet.
And still, they carry on. Despite the fact that singer George freely admits he can barely remember most of his own gigs, despite the fact that they openly seem to court animosity with the crowd, despite the fact the venue is always coated in sweat and beer once they’ve finished one, they carry on, getting ever more intense. The themes remain constant, with anger at the idiots that surround them, sour memories of growing up on estates and the futility of the constant cycle of getting wasted - but the crowds keep swelling. Any band these days can get a bit of hype, but Eagulls are a band that are doing it on their own terms - utterly, violently, relentlessly.