Upon a backdrop of pseudo-social media and music videos on giant screens - like an angel - Katy Perry came flying in above the stage, hanging from wha
Read More"Can we come here every Friday?" That's the kind of question you ask when a band hits you right in the gut - and Jagged Baptist Club did just that tonight at The Poetry Club in Glasgow. With just 33 minutes left on the clock, the place felt like it was about to levitate.
Frontman Blake Stokes commands the stage with the twitchy charisma of Elvis Costello and Iggy Pop, decked in chains and absolutely owning it. He stalks the mic like he's got something urgent to say - and the crowd is hanging on every word, every twitch, every scream.
The sound' Rolling bass and guitar lines that don't just shake the floor - they go straight through your chest. These cunts are loud, and more importantly: they can play.
One mate muttered something about Devo - and sure, there's that angular, post-punk energy - but Jagged Baptist Club are messier, moodier, sexier. They've got more chaos in their blood. They feel like a fight between a synth and a chainsaw in the best possible way.
They're not just making noise - they're making friends, everywhere. That much is obvious. The room's buzzing. Everyone's grinning. People are dancing like it's 3am in Berlin, not 10pm in Finnieston.
Then theres the merch pitch: imagine Prince himself trying to sell you a t-shirt. Stokes drops a sales line so absurd and amazing you nearly choke on your pint. It's pure theatre, pure swagger, and totally unforgettable.
Jagged Baptist Club aren't just playing gigs - they're starting cults.
Dreamsssssssss.
This article has been viewed 949 times
Comments