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All Tomorrow's Parties Reviewed: Breeders And Fans Strike Back II
John Doran , May 26th, 2009 08:02

The Quietus (in the form of John Doran, Luke Turner, Jeremy Allen, Phil Hebblethwaite, Andrzej Lukowski, Maria Jefferis, Stu Green, Andy Ennis and Edd Westmacott) stumble around Minehead Butlins snapping and scribbling. The luckiest are the ones that died first . . .


Holy Fuck

Holy Fuck are not a machine. They are a not-machine fuelled by lots of things, chief amongst them the ATP crowd’s naked hunger for dance — which has had two days to work itself up to this point — fine-tuned by the distribution of Holy Fuck’s rider amongst the front rows.

The not-machine comes onstage. Battered keyboards are constantly reconfigured and moved about, Brian Borcherdt and Graham Walsh wrenching pulses and grooves out of set-ups that look like scrapheaps evolving in fast forward. It is good. Then the not-machine reaches the end of its programme and it becomes fucking transcendent, ‘Lovely Allen’ evaporating us in a blast of white-hot joy.