Blame The Wolves, Zanzibar, Liverpool. January 2015. Photograph by Ian D. Hall.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

It must be the cry of half the population of the Black Country, one that they rejoice in and the other side decries with shouts of foul play before coming back with their own retort as their football scarves flutter wildly with expectation and grim determination. Yet somewhere in the unfairly called outback of Cheshire, Blame The Wolves has a different, more life affirming and tuneful approach mantra and as they appeared on stage at Zanzibar, the Saturday damp air mingling with revellers and drinkers realising just how long and arguably how bitter a personality January has, Blame The Wolves smashed down the door, made a movement towards the fireplace and made an appreciative audience howl with glee.

Blame The Wolves for being a band with great intentions, blame them if you must for having a sound in which nestles happily in the inner ear and raises a pack, hold Stephen Sheridan, Connor Eaton, Benjamin Kelsall and Will Garner responsible for raising the hairs on the back of your neck as something new comes blazing into view, but most of all congratulate them for having a wonderful rock outlook in which to start devouring.

Watching Will Garner tear at the drum, both with precision of a tactical nuclear strike aimed against the cacophony of devastation that a butterfly’s wings produce in the rain forests is both thrilling and overwhelmingly haunting. It puts the gig goer in mind of the great Keith Moon with none of the celebrated antics, none of the extraordinary self-destruction, but with the blossoming talent and cymbal crashing caress of sound that makes the drum kit look like a potential homicide victim.

With the band having the opportunity to play the two songs that make up their latest release, Everybody Needs Someone To Blame and Beautiful Romance, the foursome thrilled and entertained well and certainly caught the attention of anybody with half a musical ear.  Whilst there is obviously a way to go before the next step up can be taken, there is so much promise, such respectable quality living within the band, that the leafy walkways and untilled fields of Cheshire in time might have a reason to laud it rather than in some people’s minds being the place that buffers and keeps apart the Black Country’s and Merseyside’s music history.

The growling mischief, the very cool songs, this is but the start of something very inspiring in the shape of Blame The Wolves.

Ian D. Hall