Qulture Magazine

Words: Kenny Ross

Mother Vulture at Bannermans, was less of a gig and more, a full‑body conditioning session disguised as live music. These Bristolian maniacs have been building a reputation for high‑energy, genre‑dodging chaos ever since they burst onto the scene with wild, pigeonhole‑defying (proud of this one too) shows across the UK, a reputation that continues to grow louder than their amps. And on this particular night, they reminded Edinburgh, why Bannermans should really consider a loyalty scheme for structural repairs. Not going to lie, I hadn’t heard of them before, but I was here to find out just exactly what they had!

They didn’t so much start the show, as kind of kick the door in. Georgi Valentine’s opening scream — the same kind they’ve used before as an all hands on deck war cry, or if you tore a ligamint — cut through the room like a banshee clocking in for its shift, and the rest of the band launched straight into full mayhem mode. The crowd had clearly learned their lesson from the last time Mother Vulture played here (again, was not aware of this), forming a cautious no‑man’s‑land in front of the stage because Brodie Maguire and Chris Simpson have a charming habit of hurling themselves directly into the crowd at unpredictable intervals. Sensible behaviour, really. Survival instinct. Maybe a little nuts?

Mother Vulture continue to be masters of musical whiplash — somehow stitching together punk ferocity, blues‑punk swagger, stoner‑rock fuzz and garage‑rock chaos (yes, really – I tried to google their genre), It’s not “eclectic”; eclectic implies choice. This feels more like they got into a fight with several genres at once and decided to keep the bruises. At Bannermans, the result was like being slapped by three different bands simultaneously, all of whom were having a terrific time. The guys certainly like to high kick during their set, luckily no one was hurt during this punk ninja fight.

Their dive into older material brought a feral rendition of Mr. Jones, traditionally the moment where they rope in a fan to scream along with them — a level of trust normally reserved for lending someone your house keys, not sharing harsh vocals at high volume. Tonight’s version was throat‑shredding, messy, raucous and absolutely perfect. The expanded lineup, now featuring an additional guitarist/percussionist, beefed the whole thing up even further, pushing their sound somewhere between “gloriously huge” and “is this safe?”… most likely the latter!

Meanwhile, Bannermans — the sweaty batcave that it is (don’t get me started) — didn’t stand a chance. With the band recently praised as “one of Britain’s most exciting new noises” and even “the new kings of British rock music” by major outlets covering their Bannermans performances and ongoing tours, it’s clear expectations were high…and the band still overshot them by several miles. The walls shook. The bar rattled, even the staff looked like they were mentally tallying which bits of the ceiling would need glued back in the morning… disclaimer, don’t glue brick. Or, you do you…don’t sniff it though, well again up to you – sorry going off track here…

Mother Vulture don’t just play fast, or loud, or wildly — they play like four people simultaneously trying to escape the inside of a tumble dryer… which reminds me, I need to buy a new one. Yet somehow, underneath all the chaos, there’s real precision. You don’t get this kind of beautifully orchestrated disorder by accident. You get it by living inside the music so fully that standing still simply isn’t an option.

By the end, the crowd looked equal parts exhilarated and concussed (and slightly pished), which is honestly the correct emotional state for anyone leaving a Mother Vulture gig. Bannermans survived the night — though I wouldn’t bet against hairline cracks forming deep underground — and the band once again proved why they’re rising faster than the insurance premiums of every venue they visit… my advice, Bring earplugs, bring water, bring a sense of humour and defo bring a chiropractor.

And if you wake up the next morning wondering why your neck hurts, your voice is gone, and your clothes smell faintly of structural anxiety — don’t worry. That just means Mother Vulture did their job!

Go check out their new album ‘Cartoon Violence’ now…