New same as the old

GANS / VOKA GENTLE, 6TH MAY 2026, CARDIFF CLWB IFOR BACH

The title of Voka Gentle's latest album Domestic Bliss might imply contentment in confinement, but the London trio - composed of twins Imogen and Ellie Mason, plus Imogen's husband William J. Stokes - make it their mission to burst out of any container you care to put them in. The sisters face each other across a mound of electronic gadgetry Holy Fuck style, in cahoots with inventive guest drummer Ollie Middleton, while Stokes contributes guitar and vocals.

Freewheeling technicolour pop is the result - all buzzing synths, gang chants and surprise left turns. The harder-edged 'Creon I' takes the punchy distorted stomp of Battles' 'Atlas' and runs off in a different direction, while we're grateful to an uncooperative guitar for the opportunity to hear 'TV Bra' - the robo-pop shopping-channel ad for wearable tech a late setlist substitute called off the bench to add gloss to an already strong team performance.

That support slots like this can be beneficial in helping to raise profile is borne out by GANS, whose dates with fellow Black Country outfit Big Special - in addition to a debut LP, Good For The Soul, released on Pete Doherty's label Strap Originals - have evidently given them a platform for a headline tour of their own. Formerly a duo, drummer Euan Woodman and Tom Rhodes have now been joined by a third permanent member, Tommy Lawther, on sax and flute. "Mr Miles Davis!", Rhodes exclaims, announcing another sax solo.

First, the positives. GANS can't be faulted for not throwing everything into the show, catalysing a largely rabid response; Woodman expertly whips up a moshpit occupied by energetic youngsters, while us older onlookers edge to the back and sides, knees and backs creaking at the very thought of being commanded to pogo. They don't take themselves too seriously, and also react with cheery equanimity to botched beginnings; Woodman audibly chastises himself for starting a new song at the wrong tempo, while Rhodes aborts another with the declaration "That was live music!" And there's something undeniably entertaining about witnessing a flautist prompting an excitable entanglement of flailing limbs.

But GANS are - to these ears and eyes, at least - boringly generic. A depressingly familiar checklist: 80s tache, Aussie rules mullet, sportswear (swiftly shed), more thought given to merch design than music, lyrics that supposedly reflect grim societal realities but remain mired in tired cliches (see closer 'The King's Head' in particular), one-dimensional lad-punk songs that do precious little to distinguish themselves from the sort of thing that the band formerly known as Slaves were doing more than a decade ago.

If there's a glimmer of hope for the future (which includes a forthcoming second album), it's late-set highlight 'Oh George', for which they draw profitably on techno thump as well as punk attitude. Tonight, though, it's too little, too late to force this jaded curmudgeon into a more generous re-evaluation - not that the sweaty students liberating gig posters from their frames as souvenirs on the way out would agree.

(An edited version of this review appeared on the Buzz website.)