Review: Wet Nuns

With the pretentious décor of the Harley burning onto my retinas, the bobbing shield of heads is quite the blessing. Rating: ****

Venue: The Harley, Sheffield
Date: 4 June 2011
Rating: ****

With the pretentious décor of the Harley burning onto my retinas, the bobbing shield of heads is quite the blessing. Wet Nuns are heehawing to an already smashed crowd, after a day of drinking at Sheffield’s Peace in the Park and some girls in front of me are impressed an American band would fly over to Sheffield for a free gig. They wouldn’t, but these two men HAVE trekked all the way from the Deep South Yorkshire, (Sheffield Alabama!) for tonight, and “y’all should be having a good time.” With Jesus and Kid Rock’s progeny as a guitarist and a gnarly tattooed leprechaun on drums, the density of their bluesy groove-laden punk is surprising – as is how much the shit red-neck American accent which Terence Trent sings with raises Wet Nuns to a whole new awesome level.

Not backed, but partnered with Wired Earp – these two are tighter than a nun’s bed sheets. Given how justified they would be in slipping into arrogance and pretentiousness, their irreverent and indifferent attitude works for a mesmerising stage presence and lulls the crowd into similar care-free dancing, head-banging, fluid state, which wraps itself around the stage like a kind of awe-filled hug.

To be perfectly honest, there’s little point in breaking down their set and trying to describe each moment with music-journo adjectives, you need to be there – ‘cos Wet Nuns don’t give a fuck and neither do I.

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