Most people wouldn't schlep all the way to Hackney Wick of a rainy Friday evening just to catch what was sure to be a brief performance by a band with - at last count - only three tunes to their name, but n0teeth isn't most people. (Statistically speaking, this would be impossible.) Having failed to see Nation Unrest live on numerous occasions for one reason or another, we felt that this time we wouldn't let the fuckers escape our sweaty grasp, even if it meant splurging on a ticket for a headline act we don't particularly care for (of which more later).

For those unfamiliar, here's all the data we have on file for hip new beat combo Nation Unrest here at Mr Internet dot biz:

  • They are a London-based duo comprised of one C. Graham and one J. Smith
  • They both moonlight in bands of a darkly melodic post-punk and joyfully raucous oi! nature, with a little synth magick along the way
  • Like fellow London EBMsters & n0teeth faves PC World the influence of Lambeth's finest, Portion Control, has clearly rubbed off on them, with their excellent 2019 EP (and frustratingly, sole release so far) bearing the PorCon-inspired name of Hard Rhythm Electronics For A Burning World

The gig took place at Studio 9294, a venue that opened before lockdown and mercifcully survived, unlike nearby Bloc. Back in 2019 we went there two nights in a row, first for a deafeningly powerful Test Dept show, and then for the (unrelated) Test Pressing all-dayer, where we got trapped in the gents with several other punters by a faulty door; venue staff struggling to free us while a DJ we particularly wanted to see dropped one of our all-time fave rave tunes. (My wife-to-be texted me from the dancefloor: "I can't believe you're missing this" and to be honest with you, dear reader, neither could I.)

No such restroom malfunctions would get between me and the music this time. I wouldn't allow it.

Nation Unrest took to the stage to the sound of an air raid siren, which all bands should do in my opinion, even - no, ESPECIALLY - if they're going to follow it up with a gentle acoustic folk set.

I recognised the three tunes from the EP plus a possibly as-yet unreleased number, and the set was padded out with bursts of improvised-sounding electronic noise that provided a nice contrast with the sharp, crisp electronic beats. It was over all too-briefly, leaving me lean and keen for more, but having come this far I decided to stick around for the headliners, a kind of indie-dance crossover act that has been around for almost a decade now.

My take on Real Lies is that they fit into a cosy "non-threatening, slightly pilled-up lads on tour" niche, a space they share with the more explicitly northern acid house-referencing Working Men's Club and which PVA have one foot in (the other firmly planted in the LGBT clubbing scene). 15 minutes into their set and this preconception hadn't been challenged, so I disappeared into the night. I want to take great pains here to state that I'm not trashing this band or the scene around them, merely recognising that it's not really my cup of tea (probably in part due to not being in my 20s any more, as much as anything). Kudos to them (and consistently spot-on promoters SC&P) for selecting such an aggro support band in the form of Nation Unrest, as well as the decidedly poppier Elles, whose set I missed but have enjoyed mellowing out to at home.

In Nation Unrest and PC World London has two formidable electronic talents, one barking like a sergeant major who has very precise ideas about how the beat should be assembled, the other ranting into the Ethernet like your colleague who's finally snapped and started smashing a keyboard over somebody's head. (Shout out to my fallen soldiers Skrot Centralen, you were too raw for this world.) There's no shortage of angry young men in the world but too few of them are channelling that rage into a crunchy, danceable aural assault.

Celebrate your local synth-punks. Let them know you hear their cry. Bully them into releasing more sick tunes.