I won't waste too much time and too many words telling you how great Maths Class are, because if you have any sense at all you'll spot the Americanised name, add it to the throwaway pigeonholes of Mathcore and Electroclash, and run a very fucking long way in the opposite direction.
Even if you do get round to checking out their music and thinking "hmmm... not great", you would unfortunately be missing out on a shit hot live band.
Maths Class follow a noble lineage of bands like Throbbing Gristle and At The Drive In who never quite captured the live vibe they exuded in torrents while holed up in a studio, but if Silver Daggers tickle your pickle, then you're on the right street here.
Shifting tempos like a Delorean, and getting some nasty, nasty sounds out of a Bakelite phone; the itchy, jerky rhythms and clinically dry sounding guitars create some kind of bastard dance party in your brain, which, muddled by beer, sends intructions to your feet without bothering to let you know.
The band appeared raised on a pedestal, way up on the Mr. Kyps stage, but the massive soundsystem dissolved any semblance of detachment, and gave the audience more of an opportunity to study the five freaks on stage. Why are they here? What does this mean to me? Why am I here?
ANYWAY. For a generation unhappy with strict-tempo, four chord pub rock, for kids who want to jerk like Ian Curtis in a staring competition with a strobe light, Maths Class are here to bring 20 minutes of distraction, and you can't ask for much more than that.
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