Halestorm

Last month someone set off an a bit of an internet explosion by showing us all what happens when you remove all-male acts from a festival lineup. The effect is a handful of bands left on the bill and a stream of anger filling up online comments sections, a war of words between the progressives and the ignorant, some asking the industry to do more, to be better, whilst others claim some kind of fair meritocracy in the status quo. This isn't a dispute that can be resolved in one gig review but there's been one line of argument repeated over and over and over that, to be frank, has downright hacked me off. 'Women just aren't good at making decent rock music'. Just how widely this belief seems to be held is frightening and it's in this context that I pace into the LCR to watch Lzzy Hale and co tear the damn place down and rebuild it as a palace of rock and roll over the course of an evening. I just wish I could have dragged everyone currently talking rubbish on the interweb in there with me.There's a sense of the old school lingering in Halestorm's delivery, a harking back to classic rock tropes that is most evident when lead guitarist Joe Hottinger opens up his fretboard to unload a volcanic solo in the middle of a track. This isn't a sound stuck in some bygone era, though. Everything about the spectacle feels fresh and alive, digging up old treasures and forging them into something new, sharp, and gleaming. And this performance. It's just. So. Slick. The band go rampaging through tracks new and familiar, booming out everything from the much-adored Love Bites (So Do I) to the new, thumping release Amen, all of it bleeding with verve. At the front of it Lzzy reigns supreme, a snarling, leather-clad powerhouse of a lead singer on amazing terms with her audience. The set pacing is nailed and an insane drum interlude from AreJay pulls together everything great that can happen when a bunch with serious talent don't take themselves too seriously. I can't fault a single freakin' thing. It just works, effortlessly, at every moment. And that's it. So there you go, internet. Shove that in your misogyny and smoke it.