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Acid Klaus

Dec 15, 2024 By Jimi Arundell Photography by Jimi Arundell Web Exclusive

At the dark centre of the universe is the Adelphi. The legendary music venue recently celebrated forty years since the former terraced house was transformed into a hotbed of subversion, renowned for attracting truly alternative acts lesser places dare not play. And tonight, it’s the turn of Salford-born seditionary Adrian Flanagan AKA leader of the northern-electro collective Acid Klaus.

Notorious rebel songwriter Flanagan is known for his daring ambition and no-bullshit attitude. He also heads up the Eccentronic Research Council, plays in The Moonlandingz alongside a couple of Fat White Family members and is a third of the synth pop project International Teachers of Pop.

Support comes from bdrmm’s Ryan Smith whose new solo venture sees him forgo reverb-drenched guitars in favour of experimenting with live dance music. Straying from both band and his familiar sound, the shoegaze superstar now explores techno and trance with a squelchy Korg and a MacBook precariously perched on a cardboard box.

Close your eyes and Smith teleports the rain-drenched East Riding dancers to the fabled Ibiza raves as his escalating glitchy loops and harsh soundscapes mutate into genuine bangers echoing the likes of Josh Wink’s “Higher State Of Consciousness” and Aphex Twin’s “Windowlicker”. Don’t be surprised if Warp Records snatch him up for an EP!

The Adelphi certainly suits both the stripped-down DIY disco sound, the erratic nature and outsider attitude of Acid Klaus. Singers Cat Rin (Catrin Robinson) and Baby Woman (Amelia Lace) are flanked by ERC drummer Oliver Harrap bashing at an electric kit augmented with a snare plus the brilliantly belligerent gobshite necking a bottle of red wine all to himself behind the synths.

There’s an irreverent northern humour throughout the set, including the fantastically filthy track “Physical Jesus” which makes excellent use of a suitably seedy vocoder, followed by Flanagan taking the piss out of the onlookers, the government, but mostly himself.

The chaos continues with “Bad Club Bad Drugs Bad People” which sees the anti-hero move into the crowd to share the mic with the frenetically moving audience. And later, I’m dragged into embarrassing myself with a terrible improvised white boy rap.

The anarchic mix of beats and wry comedy is electrifying with a constant sense that anything could (and frequently does) happen. In a world saturated with over-polished pop and bland bands with nothing to say, Acid Klaus is the only solution.