For their first-ever Sebright Arms takeover, SON Estrella Galicia, the Spanish beer’s long-running project championing new independent bands and ice-cold pints in equal measure, brought in Man/Woman/Chainsaw to headline, a booking that turned the venue into an oven of noise, heat, and blissful chaos.
It felt strange walking into Sebright Arms knowing I’d seen Man/Woman/Chainsaw tear Scala apart just a few months back, 800 bodies packed and bouncing around like a sea of bodies crashing together, in full, ecstatic tide. Now here they were, where the ceiling drips with sweat, the front row might as well be on stage, and it felt like a perfect space to revisit this up close, tight squeeze that chaos into a 150-cap basement.
Opening duties fell to Brighton’s AtticOMattic, a genre-blurring five-piece with a spell of skittering drums, airy keys and restless guitar loops. Their tight, rhythmic grooves moved with an easy fluidity. The band’s subtle shifts in tempo and volume never felt forced. And the vocals added an ethereal layer that echoed around the small room, wrapping the audience in a dreamy haze. When they slipped into a final burst, you could feel the crowd soften, drifting with them. A perfect, dreamy primer for the storm to come.
Between sets, the room filled, and the AC did its best to hold back the heat. MGMT drifted out the speakers, and the walls started sweating long before anyone else did. Man/Woman/Chainsaw walked out to their entrance song, ‘In Da Club’. They slipped into ‘The Boss’ first, a colossal rock tirade that flipped from a wall of noise to a single, creeping violin line before detonating again in glorious unison chants. The heaviest track from their debut EP ‘Easy Peazy’, it’s a song that grips its anger tightly. Watching Vera Leppänen (vocals, bass), Billy Ward (vocals, guitars), and Emmie-Mae Avery (vocals, keys/synths) in perfect sync was something else. By the time ‘Adam & Steve’ landed, the crowd were swaying in that soft push-pull, a controlled chaos humming quietly.
Perhaps one of my favourite parts of Man/Woman/Chainsaw is the way they wield dynamics, from moments of crashing stabs to when the chaos pulls back and you hear how locked in they are. Each tiny part slots into place into some of the softest, most beautiful sounds. ‘MadDog’ was a case in point: it started teeth-bared and snarling, Vera’s voice cracking with frustration, until halfway through the anger melted into something mournful, Clio Starwood’s violin weeping over twinkling piano keys.
When they hit ‘Ode To Clio’, the room felt like it was holding its breath. The first five seconds, a tight flurry that vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving you chasing it through the rest of the song. What starts as gentle, searching strings and hushed harmonies slowly swells until it can’t hold itself together any longer, the calm crumples, Lola Cherry’s drums and the guitars splinter apart, and for a moment the room is just pure, glorious chaos before those strings cut through again, carrying everyone with them.
Nights like this are why these shows matter. A band like Man/Woman/Chainsaw in a basement like Sebright Arms turns a branded event into a reason to gather, pint in hand, shoulder to shoulder, to lose yourself for an hour or so in something loud and messy. If SON Estrella Galicia keeps backing independent bands and the small venues that give them space to roar, the beer will taste better for it. SON Estrella Galicia brings small rooms, big sounds, and the sense that sometimes the best gigs still happen just below street level in your local independent venue.
All photos by Anna Delf
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