Courting a crowd that by far and away surpasses the average Sunday at 11am turnout, Spitting Glass receive a hero’s applause. The pit yawns open at the snap of a finger, those on the outside are quickly left eating dust as limbs slice the air and the hardcore kids get dancing. They leave a sledgehammer’s impact in their brief 20 minutes, with thundering drums and skullcrushing riff work, and although they haven’t exactly invented any new ways to make chug-chug noises, it punches bloody hard. Crucially, it compels people to move, which is already a hefty task in what is one of arguably the most challenging festival slots a band can play.
There’s still a haze of mystery around them that isn’t disturbed much, apart from one vague political moment from Joe: “We got some crazy fucking people who get involved in shit they don’t need to be involved with.” The other takeaway is just how easy it is to get pits moving when the mosh call is your own band name, in this instance it’s closer 1HP’s: ‘I’m fucking… SPITTING GLASS!’
While they have only played enough shows so far to count on one hand, Spitting Glass already have it nailed down. Expect to see them on a bigger stage next time.
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