 | | TVH-3 (photo: Ged Camera) |
From such a place deep in the bowels of the Roadhouse, three men dressed in black (plus optional sunglasses) emerge from the dressing room into a black-out. No stage lights, save for a lampshade seemingly fitted with a 10 watt bulb. It's not because the Roadhouse couldn't afford the bill, but a deliberate decision designed to complement
the inherently bleakness of the "sound" that will shortly follow. Dark brooding slabs of electronic thuggery are thrown out from the keyboards, juddering though your body frame as you try to focus on the slither of faint light falling onto vocalist Lee's face.
 | | TVH-3 (photo: Ged Camera) |
Sometimes the single guitar flickers into life, but more frequently tonight it cuts out due to a faulty lead, the result of a collision with Lee as he carried out the first of several leaps over the speakers. One almost senses that the gloves worn are not for effect, but to avoid any danger to his hands should the intensity become too much and the aggression turn into violence (which it never does). Tunes are nigh on indecipherable, rhythms absent, yet captivating for those present. Outline shapes move in the darkness, generatingÌý a melange of a flesh vibrating thuds and deranged vocals with screwed up guitars. This is the preferred greeting into the world of TVH-3. When the question "What do you do with dreams like this?" is asked, "be afraid, very afraid" is the most likely retort. The gig has been beset with problems but as Lee proclaims "Everything works in the end". | 
