NEW MODEL ARMY, Bastardolomey, Indignity
27.02.2010, Party club'4 РљM'
words byВ Ivaylo Alexandrov, photo: Martina Marinova (Pro-Rock)В 

I wanted to hang on the ledge when it turned out that the concerts of Hypocrisy and New Model Army are on the same date.

One of them I listen to since I was a child and even today they still throw me in delight. The other band I first heard two weeks before their first concert here (again put by the nice fellows from Der Circle), which does not make them less important in my personal temple and they caught me with their extraordinary presence and the amazingly undertaking music of Justin Sullivan. So it really appeared the dilemma to which show should I go. But yet I still haven’t seen Hypocrisy live. But when the wishes are pure, the movement is cosmically strong and man arranges planets with his thought and causes eclipses with the wave if the hand, the things seem to happen.

Hypocrisy do not have a supporting band and minutes before 10 PM they leave the stage of ‘Blue Box’. With two other enthusiasts we take off to the Madhouse, we literally eat out the kilometers of the wet streets of Sofia and after twenty minutes we rush breathless in “Party Center 4KM”. Bastardolomey and Indignity have finished their gigs (I am sorry, guys!), we buy t-shirts and beers and… NEW MODEL ARMY hit ‘States Radio’. It has become!

Justin is such a giant and the charisma of this band is so big that it is very hard for me to find the proper words to describe the emotional burst of the live meeting with their music. So in one breath I will lay down the experience that 200 fans faced in the evening of 27th of February. The five musicians give us a series of pieces from their last year release ‘Today Is a Good Day’ while we are dancing absorbed the vibrations of the clear, plain and so inspiring songs.

Strong lyrics with post-punk, indie, call it whatever you like but the rock of NEW MODEL ARMY is a reflection of the life itself – honest, cynical, strong or enervating with the scent of a cold night street, vibrating in the pulse of the contemporary city with enough mud to stain you, rain to wash you and neon globes to light the way. The songs are grabbing, wrapping in the melody to make us singing, charging with energy and throw you almost by force in jumps.

Започва It starts ‘High’, we are singing embraced, waving beers and fists and each one of us is ‘One of the Chosen’ and yells to the rest and to the world, the rhythm leads the song, Michael Dean puts the tension while Justin sings and brings it. We dance above the floor, all the energy seems to tear us apart, Shahpazov pushes a friendly shoulder on me and we fly in a friendly moshpit, more dances than pushes, a lot of sweat, smiles and absolute happiness.
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The well known introduction of a few tones thrusts in the brain and the exploding beginning of ‘Vagabonds’ fires us in the air. Hymn of the rebels, the strong ones and the invisible ones, our hymn. Justin throws sharp stare above our heads and leads the song, the striving. I scream from the top of my lungs, plough the air, totally forgotten the still subconscious traumas from the melee of Hypocrisy and I wonder how it is possible to exist such a man.

Impressive, devoted, almost maniacal, genuine, toothless, charming and huge, Sullivan is sculptured of rock and roll – swinging from one end of the stage to the other, swipes with the guitar, rows with hollows in the air, burns, squeezes the rhythm and is so real! I can’t believe that he is an year older than my father. He has no age. This is not a man. Or the contrary. This is a MAN. The others have forgotten how to be people. And on concerts of NEW MODEL ARMY we unlock ourselves:

We are old, we are young, we are in this together
Vagabonds and children, prisoners forever
With pulses a-raging and eyes full of wonder
Kicking out behind us again

’Wonderful Way to Go’ fades away and the concerts seems to has reached its end but there’s just no way. We call them and they return for a walk by ‘Poison Street’. They hit also ‘51st State’ – this time without Nufry and below them we clash again our bodies, we merge our sweat. ‘225’ is the end. We and them, we all hope soon to be real together and we limp towards the exit. “Dude, you smell like a man!”, mentions Shahpazov with a grin. “Fuck it!”, I finish my beer, toss the shabby fag and slack on the backseat, reflecting the night.