The first thing Manchester’s Maruja do, when they appear onstage for the Birmingham stop of their Pain To Power tour, is to request that everyone moves forward to allow the constant flow of people in from the back. Once packed in tightly the intoxicating mix of rap, rage, thunderous drumming and fractured saxophone – that snake charms into Eastern mysticism – brings ‘Bloodsport’ and Maruja’s purpose to life. From here on in the four-piece led by the formidable presence of vocalist/guitarist Harry Wilkinson deliver their message of unity and solidarity, through music that foments with punk energy, teeming with unpredictability yet deftly crafted.
Like a series of jams, there is a free-flowing sense of experimentation to each song, an exploration, a curation. The rallying cry of ‘Trenches’ though is just out and out Rage Against the Machine style attack, whipping up a frenzy that spills over into ‘Break the Tension’, a now shirtless Wilkinson tipping the microphone to the hungry crowd to holler the “Can’t Break the Tension” chorus back at him. Just as the sounds ignite, surge and swirl into torrents of mania and psychedelic eddies so the singer adds his own visual stamp to the performance, choreographing the music through strange balletic poses, as well as fronting up with passion and aggression. Addressing the crowd in ‘Look Down On Us’ he calls for everyone to stand with fists raised in solidarity, “We might be aggressive, but our message is of unity and peace.”
Fundamental to Maruja’s sound is Joe Carroll’s versatile sax. At times harsh, jagged, unsettling as on crazed ‘Zeitgeist’ or a panacea, a comforter as in the sublime ebb and flow of ‘Sairose’, where dramatic jazz trills calm into soporific flourishes. On ‘The Invisible Man’ Carroll’s breathing through the instrument becomes part of the whole experience, the exhaustion, the over-arching achievement of the band to source rich veins of energy, from a multitude of genres. Summoning up a bass line from the bowels of the earth, bassist Matt Buonaccorsi sways his head from side to side, eyes closed, a knowing smile on his face as if signifying an arrival at the sweet spot between pleasure and pain.
Part way through ‘Thunder’ a channel is formed through the crowd which Carroll gets into and starts pacing up and down like a feverish animal. There is an air of anticipation and expectancy for what happens next, a stirring of primal energy absorbed by the band and sent crashing back out in waves of sound, a perfect symbiosis. The squalling sax coupled with Jacob Hayes’ mammoth drumming on ‘Born To Die’ could be the soundtrack to a psychotic break or an epiphany, the band suggesting transcendent possibilities as well as completely occupying the moment. The whole experience becomes a ritual.