 | | The A.K.A.s (photo: Ged Camera) |
This normally involves a 100 mph riot of rock on roll drawn from the well that Slipknot, Black Sabbath and Free drank from. Songs crash into each other so that it’s about four numbers in when vocalist Mike Ski pauses to consider the vagaries of the English language (Pound? Quid? Squid?) from his New York perspective.
 | | The A.K.A.s (photo: Ged Camera) |
As a front man, Ski would put a prime time Jagger performance to shame; backed by solid riffs and keyboards, he struts, preens and prowls around the intimate Roadhouse. Take the microphone out of his hand, and he becomes instantly relaxed and genial, appreciative of everyone who turned up. Put the mic in his hand and he becomes a whip cracking ring master, grasping your attention and leading you to his lair. He has a voice suited for aggression and primed for action. When it’s all over, and the debris has settled, he’s only too happy to go across and chat to the new strangers he calls friends. It’s that simple, yet it works so well. | 
