I’ve always been quite partial to Sunday night gigs as the end of the weekend simply gets agreeably lost in squalling feedback.  The case for Monday nights has always proven rather less persuasive.  But the chance to catch Love Letter, who feature Quinn Murphy (formerly of Verse), was more than enough to entice me down to the New Cross Inn last night.

Verse were active between 2003 and 2013, bar a brief hiatus between 2009 and 2011, and remain an important influence for me, a potent blend of musical and political inspiration.  They released four albums across Rivalry and Bridge Nine, of which perhaps 2006’s From Anger And Rage, was the definitive release. They were also a fierce live proposition, and I had the pleasure of seeing them lay waste to The Underworld on three occasions, all rather remarkably in 2008 if I recall rightly.  After the band calling it a day for the second time, I have followed Murphy’s subsequent projects with relish, from Bad Swimmers to Death Of A Nation, by way of Violent Sons.

But it wasn’t until Love Letter more recently emerged that you sensed that Murphy had found a band with which to truly build on Verse’s legacy. Their debut LP, Everyone Wants Something Beautiful, is immense – hauntingly beautiful, at times, almost post-metal instrumentation, riven through with searing slabs of groove fuelled hardcore ferocity.   Love Letter, as with Verse, craft their arrangements with the clear intent of pushing the vocals to absolute front and centre.  And Murphy’s delivery carries this weight impressively, braiding as it does uncompromising rhythmic fury with passages of solemn spoken word, while deftly dissecting the violence, both slow and immediate, endemic to the mire we now find ourselves in.

The show was utterly intense with the harrowing Unhousing Projects, the slow-burn Settlements, and the savage Meds And Taxes, perhaps, the set stand-outs.  ‘I want to feel your breath, to share your sweat’ – enveloped in a tight horseshoe in front of the stage, Murphy remains an absolute force of nature, commanding the room with a rare passionate intensity and a palpable emotional sincerity.  Between songs, Murphy continues to speak eloquently on class, identity, geopolitics, and personal self-worth – always thoughtful and self-reflective, forging important connections, never straying into platitude.

When the last snare beat snapped shut, so immersive had the show been, it was hard to believe that the set had lasted an hour.  Amid the buzzing ears and hoarse voices, I suspect very few people left the room without having formed some new insight or reflection on their own life and on that of those around us.  And to be honest, that is a lot more than I normally achieve on a Monday night.

Everyone Wants Something Beautiful by Love Letter is in stock here.