Portland Arms, CambridgeLetting rip in the backroom of a pub, post-punk Leeds band skewer
Brexit Britain with wit, bile – and a broken wrist
![Yard Act review – spiky chroniclers of sour times](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/b01e08100dd62e2275ba13f97912b4983b03f83d/0_448_6720_4032/master/6720.jpg?width=1200&height=630&quality=85&auto=format&fit=crop&overlay-align=bottom%2Cleft&overlay-width=100p&overlay-base64=L2ltZy9zdGF0aWMvb3ZlcmxheXMvdGctcmV2aWV3LTQucG5n&enable=upscale&s=d3e6bc91bb9062effa2b74242ce62b0c)
“It’s a never-ending cycle of abuse!” snarls Yard Act frontman James Smith at his bass player, eking out a funk rhythm. “I got the blues and I can’t shake them loose!” The song is Dark Days – a sinuous banger in which Smith, spittle-flecked, works a botched arrest, some mink carcasses and the reinvention of the wheel into a snapshot of contemporary Britain.
Despite its title, Dark Days is actually a lot of fun: across the stage, mustachioed guitarist Sam Shipstone lets rip a surf-guitar solo. His wrist is strapped up; Smith later reveals it’s broken in two places. Unperturbed, Shipstone coaxes wayward blizzards out of his instrument all night, inspiring a bijou but committed moshpit in this pub backroom.