There’s devotion, and then – dear readers – there are Creeper’s fans. Anyone turning up to The Pit on a Friday afternoon without prior warning is likely to be left both baffled and awe inspired, such is the magnitude of the six piece’s thrall over their gathered masses.
No band third on a smaller stage should be able to pull the Freddy Mercury “hold the pic out” trick, but for Will Gould it’s a miracle if he can get through even a verse without the crowd doing the job for him. It’s easy to see why, too. While many may try and tag Creeper with other bands – most notably a sort of home-spun My Chemical Romance – none of those comparisons cut it. They stand alone, prime movers in a cache of British underground rock bands all doing their own thing, all pushing for a better way.
They’ve got the songs. ‘Black Mass’ especially is the kind of cut you’d fully expect to find echoing back from higher reaches of bigger stages in years to come, but it’s not all about a catchy chorus or fancy solo. It’s deeper than that. Look into their eyes and you’ll see it; Creeper are special. Creeper matter. Between them, their cult will change it all.