RACKET FROM THE PIT: April 2010
So off we trotted on tour again, this time to mainland Europe for a mini-jaunt with BANGERS, taking in France and Belgium. Glorious times. First stop, Le Havre, France, was a baptism of fire, as drunken boys dropped their trousers and drunken girls hollered like drunken boys (McDaids, 17 Feb). Local support, DRUNK SINCERITY, were a UK-indebted punk band with suitably grubby overtones although they didn’t quite have a grasp of the Britpunk swagger. All told, it was a joyous introduction to virgin territory for us and Bangers. Merci.
The next night, in Paris, we played a cellar-stroke-dungeon bar called Le Pixi, which would have been shut down in two hours by Health & Safety if it had been located in any English town (18 Feb). Cool enough though. First up were IDS – young Parisian punkers who clearly needed more practise room liaisons, but were amiable enough hommes.
Over in Belgium, D’Hivers Rock festival hosted an amusing cross-section of Euro bands of all persuasions, some that needed to be seen to be believed (Tournai, 19 Feb). Post-rock, triple-guitar sludgemeisters, GENERAL LEE, were quite impressive but over on the main stage, Gypsy-punk bible-bashers, MALA VITA, were making, somewhat ironically, a godforsaken racket while expounding the dubious virtues of following the Lord. May He smite such raggle-taggle barmy bollocks with his omnipotent hand. Breton Celt-punk freakozoids, LES RAMONEURS DE MENHIRS, were a more palatable affair, although their seldom-heard traditional instruments didn’t sound too pretty when rubbed up against a clonking drum machine and over-distorted guitar. Meanwhile, MORNING RED seemed to think it was still 1995 as they happily paraded their Limp Bizkit-esque nu-metal nonsense.
It snowed on the last day, in La Louviere, for about five hours. Heavily. It was pretty amazing and made for a rather romantic grand finale (La Taverne Du Theatre, Belgium, 20 Feb). Homeboys, BLACK SHEEP were a decent enough skanky punk rock band (with Rancid cover to boot), but it was across the square in another bar that things were really getting hot and heavy, in the shape of southern French trio, EDISON CLAN. We’d met them when we first arrived and had a little chat with them, so decided to pop over before we were due on to watch them play. They were fucking awesome. A grizzly blend of 16 Horsepower-esque drama, goth-americana and twisted blues will win me over every time and these guys were spewing it out by the bucketload. The fact that we found them by accident, playing 100 yards away from us in a small Belgian town, proves that there is, in fact, a God, after all. Really? No, don’t be bloody daft.
Corporate launch show for Sailor Jerry rum in a plush West London bar? Oh, go on then (City Arts & Music Project, 23 Feb). Didn’t turn out too badly actually, although openers, THE PARIS RIOTS, couldn’t have been further removed from their moniker if they ‘d been lying in a Parisian morgue in 1968. Painfully shmindie strumalongs and self-indulgent crooning won’t win a revolution chums. And where’s my fucking guitar stand?
Off to Brixton next for my first ever out-of-town solo show (Windmill, London, 6 March). Suitably shitting myself, my nerves were calmed by a glut of great performances from individuals of all acoustic persuasions. ED ACHE ukele’d his way through a bunch of snotty punk rock songs; Wonk Unit’s ALEX JOHNSON was hilarious, dishing out filthy sex-poetry and chirpy pop-punk ditties while flashing his gold front teeth; and the astonishing JD SMITH took steel slide to battered acoustic guitar, howled like Jack White and stomped his way into our blues-embracing hearts. After I’d sweated enough fluids to keep Eritrea alive for three weeks, the duel talents of KELLY KEMP (lovely, honest country) and SAM RUSSO (Frank Turner-esque story-telling folk) rounded off an evening of acoustics that exceeded my expectations by a country mile. Good work.
Over in Hardcore World, WISDOM IN CHAINS were battling on with a bass player down, despite the fact that they have two guitarists (White Rabbit, Plymouth, 12 March). Why didn’t one of them play bass? Baffling. Maybe they thought we wouldn’t notice. We did. Local newbies, CITADEL, made their debut appearance and were relishing the moment. Rough around the edges and clearly running on adrenalin, they managed to hold their own, despite playing it safe with mid-paced tempos and formulaic structures. Another six months and they should be a far more persuasive proposition.
Aah, THE SKINTS. What can I say that I haven’t said a couple times before? The greatest reggae-punk band since The Clash? Pretty much. Three utterly competent singers, all of whom have mastered their unique style? Mos def. And that drummer. And that bassist. It really doesn’t get any better than this (White Rabbit, Plymouth, 13 March). Milton Keynes ska-metallers, ANTI-VIGILANTE, may aspire to be Random Hand’s little brother but they’re gonna need a lot more spunk and splendour to rise above the hordes of other skmetal upstarts out there. See-ya bye.
Backbone (johnsycash@yahoo.co.uk)
