After the Christmas excess and pre the New Year celebrations, it was time for us to see the TFS year out in style. Well in the form of a party at the Haymakers at least. Joining in the nights festivities with us were Bomb Factory and The Males. We weren't sure how many people would share our desire for party fun, on such an intermediate evening! As it turned out lots of you did. The place was soon packed with a motley assortment of revelers, ready to grab the night by the horns. The Males got things off to a glitz sheen pop punk start. With over half the band being younger than 15 you could say things were rather surreal. Still in a set that saw choreographed stage antics and songs about teenage self abuse, the entertainment factor was high. So after a spot more merriment it was our turn to make some noise. And make some noise we did! It certainly wasn't our most consummate performance, but boy did we have great fun. We were very loud and it can not be disputed that we put much balls into the proceedings. We finished with what was probably our longest version of Tofu. The build up was immense and there were even a couple of false endings. Then if that wasn't enough it was time for some of Bomb Factory's fine explosions. As with any good party the booze flowed freely and most of the evening was a warm blur. Actually towards the end things were getting a bit crazy. It was an interesting site to watch the Bomb Factory performing one of there high energy articulate rants, while to the side two of your friends are trying to tip a plastic bin full of ice, water and beer over each other! Was probably time to think about going home. Thanks to the Haymakers, Bomb Factory, The Males and to all of you who came out to help us celebrate such a great musical year (in such an un-musical way!).
Headaches For Heartache
The Mallard
Quilty
Tofu Escape Clause
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These acoustic outings are getting more frequent. Must be getting the folk bug or something. Tom, Dave and I decided that since we'd been playing some stripped down versions of TFS songs recently, we might as well go play them live at the Open Mic Nite. So we did. With a proposed set of 3 songs, there was enough time for just 2. Headaches and Death's Head were taken back to the pre-industrialisation days. Played by gas light to the work house urchins, this proved to be a blessed relief from all the sack darning. Although brief, this outing was another enjoyable dip into the acoustic way of things. Annoyingly the song we didn't play was the most acoustic friendly of the lot. So The Room and it's 3 part harmonies will have to wait until another time.
Death's Head March.wmv
The day started with a very hung over practice where we couldn't remember any of the songs. Or if we could, we were in no shape to play them. Things didn't look good for a top notch TFS gig. Somehow a great version of Death's Head March kick started us into life, and suddenly the day began to look brighter. So by the time we'd driven to Ipswich and found the Steamboat things had really started to lived up (i.e. us). The set was great fun. Lots of mistakes, but equally more rocking shambolic fun. Tom even broke a bass string in Tofu, but nothing could stop us having the time of our lives. Speaking of which wasn't Tom such a legend to transpose his bass part on the fly and finish the set, with only the three strings! Sometimes you just can't stop the rock. We always get a good reception when we play for the Blank Gen guys, and tonight was no exception. Thanks so much to Mick for putting us on, all those who watched, and to everyone who we chatted to during the night. You gave our egos a firm boosting, with your flattering comments. Especially Jen. Who we've been promising we'd come back to Ipswich, for about a year and a half! Hope to see you again sooner this time. PS we made it back for last orders at the Green Dragon, yay. I love these new opening times so much.
Quilty
Headaches For Heartache
Among The Wolves
Tofu Escape Clause
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Not a very busy night at the Moon it has to be said. Still it didn't stop this being one of our most enjoyable gigs of the year (and there's been some great gigs this year; Portland in April, The Pirate Party, Tottenham Swan to name but a few personal high lights). There might not have been a full house, but the punters that stayed till the end sure gave us some enthusiasm. We'd chosen a rather broad ranging set. Typified with the first live outing of Lights Out, bridge and into The Room. From Post to Prog and Harmony led acoustics, all in one go. Finishing off with a full on Tofu Escape Clause, that saw more stage carnage then ever. No stone was left unturned (over), as they say. Such reckless abandon was not without casualties. The keyboard might need the kiss of life before our next gig! Thanks again to those who stuck about.
Headaches For Heartache
Lights Out (with bridge)
The Room
Death's Head March
Tofu Escape Clause
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Four bands figured they'd make a bigger noise if they all shouted together.
Sick of the fact the Cambridge music 'scene' seemingly exists of nothing more than Jools Holland playing once every 6 months at the Corn Exchange (or so it seems when you're stuck playing the same pub every week to the same 15 people), they stopped hoping for someone to lift them out of this musical dead-end, and started learning to fly.
So, deep under the Cambridge streets, under this twee corner of English heaven, they played a gig. And handed out free CDs. They pulled a huge crowd. Got everybody dancing. And tried to promote the do it yourself ethic. Because when everybody else is too busy working 9-5, too stuck in a stoned stupor, too oxymoronic to even contemplate promoting anything other than apathy, you can't just awake yourself. You have to scream so loud you wake up this whole damn city.
So, The Furious Sleep, Cosy Cosy, Princess Drive and (the) Bomb Factory, We salute you for trying to pull us out of this with you. So what if there's a motto about those who dare to fly? We’ll see you the other side of this horizon. Send us a postcard.
by tommo king.
Taken from Repeat Online.
Lights Out
Death's Head March
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So another month and another gig away from Cambridge. Tom drew the short straw, and so drove Dave, me and our gear down. Matt on the other hand was making his own way across London. After a food stop, and too many traffic stops we were greeted by Matt gesturing us to a parking space. He’d been there for a while hob knobbing with One Unique Signal and Caretaker guys.
The Fighting Cocks unlike it’s dubious name, turned out to be a great venue. Run by very helpful efficient people, and just the right size to hold a night such as this. The place soon began to fill up and the smiles on the OUS crews faces grew bigger. They got thing off to a hypnotically loud rhythmical start, and the audience looked ready for a night of out there music. Shame that our set was so uninspiring. With only Tofu really getting my juices flowing. The rest of the songs felt a bit lifeless and awkward. Still Matt enjoyed himself immensely, and thought it was one of our best. Maybe it was! The only reviews I’ve stumbled across have been far from positive. One from the Caretaker guest book (punter 1 “The 2nd band on were noisy shit though”) and the other on a live journal site (punter 2 “less could be said for the furious sleep who were in main support, total posers with fancy hair”). Shame cause the day after we adopted our Right Said Fred look. He’d have loved it then! So we weren’t the dish of the day with those two. Still Caretaker finished things off with lots of gusto (esspecially their hyper bass player) and all paying customers must have gone home happy.
Anyway the journey back was slightly more snug, as Matt and Joanna joined us for the ride. Chattering away down the motorway we made it back without incident or too many toilet stops. Big thanks to those fine upstanding OUS gentlemen for organising, advertising and giving us such a good slot at this gig. We’ll return the favour soon. Plus was great to meet and talk to Caretaker. Not a pretentious musician amongst any of the bands that night. Makes a big change.
Lights Out
Quilty
Among The Wolves
Death's Head March
Great venue, loud pa and spot on sound guy. Shame there was no audience.
Lights Out
Of Kith and Kin
The Mallard
Among The Wolves
Tofu Escape Clause
What a night! Three great bands, all pulling out
their best punches.
Bomb Factory we're great. Angry and tighter than a wound spring. Love
those slightly robotic, hard hitting drums. They keep the unleashed beast
locked on target. Special mention goes to their guitarist, who played
a the set with a big bandage on his index finger. Somehow he managed it!
Well it's hard to review yourself, but enjoyment wise, you couldn't get
much better. Hard rocking and smiles all the way. It was great to play
the new songs again. They get better each time we play them. The duel
guitar rocking of 'Deaths Head' is my favorite at present. With the more
awkward aspects of the set dealt with, Wolves was a joy unleash. God,
that song gets faster and faster. Then to finish it was time to see if
Tuesdays hard work had paid off. Did we know Boring Gordon? If you'd heard
our sound check you’d be forgiven for thinking no, but as it was
we pulled a good version out of the bag on the night. The end refrain
being particularly enjoyable to play.
Colonel Bastard launched into a set that would see them play their entire
album, started with a return favor for our BG cover. This was no straight
re-working of a TFS song though. They'd gone the whole hog and produced
a medley of The Mallard, Quilty and Tofu Escape Cause! Man and what A
medley it was too. Filled with acapella singing, guitar solos, porno style
bass and backing vocals. A very surreal but wholly enjoyable experience.
What a way to start their set! Tossing off pop nuggets as they went, there
was just time for the classic Peter Sissons and the party popper orgy,
floor rolling extravaganza of Whitley Grange. Top class ending to a great
night.
Actually saying that, most of us headed back to the Bastard HQ, and carried
on. Imagine if you can, kitchen based sing alongs of Boring Gordon, Peter
Sissons, Jack Jackanory, The Mallard and even Easy! Such a cool night.
Harmonics.wmv
Lights Out.wmv
Among The Wolves.wmv
Boring Gordon.wmv
Colonel Bastard TFS Medley.wmv
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MF. We played an encore, and there was the pirate themed party. the best night in the history of the world.
JD. Less than 24 hours after the Soul Tree extravaganza, it was time to do it all again. Yep, we’d organized 2 gigs in two days! There was much aching of heads and bodies in the TFS camp, but we congregated at the moon with an excited sense of relief. This gig was going to be all about fun. No stresses tonight. Just playing with friends, for friends, with lots of pirates thrown in. The rum had obviously been flowing quite freely, as we launched into The Mallard. From the off, there was much audience enthusiasm. We’d decided on quite a different set from the night before. With only Quilty and Lights Out making (planned) return visits. With the momentum of the gig growing from it’s already confident start, we bit the bullet again. It was time for another delve into the unknown. Tom swapped his bass for the joys of big red euro guitar and to our surprise we cruised through Deaths Head Revenge Consortium. Somehow, the nervous excitement of a new lover mixed perfectly with comforting feelings of a familiar old friend. Can’t wait to play this one again already. Not even a string break could dampen our spirits now. Just meant a quick stop mid Wolves, to change guitars and then off again. Things couldn’t have ended in a more amazingly discordant mess....., but wait! The pirates wanted more, and they wanted Tofu to be precise. How could we refuse? Definitely my favorite gig we’ve played. Such a good atmosphere, and so much fun. Big thanks to Anna for organising the whole glorious affair. As if this wasn’t enough there was also an arse kicking party until the small hours.
Lights Out
Quilty
Death's Head March
Among The Wolves
Tofu Escape Clause
MF. Artic monkeys, fucking monkeys more like.
JD. This was tipped to sell out right from the start, and sure enough it did. Nearly 400 tickets too. So it was never going to be a case of us having to drum up any punters to make the numbers up. It was a funny sort of night really. Pretty nerve racking, and slightly annoying, apart from the half an hour that we got to play for. The PA sounded great. Very clear, and very loud. So apart from having the space of a match box to move about in (it soon turned out there were amp tops, barriers and of course drum kits to utilize as extra room), the set was great fun. We even managed to slip in a new song, which we just about pulled off. A quick note, it was funny to see how members of the AM crew are already starting to slip into typical demanding headlining band mode. Well the tour manager anyway. It was perfectly acceptable for us to play an entire set with no space, but obviously mandatory that we shift all our stuff umpteen times, in order to allow enough access for the band to get on stage! I’ve seen them, and they were pretty skinny chaps. Still, maybe they have bad spatial awareness or something. Anyway the kids loved them, so good luck I say.
Harmonics
Headaches For Heartache
Lights Out
Tofu Escape Clause
MF. Bacon boy's birthday. Nice and calm until he turns up that is. we love the portland and the new air conditioning unit. thumbs up. great gig good nite the only draw back is the fascist baker charging admission on the door. what a bad man.
JD. Having been asked to provide a messy, energetic ending to the nights music, it seemed rude not to oblige. So there was not worries about holding back from the booze. It flowed thick and fast. The thick mainly being introduced through the joys of sammy b shots. With the Portland gaining a 12.30 late license for the occasion, the 30 min set seemed more like a blip in an otherwise night of party antics. Seem to remember the first two songs seemed difficult to relax into, but the grease soon flowed through the cogs, and it was then all go. I don’t think there was much of the remaining three songs that didn’t see Tom or me standing on Matt’s bass drum. Lots of fun. Simon got his chaotic, equipment trashing birthday end and we got to party on until late. So everyone was happy. I think there was even some arm wrestling comps, and the sight of SB getting the bumps!
Quilty
Among The Wolves
The Mallard
Tofu Escape Clause
MF. Live 8, Live 8 this is the order of the day. All I remember is not being allowed to play until the fucking thing had finished and then we missed pink floyd anyway what a jip. the gig itself was so-so only because we were cut short (again).
JD. Ahh, a trip to London in the day time to get Dave a brand new guitar. Naturally he returned axe in hand and smile on face. The night was very relaxed, with lots of friends turning up to drink and be merry. Plus quirky partners in crime Karmadillo wowed us with songs of rent boys and dinosaurs. After much waiting around (thus much drinking) I was very surprised to find our open three songs we’re played will as much precision as gusto! Much more in the spirit of the evening, we then proceeded to give Wolves a right royal fucking over with a spiked bat. We soon abandoned this and slipped seamlessly (if you can believe that) into a spot of The Mallard. By this time it was well passed chucking out time, and so there was no time for any more prog treats. Next time maybe we’ll get to finish a set!
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JD: I wonder what the 36, 17 year old Austrian exchange students made of it all?
DS: I've no idea and probably never will but having our night subsidised by them certainly made me pretty pleased they were there. As for the music: Linda's played the best set I've ever seen them play and the crowd dug it. The Bastards were great and it was interesting to hear them to get out some of their more obscure bits. That reminds me - we have to write some more songs soon.
MF: hooray for colonel douchbag, they are great and we had fun as well. A good set with lots of cock rocking. nice.
JD: We made more fuck ups in one set than all our time changes put together, and yet the whole thing was ridiculously enjoyable. Maybe because it was so crushingly loud? God my ears were ringing the next day! Russell Bastard very kindly let dave use his guitar. Which was very trusting of him since he's seen how instruments at a TFS gig get treated. There's always something about these gigs we play with the CB family. So much fun, and they know how to throw a great party after too. Lots of hat wearing if I remember correctly. Can't wait for their album launch in September.
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The Morphines + The Fakers + The Furious Sleep + Freedom Sound + Captain Dangerous @ The Boat Club, Nottingham, Hot Renault Traffic Night, £3 Adv/£5 door.
JD: How could a venture be run with such overbearing military precision,
yet be even more disorganized than the Swan gig? So many bands on one
night. A 6th even turned up and was turned away! Plus was it really necessary
to be berated for a good 30 mins on the virtues of bring all your own
equipment to every gig? WE WERE TOLD NOT TO BRING A DRUM KIT OR BASS AMP.
All very eye opening, although it felt more like intrusive arse opening.
This was all before we'd even sound checked! Madness.
DS: What cunt stole my guitar? If I ever get my hands on that weasily
chicken shit I'll hurt it in it's eyes or neck or something. People like
that tend to live pretty shit lives in general, but in this case I can't
care.
MF: besides the gig being shit and run by a bunch of small penied fascists
i can honestly say that this was one of the best road trips i've ever
had.
JD: It certainly was fucking good fun. Despite all the shit that we had
to wade through during the 15 hours we were there (aforementioned mental
grinding down, being asked to leave the stage after after 3 songs for
not sounding like oasis!, and then dave's magical disappearing guitar),
the laughing just wouldn't stop. The Chemistry Experiment gang, and Chris
(wolves) ushered us away from Downersvile, and on to the night life of
Nott's. Much good time's, drink, bumping into Land of Raa members!, Biology
conversations, and Smiths albums later, Matt was forcibly waking us up,
to get our asses to our gear before the rowers went home. It was a dirty
job, and Hatters didn't appreciate Matt for doing it. Still before we
really knew what was going on, Dave was driving us homeward. Minus a fucking
guitar!!! If you've got it, yep you are a prize Wanker.
Lack + Navajo Code + Rainy Day Fuck Parade + The Furious Sleep @ The Swan, High Road, Tottenham.
JD:
To try and describe the strangeness of the Tottenham Swan is a hard task.
It has to experienced to be believed. The Rasta, Rude Boy and Reggae dominated
main bar, makes for an unusual setting to have a back gig room, full of
pierced/tattooed punks!
DS: Some of these afore mentioned punks were members of the very bolshy
Fuck Parade who, taking advantage of our rabbit in the headlights daze,
secured themselves second slot and relegated us to first. They did apologise
afterwards though...like we give a fuck. So with no sound check (those
are for premo tossers anyway) we launched our first song into the 'nil
points' ambiance. This seamed fun, so we launched the next. At this point
I would like to register a personal thank you to the two wonderful ladies
who danced so gamely to our undancable noise.
MF: rainy day douche parade
is all i have to say on that one.
JD: Imagine turning your amps up full, and then playing in large front
room, with all the lights on! It was fucking scary. It wasn't even a case
of looking into the whites of the audience's eyes, more like the flashes
on their retinas. The stops were pulled out though, and soon the interrogation
glare mentally faded. Much to our surprise the room full of people stayed
and watched the whole set, and reacted with much pleasure after each song.
I guess it goes to show you can't judge and hardcore porn mag by it's
cover. You never know what's going to be reveled inside.
Two small points of note, the sound guy was obviously a rather shrewd
business man, as he confiscated the mic stand from me before the end of
the first song! Also the guy Promoting the night (well standing about
looking scared), was a totally unnerving cross between Nye and Simon Baker!
Can you imagine it?
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So
as the full and empty glass’s rained down in the direction
of the four figures on stage, the shouts and boo’s got louder.
“geet owt ov r pub”. Hastily they gathered what equipment
they could salvage and made for the exit. Loosing a few material
possessions was better than loosing limbs or worse! Alas as they
opened the door to freedom there stood the many faces of anger,
not the fresh sweet air of escape. Held aloft, the baying crowd
led their noise making nemesis’s towards the sacrificial bonfire………
Well ok that wasn’t exactly how it happened, but it was the
kind of scenario we had in our heads when it was first muted that
we organised a night of music at the Haymakers. Having only ever
witnessed blues or covers bands get heckled before, we weren’t
sure that our brand of prog/punk obtuseness would necessarily go
down that well. Still Dead Elvis himself was insistent (and you
can’t argue with the King, can you?), and so the deal was
struck. We roped old palls Bouvier in for the ride, and set about
letting people know that this bizarre event was going to take place.
Saturday soon came, and could not decide if it was going to be glorious
sun shine, or torrential rain. We successfully dodged the later,
and got on with the job at hand. With a very Chesterton based day
ahead of us, we made our rehearsal stop at the lock-up, ready to
make sure songs were remembered. Then nourishment came in the form
of a trip to the Mermaid fish and chip emporium. Eating our spoils
in the beer garden of the Greeny D we were informed that this was
a breach of their insurance! So we ate on trying not to choke and
cause the owners any unwanted law suits. Finally we had to negotiate
the 200 meters drive to get the equipment from my place to the Hay.
It was tough I can tell you, but we made it and soon had things
set up ready to make noise. As we sound checked in the late afternoon
sunshine, the sight of a young boy with his hands clasped over his
ears balling his eyes out, wasn’t the most reassuring sight
to behold. Was this a premonition of things to come? Not wanting
to cause any more disturbances to the early evening locals, we exclaimed
our happiness with the levels and retreated to pool and buckets
of chilled free beer.
The twilight hours of post sound check and pre gig soon disappeared
and before we knew it the Hay was filled with loads of friendly
faces. Suddenly the prospect of our night didn’t seem so daunting.
The place was busy, there was lots of people we knew, even Landlord
Sean wasn’t insulting us in his normal ‘only joking’
way. So by the time Bouvier were getting things of to a fine rocking
start, the whole night was on a roll. The place seemed to be reveling
in an ‘end of the night’ feeling (as Dave would say),
and it was only 9.30! Maybe all we had to worry about now was would
anyone be left standing by the time we played? Us included! Not
a chance though, these guys had tasted the musical delights of Bouvier
and were now hungry for more.
Book ending our set with the two beasts, The Mallard and Tofu, we
gave the Hay a good rock seeing to. Matt nipped off to once more
drain the bucket of beer, in an opportune Quilty moment. Dave threw
rock star shapes from under his hair, and wrung evil sounds from
his trusty six string bad boy. Wow, the end of Wolves sound specially
dirty. Tom funked Tofu’s keyboard break up to Family Stone
levels, only to be ridden bareback until he was floor bound. Before
you could say “why is this song going on for over 7 minutes”
the whole thing was brought to a close amid flying equipment, falling
people and broken mic stands. Good night!
And so our story ends safe in the knowledge that a good time was
had by all. Although for all those who stayed up to the small hours
parting, the enjoyment didn’t really stop until the next day.
WOO HOO PARTY TIME!
Of Kith and Kin.wmv
Quilty.wmv
Harmonics.wmv
Among The Wolves.wmv
Tofu Escape Clause.wmv
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To
shake away the fog of hangover and mouth like a bale of straw we
gathered on fen road (no prams needed fortunately) for a pre gig
workout. Not for the superstitious or the weak of heart, especially
when your manager’s been telling you No rumpy pumpy before
the game, lads. After giving the set a thrashing worthy of a poaching
peasant with his finger caught in milady’s badger trap, we
piled off to the porty for some sound check refreshment. The instruments
were plugged in, then hit with our hands and the resulting noise
carefully analysed. The guitar seemed a little quiet, the bass sounded
like a juggernaut in a library, and the keyboard had vanished beneath
the rest of the noise, waving a white flag in the vain hope it could
be noticed. Cool, we said, and retired to the wings.
We met the other two bands in the pub, both of whom had travelled
fathomless numbers of miles to be in Cambridge and were discussing
the delights of their misadventurous tourism (one unique signal)
and vodka and lemonade (the colony). I can’t imagine being
lost in Cambridge is as perplexing as being lost on a roundabout
in Stoke on Trent, but our sympathies went out to them, especially
as their plight would only have been exaggerated by herds of American
tourists asking them where the city centre was. Funnelling this
rage into their fingertips, they played an amazing set full of fluidly
changing ideas that seemed underpinned by melodic drumming and some
great rhythmic white noise guitar parts. Everyone left the room
highly impressed and we were ecretly pleased that, this being Saturday
night and the black death having ended many hundreds of years earlier,
lots of people had turned up to watch them and were having fun.
It was strange to think that only an hour before, during the other
bands’ sound checks, we had all become struck down with sleeping
sickness and were languishing across a table with our fingers rubbing
our red eyes even rawer, hoping for Robin Williams to throw tennis
balls at us in an effort to prise us from sleep. The hungover practice,
it seemed, had squeezed every last drop of life juice from our love
eggs and nothing could revive us.
We set up our stuff to the ambient joys of Matt’s venetian
snares CD, watching him groove around the stage with a cymbal tand
in each hand as he set up his drums and the people in charge shouted
at us to get on with it or we’d run out of time. The curtains
joy and optimism, sweat, hope, levity and whimsy. We took our clothes
off, saw rob playing air guitar to quilty, danced and sang until
finally Jake threw himself through the drums, burying matt and his
beer beneath a pile of metal. A voice rose from the ubble, calling
plaintively, ‘my beer! My beer!’, and suddenly an arm
was raised aloft with a glass in it and a smiling matt just below.
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The Morphines + The Furious Sleep @ The Boat Club,
Nottingham, Hot
Renault Traffic Night, £3 Adv/£5 door.
Bomb Factory
+ The Furious Sleep + Kill
Freeman @ Portland Arms, Cambridge, R*E*P*E*A*T
Presents.
We
hadn’t played the Portland for over a year, so it was good
to be back. A feeling that was made even richer by being handed
oversized glasses of beer. Unsure for a moment we studied the size
ratio. Had our hands shrunk? Was the world getting bigger? Nope,
it was just happy hour. A pint and a half for the price of a pint!
Good start though. Things went along at a very relaxed pace, and
to be honest I was kind of forgetting that we had to play a gig.
The place soon began to fill up, which was rather pleasantly surprising,
considering there were three other gigs going on around Cambridge
that night. The fact that many friendly faces sacrificed the chance
to see one of the more high profile gigs, to come watch us made
my bosom swell with pride. You know who you lovely people are. Much
appreciated.
At this point I was slightly cursing the pint and a half happy hour
offer, as things we starting to get a bit blurry. A swift water
got things on track and then there’s nothing like a spot of
complicated rocking to get the mind focused again. Anyone who’s
seen us before will know that the next 30 minutes consisted of much
jumping, thrashing of strings, rolling about, drums beaten to within
an inch of there life, screaming, shouting, leads cutting out, much
liquid disappearing down throats, with a dash of general chaos thrown
in for good measure. For those that haven’t you'll just have
to wait until next time. It was one of those odd gigs, where before
you knew it, everything was over and we were packing up. Really
enjoyable, just not enough of it. It was also great playing with
more top quality bands again. It’s been our mission since
last year, to try and only play gigs with a good line up. It makes
the whole night so much more fun. I’d highly recommend Kill
Freeman, and Bomb Factory. Both doing there own thing, and both
excellent. Thanks to Richard for adding us to the line up, so we
got to play with them.
One last thing. When am I going to remember to take my fucking microphone
stand to one of our gigs again?!!! That’s only once I’ve
used it so far.
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Broken Jack + The Furious Sleep @ Embargo, Kings Road, Chelsea.
The Furious Sleep + Colonel
Bastard + Capitol
Hill @ Man
on the Moon, £4.
The
first gig of the year; we hadn’t played loud for two months
and the rust had set in like an undiscovered tinman in a field of
red poppies. With thoughts of music as distant as the first time
I took a bath in my parents’ kitchen sink, news of a practice
filtered through as I was watching the sun clamber over the M25
at six in the morning, eyes wide with jetlag. As soon as I reached
a bed I tied a t shirt round my head and hurled myself into a day
of sleep, waking up just in time to drive to dave’s squinting
blearily out of the window and fill the car with instruments, bags
and anything alcoholic that was on offer at One Stop and could be
bought without a 10 minute discussion on can sizes, cardboard holders
or refrigeration.
The lock-up in January is a dark, gloomy, freezing and windswept
wasteland, with puddles that seem to open quickly as your foot approaches,
sucking it briefly in until it’s been submerged up to the
top of the sock before ejecting you high in the air as you involuntarily
leap and swear at the same time. The only tonic to this climate
is to run in, lock the door and caress the body with a Swedish massage
of loud music, new chords, man sweat and the sound of a hurricane
in both ears. The rust crumbled quickly and we chose a set of songs
to play at the moon gig.
The gig itself, we discovered, was in fact a royal variety show
hosted by furious, with jake as the smooth talking doorman, stamping
hands and collecting coins from the arriving revellers, nearly all
of whom seemed to know someone from colonel bastard, and matt as
the supplier of intermission music that borrowed absolutely nothing
from Glen Miller. Dave and myself concentrated on sliding cans of
illegal ale slowly from a hidden plastic bag and into our bodies
with tact and discretion. More people turned up, some of whom we’d
invited, and soon the atmosphere was a massive communal toast to
music, friendship and being shit scared about playing gigs to packed
pubs. Capitol Hill played a blinder, looking confident and carefree
despite it being their first gig, a thought which sent my bowels
into a dance of jubilation. Colonel bastard shuffled on in full
Mafiosi regalia and started a set of brilliant, sweet and nourishing
pop songs, some of which were about newsreaders and all of which
sent my nerves on holiday as I remembered that gigs were about entertaining
a shabby collection of drunk people who already liked music.
The beginning of our set seemed a bit dry and crackly, like a bonfire
lit with a green sapling, but turned, as time progressed, into a
raging orange forest fire capable of evicting endangered hibernating
species. I fell over like a clown in an accident, and jake roared
at the audience for beer in a desperate thirst before resorting
to slurping the remainder of my red bull from my mouth with his
tongue. We soared through the rest of the set and colonel bastard
ben immediately invited everyone left back to his house nearby for
an after gig house party in which the fridge went from well stocked
to prohibition in the first ten minutes and matt scared all but
a few by playing a mixture of Hella and squarepusher on the stereo,
grinning madly and shouting “you‘ve got to listen to
this!” every time a good bit came up. Definitely a few converts..
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