Twats at gigs

I promised this last night. So here it is. It’s a bit sweary so sorry if you don’t like swearing.

I’ve been to quite a considerable amount of gigs in my adult life and last night was the latest of such jaunts as Lisa & I went to see Kate Nash at the Guildhall in Gloucester. It was an enjoyable evening’s entertainment. I like Kate Nash. I know it’s not cool, but I do.

However, something happens to me at gigs and last night was no exception. I attract twats. If it hadn’t happened to me before last night I may have been inclined to go into quite a considerable rant about the people of Gloucester. But I won’t as it has and they still seem to be struggling with evolution. And I wouldn’t want them to come charging out of their caves all grunty and shouty at me.

To the left of us was a group of 40 something’s – on day release I presume – who took it upon themselves to talk loudly throughout the gig, dance like they had CJD – barging into whomever was nearby (us) – and supplied us with such witticisms as “get your tits out”. To the right we had “your bass player is well fit” man and behind us was a chap that was that annoyed with the lack of music for all of 45 seconds he took it upon himself to shout “bollocks. Play a fucking song”. He’d been promised music; so he wanted music. That’s the standard of people we were dealing with.

I’d be able to pass off such an experience had it been isolated. But sadly not, it seems to happen to me a lot. It’s like I have a big arrow above my head (visible to the twats) that dictates to them “if you’re over 6ft 4, are drunk and a complete twat – please stand next to this chap.”

I have memories of the 2 smokers stood beside us at the Wombats in London – one of which puked up into his pint glass. There’s rubby sweaty pilled up dancer man at the Courteeners in Birmingham. The 7ft behemoth whilst watching the Coral at Glastonbury. Peter Crouch and the Inbetweeners at the Drums. Shouting student cretins at Mumford & Sons in Wolverhampton.  I could go on. But I won’t. It’s the inevitability of it that lets me down. Perhaps I should just stop going to gigs. Or just get pissed and become a twat.

Musical interlude

Amidst the absurdity of attempting to stay up all night to watch every minute of the 1^st Ashes cricket test match at the tail end of November, Lisa & I went to see a gig for the first time in a long time. More by luck than judgement we attended the Drums at the HMV Institute in Birmingham.

Firstly though, we were treated to the Violens on support. I say treated in the loosest sense as they were easily the worst support act I’ve seen for a long time. Not aided by the fact that the sound was totally dominated by bass and drums (rhythm and lead guitarists totally drowned out) the lead singers incessant wailing started to grate as soon as they began. I haven’t given them a chance to redeem themselves by listening to them on MySpace or Spotify as yet but the bout of over indulgent guitar wanking to close the set seemed fitting after such a terrible set. Clichéd twaddle. We were shocked to learn that they came from New York. I wouldn’t have paid for them to come from York Street in Birmingham let alone New York. Perhaps they were brought in to fulfil the obligation of the fat bridesmaid equivalent of support bands at gigs. The fatter, the uglier the bridesmaid – the fitter the bride looks, the shitter the support act – the better the headliners sound. And perhaps it paid off as the Drums, in comparison, were excellent.

Gareth Keenan performing for the Drums

Being off the radar somewhat when it comes to new music (a combination of laziness, age and lack of decent new bands in the common domain) The Drums are one of the only bands I’ve championed this year. After a dramatic build up from the band already congregated on stage (in the dark), a grandiose entrance from stage left by lead singer Jonathon Pierce (not the BBC Sports commentator BTW) led to an energetic set from start to finish.

Despite my vision being impaired by Peter Crouch’s doppelganger (arriving moments before the start of the set as if to say “Sorry Tom, you do realise you’re NEVER supposed to have a decent view of a gig don’t you?”) we watched as the Drums burst to life playing their tuneful brand of indie pop rock. Their sound is unique and – as bizarre as it may sound – I would liken them to the perfect hybrid of the Beach Boys and New Order.

Pierce, who could quite easily pass for Gareth Keenan from the Office, strutted the stage as if he’d boshed all manner of illegal substances up his hooter. He is an excellent front man and engaged the audience with infectious enthusiasm and wild gyrating throughout. Most famed song Let’s go surfing was dropped in early into the set but unlike many bands with one identifiable hit (to those of us that are non obsessive fans) this wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a disappointment as their boundless energy and reams of catchy tunes kept you interested throughout the hour long set. Finishing with Forever and Ever Amen I left with a huge grin on my face satisfied that there is at least one decent new band touring at out there at the minute. I like.