Aberzine Gig Night, Friday 9th April @ The Tunnels
What's this I hear? Four local bands playing in the same venue on the same nite? And admittance for just £4? What a perfect opportunity to get along early and catch every drop of sweet, sweet music as it oozes from the stage. Actually, scrap that. I missed the majority of the first act because I was too busy pre-loading on vodka Red Bull in that manner much decried by publicans and MPs alike. Actually, scrap that previous sentence too as it's mostly untrue; I wrote that part while stocking up on the aforementioned vodka Red Bull before the gig. I did actually catch opening act Which Way Now, or part of them at least, and what I heard was damn good. Unfortunately that's about all you're going to learn about them or indeed any of the acts who played Aberzine's inaugural gig as the review that follows was composed on my phone in situ while completely wrecked. Too much VRB does that to a man. Apologies for the lubricious and misogynous comments that follow; they weren't written by me, but by the alter-ego who possesses me and my pen after a few drinks more than a few too many...
Do you remember the scene in American Pie 3 where the dog swallows the wedding ring and Stifler ends up having to eat the dog shit, pretending all the while that it's actually a delicious truffle? That's what watching local bands is like. You've got to wade through a lot of shit to uncover the gems, all the while mustering your best rictus in an effort to pretend that their aural faeces are in fact delicious truffles.
Upon arriving at The Tunnels I discovered, much to my disappointment, that the first act were still on. I've never been a fan of watching bands as I find that their cacophony impacts upon my ability to talk at length about myself. However, having contrived to arrive too early, I felt obliged to begrudgingly endure the remainder of Which Way Now's set. There's a tendency when reviewing female-fronted rock bands to focus on the hot chanteuse and ignore the rest of the band. Well I'm not gonna fall into that trap. All I want to say is that even if I was the singer's brother, playing guitar alongside her, I would. Musically they were reminiscent of Puddle Of Mudd, but I don't mean that in a pejorative sense. Thankfully their singer looks - and sounds - nothing like Wes Scantlin. Is that his name? Who? OK, I'm showing my age now, I'll shut up. Trying to disassociate the aesthetics of the singer from their musical output is impossible I discovered. It's like the Lady Gaga conundrum - would anyone lust after her if she wasn't famous? I would, but then I'm an animal with no standards. Some people can look at a band like Which Way Now and see the talent oozing from every individual member. I can't. All I see is a bunch of metalheads backing a singer they all fantasize about fucking and yet don't have the social skills to approach because they've spent their teenage years locked in a stuffy bedroom perfecting their fretwork. Guys, she'll never know how you truly feel about her unless you summon up the courage to tell her, but that's never gonna happen. Thankfully, Cupid here is on hand to do the dirty work for you. Heather, here's how it is: You're good and so are your band but I think you should know that they all want a piece. If they say they're in a band with you for the music, they're lying. [Sober note to self: Did I really write that? What a cock. I need to either start drinking less, or drink so much that I'm too incapacitated to write.]
Next up was singer/songwriter and general layabout Bob Knight. Where do I start? What can I say about Bob that he's not already said about himself? Ah fuck it, I'll pass him the mic: 'You'll find the best thing about an acoustic set is it's possible to talk over it without spoiling your pint.' Then, upon fucking up the start to a song: 'You know, intros are a bit like foreplay and not really necessary.' Utter genius. Bob has always been something of a Marmite character; not brown, viscous and spreadable, but the sort of person you love or hate. I often find myself experiencing both emotions simultaneously in his presence. When he's good, he's damn good, and when he's not... well, tonite thankfully he was, so let's just focus on the good times. Gary Glitter would give the contents of his hard drive to have written lyrics as good as those found in 'Secrets, Tales and Lies'. (Not that ST&L is about paedophilia, I hasten to add. For that, you'd have to turn to the Bob Knight classic 'My Friend Bubba'.) 'Found You', meanwhile, is one of the best ten songs ever written. Fact. (Not that there is such a thing as a best ten songs in the world of course, any more than there is such a thing a best ten sets of tits. They're all good, apart from the saggy ones and the ones equipped with an extra nipple.) I played 'Found You' to my daughter when she was still in utero, the headphones placed against her mother's bulging belly. Now that Kris Watson-Morgan-Prais-Wish-8 has disappeared off the radar, Bob Knight is officially the best songwriter in Aberdeen. Where next for this prodigious talent? Tonite the Granite City. Tomorrow the Mearns, perhaps. Sadly we don't live in a meritocracy where the good rises up and the shit sinks to the bottom, so Bob's occasional flourishes of genius will never reach the audience they truly deserve. If the handful of bored looking punters in The Tunnels couldn't appreciate them, what hope is there? Talk about pearls before swine.
The third act, Panda Eyes, reminded me of the sort of bands they used to put on every Thursday nite downstairs in the old Aberdeen Student Union. And that's not a good thing. At least back then there was copious amounts of cheap drink to numb the pain of having to endure some turgid female-fronted rock band. Panda Eyes were so bad I had to go to the bogs for a line just to make them seem better. I tell you, following that band on tour wouldn't be cheap. Am I prejudiced against Panda Eyes because their female singer is about twice the size of Which Way Now's? Possibly, but even so, Panda Eyes' frontwoman would have to be Lady Gaga famous before I'd even contemplate going there.
I missed the final band, Captain Face, presumably because Panda Eyes bored me out of the venue, though to be honest I can't really remember now why I left. I'll just helpfully note that Captain Face were probably very good at what they did, whatever that was. I'd like to conclude this review by quoting the last two lines of text I entered into my phone before exiting the venue midway through Panda Eyes' set: 'The thing about background music is it's in the background. That's all I'm saying. It wasn't bad, it was just the background to the rest of my nite out. So they were either boring or I was drunk. You choose which.'
Well said, Kai. Even wasted you speak more sense than everyone else. Somebody buy that man a pint of Irn Bru to wash away his hangover.
What's this I hear? Four local bands playing in the same venue on the same nite? And admittance for just £4? What a perfect opportunity to get along early and catch every drop of sweet, sweet music as it oozes from the stage. Actually, scrap that. I missed the majority of the first act because I was too busy pre-loading on vodka Red Bull in that manner much decried by publicans and MPs alike. Actually, scrap that previous sentence too as it's mostly untrue; I wrote that part while stocking up on the aforementioned vodka Red Bull before the gig. I did actually catch opening act Which Way Now, or part of them at least, and what I heard was damn good. Unfortunately that's about all you're going to learn about them or indeed any of the acts who played Aberzine's inaugural gig as the review that follows was composed on my phone in situ while completely wrecked. Too much VRB does that to a man. Apologies for the lubricious and misogynous comments that follow; they weren't written by me, but by the alter-ego who possesses me and my pen after a few drinks more than a few too many...
Do you remember the scene in American Pie 3 where the dog swallows the wedding ring and Stifler ends up having to eat the dog shit, pretending all the while that it's actually a delicious truffle? That's what watching local bands is like. You've got to wade through a lot of shit to uncover the gems, all the while mustering your best rictus in an effort to pretend that their aural faeces are in fact delicious truffles.
Upon arriving at The Tunnels I discovered, much to my disappointment, that the first act were still on. I've never been a fan of watching bands as I find that their cacophony impacts upon my ability to talk at length about myself. However, having contrived to arrive too early, I felt obliged to begrudgingly endure the remainder of Which Way Now's set. There's a tendency when reviewing female-fronted rock bands to focus on the hot chanteuse and ignore the rest of the band. Well I'm not gonna fall into that trap. All I want to say is that even if I was the singer's brother, playing guitar alongside her, I would. Musically they were reminiscent of Puddle Of Mudd, but I don't mean that in a pejorative sense. Thankfully their singer looks - and sounds - nothing like Wes Scantlin. Is that his name? Who? OK, I'm showing my age now, I'll shut up. Trying to disassociate the aesthetics of the singer from their musical output is impossible I discovered. It's like the Lady Gaga conundrum - would anyone lust after her if she wasn't famous? I would, but then I'm an animal with no standards. Some people can look at a band like Which Way Now and see the talent oozing from every individual member. I can't. All I see is a bunch of metalheads backing a singer they all fantasize about fucking and yet don't have the social skills to approach because they've spent their teenage years locked in a stuffy bedroom perfecting their fretwork. Guys, she'll never know how you truly feel about her unless you summon up the courage to tell her, but that's never gonna happen. Thankfully, Cupid here is on hand to do the dirty work for you. Heather, here's how it is: You're good and so are your band but I think you should know that they all want a piece. If they say they're in a band with you for the music, they're lying. [Sober note to self: Did I really write that? What a cock. I need to either start drinking less, or drink so much that I'm too incapacitated to write.]
Next up was singer/songwriter and general layabout Bob Knight. Where do I start? What can I say about Bob that he's not already said about himself? Ah fuck it, I'll pass him the mic: 'You'll find the best thing about an acoustic set is it's possible to talk over it without spoiling your pint.' Then, upon fucking up the start to a song: 'You know, intros are a bit like foreplay and not really necessary.' Utter genius. Bob has always been something of a Marmite character; not brown, viscous and spreadable, but the sort of person you love or hate. I often find myself experiencing both emotions simultaneously in his presence. When he's good, he's damn good, and when he's not... well, tonite thankfully he was, so let's just focus on the good times. Gary Glitter would give the contents of his hard drive to have written lyrics as good as those found in 'Secrets, Tales and Lies'. (Not that ST&L is about paedophilia, I hasten to add. For that, you'd have to turn to the Bob Knight classic 'My Friend Bubba'.) 'Found You', meanwhile, is one of the best ten songs ever written. Fact. (Not that there is such a thing as a best ten songs in the world of course, any more than there is such a thing a best ten sets of tits. They're all good, apart from the saggy ones and the ones equipped with an extra nipple.) I played 'Found You' to my daughter when she was still in utero, the headphones placed against her mother's bulging belly. Now that Kris Watson-Morgan-Prais-Wish-8 has disappeared off the radar, Bob Knight is officially the best songwriter in Aberdeen. Where next for this prodigious talent? Tonite the Granite City. Tomorrow the Mearns, perhaps. Sadly we don't live in a meritocracy where the good rises up and the shit sinks to the bottom, so Bob's occasional flourishes of genius will never reach the audience they truly deserve. If the handful of bored looking punters in The Tunnels couldn't appreciate them, what hope is there? Talk about pearls before swine.
The third act, Panda Eyes, reminded me of the sort of bands they used to put on every Thursday nite downstairs in the old Aberdeen Student Union. And that's not a good thing. At least back then there was copious amounts of cheap drink to numb the pain of having to endure some turgid female-fronted rock band. Panda Eyes were so bad I had to go to the bogs for a line just to make them seem better. I tell you, following that band on tour wouldn't be cheap. Am I prejudiced against Panda Eyes because their female singer is about twice the size of Which Way Now's? Possibly, but even so, Panda Eyes' frontwoman would have to be Lady Gaga famous before I'd even contemplate going there.
I missed the final band, Captain Face, presumably because Panda Eyes bored me out of the venue, though to be honest I can't really remember now why I left. I'll just helpfully note that Captain Face were probably very good at what they did, whatever that was. I'd like to conclude this review by quoting the last two lines of text I entered into my phone before exiting the venue midway through Panda Eyes' set: 'The thing about background music is it's in the background. That's all I'm saying. It wasn't bad, it was just the background to the rest of my nite out. So they were either boring or I was drunk. You choose which.'
Well said, Kai. Even wasted you speak more sense than everyone else. Somebody buy that man a pint of Irn Bru to wash away his hangover.
2 comments:
A friend of yours, someone I have obviously just met, a musician I believe, reckons your taste in music is not that impressive so perhaps anyone reading your review should disounct it and go judge for themselves. But then again this same friend then proceeded to ask whether I could procure him the music/words from the Drifters Classic - Save the Last Dance.
You can tell that friend of mine that every good band he ever got into was on account of me. I'm accepting no responsibility for the Drifters however.
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