Looking like my Uncle Bob, wearing mascara, and in dire need of Brylcreem, Enrico Cadillac sang to a pathetically small audience in the ABC2. I’d probably call their style as melodic pub rock, but there was also a slight 1930’s Cabaret flavour to it all, as well. The aforesaid singer, along with Mrs Suggs, aka Bette Bright, who was wearing a shimmery black and white number that gave this observer the impression of Rosa Krebb, dressed as a seal, being eaten by an Orca with serious dental problems, worked the crowd like a pro. This gig was a freebie, as brother Artie had won the tickets in a Rock Radio comp.
Billy Sloan the Sunday Mail’s finest was there. I wondered, to myself, whether he would shrivel up and die if I threw a handful of salt or slug pellets on him and simultaneously hoped that perhaps a giant thrush might hop down from above and spirit him away (for a later repast). He apparently had no problem with Enrico’s stage apparel unlike his disgraceful review of Howard Devoto’s spectacular return to stage, 2009. The man is a buffoon and should be pilloried at every opportunity!
Earlier, while eating an overpriced sausage ‘n’ mash in the CCA, with Shields, I voiced the opinion that Roger Waters’ saxophonist Ian Ritchie was probably the most famous musician to emerge from my old school (clearly having forgotten about Marty Pellow).
Spookily, less than an hour later, there he was – oor Ian – doing his thing, and sounding very like Andy McKay, I might add, in a good way. With Clive Langer on guitar it was a (minor) star studded cast we were witnessing.
Best performance and song of the night was from bass player Steve ‘Average’ Lindsay who wore a fetching polo neck/cardigan combo.
Earlier in the night The Amphetameanies, ten strong no less, gave a good account of themselves and their manifesto.The Deaf School merch stall man visibly blanched and said something to me along the lines of ‘Fuck they’re going to be a hard act to follow’ and he was indeed correct!