YUCK, King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, 20th November Act #53

Ask any six year old girl to dust off her Crayolas and draw a rock band and I reckon you’ll get fairly close to what Yuck actually look like. For a start, there’s a pretty girl bass player (every family’s got one, haven’t they?), then two guitarists (both playing heavily duct-taped Jaguars) one has a beard and plaid shirt, the other with a shock of curls, and a jawline like that of a very young Bob Dylan, who’s wearing a baggy tee shirt. Nothing too out the ordinary there,in fact damn cool if the truth be told, but at this point the six year old artist’s acid, that she dropped at playtime, hits those youthful synapses and hey lookey there on drums we have a creature that looks like Bob Pinciotti, from That Seventies Show, dressed as one of The Hair Bear Bunch after he went shoplifting in Mr Benn’s.
Bejaysus, it could even be Spanner from a parallel dimension!Anyway I digress, hot on the heels of the previous night’s Zombiefest I’ve got the gladrags, not to mention a drouth, on yet again and Rhursach and I are steering the Circusmobile, through the dark of the metropolis, towards King Tut’s.Not been there for a long, long time, perhaps to see Iconic Akron, can’t quite recall? However this place actually holds many happy memories, none of which, coincidentally, seem to be recorded on the 20th Anniversary staircase that guides the audient up from the bar to the stage area.

Before we go upstairs I have a quick Guinness and then do a double take when I notice that Jim Murphy is sitting at the table next to me. ‘Boy’ doesn’t know who I’m talking about, until I explain who he is (or if I’m to be cruel, who he was).What next, I wonder, Annabel Goldie pogoing at Barrowlands? Margo MacDonald at the mosh area in Sleazy’s?
Our timing is perfect, we walk up those stairs and the band are already onstage, seemingly having eschewed the notion of roadies.
We pick our spot behind the desk (I think t’lad would prefer to be down the front but humours my more sedate paternal demands). I’m immediately struck by the amount of inane chatter that goes on around me, even though the band were fairly raucous. I can recall headier times when you went along to ‘rock concerts’ and could actually hear a pin drop (I know this to be a fact as I tried it at Stirling University, Pink Floyd & Ron Geesin before you ask, and a bloke ten rows in front of me turned round and tutted)
A couple next to me loudly debated the contents of a White Russian (quote I mean, where are you going to get Koala milk in Glasgow of all places at this time of night?)

I think the preferred description ‘on the street’ for this style of stuff is shoegazing but I prefer to think it’s the sort of noise that Ent-wives might make when pleasuring themselves, while their blokes are off sorting out the Eye of Sauron. I enjoyed it immensely despite being probably double the age of everyone else in the room.

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