Tag Archives: Gigs

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.

The Zombies, The Ferry, 19th November, Act #52

McSorleys is too busy for the Prof who’s getting to that age where he likes, if not demands, a seat everywhere we go. Therefore, en-route we are diverted to The Crystal Palace for our pre-gig cocktails. Not normally a favourite watering hole, by a long chalk, tonight however it is a fortunate choice as already ensconced in there is ‘Mac’ and ‘Ither Willie’. They’re off to The Classic Grand to see Okkervil River. It’s a busy night, in Glasgow, as Besnard Lakes are also on at KTWWH, while The Vaccines are serenading at Barrowlands.Tonight the Happy Gigsters are some seven strong, Prof and WA, Spanner and Mrs Bed, Shields, me and The Man In The Long Suede Coat.

Before the show starts, Bill and I are met by the Ferry chef Captain Jack. In amongst heady facts about the number of Xmas Dinners he’s cooking in December, he tells us that, on the strength of the soundcheck, the band are on top form and just as he sidles into the night, here they come onstage and prove his assessment to be absolutely correct. A two hour celebration of their fifty year long career draws tunes from early singles, never released demos, the latest album, a brand new song and most importantly a heavy smattering of selections throughout the set from Odessey and Oracle. A certain amount of energy is dissipated from the performance by the sometimes lengthy, but always interesting, stories that act as a preface to most of the evening’s songs. Indeed, I may have imagined it but at one point Argent claims that the cuttlefish is a distant relation of the horse and that he can sing harmonies from a small hole in the top of his head. Another fine night, however on the way out I overhear that Colin Blunstone is back here  in February and, while I’ve enjoyed his shows over the last three years, I also realise I’m Zombied out for the time being!

 Rod Argent the Narwhal displays how to sing from his blow-hole. Hold Your Head Up, indeed!

Rod Argent the Narwhal displays how to sing from his blow-hole.

Hold Your Head Up, indeed!

Thomas Dolby, ABC2, 16th November, Act # 51

By the time an unusually tardy Spanner arrives at The State I am making serious inroads into my second pint of Border Ales’ Game Bird (4%). Barman Jason and I agree that it’s a stonker (that’s the technical term) and he’s already concerned that there may be none left at closing time when he allows himself a relaxing pint. Indeed this stuff is flying (no pun intended) across the counter like nobody’s business. Our previous game plan of just having one, in order to go and see the support band, is dashed and by the time we arrive at the gig they are indeed long gone.
Poor ticket sales have resulted in the gig being moved downstairs to the far more intimate ABC2. Tonight’s gig sees the small dancefloor covered in rows of seats, occupied by the tightest demographic I’ve encountered;virtually everyone is between forty and fifty years old (and bald to boot). We manage to find a standing spot in front of the desk, just as the band walk on. I think to myself, and am glad I didn’t vocalise, that I wouldn’t have recognised, the other TeeDee, playing the keyboards. however, I quickly realise that this is, in fact, because it wasn’t actually him. A roar from the small crowd informed me that the man approaching a second keyboard was actually ‘yer man’!

Lumme! Thomas and Masterchef’s Gregg Wallace were surely twins separated at birth. I keep waiting for John Torode to appear and challenge me to make a Pea, Mint and Ricotta Ravioli with Pancetta Butter and Pea Shoots.That doesn’t happen!

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A sensible mixture of old and new tunes then followed (it’s twenty years between his previous album and the current release) and the devoted Dolboids devoured it, whooped and hollered. I was there because I’d bought the early albums, when they were released, and had never got round to seeing him, at the time.

Support act, Aaron Jonah Lewis and Ed Hicks came back on to flesh out the TD set with some fiddle, stomping and the most full-on beard this side of Billy Gibbons. Taking Razzer to the Tinkers? Take a Razor, surely?

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He, Dolby, tells us that the last time he played Glasgow he would have been using a ‘Fairlight’ which back in those days would have cost around eighty grand. Tonight the duty of that particular sampler is performed by a pad that he bought, new in the States, for two hundred bucks.

Finally, they finished up with an uplifting ‘She Blinded Me With Science’, Pyke’s disembodied voice from the grave (Dr Magnus that is, not the bumbling subordinate of Capt.Mainwairing) ,taken from studio outtakes, advising us the listeners, and I paraphrase slightly ’She would have to be very clever to blind me with science…and be a woman!’ The Prof would have enjoyed this, probably more than me!

Acid Mothers Temple, The Melting Paraiso U.F.O., Nice and Sleazy, 9th November Act # 50

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Spanner, Bill and I descend into the bowels of Sleazy’s for what is a fairly average gig from what is normally an exciting band. The very low stage means that my two comrades saw little if any of our Oriental chums’ stagecraft.

The best thing about the whole night was two young girls whom I engaged in conversation. Not for the very fetching kimonos they were wearing but for the fact that they had Peter Andre masks on the back of their heads.

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(AMT&TMPUFO never fail to have ‘interesting’ album sleeves. I remain unclear whether this one suffers from a poorly placed cloud or whether she’s levitating  using a mystery anal propellant)