Gig Review: Driver Eight Take a Break

I’ve never been the biggest fan of wank rock.

In reality, I’ve probably said a lot of nasty things about it over the years. BUT sometimes, just sometimes, a band comes along, gets on stage, chokes it’s chicken half to death, and then explodes with such intense beauty, that even I’m enthralled.

No, I didn’t see Holy Fuck tonight; Resident Records gig of the week. While the religious acts of sex were gathering press inches like I attract emails for penis extensions, I travelled deep into the deep dark hole of The Engine Rooms. The world of improvisational electronic bleeping was not for me tonight, I was in the rock cave.

I made the right choice; absolutely, completely and utterly. Latitudes were very special guests indeed. After voyeuristically watching them shoot their loads, and loving it, the best was yet to come. No pun intended.

This Will Destroy You won’t really. This Will Destroy You wouldn’t hurt a field of daisies. They might make them stand up tall and proud, forever enchanted by the wonder of life, but destruction would be a far off dream. Those Texans sure know how to caress your eardrums and sooth you right to your very core.

Forget whether REM have made the new ‘Lifes Rich Pageant’. Get down your local flea pit and, you never know, you might find a band that’s genuinely young, fresh and fantasmical.

Have I heard it yet? No. The girl that once wore an REM baseball cap, and enjoyed her Orange Crush, was well and truly dead by 1991. Stipe’s voice has long been synonymous with the sound of stadium rock twat. Stadium rock twat equals Bono. Stadium rock twat is the cause of immense pain. I may be brave enough to listen to it one day. Perhaps I just need time to prepare or to feel gravitys pull. Or perhaps I should take a wiser man’s advice. Don't believe the hype.