That's what I offer these days!
Emily did a Dodo in her fabpants.
Friday, 21 December 2012
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Gig Review: Spectacles To Be Proud Of
Spector, The Green Door Store, 25th February 2012
I saw Spector last night. Pardon the pun, but they were spectacular!
The smiles on their faces said it all. 'What a ball! Fucking, eh! This is almost as surreal as we are. Even the support act has more songs than us lot.'
'Yeah boys! Here we are, touring the small gritty venues of this land. We get drunk - sometimes alone (on gin) - in drab Travelodge hotels. Yet fuck a duck and mate a mallard, the venues are rammed to the gills. Check out those mad, "Look hey here" oogling eyes. Gee effing whizz.'
Hey scenesters, hey hey scenesters! Am I one, or am I not? I watch so many bands that have zero scenester value, and flip the birdy to many that do. I have no one to impress with my love of gigging. I walk the walk, but I don’t talk the talk. Considered speech is not my forte. As for writing; about 3 people read this blog. I effortlessly keep it on the very edges of the internet, deliberately failing to engage and impressing no one. I impress myself when I manage to ‘post’. This will be the first time this year. Woo hoo.
When I say scenesters, I neatly place myself outside of the box. Perhaps we all do, even the worst of us. “I see you, with your half pint, I see you with your SLR, I see you making your illegal videos to post on YouTube.” Fred Macpherson named and shamed, and every word and every move was gleefully recorded, including Fred using his hanky.
“I was there; look at my shitty photos and my wobbly videos! Aren’t I so fucking cool? He even pointed me out! I didn’t even nod my head, let alone shake my toosh, because I wanted to get a good picture. I was there. I was a rigid mother fucker, seeing it all through the screen my phone. Yeah, me! It was awesome. I am awesome.”
What can the band do about that? Behind me, a man sang along joyfully to every word of three songs, it was loud, out-of-tune and 100% heartfelt. About 10 people along to my left a gal moved almost as much as me. We lived the moment, we were in the moment and the memories are in our heads. Further back, dotted amongst the crowd, there was singing, swaying, and the sight and sound of people that dived into the night.
Spector thank you. Both the tracks and the banter were a treat to behold. “I know this song’s great, because I wrote it”. Damn right!
Fred Macpherson drips with star quality, quite literally. It drips off his hair, it runs down his nose. He wipes it away, combs his hair back into place, and all the time a riot of words fall free from his mouth. Think Jarvis Cocker, think Eddie Argos, think of shutting them both in a box for a year, and not allowing them to speak. Imagine every weird thought and the cavalcade of odd observations, simply bubbling up inside the minds of these two indie icons, just frantic for release. Think of what might come out when you lift the lid. Think, Fred Macpherson, with his deep booming voice, and his rock ‘n’ roll legs. Think Fred Macpherson, and his non-stop slightly surreal, slightly cutting, considerably intelligent and profoundly silly wit. Think brilliance, and you’ve got it.
The set list; well, seven songs were typed in an order, and the order was wrong. “What use is this to anyone? We’ve already played that one?”
I believe they played them in this order, but I was enjoying myself, not making notes:
Spector Set List (25/02/12):
What You Wanted
Friday Night
Grey Shirt and Tie
Celestine
Lay Low
Chevy Thunder
Never Fade Away
As I walked past the boys, in their backstage area, known to most people as the outdoors (without even a rope to separate them), I called out, "Thanks for the amazing show." I meant every word.
Fabpants Recommends:
You all know Chevy Thunder already, eh? How about this for some earworm?
I saw Spector last night. Pardon the pun, but they were spectacular!
The smiles on their faces said it all. 'What a ball! Fucking, eh! This is almost as surreal as we are. Even the support act has more songs than us lot.'
'Yeah boys! Here we are, touring the small gritty venues of this land. We get drunk - sometimes alone (on gin) - in drab Travelodge hotels. Yet fuck a duck and mate a mallard, the venues are rammed to the gills. Check out those mad, "Look hey here" oogling eyes. Gee effing whizz.'
Hey scenesters, hey hey scenesters! Am I one, or am I not? I watch so many bands that have zero scenester value, and flip the birdy to many that do. I have no one to impress with my love of gigging. I walk the walk, but I don’t talk the talk. Considered speech is not my forte. As for writing; about 3 people read this blog. I effortlessly keep it on the very edges of the internet, deliberately failing to engage and impressing no one. I impress myself when I manage to ‘post’. This will be the first time this year. Woo hoo.
When I say scenesters, I neatly place myself outside of the box. Perhaps we all do, even the worst of us. “I see you, with your half pint, I see you with your SLR, I see you making your illegal videos to post on YouTube.” Fred Macpherson named and shamed, and every word and every move was gleefully recorded, including Fred using his hanky.
“I was there; look at my shitty photos and my wobbly videos! Aren’t I so fucking cool? He even pointed me out! I didn’t even nod my head, let alone shake my toosh, because I wanted to get a good picture. I was there. I was a rigid mother fucker, seeing it all through the screen my phone. Yeah, me! It was awesome. I am awesome.”
What can the band do about that? Behind me, a man sang along joyfully to every word of three songs, it was loud, out-of-tune and 100% heartfelt. About 10 people along to my left a gal moved almost as much as me. We lived the moment, we were in the moment and the memories are in our heads. Further back, dotted amongst the crowd, there was singing, swaying, and the sight and sound of people that dived into the night.
Spector thank you. Both the tracks and the banter were a treat to behold. “I know this song’s great, because I wrote it”. Damn right!
Fred Macpherson drips with star quality, quite literally. It drips off his hair, it runs down his nose. He wipes it away, combs his hair back into place, and all the time a riot of words fall free from his mouth. Think Jarvis Cocker, think Eddie Argos, think of shutting them both in a box for a year, and not allowing them to speak. Imagine every weird thought and the cavalcade of odd observations, simply bubbling up inside the minds of these two indie icons, just frantic for release. Think of what might come out when you lift the lid. Think, Fred Macpherson, with his deep booming voice, and his rock ‘n’ roll legs. Think Fred Macpherson, and his non-stop slightly surreal, slightly cutting, considerably intelligent and profoundly silly wit. Think brilliance, and you’ve got it.
The set list; well, seven songs were typed in an order, and the order was wrong. “What use is this to anyone? We’ve already played that one?”
I believe they played them in this order, but I was enjoying myself, not making notes:
Spector Set List (25/02/12):
What You Wanted
Friday Night
Grey Shirt and Tie
Celestine
Lay Low
Chevy Thunder
Never Fade Away
As I walked past the boys, in their backstage area, known to most people as the outdoors (without even a rope to separate them), I called out, "Thanks for the amazing show." I meant every word.
Fabpants Recommends:
You all know Chevy Thunder already, eh? How about this for some earworm?
