Our previous online editor, Orestes, was killed by the minions of the Angel of the North (true story, I have the video to prove it!), but waaaaaaay before that unfortunate incident (see what I did there? tee hee), he/she/it managed to get an interview with equally dead sock monkey Jonny Sock in the now soon to be deceased The Grapes.
Electric Tape Recorder, The Unfortunate Incident and Pisco Sour Hour @ The Grapes
Pisco, the lovely people behind themed-shows at The Grapes, offered a night of varied acts. The motif for the night? Bad luck, it seems, as there were mock broken mirrors, black cats, open umbrellas, stairs and a copy of Tony Blair’s memoir.
One of the hardest jobs in the world has to be opening a night at a sparsely populated gig room, but even with these odds against them, Electric Tape Recorder did a very good show. ‘Rope’ is a great song live (love the precarious balance between a calm voice and a yelp that’s ready to become a scream).
Repo Men + Dr. Robeatnik + Cats:for:Peru @ The Grapes
The poster read “Pisco presents Sugar Rush”. And the inside smell sweet. Sickly sweet. Candy. Lots of candy. Gingerbread men, balloons, fake jars on stage and a frickload of free candies. That was the scene at the Grapes, your number one room for intense shows.
And that was exactly the best description for Repo Men‘s chaotic set. It was intense. But then again, the life of a repo men is always intense. You could ponder if “Stella” is about a girl they fancied or if it’s about the beer. It could also be about a plate of shrimp. Or a plate. Or just a shrimp. Or the pecan pies in the back of a Cadillac El Dorado.
Sometimes in life, you’ve got a choice. The problem is always that choice. Our decisions are marked by that choice. What you want to do versus what you have to do.
My problem was: Do I go to a gig I’ve been waiting for or ditch it for a band I barely know nor heard of before?
Stupid plan warning: I can do all in one day. Sigh, the Nirvana fallacy is my best friend. Still, I arrive to the back garden of The Grapes and I see them, 6 people. Three dames, three gents. The one with the longest hair (Carl, guitar) greets me and I sit down in front of one guy who reminds me of Paddy Considine.
The skinny: Noise rock from Liverpool. Emphasis on rock, saturated with the noise.
The review (proper): Since these Liverpudlian lads (hey, just like me, laaaik – Ed. Quinto) sound like the resonance of getting a concussion after boxing, let’s exploit the twee boxing analogies I’ve been using for a while and dig deep into their muddled, heavy sound. Continue reading “Alone and outnumbered in the ring”