Monday, July 25, 2005

Punk that rock, daddio!

Hello there me hearties, how may it be hanging?

Long time no write, I know, but with my new-found mobility I have had a busy whirling socialite lifestyle to get back into. Those catalogue lingerie models and Hollyoaks starlets don't just bang themselves you know?

I joke of course. I have merely been booze using in various grimy alehouses, shouting my shitwitted opinions about football and pop music into the ale-raddled countenances of my dreadful friends. And who wouldn't, eh? Isn't that what it all aboot after all?

If a man can't spend his free time mopping up the sauce with the dregs of society in a veritable charnel-house with a beer garden then the terrorists have already won and we might as well pack up the whole shooting match and go home.

I digress. I have gathered you all here to tell you about the rock and roll entertainment I went to last night. The Archer public house in Newcastle was the venue and Gold Blade were the band. If you aren't familiar with "the 'blade" as nobody calls them, they are a punk and soul, last-gang-in-town hi-octane beat combo led by indie rock veteran Jon Robb, of Membranes infame. The nearest they came to fame was the storming "Strictly Hardcore".

You can download it from here if you want: (Also "Psycho" which kicks rock ass too)

I must be honest with you here, I may have been slightly tipsy by the time the band arrived on stage. In fact I was drunk as ninety-nine pirates. The chap I was out with, an excellent fellow called Mark, has a seemingly endless capacity to put away the ale, while I am a somewhat more delicate creature. After attempting to keep pace with his prodigous intake my behaviour became slightly erratic.

After some ultimately unsuccessful advances to a lovely blonde punk lady, I made rather an exhibition of myself in the sparsely-populated moshpit. A word to the wise, pogoing with a dodgy leg is perhaps not the most sensible thing to do. Next up was some "spirit of '68" style black power saluting. In fact, so far from the seat of my reason was I at this point that I may have been shouting "Soul Power!" in a James Brown style between songs.

I know, the shame.

One of the songs saw the band take it down to an urgent drum and bass backbeat while the topless frontman proffered the microphone stand to members of the crowd to share their thoughts with the group. As "FUUUUCK!" and "Come on!" had already been taken, I chipped in with my latest tiresome catchphrase "I like it. I think it's good" which got me some admiring glances, believe you me.

Like a true punk rocker I then made my excuses and left early because I had to catch the last bus. Yeah, there's a punk rock soul brother revolution coming down and it's coming real fast. If you listen carefully you may just hear Mr Tony Blairs and his cronies quaking in their forty pound shoes.

The kids know, Mr Blairs, they always know. So do the ageing punks dressed as Teddy boys going tenpin bowling. They all know.

I like it. And yes, I think it's good.