Well I broke my promises on two counts – I didn’t do an extra non-gig post and today’s post PSP write up shall not be exclusively omfg riton is teh sex. I didn’t get to see him, not even wandering around the venue. But I’m sure he is teh sex.
The worst venue I have ever been in was probably The Windmill in Brixton where I slipped on some piss on the bathroom floor and nearly broke my back. Until last night the most high class venue I’d been to was Sketch, for the Mocky album launch. It had waiter service for free drinks, ravioli on sticks, ice cream on sticks and egg shaped pods for toilets. Incredibly lush. I really never thought I could top that but last night the Great Eastern made Sketch look like a hut.
As you walk in you follow a huge marble staircase into a massive atrium, whose ceiling probably went up about 10 stories. There were chandeliers and chrome, fluorescent petrol cans with lights inside, it a design student’s wet dream. The night was sponsored by PSP and so a giant projection show of lasers and 30 foot high games consoles was shone onto every wall. Girls dressed in matching outfits, including matching black converses, took PSP units around the venue for people to try out and bouncers lurked on every corner.
There were essentially five main rooms to the venue, and after finally working out their one way system to get from room to room, I found the live room. I walked in on Metro Riots set, I never listen to them at home and am always taken back by just how good they are. Still think the lead singer is at least 40 though. Either that or he should get more sleep.
Metro Riots deserved to be much higher up the billing, especially as Kill City were after them. My god that band suck, truly terrible, no imagination whatsoever. The audience stood stock still for their entire set, with the only interesting thing about the band being the main topic of conversation for most – the lead singer and her celebrity babies.
The Cazals were on after, and were the same as the night before: bad hair and don’t do much for me. We got as far away from that room as possible for Thee Unstrung, with Candy panicking that their set would only last 4 minutes and we could possibly miss the Paddingtons.
It didn’t happen, we walked back in to see a guy who looked like the man from Casanova and a pregnant woman making a fuck awful mess of a set. The were apparently some members of The Lambs. Not Lamb, as I thought, nor Lamb of God. Nor real lambs with guitars, which would have been much nicer.
I have spent many more hours staring at pictures of Tom from the Paddingtons than I have listening to them, I realised I don’t know a single track of theirs. Jack and I got bored during it and so made up a song about needing to have breakfast before going to work. It mainly goes “ooohhh, ooohhhhh, ooohhhh – toast-toast-toast-toast-toast”.
After the Paddingtons set the room completely emptied out, I panicked and thought noone wanted to see Art Brut, though apparently this was partially true, it turned out the bouncers weren’t letting people in because it was nearly closing time. I think this was rectified, but they still didn’t pack out the place. Fuck knows why. This maybe the zillionth time I’ve seen them now but I still enjoy them. Eddie looked incredibly, jaw droppingly dishy too.
The gig had a big kid contingent so there was plenty of jumping about at the front. But Mr PSP says no no no to this. From out of nowhere three or four giant bouncers took to the front of the stage, standing arms crossed right in front of Art Brut. It looked really odd and spoilt it no end. Eddie kept apologising for them being there and in the end was shouting “Fuck Playstation” very loudly and telling us to never buy one. “You’re not a wizard, go and spend that money for the playstation on a guitar and form a band.” They got paid before they did the gig apparently.
The horrid management bigwigs decided that they didn’t like Art Brut much and put the house lights back on while they were still playing, cutting everything a bit short. Bastards. They then proceeded to try and march everyone out the venue as fast as possible, and with no manners whatsoever. For a classy looking venue the staff certainly had no charm.
We got squished to fuck on the bus home (can people please not try and squeeze through the ‘out’ doors – its not very nice). We ate toast, read slash fic (pete/carl and mcfly) and I found that I had turned into some husky jazz singer, apparently two late night gigs in a row is not good on the voice box.
Oh yeah, and Eddie has a moustache.