BRMC at the Liverpool Academy
(It is now April and the BRMC gig (11 Feb) seems like years ago. To write an accurate review of it at this point seems a daunting task, especially when the monotony and formulaic "dark" sound of this band is taken into account, but for the sake of making myself look like a dedicated columnist, I'll have a go. Please excuse the diary-like format and general lack of skill which I am about to thrust upon you.)
I arrived home on what appeared to be a typical Wednesday afternoon, only to receive an urgent text message from Elly Across The Road. Turned out that she and Natalie had a spare ticket for the BRMC/TCTC gig that night, and at �18 a go, they weren't keen for it to be wasted. 'Black Rebel Motorcycle Club,' I mused, whilst peering out of the window for signs of an agitated Kieran Chambers (who also wanted the ticket) outside. 'I remember liking that band when I was in Year 9 and surviving on an extremely middle-of-the-road diet of Feeder, Ash and Muse. Might as well take the ticket.' Within minutes I was whisked off to the queue outside the Liverpool Academy with a pending migraine and powerful sense of dread.
This wasn't helped by the charismatic rock maidens that Elly, Natalie and I found ourselves standing beside. There were two of the girls, both sickeningly well-spoken with long, flowing black hair, and a desperate need to impress on us just how vital they were to the commercial success of both Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and The Cooper Temple Clause. This was apparent from the very second that Natalie happened to mispronounce the name of the TCTC bassist.
'Erm, NO? It's Didz not Did, what are you on about?'
This was followed by several more exclamations, such as:
'Ben from TCTC is a genuinely lovely GUY you know. Not just his MUSIC, we've met him you see. Several times.'
'Oh my GOD, do you remember Glastonbury three years ago. . . how wild was that?! The amount of autographs we got!'
'They'll let us backstage no problem, I mean, they must be used to us by now.'
To further demonstrate their importance, the taller of the two reached into her pink handbag and pulled out a scrapbook filled with pictures, ticket stubs, setlists and photos of the pair - all inane grins and slender arms draped over various bandmembers. Can't say I was that impressed. I'd rather stop going to gigs altogether than turn out like them.
Eventually, however, we made it into the venue and watched an intriguingly-lit, edgy, but overall, pointless set from The Cooper Temple Clause. Maybe it's a flaw of mine, but I just don't get the Cooper Temple Clause. I've listened to their songs about music boxes and seen their videos featuring dysfunctional families in cars plenty of times and am still none the wiser, though I won't deny that Ben Gautrey's hair fits right into the Delays school of glossiness. Not that we could see it, thanks to the flickering light which seemed to leave the audience in rapt, epileptic awe for the whole of their set. Decided just to go with the flow.
By the time Peter Hayes of BRMC had lolloped on stage with a stout acoustic guitar, things seemed to have calmed down slightly. He strummed away for a while before being joined by his bandmates, the solemn Robert Turner, and drummer Nick Jago, who was kitted out in thick-rimmed glasses, stylish red bandana, white vest and an expression that screamed 'I don't want to be here' (I'm sure he looked nice on the inlay..?). The band struck fear into the hearts of many with what appeared to be a dull acoustic showcase of new songs, before pounding into life with a satisfying rendition of 'Love Burns'. |
