D4 - Brighton Centre Point, 10/7/2002

  by Julia Willis

published: 13 / 7 / 2002

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Article

Crackling… as the needle hits the record on the jukebox… Sunday Monday Happy Days! Tuesday, Wednesday Happy Days! Good. Clean. Fun. Wholesome grins of sheer delight at this rock n roll fad sweeping the nation. Oh those crazy kids…. Ha ha ha… Down in Brighton, I’m breathing good clean sea air. The venue’s clean and heck, even the toilets are clean… I look around, incredulous… This ain’t rock n roll, motherfucker. I’ve been transported to a parallel universe where rock music’s catchy and grinning’s obligatory… AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Gimme sweat pouring from a testosterone junkie of a singer ! Gimme beer spraying from the lips of a frantic drummer ! Gimme groupies baying for blood and the chance to cavort and grind panting in a grimy toilet cubicle. The music’s screaming YES! But my mind is saying no… The cliches are there but my heart isn’t in it and it all seems vaguely familiar… Yodelling tales from the good time garage punk textbook rather than yelling over-wrought emotion they want to look, sound and be like their rock heroes. Energy is high where originality is low but… it’s just so infectious. As the crowd warm up, the band overheat and the formulaic think-you’ve-heard-it-before? makes you smile, reminds you of the good times and sure it’s a little early Supergrass, a little AC/DC, The Rolling Stones and a little Jon Spencer but it’s LOUD and it’s driving and they love it up there and the front two rows know all the goddamed words. Yeah! The drummer baring his torso, the bassist teetering on top of a speaker stack and the two guitarist/singers spitting and sweating and kneelin’ on the floor they invite everyone onstage to dance, take the microphone. They swirl around with beer in one hand and the crowd in the palm of the other… Hey! This IS rock n roll, motherfucker. The photographs that accompany this article were taken by Matthew Williams

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