“Do it again, I know we should.”

This reason I decided to use this song was due to an instance that happened a while back. After a night out I stayed at a girls I was really into, it was all innocent and nothing too heavy happened but I still didn’t sleep until what must have been around 8am.

I woke after a couple of hours, sleep deprived and hungover, and unfortunately I was so awash with anxiety a full scale panic attack kicked me in the balls and I had to leave immediately. On the bus ride home the anxiety depleted but was replaced by a heavy dose of depression, I was so disappointed that I’d let the anxiety win at a time that seemed so crucial, I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Instead I put on The Cure, which shone out as I scrolled through the catacombs of my i-pod. It was a good choice and I started to feel instantaneously more optimistic as tranny-tastic Robert Smith’s initial cat call belts out at the start of Mint Car. The goth-pop troubadours are quite special in how damn good they are at taking a darkly tinged music style and lyrical content, and twisting it into something that is more uplifting that a Prozac party with the entire of the Polyphonic Spree. Plus Mint Car has a real bad-ass solo around the minute and a half mark.

“…just the correct amount of “right-on” politics, sung soothingly through her Buffalo accent and delivered in a heavily poetical style”

It must have been about 2001, I was thirteen and reading an interview with Alkaline Trio’s guitarist Matt Skiba who was mentioning music that inspired him, one of those acts was Ani DiFranco. A few years later a friend of mine downloaded (illegally) the track Gratitude and I fell in love instantly with the stripped down folk sound and intensely emotive lyrical content. I’d heard one song and I was hooked so I headed to the nearest record shop, which was unfortunately HMV, and thankfully found a copy of 2005′s album Reprieve. The album did not disappoint and as soon as I worked out how the hell to order stuff offline I bought every album by DiFranco I could and have eagerly anticipated every release since.

This album is very much an Ani DiFranco album, her style hasn’t changed massively since the 90′s and her initial self titled full length release, but this is by no means a bad thing. If the phrase “if it isn’t broke…” has ever rained true, then Ani is the case in point. That’s not to say the album hasn’t progressed at all, with an interesting use of electronic drums on the title track and the Mars Volta-esque guitar solo two thirds into Amendment, along with the bizarre deep vocal effect on the track J which makes the song sound very much like a homage to the Pennsylvania tripsters, Ween. But apart from some slightly more experimental use of production, the songs themselves feature everything expected from the Feminist virtuoso, featuring just the correct amount of “right-on” politics, sung soothingly through her Buffalo accent and delivered in a heavily poetical style, whilst dashing it all with a tantalising amount of love.
The album is not completely without fault, and the afore mentioned title track becomes a bit of a drag towards the end. Ani’s politics are in the right place but the constant repetition of the title line “Which Side are You on” makes the track sound more of a rant than a justified political statement, but this is only a minor fault on what is otherwise a superb release from Ani.
It wouldn’t be an Ani album without at least a cargo ship full of inspirational lyrics and this record is no exception. There are far too many to mention so I’ll end with what I feel it the most crucial hook in the entire of ¿Which Side Are You On? “If you’re not getting happier as you grow older, you’re fucking up.”

There’s something immensely satisfying about slamming your feet progressively on hard concrete, while listening to music that could melt the face of a room full of eight-year-old children. This is how I spent most of my time listening to the first full length from, Southsea hardcore mentalists, Attack! Vipers! Unfortunately I learnt, that without proper running shoes, I could seriously damage my shins. I put the athletic career on hold, but it seems sprint booties will have to go on the next shopping list, as the titans of UK hardcore have released a new record.

One of the greatest things about Deadweight Revival is that, within twenty seconds of listening, it’s clear this is not just another “hardcore” album. There are no cliché beat downs, as used by so many try hard bands trapped in old conventions. They seem terrified to even slightly move away from creating an integral ambience of melodic hardcore, which often comes across as sounding like a slightly better polished, more superior, technical rendition of Will Haven’s Carpe Diem. In fact, Deadweight Revival even puts the bands previous efforts to shame, with the vocal ability of singer Joe Watson pushing forward into a more mellifluous, yet still entirely brutal, timbre, putting him on a pedestal when compared to other vocalists of the genre.

Vocals are not the only thing Deadweight Revival does to push the hardcore genre to the next level. In terms of musicality, the record shows a much more intrinsic side to A!V!, with guitars that switch between nimble licks, beastly distorted chords and andante sections so seamlessly it makes the record almost impossible to put into the “hardcore” pigeon-hole. Sometimes it sounds like hardcore, other times it sounds like power metal and, occasionally, you get a part which would probably be very much at home on a fucking Sigur Ros release.

The band’s self proclaimed style of being “somewhere between The Suicide File and Envy” is hard to deny. The similarities are there but at the same time there’s so much much to the Vipers than just that. Deadweight Revival takes the hardcore musicality then adds a punk rock ethos and does this with aplomb. In doing so, it creates an energetic sound that UK hardcore had missed dearly since the departure of, Manchester’s finest, Fill the Void.

I could say Deadweight Revival was by the far the best UK hardcore album I’d heard in a long time, but I’d be lying. It’s the best I’ve heard…EVER. Attack! Vipers! have far surpassed expectations with this record, and if any band were to be at the forefront of reviving UK hardcore – a genre what could arguably be called a dying one – then these guys are sure to be it. This record proves that.

So basically I’ve been having a real shit time dealing with depression and all that kind of jazz. If anyone has ever had problems with this brand of mental health they’ll be sure to know that it’s crucial to hold on to the positives when they happen, no matter how rare they may be, this is where “Songs to Cure Depression” comes in. I’m going to (hopefully on a weekly basis) put up a song that has give me a moment of happiness, no matter how brief, and hope that it helps to bring anyone else who hears it out of the pit of depression, if only for a few minutes. Sometimes they’ll be awesome, sometimes they’ll be cheesy, sometimes you’ll love them, other times you won’t.

The first, and perhaps the best, instance of this new feature comes from singer/songwriter/generally really nice guy Jonah Matranga, billed under his earlier moniker, OneLineDrawing. The best part of the song is the how Jonah vocally builds the song back up at the end after the breakdown, utilising his incredible vocal range and power. The video was originally released in 2007 through JadeTree Records but was re-uploaded by Matranga himself a few months back with the gratuitous tag “thanks Jade Tree!” Enjoy!

You can check out all of Jonah Matranga’s wares here.

What better way to celebrate 35 years of being one of the most influential punk bands ever than to go on a huge world tour (U.S, U.K and Australia) and playing the two, debatably, most iconic albums from your back catalogue? I suppose a big birthday cake filled with L.S.D and cocaine would be better but, given the current financial situation in the world, the white stuff has been hard to afford (I’m talking about flour, obviously). The Damned went with the former, and I was lucky enough to catch the horror-tinged punks at Manchester’s Academy 1.

It should have been a great night all around and it nearly was. The only downfall was, opening act, Viv Albertine. Once guitarist for, the now defunct, punk band The Slits, Viv broke the night in with a set of stripped down punk songs, so stripped down in fact that it was just her and an electric guitar which sounded like it was barely plugged in. A bad sounding guitar wasn’t the only downfall of the set. I imagine even with a full band setting they wouldn’t hold much water. Her vocals were completely off, and the lyrics were often reminiscent of a child who’s learnt a handful of, semi-crass, limericks. Her final song was definitely the best, ‘Confessions of a MILF’ did clarify one thing about Viv, she might be a little older now but she was still pretty easy on the eyes. Her short skirt gave a little reason to not head back to the bar. Nevertheless, nice pins weren’t enough to make up for what felt like a forced set of songs about a sexually liberated, self-confessed mother. Mid set a drunk guy turned to me and said, “it’s fucking punk rock, innit?” If so, maybe we should give up on the whole damn scene.

After nearly vomiting from the visual display that pre-empted their set, The Damned took to the stage. They tore into the entirety of, 1977 classic, Damned Damned Damned, playing everything aside from ‘Stab Your Back’. Why such a great song was missed from the set is insane, but this did little to diminish the intensity too much. The band played so tight it felt, at times, as if they were simply dancing to a copy of the album. Their energy levels don’t seem to have dropped one iota since the days of its release (fair enough I wasn’t alive, but that’s what YouTube is for, right?), and if anything the years of touring has made them a much stronger live band than ever before. Though I was curious as to why, keyboardist, Monty Oxy Moron was on stage during an album that features no keyboards. My heart goes out to Monty though, he jumped around like a maniac, playing no keyboard, offering the occasional backing vocal, and looking like he was as excited to be part of the show as the audience were to be watching it.

The band left for a brief intermission before returning for the second instalment. “Alright, it’s now 1980 and we’re in a studio in Wales” announced the Captain, changing from his Yeti-like garb to a much cooler looking Dennis the Menace styled ensemble. I hadn’t drank enough to believe him but I knew what was coming and the band blasted their way through the, more progressive, Black Album. Even though I can’t fault it, listening to this after something as intense as Damned Damned Damned felt like a bit of an anti-climax. Monty was finally given a real musical role and played fantastically. Singer Dave Vanian’s vocals began to give towards the end of the album but he pulled through, giving the haunting punk inspired melodies the mellifluous vocal talent that is missing from so many of the more vocally aggressive punk bands from the same era.

They returned for an encore of a few choice hits, ending with the greatly received, albeit cliché, ‘Smash It Up’, leaving the audience blown away and leaving me upset that the night was over. I’d had two of the greatest punk albums ever played before my eyes by one of the greatest punk bands ever, but it had left me salivating in hunger for more. Maybe next time they’ll play all their albums in one night?

Would you trust this man with you eight year old son?

“I wanna suck off Frank Turner” – Anthony Barlow

It’s been pretty obvious that my articles are getting less and less serious so I thought I’d do a Going Underground on someone who doesn’t make any music, just lives off the success of others. Moon And Back head honcho, Barlow.
In all seriousness, Barlow is one of the hardest working people I’ve met in my life. He puts his heart and soul into everything he does, though admittedly all he does is Moon and Back related, and he’s always there to help a brother out. I’ve spent the past two years going around the country with this man, meeting, greeting and getting the low down on a number of bands and artists. There are been big names such as Frank Turner, Hot Water Music, Alkaline Trio and the Lawrence Arms and we’ve made some great friends with lesser known names such as the boys from Bangers, Crazy Arm, The Magnificent and lovely ladies like El Morgan, Kelly Kemp and my bestest friend Helen Chambers. You’d think after two years of nothing but gigs and travelling with the same person I’d be sick of him, well I am. I was sick of him after ten minutes so nothing much has changed, I’ve just gotten used to it.
Life wouldn’t be the same without people like Anthony Barlow. He is proactive, dedicated, busy as a bee and relentlessly annoying. I might have a much more peaceful life without that little cocksucker ringing me every five minutes to go somewhere I can’t afford for a band I’ll see a week later, but fuck, I wouldn’t want that life for shit.
I love you Barlow, now please be quiet.

Eating like a pro. (champion, not 'stitute.)

Loving music and kicking anxiety in the dick

Apparently my reviews aren’t reviews so I decided to stop calling them reviews. This is a new feature I’ll be doing and the first one is on Southsea Fest, a festival in Southsea. Last years nearly killed me with a 1:30am coach departure but this time we’d pulled some strings and got some cheap train/coach tickets that set off a little later.

A 5:45am start but had surprisingly good sleep. Was out the door before I even had time for the anxiety to kick in, such a good thing. I’d been dreading this all week, month and year. As excited as I was for Southsea Fest I was also shitting it.
In the station and the dread was about me, I just wanted to go back home, hide under the covers and touch myself all day, luckily the meds kicked in and washed most of that away, the only way I was touching myself would be in the train toilets, I wasn’t touching myself in the train toilets. I didn’t even want to poo in a public toilet, never mind beat my meat.

It’s two hours on this train to London for the transfer, luckily I’ve got the Arteries in the phones and canal sides by the window.

I fucking love scenery.

The train was delayed so got in late and missed the coach. Saw Gail Platt from Corrie in Euston Station. She didn’t even react to my mighty cry of, “YESYESGAILPLATT!” What a bitch. Arrived at Victoria and changed our coach to the 12 one (the 11 was full) for a 6 pound charge. The 11 had some no shows so those seats were quickly filled, it was looking like Kelly Kemp wouldn’t get missed after all.

The meds must be working well, anxiety and depression are at a low, fuck you negativity! Take that, you shit!

After getting into Portsmouth at about 1pm, it was a quick £3.80 (good value) taxi ride to the fest. The pace to be was the One Eyed Dog but, arriving late, we missed all but two of Kelly’s songs. The two were great though and her voice was on top form as she played with octaves like they were no ones business.

After a failed attempt at getting to the hotel it was time for Caves. They played as hard as I expected with the tracks from the new album Homeward Bound sounding especially awesome. Caves are another of the great bands that clearly love what they do with Bassist Minty always looking the happiest chappy during the set.

We finally got to check into the hotel which was a “brisk” 10 minutes walk from where shit was going down. For £40 this room was awesome with three beds and very little toilet roll.

It took a while to settle and have dinner, we also spent a little time checking out the surrounding area but eventually we were back at the OED from the Down & Outs. I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemy for someone from Manchester to say this about Scousers, but they were amazing. Really hard rocking punk rock music with a more traditional sound than most of the other acts which brought a nice bit of variation to the line up. These guys were clearly embedded into the punk roots and played a great set.

'Ian & Roo (Bangers)' - © 2011 Anthony Barlow

It didn’t let up a second and what was to be my most anticipated band of the night were up next, (THE MOTHER FUCKING) BANGERS! They were no let downs and with such high expectations of them this could only mean one thing, damn near perfection. The place tore apart like it had for no other band so far (and by the end only one band topped them in terms of crowd reaction) and Roo and the gang blasted their way through all the greats from both Dude Trips and Small Pleasures.

Physically drained but emotionally psyched up from watching the Bangers any fear or anxious feeling seemed pointless and irrelevant, and the next on the bill was The Arteries, my audio saviors of the mornings travel. The band are fantastic on record and even better live, utilising the free rum and their energetic music to keep the atmosphere at a peak. What could be bad about watching something that looked like a Jason Mewes fronted punk band?

You wasn’t left with time to fart looking at the remaining bands on the line up. Milloy and then Attack! Vipers!

Milloy were another of the bands that I’d really wanted to see, one of the bands of the day that made me pull through the negativity and get there in the first place. I’d been a big fan since hearing Le Coup De Grace (I know, it’s the hit) about five years ago and had a few good Milloy gigs under my belt, so I knew what to expect, great music, tied with weird dancing and sarcasm from, singer, Jim. The only downfall from Milloy’s set was there was little crowd participation, perhaps down South they hadn’t heard that much of them and it was a damn shame more people didn’t stick around to do so. I screamed my balls off anyway and had a great time.

The final band, and definitely, the strangest one of the bill was Attack! Vipers! a group of local hardcore maniacs. I’d seen bassist Tom running about all day supplying (and also drinking) rum to everyone in sight, live music is always made better when everyone has rum in them. I’ve read a good few reviews in my time and occasionally I come across the word “erupt” when describing the crowds reaction to a band but I’d never really seen the proof in the pudding, it always seemed a bit of an understatement, until now. The entire room became an ocean violence, with constant crowd surfers and what was more like an entire audience brawl then a pit. The crowd pushed further on to the stage and the band went and pushed the hell back at them, everyone was merged in this brutal soundtrack of searing vocals and crushing rhythms. I’d never been more happy, scared and satisfied with a bands set in my life. I thought I was going to die and fucking loved it. Even the three girls who had clearly stumbled into the wrong room, donned in, expensive, high street, dresses, heavy make-up and high heel shoes, got involved and in some instances went just as hard as the seasoned pros.

The gig was over, but the drinking had just begun, the D.J made no sense playing more 80′s/90′s pop than punk rock but it was fun anyway. I danced like a dick with, Attack! Vipers! singer, Joe and was even complimented by two girls on my rug cutting skills. The morning was less fun and even the sound and smell of the sea-side couldn’t clear the groggy feelings. But fuck it, I was going home. I’d survived.

Clearly burnt out after having too much fun watching "the Fiend"

How much fun can you have with a bunch of 50 year olds who are drunk at 2pm and donned in skin tight jeans that clearly haven’t fit their bloated stomachs for at least 20 years? Apparently, a shit load.

Now to be fair it wasn’t just oldies. There were a lot of teens there sporting some of the gnarliest hair cuts I’ve even seen (do people still say gnarly? I don’t care. It wasn’t the 70’s anymore but that didn’t seem to matter much here.) I’d been in touch with Rebellion about getting a press pass for the event but didn’t hear anything back from them. This really was their loss as I worked my balls off all weekend and shot some great footage. Maybe next year, ya mother fuckers.

Thursday

I arrived around midday on Thursday and was met by a large queue of punkers waiting anxiously to get in, passing the time by drinking booze. The crowd were an eclectic mix of nationalities, Americans, Germans, a few Swedes, the list goes on. A man walked up and down this line of punks trying to hand out leaflets about Jesus. I guess he’d never heard the phrase “target demographic.”

After about an hour of queuing I was in, checking the surroundings and not having a fucking clue where anything was, which was okay, because Thursday didn’t really have a lot I was interested in. The first band I checked out was Angry Agenda, Watford based street punks. Apart from being musically retarded, their singer had that kind of embarrassing drunken uncle look about him, the one who always sings karaoke at parties in front of your mates, but instead of singing Phil Collins he was having a go at punk.

As much as Angry Agenda sucked, they were nothing compared to Newcastle’s The Fiend. With a name that shitty you know it’s gonna be good fun. Their tough guy noisey punk might have impressed the skins but it wasn’t doing shit for me. “This song is about the government and goes like this, FUCK THE GOVERNMENT! FUCK THE GOVERNMENT!” “This song’s about religion, FUCK RELIGION! FUCK RELIGION!” “This song’s about the police,” ….well, you get the picture.

Thankfully it didn’t all suck balls, and I was pleasantly surprised by the band Girlfixer who, I’ll admit, I checked out because I thought the name sounded pretty cool. Female fronted and hard hitting they were the first instance of the entire day where I thought, “Hey! There might actually be some decent bands here!” Their singer had a great stage presence and also a cracking pair of….lungs. Had ya going then, didn’t I?

The real wild card of the day came in the form of Pete Bentham and the Dinner Ladies, a rock and roll act which didn’t really fit in with the rest of the bands I’d seen but kicked mega arse anyway. Catchy, quirky, funny and tight as hell, Bentham and his band were easily the most entertaining I’d seen all day. Though I really don’t get what the fuck the dancing dinner ladies were all about.

After this I headed to the Empress Ballroom, a giant hall which was originally intended for, no surprise, ballroom dancing. They should have kept it for that because even though the majority of the best bands that weekend would be playing in here, the sound team just couldn’t get the acoustics to work for them and this greatly hindered the bands. I watched Old Firm Casuals featuring Lars Fredrikson of Rancid and Bastards fame, they played really well but no one gets a free ride with me so I’d like to point this out to anyone who was pitting during their set. I saw more enthusiastic and violent pits the one time I watched Simple Plan in Manchester. Fifteen year old pop-punkers gave it harder, that’s embarrassing. (NOTE: I do not condone or promote Simple Plan, but if a homeless guy offers you a ticket because you shared your cider with him, you take it.)

The only band I was really looking forward to on the Thursday list was OFF! They did not disappoint, again, the poor sound (though this is meant as no offense to the sound guys, I can’t even imagine how hard it’d be to make that hall work) made it difficult to understand what Keith Morris was saying between songs, but it didn’t matter much, they tore the place apart and left faces melted left, right and centre.

Friday

Friday came and the first band I got to check out was the Creepshow, I was actually just making sure I got a good spot for A Wilhelm Scream but this band played hard and impressed me a lot. Their 2 foot tall (probably) female singer had more balls than any of the men in the bands and she jumped right into the centre of a pit while still strapped up and began guitar soloing her little heart out. I’d never been a fan of music whose genre features the word “billy” at the end, but I’d come a little closer to the dark side thanks to this Canadian four piece.

I have a lot of respect for D.I.Y bands but unfortunately the Restarts didn’t get me off. They had solid moral ethics and this came across in their on stage banter but musically I wasn’t blown away. I don’t want to insult a band as hard working as the Restarts because it’s a rare thing in the music scene these days but it just wasn’t for me.

I’d began to notice something about Rebellion Festival, there was a scary amount of white people, and not just white people, white people with skin heads who looked like thugs. Now I know it’s stereotypical for me to think that just because someone has a skin head, wears steel boots and looks like a bruiser that they are inherently racist (the skinheads had originally brought ska and reggae to the U.K but must have lost their cool somewhere along the way) but come on, if you look like a fucking murderer, people are going to start thinking you’re a fucking murderer. It made me a bit tense but as the day went on I saw a few faces of varied skin colour and no one was shooting dirty eyes at them so luckily it didn’t seem like Hitler’s “Pure Aryan Nation” was going to be achieved this weekend.

A Wilhelm Scream finally came on. I was right at the front. I’d seen them play in Manchester on Wednesday and they were definitely in the top three bands I was looking forward to seeing (T.V Smith and the Damned also.) They completely destroyed the place and I was surprised to see a healthy turn out for their set as I’d not noticed many about who looked the AWS sort. The band battled through a few sound problems but made a complete riot out of the Empress and, with debatably the exception of OFF!, were the band that give it the most in the Empress the entire weekend. The most being their all.

Now I imagine people reading this who know me would think I stuck around for the Bouncing Souls. I actually didn’t, because another stage at the festival featured a band I hold very dear to my old school punk heart, The Vibrators. The first time I’d seen them singer Knox wasn’t with them and the band played as a three piece, I actually prefer them like this, and came across as a sort of wrinkled Lawrence Arms, I loved it. They played this way today. They didn’t disappoint this time either playing the tightest I’d ever seen them play being the first band to get some real honest punk motions out of the crowd. Every topless mid life crisis in the audience jumped about like a kid after a bowl of lucky charms and it was truly a beautiful sight to see. Their bassist Pete genuinely thanked their crowd as the set finished, who thanked him for the beers he’d given out at the start, who then thanked them again for thanking him. What a bloody nice bloke.

Next up on the “to do” list was Arturo Lukers “punktry and western band.” Being a big fan of the Lurkers I was intrigued so headed to the Bizarre Bazaar room to check them out. What I hadn’t planned on doing was stepping into the bad acid trip that was Rubella Ballet. It just didn’t make sense. The lights were off and some fat old woman covered in glow in the dark paint was making orgasm noises to a backing band. What the actual fuck is Rubella Ballet?

Arturo came to the stage and kicked out some Johnny Cash style grooves tinged with a punk rock feel and comedy lyrics, songs like “God and Chips” and “Three Legged Ben” instantly became crowd favourites and even the people who had no idea about the punktry and western band, like me, were soon singing to every chorus.

I’d heard good things about Infa Riot, admittedly I’d head good things about them from a pissed up guy who was waiting for them to come on, but none the less, good things had been said. The good things didn’t match the reality, making Infa Riot by far one of the worse bands I’d watched; they were The Fiend bad, but pretty close. Another over the hill four piece consisting of members who’d taken time out of their busy schedules working at TESCO’s or the local butchers to pretend they were still punk to the bone and hard as nails, it was kind of sad really.

Thankfully Infa Riot fucked off and so did we, planning to suck up the set of Drunken Balordi in exchange for a good spot for the Damned. The Balordi bunch never played so instead the time until the Damned was spent sat on the concrete floor on the Olympia in great anticipation for a chance to see the Captain and co. They took to the stage and burnt through a barrage of hits leaving nothing in their wake except a sea of gob smacked punkers covered in sweat. I think I saw one girl crying she was so happy. They played all the greats, mixing old with new and didn’t let up for a second. Definitely worth the years I’d waited to finally see them, and I didn’t hear “The Captain is a wanker” once (though it was probably still said.)

Saturday

Practically all of Saturday was spent at the acoustic stage listening to great artists like Louise Distras, El Morgan, Honest John Plain and Kelly Kemp. The acoustic stage really was the place to be for the most part of Saturday. I was excited to watch El Morgan again as I’d been a fan of hers for about a year now, the only downfall of El’s otherwise incredible set was a fat Irish woman was sat behind me being very loud, very drunk and very rude. Congratulations, you’re a national stereotype. I hope you choke on a burger, you bitch.

After the acoustic stage had died down I moved across to the Empress to watch the Boys, having just watched one of them do an acoustic set, and they really nailed it. Though no longer boys, the band donned receding hairlines and bloated guts these days; they still kicked it with the energy and enthusiasm as a 14 year old that’s just discovered masturbation. They played a sweet cover of the Ramones “Beat on the Brat” as well as all their hits. The crowd went nuts, me included.

I’d heard good things about the Filaments and Captain Hotknives so checked them out accordingly. Neither hit the spot. I couldn’t stomach another band that used trumpets as stage decorations more than part of the music and I didn’t find Hotknives funny one bit, and I’m a funny bastard. Instead I checked out the Have Nots who played a pretty solid set appealing to the younger demographic of the event with their ska influenced punk rock.

Pennywise were up next at the Empress and to say that they were one of the mostly eagerly anticipated acts for a lot of patrons would be a massive understatement. But here’s where things go wrong, where good reviews go bad, you could say. I’d been a big Pennywise fan when I was younger but even before original singer Jim Lindberg left, I’d kind of lost enthusiasm. I thought I’d watch them anyway as they were a hard hitting band with opinions, I thought, matched my own. The band themselves played a real good set, the music was tight as hell and everyone went nuts, the atmosphere was almost perfect. The only downfall was the banter, “Alright you fucking mother fucking fuckers, are you fucking ready to get the fucking fuck up?” I’m not eleven anymore and I don’t think swearing as much as possible is cool. “This song is about being different!” Really? You’re probably pushing forty and playing to a crowd of mostly almost thirty year olds who, after this weekend, are going back to their 9 to 5 jobs like the rest of the world and you’re trying to appeal to them on grounds that would grab the heart strings of a high school kid. “This song is about how much high school can suck, but you can get through it!” It did suck and I did get through it, you know what else I did? I got over it. I love Pennywise, but they kind of need to grow up a little, it was all a bit childish and fake, like New Found Glory singing about dating girls in high school even though they probably have daughters of their own there now. Kelly Kemp will hate me if she reads this.

With Pennywise done, sometime to kill, and not wanting to watch a band with a name like “the Grit” I headed to the Olympia to see what the Red Eyes had to offer (yet again, another shit band name.) They took to the stage and looked even more burnt out and pathetic than any other mid-life crisis band of the weekend. They opened their set with a song that, “We love music, music is our life, we’re living our life, because we’re playing the music,” or something like that. Great. Fat fifty years olds playing half arsed punk rock with lyrics that would fit nicely on Sesame Street. I was out of there. I’d take my chances with the Grit.

I wish I was less of a dick, I really shouldn’t judge bands by their names before I watch them. The Grit were awesome. Really good. Another band that was slowly pushing me more towards the “billy” side of punk rock. Grufty, aggressive, full of attitude and gusto, the band’s name actually described the mentality of their music to a tee. With a stand up bass player, who manically climbed a set of speakers with his large instrument (haha) in hand, the Grit were not only fantastic musically, they were also one of the most kick arse bands to watch live involving the crowd in sing-a-alongs and the rest of their on stage antics.

The Grit left, and so did most of the crowd in the Arena. Eddie and the Hot Rods were up next and even though the place had emptied quite a bit in comparison to the previous act, more fool them, the Rods were fucking awesome, energetic, fast, furious and just all around cool as fuck. Eddie looked as if Rod Stewart and Mick Jagger’s love child….of about the same age. I’d heard the Sex Pistols once opened for the Hot Rods and really couldn’t work out why that fucking butter selling hair dresser had got so far while this outfit of pure talent were left at the sidelines. If you don’t like the Rods, you’re a dick, and that’s not opinion, its fact.

Sunday

The weekend was coming to a close and depression was setting in. I didn’t want to leave Rebellion, it’d been the most fun I’d had in a long time and the people and bands were cool as hell. I’d miss being able to see all my favourites in one building. I’d miss A Wilhelm Scream being one hundred percent cool to me and my constant queries. I’d miss hanging out with all the cool people I hardly got to see while living in my cave and hiding from the daylight back home. I’d miss drunken punks who looked like they’d spent their lives lying in a field of smack needles asking me where I was from to such an inquisitive degree I was pretty sure they were gonna turn up for tea someday soon. Hell, I was even gonna miss the Fiend.

But it wasn’t over just yet, there was one more day left and the line up was looking great. Well it was until I noticed who was playing before Glen Matlock.

This is a review, okay? And as much as I’ve joked and made sly comments about some of the bands I’ve attempted to keep some element of professionalism (it’s still a review by me, so admittedly, that isn’t much) but honestly, fuck John Robb and fuck Goldblade. They might as well change their name to “The John Robb ego band even though my hair cut makes my head look like a vagina….band.” The guy had been swanning around the festival all weekend with this air of arrogance and the same crappy suit he wears to every event he somehow blags his chimp looking fuck head into. “John Robb spends more time in crowds then he does on stage,” maybe he should work harder on his shitty band and stop sliming his way into other people’s shows. Fuck that guy, fuck Goldblade and fuck his shitty haircut and God complex. The only thing you’ve done for U.K music is piss a bunch of bands off by bothering them all the time. I bet even his mother hates him, “Mummy, I just played on stage at Rebellion in front of thousands of people and they really loved it!” “Oh, shut up John, you twat. No one likes you.”

With that rant over, it’s back to the review. I watched Glen Matlock and the Philistines and they were great. Even the Sex Pistols covers sounded alright without that fucking hairdresser on the mic. Glen had a real good attitude and the crowd responded to this with aplomb, singing back the lyrics to the bands punk influence rock and roll sound.

As soon as Matlock had finished, it was a quick dash to the Bizarre Bazaar to watch what I’d truly been waiting for. T.V Smith. I’d never

This could easily just be a picture with my Dad, you'd never know the difference

seen him play acoustic before and even though it was a little disheartening to not see him blast about a stage kicking the crap out of whatever piece of air he could find, the change from distorted guitars to acoustic melodies wasn’t only a nice change, it worked great bringing a whole new love and dynamic to the T.V Smith experience for me. He played an array of songs from the Adverts to the Explorers and brought a weird combination of extreme intensity whilst playing and polite post song gratitude that left the audience of manic Smith fans high as hell off their T.V fix.

I moved back into the Empress to check out the U.K Subs. For years now people had recommended the Subs to me and I’d never checked them out, I don’t know why, I guess other shit just came up, but I was here now and had a free space in my itinerary so the Subs seemed as good a choice as any. They took the stage and instantly I thought one thing, WHY HADN’T ANYONE TOLD ME THEIR SINGER WAS JIMMY SAVILLE?! Jokes aside, the band were great, far surpassing my expectations of a moderate punk band with decent riffs. The audience was clearly in adoration and beer cups, a mix of empty and half full, flew across to room as did an abundance of crowd surfing mohicans while Charlie Harper downed beer after beer mid song.

Thankfully, the Sub didn’t run over as across in the Arena were another band I had been greatly anticipating, the Lurkers. I’ve tried to describe the Lurkers sound to friends who have yet to hear their music and the closest I’ve got to putting in an image they’d understand is, “kinda like Glenn Danzig Misfits, if they were from the U.K, but didn’t dress like trick or treaters and write songs about shitty B-movies” (I’d like to point out now before anyone calls me up on this, I actually love the Misfits, they’re one of my favourite bands and I think a lot of B-movies are pretty cool.) Though the majority of Rebellion patrons had clearly gone to see either Slaughter and the Dogs, the Lurkers still drew a healthy turnout of fans clearly addicted to the Lurkers sound. Arturo was, of course, as hilarious as ever having some of the best on stage banter in punk rock and reminiscing about how the open for Metallica in the states. “It’s good to be playing the little venues again!”

The day was drawing to a close and there was only one more act I wanted to see. Truth be told there was two, but Captain Sensible was on at the same time and I’d already had one viewing of the Captain so instead I vouched for Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo School of Medicine. Before the band took the stage Red Alert had been playing on the stage across and were getting pissed by the amount of people NOT paying attention to them. “If you’re waiting for that fake Yankee tosser, you can fuck off!” The bitter truth was, everyone was and were not up for fucking off anywhere.

The band took to the stage followed by a Biafra dressed in bloody medical gear and looking like a wanker. He spent the entire set getting more naked, to the point where I almost thought we’d be seeing little Jello make an appearance, and dancing around like an insane moron. It was great. The band and Biafra played like crazy, chucking a dead Kennedy’s song in after every few of their own. Though the majority of people seemed more interested in the DK songs than the School of Medicines originals they still went crazy the entire way through. Bar some sound issues at the start of the set and Jello’s pre song rants (which raised some good points I guess, but were just a little excessive) the Guantanamo School of Medicine were a strong finisher for one of the greatest musical weekends of my life. “We’ve ran out of time! We’re being kick off stage!” Keep the rants for the spoken word dates next time, Jello.

So Rebellion had ended, it was done. It’d be back to the normality(ish) of my day to day life tomorrow. There’d be highs; there’d been lows, blah blah, and some other parting cliché’s. I’d watched a whole lot of bands, and if you weren’t mentioned in the review then you probably weren’t great, didn’t suck incredibly, I couldn’t think of anything funny to write about you or, most likely, I just didn’t watch you or forgot. Now there was nothing left to do but go home, put a pot of tea on, and wait for the Fiend to come round and kick my fucking head in.

Low Points

• Scary amounts of thug looking white people
• · The Fiend
• Infa Riot
• Being pretty sure Pipes and Pints sang WHITE POWER on one of their songs (though I think I’m wrong about that)
• Being sober (mostly)
• Being pretty sure that the Olympia is usually a car park
• John Robb not getting hit by one of the bands buses on the way out of the festival (I haven’t heard anything about it anyway)

High Points

• OFF!
• A Wilhelm Scream
• The Vibrators
• The Damned
• Getting to hang out with Sam Barry and Melissa Murphy
• Going outside and walking along the pier
• The Fiend (they were pretty damn funny)
• That hot girl from Munich with an Against Me! shirt
• El Morgan and Kelly Kemp (both watching them and hanging out)
• Jobey’s awesome but totally fucked up art (which you can see some of here)
• The girl who, when asked by John Robb during Goldblade’s set did she believe in the power of rock and roll, said “Do I fuck.”
• T.V Smith and Leigh Heggarty
• Getting a picture with T.V
• T.V Smith wanting me to have some kids so another generation could listen to his music
• Something, something. Look, I just really like T.V Smith, okay?
• Jello Biafra’s bouncing podgy man boobs (is it strange this made it into high points and not low?)

Bran flakes for Roo, it helps him poo.

Bangers, AND MASH! (someone had to make the joke sometime….)

It’s finally happened, after about 3 months of saying I was gonna, I have. This is Going Underground, and the band this time is Bangers. A fucking top-totty band from, Pasty World H.Q (Cornwall) made up of: Roo Pescod, Hmish Adams and, that other one, Andrew Horne. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, but if you don’t like Bangers, I’ll break your legs.

The first time I watched Bangers was either at Refuse to Lose in Manchester when they played with the Arteries, or at Boozey Du in Leeds. I drink a lot so these things get blurred, but what I do remember is that they are one of the best live bands in the U.K scene. Watching singer Roo grin his little turnip head from ear to ear as the band tears through there fast catchy punk rock is one of the most inspirational things I’ve ever seen. On record the band don’t disappoint either, with their latest album Small Pleasures kicking as much dick as the previous with songs about not wanting to buy lots of shit.

You can now listen to Small Pleasures in its entirety FROM THIS PAGE! YOU LUCKY LUCKY BASTARDS!

“….one girl punched her boyfriend in the face, he cried, and I let all the kids jump over me on their skateboards, BMX’s, scooters, etc.”

I sit here writing this whilst eating 10p chip shop curry noodles in an attempt to remove the taste of hangover from my mouth. I’d spent my £10 shopping money on wine because yesterday was the Walkden Music Festival.

I know what you’re thinking, where the fuck is Walkden? Or if you’re not, and you know, why the fuck was there a festival there? You’re guess is as good as mine.

We left at this point to get money and booze. By the time we got back Jeremiah Ferrari were kicking out some ska and reggae influenced jams. Apart from having a crap name, they were actually pretty good. Imagine a less technical RX Bandits.

The sun had punctured it’s way through the clouds, the place was full of people (a varied group, half BMX kids, half big beefy scallys, oh and a couple of old punkers) and I was half a bottle of wine down and feeling good. Next up was, reggae funk band, Extra Love. Their brand of positive music, I say their brand but it’s reggae straight up and true, got the crowd going and even some of the tough nuts started to jive. At the end of their set one of the bigger scally guys got on stage and started blasting Bob Dylan covers. He was fucking awesome and it was hilarious watching twenty odd “chavs” head banging to Dylan.

The final act were The Skints, a female fronted ska band. Everyone was totally wasted now (one girl was lay face first in the dirt) and the few that could still stand skanked like crazy. The show was over but everyone hung around after, one girl punched her boyfriend in the face, he cried, and I let all the kids jump over me on their skateboards, BMX’s, scooters, etc.

We heard there was an illegal rave going on afterwards so decided to hit that, drinking beer on the way and stopping at Tesco for more booze, a banana and a baguette. I won’t say the location of the place or the peoples names in case I drop anyone in it. The rave sucked, mostly because DnB is the worst music ever, but also the sound system was fucked. I got hit on my a 14 year old and a guy with no shirt was trying to fight everyone. It was time to leave.

I walked home in the rain without any booze (little did I know there was a can in my bag) and listened to Fugazi. I’d say the day was a success. Now the article is done I’m gonna drink the can of lager, watch the Ghostbusters movie, then play Metal Gear Solid 2 all day.