It’s time to go and our intrepid author is finally leaving. An early night however is not his only concern. It is imperative that he arrives back before his bibulous companion JC. If not then all his anxiety and sobriety will have been for naught. The race is on and the stakes could not be higher, but who will prevail Niki or James?
In fact things started to get groovy; despite the lights being up and a lot of the audience being gauche stoner wallflowers; we noticed a fair number of groovers had started to cut some rug to good effect.
I still wonder about what the qualitative differences between this form of entertainment and, say, watching a string quartet are; or watching someone knocking out a Buxtehude piece on an organ.
Adi’s grumbling through his vocals like Alberich the dwarf… “Ceaseless I toil”… you said it, love…
I mean everything’s cool and, (to quote Wymer from Vox von Braun), there are no problems, but… why on earth do the cars have to levitate above the tarmac tonight?
Finally tiring of wondering when the singer’s going to stop acting like a villain from a Buster Keaton film and “get it on” and suck the blood of a virgin, we look around. It looks like a webmaster’s conference.
It’s akin to listening to an audition to become NL’s number one flood defence warning system.
Alone and a long way from home our tremulous author embarks on the dread journey home but is quickly distracted from the task at hand, taking solace in cancelled television programmes and ludicrous blockbusters starring Dennis Hopper, and he wonders why he spends his life scrawling nonsense in a garret rather than playing an active role in society.
Somehow this C?B! thing could be a runner. Nature and Nurture, Prospero and Caliban, Bitter and Mild, or even a cherry in your spritzer. Let’s see what next year throws up.
“We’d love to come back and play again for you guys someday. This time with our own instruments. They sound completely different to this……Well, a little bit.”
Anyway, what the bloody hell do you need a smoke machine for at 7pm on a sunny evening in a field in the Nieder Rein? No, me neither.
it’s obvious British Sea Power are not the band they used to be. No. They’re better than that. Far better.
What’s the point in going to see anybody else. Ever?
The end seemed nigh for our intrepid reporter and yet once again he’s leaving the concert, the sense of déjà vu providing a welcome relief from the spirit-crushing ennui. Apparently this is the ideal place for Stephen to gather his thoughts before setting off into the wet grey yonder in search of the magic bus to Didsbury.
Apparently there still exist those who consider Jason Pierce to have been the "talent" in Spacemen 3. There are still people who think the world is flat and TV soaps are real, too...
Imagine if Thee Oh Sees had been crap. Imagine that. Actually what’s the point? Of course they weren’t crap. On the contrary they were astonishing. Where to start?
There’s a lot of singing along involved at a Tom McRae concert. And humming. And whistling.