“Things looked promising from the off when we viewed a strategically placed microwave with both awe and anticipation.”
“Things looked promising from the off when we viewed a strategically placed microwave with both awe and anticipation.”
Our rare evenings away from the pesky kids generally start in the same way – in a pub, hurling as much beer as possible down our care-worn throats. This evening was to be no different I’m glad to say. We got off the train and fairly sprinted to ‘De Wildeman’, which is truly a jewel in the crown of the fair city of Amsterdam.
I know I’m supposed to be reviewing the band but this month’s ‘Bier van de maand’ deserves a mention. Alfa Super Dortmunder weighs in at 7.5% and is damned tasty, my only complaint would be that the glass was too narrow to get my nose in. Still, that probably slowed us down just enough, so that we could still tell the time and head off to the Melkweg for the gig, instead of just getting paralytic and calling an ambulance.
Armed with warm glows and foolish grins we arrived in the Oudezaal, only to find ourselves amid a sea of bald patches like a widely spread, low-level mirror ball reflecting aged scalp patterns on the complicated ceiling. It was a convention for scruffy middle-aged men who should have studied harder at school. I felt right at home and it was only when I was looking for the ‘Solvent Abuse Refresher Workshop’, that I noticed one or two well-informed youngsters mingling in to make it more of a Lads and Dads affair.
The Dads were there to relive a bit of their youth, drink a bit too much and regret it a bit at six in the morning when the kids jump on their stomachs. The Lads were there to take a bit of a history lesson, drink a bit too much and be really pleased when they wake up at 1 in the afternoon.
And pleased they should be. Gang of Four had a different take on the punk sound, quirky and angular, funky and infectious and in Andy Gill they had (have?) one of the most original and influential guitarists of his time (his time is still ticking along quite nicely, by the way). Former pupils include REM, U2 and The Chili Peppers and more recently Franz Ferdinand and Futureheads have been doing their homework.
The original formation are touring again for the first time in 24 years and I’ll tell you this for nowt, they’re bloody good. Things looked promising from the off when we viewed a strategically placed microwave with both awe and anticipation. Only good could come of it.
We performed a classic pincer movement and ended up 2 metres from the front, the roadie signalled to the sound man. Gang of Four appeared, lit from behind as old men should be. Getting on a bit or not, they swagger and spat into Return the Gift with the sort of jagged, grinding, nasty guitar sound that brings an instant smile of satisfaction and a rhythm section tighter than a clenched fist.
Gill has still got most of the moves and looks the most rock and roll of the bunch while the other 3 opt for the ever popular ‘regular bloke’ look. OK, so singer Jon King does look like Vinnie Jones when lit from behind. The microwave however, still looked just like a microwave.
My Super-Dortmunder smile got broader as the evening went on and as I am now beginning to realise, as my grin was growing, my memory was shutting down. But, being the well prepared, pretend-journo-about-town that I am, I had my trusty notebook to hand and I inscribed my highly articulate and incisive thoughts firmly on to it’s dog-eared pages.
What I failed to take into account was that I was a drunken, dancing idiot. Drunken idiots don’t take particularly good notes. Drunken idiots that dance while taking notes don’t take particularly legible notes. This fatal trinity of alcohol, idiocy and motion is my excuse for not being able to remember almost any further detail of the gig, or indeed the evening as a whole. The shredded remains are listed below.
Jon King twatting the fuck out of a microwave with a slowly disintegrating stick.
Me being hopelessly impressed by a man even older than me being able to make a living by twatting a microwave with a slowly disintegrating stick.
Andy Gill playing the guitar like three men.
The whole place going bananas throughout.
Taking a set list so that I’d have some idea of what I was supposed to be writing about.
Singing along to Alternative Ulster by S.L.F.
Being at a pub.
Getting off a train.
I also remember being slowly pushed back throughout the night, as more people headed for the front. I ended up rubbing myself up and down a pillar, like a bear scratching an itch. You’ll just have to take it from me that that’s a good sign.
After 20-odd years out, Gang of Four are old dogs doing old tricks, it’s just that the tricks are so good and the timing of this comeback is so good, that they just might have jumped back on to their own bandwagon.
Words: MONO
Photographs : Damian Leslie
