More Pogues
Shane drank a bottle of wine during the first song, a six-pack of lager during the second, performed the third song laying on his back on the stage, then failed to turn up for the rest. One of the other band members did the vocals, and to be honest it was an improvement.

How the hell is Shane McGowan still alive??
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 9:54, 12 replies)

Ministry - Kentish Town last year
Absolute bollocks, Al Jourgensen has totally vanished up his own arse, and I got punched unconscious protecting my girlfriend from a couple of cunts on the tube home.
Twats.
(SigourneysBeaver took off and nuked the entire site from orbit on, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 9:49, 6 replies)

I interviewed a band for the student rag.
During the gig, at a break between songs, the bass player had oh-so casually said "Can I play drums on this one?", and he and the drummer had swapped places. Then the guitarist and the lead singer did the same. Then the keyboard player and the drummer (nee bassist).

They were from Norn Ireland, and played absolutely standard, unchallenging rock. The lead singer had thick-rimmed glasses, was dressed in a blue suit and tie, and had a floppy blonde fringe flopping all over the place, which he kept sweeping back majestically.

I got back stage to interview them, though the lead singer was still out talking to girls. Just as I got there, however, he swept in, and sat in the corner moodily, sparked up a cigarette, and swept his hair back.

"So ... who are your influences?" I asked (fuck you - I'm an idiot, I was a student, and fuck you).

"Our influences?!" sniffed the singer. "They're not musical, if that's what you're thinking. They're political!" he spat.

My review of the gig was simply "Cunts", and didn't make it into the magazine.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 9:00, 1 reply)

I just remembered that one of the cunts on here is responsible for one of my worst gig experiences
Mentioning no names but he has a girl's job and his wife is bigger than he is. I went nearly a hundred yards to the local to see a flock singer and the support was a couple in their forties who sang a lovesong about glittery vampires without any hint of irony.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 8:46, 3 replies)

When I was singing in a band
We had some great gigs and some pretty terrible gigs, but the one that sticks in the mind was when we played in Leicester as first support band. We thought we were on fine form, yet despite us having the biggest crowd there, our set was cut short (I think we only played four songs in the end). Anyway, we thought little of it until the review in the Mercury the next day - the reporter had given us a bit of a slating, but in order to do so he'd given us the headline, standfirst, picture and five paragraphs of an eight-paragraph article. And we quickly realised that if we omitted paragraphs one, three and five, two and four were the ones that concentrated on our good qualities, so with a little judicious editing we had decent press coverage that we could quote on posters.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 8:00, 2 replies)

twunt
Went to hard rock calling a few years back..
The first few acts were newbies, and not much to report. Next up was Adamant who was utterly utterly shite berating the audience for not gettin up and dancing, although it was blisteringly hot sunshine at 1.30 in the afternoon, and complaining about the fact that music isn't what it used to be. No, Adam, music is exactly what it used to be.. It's just that yours used to be shit, and it still is. After that, Stevie nicks and rod Stuart and jimmy page arrived and saved the day. Went home drunk and happy.
(bangthedrum, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 7:44, 2 replies)

National and local - it's all shit.
Saw these guys a few years ago.

Now it's all very rock & roll when the lead singer and or band members are shit-faced at a gig.
However... when all the crew and audio the engineer appear to be pissed, pilled or generally fried out their fucking gourds.
Well - it may not make for a good gig but it can provide many moments of absolutely sparkling live theatre!
The ongoing verbal (and physical) stoush between the band and the mix desk was comedy gold. I believe the claim that the mixer wasn't doing the band justice and making them sound like shit was unfounded - they seemed to be sounding like shit just fine on their own!
This song was one of the highlights of the night.
Some of these guys went on to host radio programs. I think that says as much about their music as it does about the qualities one needs to be a radio announcer these days.

The other band I'm writing about I saw many, many, many years ago.
We find young MMcUW dressed like a gothy-punk looking for all the world like he's just stepped out of a copy of Hewlligan's Haircut. He's at a club called the FIRM (actually he's a member - with a keyring that says "FIRM MEMBER" on it - fnar!). He's waiting to see a local band he knows and loves called Thrombus (some members of which go onto greater fame in Storytime - read more about them here, For pure music - I couldn't really recommend anything better).
EDIT:There's some music to download on that page. Give it a go if you feel adventurous. You pirate, you!
Anyhoo, prior to Thrombus hitting the stage a little known performance avante garde group (the alarm bells should be clanging by now) called Thou Gideon shamble onto the stage. The majority of them don't appear to know how to pick up let alone play a musical instrument. The lead singer has decided he's channeling Jim Morrison. Badly.
He has a guitar he refuses to play and gets his kit off within minutes of them "starting".
Their set culminates with him throwing a pigs head off the stage, eating a tin of dog food and then throwing furniture at the punters before the big, burly bouncers escort him out the door. Here is a review of another gig they did around the same time.

If you'd asked me years ago if theatre belonged in live music I'd have told you to fuck off. These days - I think you have to have a schtick. It's just that there's a very fine line between schtick and shit.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 26 Jul 2013, 4:27, 1 reply)

who the fuck is alice?
Went to see a band for a female friend's 31st birthday in London. It was billed as 'a few people' but due to dropouts it was me, her, her newish boyfriend and one other girl (Alice). A bit like a couples' evening except that one of the 'couples' - me and Alice - had never actually met.

Still, I was happy to find that Alice was attractive, even if the pre-gig drink was a bit awkward due to my friend already being half-cut, her boyfriend being foreign and Alice being a bit shy with a particularly quiet whispery voice. We were obviously supposed to make friends, if not actually sniff each other's bottoms, but I couldn't make out half of what she was saying and she kept trying to start side conversations with the other girl - our mutual friend - rather than talk amongst the whole group. It was something a relief when we got into the gig.

The band we'd paid to see were a sort of folky indie oufit. The support act were an incongruous teenage thrash metal act and everyone did their best to ignore them. At this point the foreign boyfriend decided the whole thing was stupid and wanted to go to a normal pub. His missus staved off a mutiny by throwing beer down his neck, quickly followed by herself. They stood in the corner snogging furiously as if it was the last few minutes of the school disco. She briefly broke off, grabbed my arm and smirked at me unsteadily. "Alice ish twenty-sheven and shingle", she confided with a meaningful leer. She also attempted a wink but the effort almost caused her to fall over, so she steadied herself against the foreign boyfriend and resumed her attempt to swallow him whole.

Alice had by this point wandered off, but the support act had thinned the crowd out so it was easy to spot her. I walked over to her with a friendly grin. She looked at me like she didn't know who I was and it occurred to me that she had a point as we'd only exchanged a couple of sentences. I tried a few icebreakers but conversation was impossible as her tiny voice just didn't carry over the howling teenage metalheads. "Shall we go over to the bar for a bit?" I bellowed.

"No, I think I'll just stay now". The proper band came on soon after and the venue started to fill up. After one song Alice turned to me and actually made an unprompted remark. It was, "I'm going to go and stand over there". And she did. Didn't look back to see if I was going to follow her, just walked ten yards away to make it easier to ignore me.

The other two were still wrapped around each other oblivious, so I stood there for another hour like a prize lemon, then we all walked back to the tube station together, chatting amiably as if we'd had a convivial night out. Cracking.
(slowly play it cool, Trig, Fri 26 Jul 2013, 0:53, 9 replies)

live band performance vs. studio recorded albums - results may vary
Aerosmith on Get A Grip- Steve Tyler was awful until the 5th song in the set, then his voice warmed up and the rest of it was Great. Glad I wasn't an early leaver.

Skid Row- Seb Bach, Amazing voice in the studio with repeated takes, the twat was running about trying to make a legendary unforgettable energetic performance, result is being out of breath and he fucked up all the high notes.

David Lee Roth- Pitch perfect but I realised the whole show was being replayed from tape. Plus Billy Sheehan had 'left' and I was going to see him more than DLR. Still, Mr Big grew out of that fracture :-) on a side note I threw up because of the NEC warm bottled bitter was shite. Moving on. I only had one....
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 25 Jul 2013, 23:37, Reply)

Phoenix Festival, 1997
Spent most of the weekend in the tent, shagging (woo, sex lies on the internet), so didn't see all that many bands. Walked away from Bowie's set, as it was a load of pretentious arse. Was really looking forward to seeing the Charlatans but, having consumed a box off wine between the pair of us, we only managed to stagger down to the stage, to scream "THIS IS SHIT!" before staggering back to the tent to sleep. :(

MASSIVE DRUGS? Not for me thanks, but I got a thorough pat down from security every time I travelled between the campsite at the festival arena, only to be offered MASSIVE DRUGS by the worlds most obvious drug dealer*, as soon as I got through the gate.

*The dealer inside the arena was a squat, bald, black guy, wearing a puffa jacket (whilst everyone else was wearing as little as possible, owing to the heat) - there was only one of him, yet he was always there, just inside the gate, waiting to offer me his merchandise, as soon as security had confirmed that I was not a drug dealer.

Did I mention that I had lots of sex that weekend?
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 23:33, 3 replies)

Dragonforce-another Download tale
For those unaware, Dragonforce play a ridiculously fast and complex variant of metal. It sounds, if you like that sort of thing, epic-like it was written for the ultimate fantasy warrior film. As someone once told me, "like riding on a rainbow at a million miles an hour". Maybe it sounds a bit nerdy to some, but its sheer undiluted joy always makes me cheer up.
How amazing must it be to see them live? To see the utterly mental, surely unplayable riffs being thrashed out in front of you?

...turns out they really are unplayable. They sound great on CD, but live you can see them tying fingers in knots and wondering "What the fuck were we thinking??? ARRRRGH!!!!"

So until some ludicrously gifted hillbilly inbred with 8 fingers on each hand starts a cover band, our dreams of seeing this magic carpet of music unfold in front of use remain, just dreams.
( Greenbat, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 23:30, 4 replies)

The Venue, New Cross
We went to see the Cardiacs who were, on this occasion, being supported by The Pointy Birds. Sadly for the Pointy Birds just before they came on stage around 9.30 it was announced that for whatever reason the Cardiacs wouldn't be arriving before 11. The pointy birds were a bit stuffed from that moment as most of the crowd threw stuff at them to show their displeasure at the news and then wandered off to the other floors to drink and dance. Sad I vaguely remember them being quite good really but never saw their name listed anywhere again.
(cmouse is pondering about life in other jobs, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 22:57, Reply)

I went to a gig
expecting faithful reproductions of the CD. Imagine my disappointment on discovering that the musicians' job is a tad more intricate than working in a McDonald's kitchen.
(roysin, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 22:44, 3 replies)

Yes I had to deal with
spanish Ipad fuckwit at my friends open air gig. Was a family side-event to a festival in Dublin. Not only did she paste the Ipad above her head in front of my child who was on my shoulders trying to watch. But, at the merest hint of moisture, would open up her umbrella nearly blinding him and knocking his Ice cream out of his hand.

Which gave me an idea to lean forward abruptly whilst ensuring my child was secure. I hope the Ice cream went rancid in her hair before she got back to her hotel. My kid enjoyed the rest of the show though.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Thu 25 Jul 2013, 21:53, Reply)

I was offered a great music gig. I was approached by a record label to become what is known as
an A and R man. It all sounded too good to be true and I did not pursue the opportunity and instead went to sell timeshare in Marbella. There were genuine reasons for being approached to become an A and R man but if I went into them it would seem like lies.

So, now I know exactly what A and R is my bad gig is not having pursued the approach. It was Sony Music and I may have been able to stop SC from taking over the world.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 21:40, 3 replies)

years ago I organised a gig, mostly for brazilians. We hired out a joint called 93ft east on london's brick lane
We underestimated how many would show, and ended having to turn people away. The brazilian electro DJ we hired was called Rogerio Bala, bala meaning pill in portuguese. I asked why, and they said because he also deals ecstasy. He turned up wasted and had forgotton his record box. We shifted to a capoeira exhibition (brazilian dance fighting)but the crowd was pushing in too close and several people got kicked in the head. An indian mate of mine got his pint glass roundhoused out of his hands as he was taking a sip. It was bloody dangerous.
We'd hired the band of this japanese mate of mine. koichi, which at the time I think were called Kill my dad. Sort of an Art/Punk threepiece. Koichi is the sweetest bloke offstage but is fucking nuts on stage. they were just on the verge of getting some airplay, and had a music journalist from one of the big music mags taking photos. At the end of the second song, the guitarist got it into his head to throw his guitar away in punk fashion, which he did straight into the face of the journo, breaking his nose like a splattered tomato. Which is where the gig ended.
Luckily, rogerio had come back by then slightly more earthbound and with his big box of electro and turned out to be a good dj seeing out the rest of the night.
{edit}Then everyone was murdered.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 21:29, 2 replies)

no, my taste in music is more esoteric than yours.

( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 20:51, 18 replies)

Springsteen
One and a half hours to get home the other week. All because Bruce Fucking Springsteen was playing our local stadium and the traffic was godawful. Cunt.
(Inflatable Giraffe Punctureless since 1985, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 20:50, Reply)

The Prodigy - Glastonbury '97
Their Main Stage set started 45 mins late and appeared to be them jumping up and down and shrieking along to a CD of 'fat of the land'.
( Larry Death Anger Pain Fear Aggression, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 20:46, 6 replies)

The Chocolate Genocide
I appreciate that The Chocolate Genocide is a likely-sounding name for a band. But it isn't. I want to share with you a tale of real chocolate genocide.

When I was a teenager in the moonstruck inner city of the soulless cul-de-sac of North Lincolnshire that is Scunthorpe, there was precious little for entertainment. Fridays was a straight choice between wankers-and-tarts disco Henry Afrika's, or - directly over the road - rock nights at the Baths Hall (yes, once upon a time it was a swimming baths). A typical rock night would be in the hands of legendary local recording studio owner and outrageous stoner, Steve Bird, his twin turntables and a large collection of vinyl which he left to his hapless assistant while he went to smoke very large roll-ups. Cracking bloke.

However, once a year, the weekly record-session was interrupted by The Rock Open, Scunthorpe's premier Battle of the Bands. Many a terrible band (frequently featuring one or more of me and my friends) had taken to the Rock Open stage, purveying their local take on goth-punk-metal-prog-core, and the local crowd had come to be quite astute and discerning critics, giving a loud hooray to all who played great music (a local folk band once entered and were mildly disconcerted to find themselves through to the final) while roundly booing those who were deemed to be full of themselves.

And no-one was ever as full of themselves as Bingo.

Bingo were third on the list in - what? - about 1997 or so, by my reckoning. We had already proffered polite attention to a local band with a lead singer with waist-length hair inexpertly dyed black and revealing streaks of ginger, and ironic applause to two girls who had played without the benefit of a drummer or any coherent lyrics, but had alternately flashed their tits while the other one was playing a solo. There was an inopportune pause while some roadies adjusted the set and fiddled with a lighting rig with flashing red and green lights.

So far, not so good. Three things not beloved of your average greebo crowd are fancy light displays, long pauses in the music and roadies. ROADIES, for fuck's sake?! This was the Rock Open - most bands arrived without a guitar strap or a second pair of drumsticks. Indeed, one enterprising drummer had, the year before, been forced to resort to Def Leppard style one-armed abuse after accidentally throwing one of his sticks over his left shoulder. Oddly enough, that act failed to make the semi-finals.

One way or another, it was sufficient incentive for us all to slope off to the bar and order another round of the worst-kept, gassiest Murphy's that Humberside had to offer, such was the Baths' trademark.

Bingo therefore entered the stage to precisely no ovation. They were out-of-town, they had held up the evening and they had a fucking stupid name, so hostilities were already running pretty high. Things were going to get worse.

The lead singer, dressed in a white suite, red shirt and porkpie hat, was obviously under the impression that the band was popular. In case popularity wasn't forthcoming, he had brought bribery - a sizeable collection of Penguin-like chocolate bars, all emblazoned with a jazzy Bingo logo. He grabbed them by the handful out of a plastic bucket and scattered them among the crowds. They hit an empty dancefloor like Onan's seed hitting the fields.

Most professional rock groups avoid giving things to audience members. I wonder if you can work out why, boys and girls. Conniving glances passed between every single audience member present that wasn't tongue-deep in their girlfriend, attempting to top up their Murphy's without the barmaid noticing, or indulging in one of Steve Bird's spliffs.

Describing the music is quite incidental; in fact, I'm sure you can imagine what it was like. It wasn't as edgy as Suede, as emotional as the Manics or as politically smart as Blur, despite trying to be all three. It was a bit listening to a duet between Piers Morgan and a kangaroo with a distortion pedal, with Meg White on drums. It was completely misjudged on an audience who thriving on shredding guitar solos, grunting vocals, and performers whose hair wasn't slicked backwards.

The Baths Hall crowd knew how to voice displeasure, but Bingo had given them extra ammunition. The band perked up as several dozen leather-clad bodies moved onto the dancefloor, but were immediately downcast as arms were raised, holding twee little wanky chocolate bars.

The first shot passed disappointingly over the guitarist's head. The second, to the loudest cheer of the night, removed the singer's porkpie hat. And then, a barrage. A bucketful of chocolate bars, hurled with the accuracy and force of a Jimmy Anderson yorker, assaulted the band. A sonorous WHHOOOOOONNNNGGGG sounded as the bassist's E-string was hit dead centre. The drum kit provided a range of entertaining targets and noises, and every time the singer opened that fucking stupid mouth, he would be bombarded by a couple of ounces of sugary biscuit.

The rest of the first number was an instrumental. Then Bingo left the stage, about four minutes into what was supposed to be a twenty-minute set. The bassist's nose was bleeding. Steve Bird's DJ-monkey span up 'Rocks' by Primal Scream and we all had a good thrash. More Murphy's was consumed.

I don't know if it qualifies as a bad gig; I've rarely enjoyed myself more. When else do wankers give you chocolate and then give you the opportunity to hurt them with it?
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 20:38, 1 reply)

Download this year
Sunday was pretty good-5 finger death punch, Stonesour, Rammstein headlining...great! Ivan Moody was brilliant, though I felt a bit sorry for security. At one point he spotted some kids (12-14ish at a guess) in the mosh pit. To save them from getting crushed or booted out, he got them on stage for half the gig, one of the lovliest things I've seen.

But the bad bit was 30 seconds to Mars, who were on before Rammstein. Absolute polar opposites, bland corporate rock before German Metal. Obviously most people went to 30 secs set to get a good spot before Rammstein...

First song was stopped twice, because the singer wanted us to jump more. Second time, he actually pointed at someone and said "You! You will lead us in our jumping". Like we were at primary school assembly.

It just went downhill, with most people hurling abuse or calling for Rammstein. He tried getting his fans to come on stage, and generally looked pretty desperate. The usual spiel about how much we love the festival, love england etc sounded like it came from a focus group in an office.

Eventually he confiscated someones blow up penis, told him off like a 5 year old and went off in a strop.
Still, Rammstein were absolutely fantastic
( Greenbat, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 20:38, 7 replies)

Bob Hope
I saw the senescent 'comedian' towards the end of his tediously-long existence. He spewed a lot of foul language to the family audience. I looked nervously around, wondering if any of the 10,000 people there might take umbrage at the slashing, unfunny homophobic humor. At one point, Hope spotted some unauthorized person filming his performance and petulantly stopped for three minutes until security hauled the unfortunate away.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 20:11, Reply)

I saw Black Grape during one of Shaun Ryder's higher moments.
He started the gig facing the wings and singing into a disconnected microphone. When his carers herded him to the front he promptly did a slapstick mic-into-forehead manoeuvre and knocked off his sunglasses revealing eyes like a pair of blistered arseholes. Then sang the words to the wrong song.

It was fucking brilliant. What was the question again?
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 19:34, 7 replies)

Bob Dylan about 7 or 8 years ago....
He walked on stage dressed in a full lengh black cape, big black hat and sunglasses, didn's say a word and went straight to his keyboard, and stood side on to the audiece (All night long, Just didn't move), and played what seemed like the same fucking basic rythem and blues tune, singing what appeared to be the same lyrics to to the same vocal melody, about 15 times for one and a half hours,he didn't say a single word all night, then walked off stage......

I did not recognise one single song.

Came back on to do an encore, and actually spoke, but only to mumble the band members names.

Then lauched into the encore, which was the exact same tune and vocal melody he'd played 15 times already that night, I did recognise a phrase though, and turned to my friend and asked "Is this (Like a rolling stone)?", he paused before answering " MMmmmm I think it is, pretty sure anyway" the next was all along the watch tower, which again was only recognisable because of a few key words we recognised.

Biggest waste of £45 for a ticket ever and most deffinitely the worst gig of my entire life. every single review agreed.
(The invisable man Is having a long lazy soak in search, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 19:32, Reply)

I've seen Rush 4 times, NEC 3 times, O2 once. Them being Canadian you have to wait for them to do a world tour and come over here, which isn't very often.
The first time - Counterparts tour- the music was great but the whole experience was somewhat clouded by the fact by the time I got home I only had 2 hours for sleep before having to get up for work.

The second time - Vapour Trails tour - the music was great but (as is the habit for a band with a much respected drummer) a lot of the fans were air-drumming ineptly along to the songs and the guy stood next to me spent the WHOLE GIG flailing about with his arms, in my face, shaking the NEC stack seating with his stamping feet and making me scared the lot was going to fucking collapse.

The third time - Time Machine tour - the people at the front stood up so everyone else behind on the tiered seating had to stand up to see, and so did the next and the next and the next- the guy directly in front of me stood his kids on the seat to see so I couldn't see fuck all, and the guy behind me was forced to stay seated because of a broken leg so if I stood up he'd see nothing... I wouldn't have minded so much but the kids had obviously been dragged along unwillingly and spent most of the performance texting mates.

Fourth time- Clockwork angels, thank fuck for that, Perfect.

We also went to see a band called Kyrbgrinder (Prog/Funk/Metal) with a singing drummer for a front man (multi tasking, impressive! and friends of the Mrs), a medium sized gig at the Old Bell in Derby. Again, the music was great and the performance very tight but there were some pogoing arseholes who were trying to mosh - it wasn't that kind of gig - but as the final piece their signature track 'My Heart Bleeds' has one of those anthemic chorus lines that everyone like to join in with.

The drummer/frontman invited the audience to come up on stage and yell the refrain of the chorus into the 2nd vocal mic and up surged the arseholes. Indicating to me with his sticks he said 'How about you too? and then sotto voce said '...keep an eye on them, will you?' so I complied.

Unfortunately one of the arseholes decided to stage dive and managed with unerring accuracy to leap off and crash into my girlfriend, knees-first into her ribs and knocked her over. I saw this and leaped off the stage by the side steps, went over on my ankle and sprained it badly. A perfectly good gig ending in both of us hobbling up the road, fucked.

Wankers.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 25 Jul 2013, 19:09, 2 replies)

The Cult, 1989
Before we got to see Astbury's "Pissed Jim Morrison" take. We had the joy of the support band who I think were called "Claytown Troupe". These guys were so bad, within minutes most of Wembley was against them.

The poor singer tried a different way of winning at least some of the crowd around by throwing t-shirts into the crowd.

Every single one was promptly thrown back on the stage.

As for The Cult? I was amazed when I saw the vid for "Sweet Soul Sister" they actually managed to get enough footage of him on his feet- the guy was absolutely wankered. It took me 4 years before I dared see them again, but I was glad I did. Sober, they were great.
(MonkeyFunker, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 18:56, 5 replies)

The Pogues are Cunts
My wife dragged me off to see the Pogues Christmas show at the O2, but only because she liked some tunes by confused pseudo tory anarchist Frank Turner who was supporting. The Pogues couldn't play, their timing was woeful, their songs were variously announced in half-hearted fashion, 'we love London, here's Dirty Old Town', which they then murdered.
The band looked like strangers, the only thing that kept them playing was the £50 each that the 80,000 strong audience had paid for the privilege.
The crowd were mostly middle-aged low-browed loon-eyed dribbling catholic fascists who wore Celtic shirts and tried to mosh with their overweight feet glued to the floor, while their cheap surgically enhanced wives hung on to their arms to ensure they could get a medic as soon as their partners hearts imploded. We stayed for Fairy Tale Of New York and wished we hadn't.
Thankfully, we saw Cat Power, The Yeah Yeah Yeah's and Drenge last weekend so we've just about recovered.

/re-lurks.
(Sir Magaski, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 18:40, 2 replies)

I saw Gary Glitter when I was a kid.
Thankfully the teacher saw him and he ran away.
( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 25 Jul 2013, 18:07, Reply)