Oh dear, I really am a lazy arse aren't I? A miasma of stress, depression and general under-the-weather-iness left me ignoring my pixie dust despite once again having a big long list of things to post. Still, let's pretend I haven't been neglectful and go straight on to blogging about nice things, shall we?
Last weekend I was lucky enough to take a trip to sunny (by which I mean humid and sweaty) London, as by happy coincidence there've been a few good gigs all at once. I wanted to stay until Monday so I could see PiL but alas I had to work, so I had to "make do" (hah) with Specimen, Gene Loves Jezebel and Skinny Puppy, which is pretty good going for one weekend.
I stayed with my lovely uncle in his beautiful house in Islington, which was again pretty damned lucky as Specimen and GLJ were playing at Slimelight, also in Islington. I'd never been to Slimes before, and to be honest the things I'd heard about it were not exactly complimentary (ie "they don't call it Slimes for nothing", "well, at least my club is clean" and "they're dress code is insane; they refused a bloke in a leather trench coat and goggles for not being goth enough"). Actually, I didn't think it was as bad as all that: it's a rabbit warren of staircases, and by the time Specimen finished my platforms were sticking to the floor a little, but it's certainly not the nastiest club I've ever been to.
For the purposes of the gig, one floor had been coverted into a surrogate Batcave; bedecked with hand-painted cobwebs, trashy plastic chandeliers and polystyrene bats, with DJs spinning the deathrockiest Trad-goth tunes I know (which was fabulolus, frankly, it's so rare to be in a club and actually hear Virgin Prunes, Siouxsie, Bauhaus and Rubella Ballet in quick succession). After a bit of sitting around and goth-watching, the support band came on, a group called Night Porter who opened with a Cramps cover so nondescript I didn't even twig there was a band on. The rest of their set was okay, and although they certainly weren't the worst support act I'd ever seen, they weren't the best either. They finished with a cover of the Doors' "Riders on the Storm" sans keyboards, which worked surprisingly well.
Waiting for Specimen themselves to dain to grace the stage, I had a quick chat with a lad with a absolutely fabulous accent who recognised me from my usual goth-haunt, Intrusion in Oxford, before it was time to sidle forward and scream excitedly at the stage. Now it's been a good few years since the Batcave shut it's doors and the Specimen boys went on to become electro-ravers and session musicians, and time hasn't been entirely kind to those big back-combed hairstyles (Jon Klein is completely bald now, and Jonny Slut's signature deathawk is replaced by close-cropped stubble) but they sounded great. They played most of the songs I know (Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Syria, Stand Up Stand Out and Sharp Teeth Pretty Teeth were definite highlights) sounding just as raw and campy as ever, with Ollie Wisdom swinging off the lighting rig, clambering over the monitors and announcing that we were all far too nice and polite, adding before the encore "see, we love you really. Honest!"
And there they are (I've found other vids on youtube but the sound quality is appalling). Is it me, or does Jon Klein look like he's been taking make-up tips from Nik Fiend there? Also, check out Jonny Slut's outfit! PVC and fishnet and platform stilettos all the way!
Their set was far too short for my liking, I would have liked a few more songs, though I suppose that's a good sign. They were really very good, recapturing all the sleazy, funny, high camp tone that they had back in the day. On the plus-side I got to extend my Specimeniness a little late while sitting around in the bar, when I realised that the chap in the stilettos on the other side of the room was none other than Jonny Slut himself. Naturally I had to make a twat of myself and timidly ask for his autograph, so now I have a shiny scrawled-on copy of Alive at the Batcave perched atop my CD player.
Next up were GLJ (or Jay Aston's Gene Loves Jezebel for those of you who live in the US) who, taking the stage at nearly midnight, weren't really suited to playing that late at night and were plagued with technical faults. Much as I like them, a lot of their stuff is a bit.... shoegazey and introspective and, after a long, hot day, shoegazy and introspective becomes soporific. I have to confess to not really being overly familiar with their back-catalogue, so a lot of the songs they played I didn't really know and couldn't name, I recognised Who Wants to Go to Heaven, Bruises, Motion of Love and, their encore and my favourite, Desire. Jay Aston is an odd one, though. GLJ are definitely an alternative band but Jay's moves wouldn't be out of place on some Guitar Hero avatar somewhere, at one point he held his guitar vertically and played a solo. Bit odd. I did quite like his quips about "same Jay different toupee" though.
Anyway, after swaying around for a while it was time to trudge home, humming to myself and rummaging through my bag to admire my new Batcave t-shirt.
The following day started nicely, with me discovering I am completely hopeless on public transport (it took me over an hour to make a ten minute journey. I am clearly not a bus person) when going to visit one of my bestest friends from uni. We went to a cute little restaurant in Holborn that specialised in okonomi -yaki (Japanese omelettes) cooked on a hot plate set into the table before going for a wander and ending up at Maison du Chocolat. I won’t bore you with the details of our lengthy conversations (most of them were either very personal or very surreal anyway), let’s just say it was good.
After a quick dash back to Islington to do strange things to my hair, it was off to Kentish Town and the London Forum, a venue that holds a very special place in my heart as the site of my infamous meeting with Mr Peter Murphy. When I arrived, the support band were already in full swing, a rock-industrial band called Hounds whose fairly enjoyable if ordinary songs were lifted by a wonderful sense of humour. Their singer, whose name escapes me, cheerfully explained that “we’re not used to playing places this big, so this is great for us” and suggested “go and have a look at our t-shirts; even if you don’t like the music you might like our t-shirts”, and before their last song added, “I know you don’t know any of our stuff, but this is our single so when I introduce it, I want you all to scream and go crazy like it’s your favourite”. That cracked me up, I have to say. Not many bands have the nerve to admit that no one knows who they are.
After Hounds left the stage, I bumped into the lad with the Brazilian accent I’d met the night before and the two of us sidled up to the front row with a couple of drinks to have a serious natter. It turned out that we’d both been at both of the Bauhaus concerts back in 2006, and so of course I had to tell him all about the Pete Murphy incident.
At last the lights went down and Cevin Key and Mark Walk came on stage to take their places behind their hulking instruments, before Nivek Ogre himself hobbled out in front, dressed like something that had escaped from a lunatic asylum in Silent Hill. He had a mask made of rags on, various straps and bandages, shoes that made him look like the Elephant Man and an enormous conical hat. In short, he looked fantastic. The majority of their set was taken from their latest album (that’s Sk’uppy’s latest album, rather than Ogre’s ohGr project), with Politikil, Magnifishit and Ugli being definite highlights, but a few earlier tracks got a look in too; Assimilate certainly got some attention since Ogre brought the conical hat back with smoke billowing out of it’s point, and thus I have dubbed it the “Assimilate Incinerate” hat.
And here's a clip of the Assimilate Incinerate hat in action.
Ogre’s stagecraft is exceptional: part of the reason I was so keen to see them live is because I wanted to see their trademark performance art schtick and they didn’t disappoint. We had projections on screens, fake blood, a cage which Ogre slunk in and out of to scrabble around and scream into the lens of a camera (which then projected onto the screen behind him, pretty nifty), and eventually Ogre’s rag mask came off to reveal a mass of prosthetics (how he copes in the heat under all that I do not know). For the encore, he ditched the prosthetics and most of the straps, gloves and assorted mcguffins, and I’m glad he did because under all that he’s quite a handsome fella! Plus, their encore included Worlock which has always been one of my favourites.
Worlock-y Ogre-sans-makeup-y goodness
I was genuinely impressed by their whole show. Ogre is very quickly rising in my estimation to one of my favourite celebrity types; he’s a frightening and powerful performer, and, from what I’ve seen of him in interviews, a really intelligent and nice guy. So, yes, two thumbs way up for them, and I can’t wait to see them again at M’era Luna, even if it’s the same setlist again.
I had to go back to gloomy Portsmouth and to work the following morning, but I don’t mind so much now I have something to look forward to: I’ve booked myself tickets to go to M’era Luna in August with a bunch of friendly gothy types who’ve booked a luxury coach down to there (and a big thank you to the lovely Mr Paul Sticks, gothy DJ and promoter, for pointing me towards them). I’m really excited, it’s going to be a fabulous excursion. The Sisters of Mercy are playing (okay Andrew Eldritch has lost his marbles and his voice but as long as they play either Alice, Marian or Lucretia I don’t care), as are Sk’uppy, Stolen Babies (a bit metal for my liking, but their Oingo Boingo-stylee keyboards are right up my alley), Brendan Perry of Dead Can Dance, Placebo (a bit indie but I’ll probably be merry enough to sing along to Nancy Boy by the time they’re on) and many more besides.
Being a big silly Goth is fun!
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