It's safe
to say that my Turbonegro cherry was well and truly popped last
night.
While
some played the Hank and the Duke comparison game after the show, my
ignorance of what a Turbonegro gig was like with Hank at the helm
allowed me to wallow in just how fuckin' good the band are in the
here and now.
Turbonegro
are the sleazy ambASSadors of fist pumping, foot stomping, rabid head
banging rock and roll.
A band
who have a mission to spread the word of fun filled debauchery to the
masses, and while their tongues are firmly in the cheeks, they are
still taking that mission very seriously indeed.
From
stadium stages to club sized holes in the wall they have played them
all, but the surroundings of King Tuts was pretty much the perfect
receptacle to hold all the overflowing adulation for the band in.
A venue
that can hold a few hundred people in a tight embrace is were the
real shit goes down, and it would be roughly accurate to say that
just about every square metre of the floor had the foot of a member
of the turbojugend laying claim to it.
The
amount of denim on display would have some assuming that they were at
a Status Quo gig, but those hoary old rockers never attracted such a
fucked up, but still stylishly decadent, crowd of malcontents, and
they never will.
Back
patches showed that the pilgrimage to Glasgow had been made from all
over England and Ireland, and some of the accents I heard were
definitely from the European mainland.
That a
band can draw so many people from different walks of life together
under a roof to celebrate something that is so joyously barking mad
is for me somewhat magical.
I doubt
that anyone wandered off into the night harbouring any sort of
disappointment as the band delivered everything that was promised
with a set that had a good grip of Sexual Harassment, but also held
all the classics from the past close to its chests.
Every
song was blasted out with a kiloton of energy behind it, and the fans
of the band reciprocated by thrashing around in an orgy of lost
abandon to every move that their heroes made.
Self
control was evidently something that isn't required at the gig, and
everyone in attendance freely gives themselves over to letting go of
all the shit in their lives in exchange for a free pass to party with no
constraints.
From the
outside looking in some would say that the lunatics had maybe taken
over the asylum, but with no negativity being given any attention on
a night that played out to a backdrop of zero drunken incidents, or
arsehole behaviour of any type, I could argue that the real lunatics
were safely being held outside in the wider world allowing us to just
get on with our celebration of raw rock and roll.
It
doesn't get much better than that.
