Very often, too often for it to
be merely coincidentally, and probably the result of an ancient curse that has been
levelled at my family, I have found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In the game eeny, meeny, miny,
your fucked I have bucked the laws of statistical probability and been the ‘you’re
fucked’ more often than most could realistically believe.
I even have a recurring dream
that ties in with being born under a bad star wherein a fiery ball drops from
the sky into a large crowd and lands on me.
Everyone else is injury free, but
I’m in tiny bits.
The last thought that flits
across my mind just before I die is “bloody typical”.
That’s not to say every day is filled
with the toast landing butter side down though.
Sometimes everything works out
fine, and that’s what happened with the Tav Falco show in Glasgow.
On Sunday morning I was all
geared up to see the man himself hit the stage of Broadcast on the Monday
evening, when in a casual conversation it was mentioned that I had the wrong
date, meaning that I missed out on being in the right place at the wrong time
by a happenstance stroke of luck.
Keeping with the theme of
superstition, curses and cosmic jokes by Gods, this was my moment of the stars aligning
that bucked the normal trend.
I was on a roll when a matter of
minutes later a friend posted online that they had a spare ticket to.
All my luck was being used up in
the one day it seemed.
So in a matter of mere hours I
had went from ignorance to awareness, and then to a seat in a booth in
Broadcast and enjoying a candle lit meal with my girlfriend Kelly.
Not bad for a Sunday with three bands still to play.
First support band of the night
was The Reverse Cowgirls.
Describing themselves as a psych
tinged garage rock act they haven’t missed the head of the nail as they powered
through a bunch of songs that sound like the material from the Pebbles collections
after they have been forced to do the “Tough Mudder” assault course run.
Sounding battered and bruised,
but screaming that they are alive, song after song reinforces that the garage
sound of the west coasts underground garage scene is still as relevant as it
has ever been to those who gravitate towards a less slick, but ultimately more
vibrant take on rock and roll.
Even some technical gremlins
making an appearance couldn’t diminish the on-going onslaught.
Huge thumbs up from me.
The Primevals have been doing
their thing since the early eighties, and shared stages large and small with
pretty much everyone.
After that amount of time there
are only two real reasons why that longevity is possible.
One is that they are obstinately
unaware that they aren’t that good, and like the families of tone deaf reality
talent show contestants their nearest and dearest haven’t found a way to break
the news to them, or that they are simply damn good at what they do and know
it.
Thankfully the latter is what is
going on with these guys, and with all those years under their belts you are
guaranteed a quality show.
The garage tag is one that has
been applied often enough, and not without reason, but The Primevals are much
more than just a garage act, and are able to bring the best of RnB to the table
as they expel enough kinetic energy to light up a small town while doing so.
Double thumbs up.
Tav Falco and his Panther Burns
are a whole different story again.
If Rod Serling took on the mantle
of Dr Frankenstein and made himself a rock star to exist in the word of the
Twilight Zone then his creation would be Tav Falco.
The man, the legend, lives in the
worlds between fact and fiction, fantasy and reality.
It’s a world of shadows where ladies
of the night, burlesque show barkers, petty thieves, shining pompadours, tightly
woven zoot suits and the glint of a switchblade exist under neon lights.
An alternate universe where
the romanticized lives of the denizens of the gutter are celebrated with more
panache than most would be able to consider possible.
As he strode onto the stage a
friend remarked on how young he looked.
It’s true.
He could be the Dorian Gray of rock and roll.
He could be the Dorian Gray of rock and roll.
Although a continental lifestyle could
be the secret rather than any supernatural portrait hanging in an attic, his healthy
persona is worth mentioning as an aside.
Worth mentioning as it isn’t something
that is reflected by the males of the Scottish audience who were in attendance.
In the main we appear to have the
complexions of men who consider dooking* for mars bars as they are being deep
fried as a normal weekend pastime.
Maybe we should take a leaf out
of his book, or then again we could cling to the belief that dying young with a
decrepit looking corpse is the way to go.
What about the music though?
In one word it was ‘stunning’.
A mish-mash of The Cramps, Johnny
Thunders, Dean Martin and Rudolph Valentino mixed together and delivered in a
manner that takes the individual parts and creates something that is stronger as
a whole.
It’s his ability to take these multiple
strands and weave them together to conjure up a show that is like no other that
attracts people to the Tav Falco’s Panther Burns fold again and again.
On this night we had a Turkish belly
dancing intro from the bands attractive drummer, a whole slew of rock and roll
and Spanish stroll, and an interlude where Tav and a dancing partner used the
stage to display their skills as they danced the tango in a set that time wise would
have given Springsteen a run for his money if it hadn’t been cut short by the licensing
curfew.
This was not just a rock show in a
club, but an artistic representation of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s
Dream” where the reality gives way for the surreal, albeit draped in a robe of
fifties, early sixties, rebellious teenage culture.
There’s still one Scottish date
to go and that is in Edinburgh tomorrow night (Wed 12/02/14), and it has to be
said that if the above sounds like your thing then please don’t miss it.
*Dooking – Attempting to retrieve
an apple from a tub with your teeth as part of a traditional Halloween game in
Scotland.
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Great gig, probably better if you were down the front. That's a low ceiling and a foot high stage. Hat off to the sound engineer.
ReplyDeleteWe were stage left in the front row. Just in front of the bassist who kindly gave us a beer.
ReplyDelete