(review by Discordia)

Sorry all these reviews are so old (well, two months!) but being a one legged semi-human cave dwelling hermit with a cybernetically enhanced arm (with massive grip strength) and one hugely elongated tooth that leaks flesh melting acidic venom, I haven’t been out much of late… 🙂

DISASTER! Be warned, it’s a LONG one!

Ah, sometimes people just get you the best Christmas presents. Like a ticket to see your favourite band. And a lift there. And a bed for the night. And tattooed boobs for snuggling.

That’s what my beloved Li and Pooker got me. You probably don’t know them, but you should know them, for they are so many different varieties of awesome I’ve lost bastard count.


After imbibing ridiculous amounts of cocktails in Chester, I was picked up and driven to Liverpool. Quick drinky in the glorious darkness of The Swan (and every offensive song I could find on the damn jukebox), then off we made on our merry ways to the Barfly for some Disaster… Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster that is!

‘At last’, I thought as we staggered up the chill streets, ‘at last Jen, you get to see the NEW GUITARIST in action, the third one to grace your most favoured band. First, there was Andy – incendiary guitar player, awesome song writer, insufferable self obsessed twat. Then, the adorable Darth Rich with his hair and his technical prowess. And now – TRISTAN!’

Because that is his name.

I’ve got some interesting little notes on my phone from the gig. I knew I’d be a combination of devastatingly exhausted and very drunk so needed prompts for when writing this blog.

My notes are as follows, with elaboration underneath:

1. 1st band – John Jones and the Beatnik something. OK so far. MASSIVE 80s rip. Naked Mr Burns.

2. Second band derivative jangly crap. Crowd falling asleep.

3. 80s new guitarist escaped from Razorlight. Technical meltdown first song. Wee!

Elaboration begins…

1. When the first band started – John Jones and Beatnik something or other – I liked them. I like it when a band doesn’t look like how they sound, if that makes sense. But then, suddenly, it all started to warp. As the singer dropped to his knees, screaming into the mike while the drummer pounded on the skins I could only think of one thing – fuck me, these guys are ripping my beloved Disaster off a bit. Which is great, of course – nothing wrong with occasionally showing your influences on your sleeve… just don’t wear them like a fucking burka. In one awful moment, I thought – if I’d never seen the Disaster before, but had seen this band, then this band would probably be very dear to me. As much as I tried to stop them, my toes were tapping! Then my rebellious (yet beautiful) butt started shaking! My cynical fug began to lift – PRAISE JESUS! And then, a certain pixie next to me pointed out that the lead singer would probably look like Mr Burns if he was naked. Which was frighteningly distracting at such a delicate moment, especially considering my state of wobbly inebriation. And then it was over. Ah. Never mind. I’m giving them a chance though. I am. I joined their MySpace and everything. Watch this space! (THIS one here –> )

2. When band 2 started, I would have given anything for Band 1 to have continued on. At least they had some fucking PASSION. Band 2, whose name I can no longer recall at all, played that radio friendly brain dead jangly boring bullshit pseudo rock-pop bollocks, the same kind of emotionless wank that fills the pages of indie fashionista mags like the NME (which I would be loathe to use as toilet paper). You know that Unsigned Act show on Channel 4 with that wanker from Blur on it? This band would probably win that. ‘Oh great,’ grins Jo while Alex wanks himself off in front of a mirror. ‘You’re just the contrived, emotionless, unoriginal shit that the dumb fucks love to spend their money on!’ I recall turning to Li and saying – ‘This band are shit, but my God they’ll be famous soon enough.’ Mark my words, Band 2 will be big. Because they’re completely unoriginal and sound like every other fucking band like that ever. One day, I will go to an Oasis gig and break the arms (and legs to be on the safe side) off every single bowl headed bastard in there to try and ensure no more of these bands pop into existence. Dire, dire, DIRE! Instantly felt guilty for sneering at first band – will I ever learn?

3. And then, mercifully, there was The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster. It’s been a long time boys, and my GOD I’ve missed you SO MUCH. First sign of Disaster was pink haired photographer Rae assuming snapping position centre stage (and getting frustratingly in my way a lot… sorry, but I did come to see the band not spend ten minutes with my face in your navel! It’s a nice navel though.) I was in my usual left of centre facing the stage position. The band milled on to rapturous applause – guitarist Marc, bassist Sym, drummer Tom, new guitarist Tristan (who really does look like he’s escaped from Razorlight – he hasn’t yet assumed that distinctive Eighties ‘look’ yet!) and insane frontman Guy… but wait… what’s this? You look… different. Church Guy. Guy in brown blazer with ‘church’ hair. Oh god no, it’s not church hair… it’s Kings of Leon hair! And tucked in blue checked shirt! NOOO! Not that, Guy, not THAT! (Cue me being haunted by that fucking awful Sex is on Fire song forever more…) SNAP OUT OF IT! So yes, they all got on stage, cranked it up to 11… and blew everything up. Again. The mighty power of rock and roll indeed. Silence descended upon us like a parachuting elephant. The crowd – mostly hardcore fans of the band – were unfazed, and chatted away happily while the problem was fixed. And then – DISASTER! The GOOD kind! Ripping through classics and a few new tunes too, they were as tight as Gordon Brown’s arsehole. Bit TOO tight for my liking though – what happened to you Guy? Where did the flailing maniac go to? And what’s with all the random chat? Nice to hear the WHOLE of a song being sung though you velvet voiced monkey! The rest of the band were awesome as always. I love getting caught in Sym’s thousand yard stare, then winking at him and licking my lips seductively… heck, everyone does it, it’s like a game – who can psych out Sym?

New guitarist – he’s OK. He pulled it off. But what’s lacking? Something, that’s what. He seemed to have the word ‘Temporary’ emblazoned on his forehead. A bit lost, a bit out of sync with the others. I dunno. It’s not a ‘new boy’ thing at all – heck, we’ll all miss Rich like we all missed Andy but each new soul brings new talent. He needs to find himself in this band but also to become part of the ten legged psychosis machine proper.

Unfortunately, near to the end of the gig, a few really fucking annoying scallies (with no offence to my Liverpudlian friends – you know the type I mean) were shouting vaguely racist comments at the stage (Sym just happens to be Asian which annoyed them for some brain dead arsehole reason) and trying to burrow through everyone on the front row. At on point, one of the guys had me pressed so hard against the barrier I couldn’t breathe at all. There was no security (which resulted in lots of crowd surfers dropping over the barrier onto their heads with no staff there to catch them) and as such, by the end the pit was in chaos. Sym even ended up throwing his bass stand at the crowd which thankfully missed and fell just short of the barrier – bit fucking stupid that really wasn’t it Sym? Could have landed on me or one of the other nice people trying to have fun while being beaten up by stupid thugs.

The same thugs who, after the gig, decided to attack a guy for no reason, knocking him to the floor and jumping on his head, and also punching a girl he was with in the head too… and then getting their DAD in on it! Seriously! The doormen at the Barfly did NOTHING, thankfully Security Pooker was with us and he helped them a lot until the ambulance came. Every single fucking time I’m in Liverpool this kind of thing happens. Much better in Manchester overall I must say.

And then, we went home.

I wish i could give you some insight into the new songs, but it all became one glorious aural clusterfuck. It was marvellous, as always.

I will always be their biggest fan. Look, look, I’m cutting their name into my arm now with a staple remover and a paperclip.

Why is the name so LONG?

Ooh, getting lightheaded from the blood loss, but dammit it’ll be worth it!

Just do the D…