Oh Live Local Music, I almost mourned your decline with some Thunderbird wine and a black handkerchief, then someone slapped North East Wales in the chops (Chester is in Wales right..!!) and suddenly we have white face, black shirt, white socks, black shoes, black hair, white strat, bled white, died black and all merry hell is let loose.
How simply wonderful…
Trecco Beis play sunshine music written on their second hand settees in tight sweaters and ponytails around their surf boards at the Knickerbocker Hotel in the Brecon Beacons.
There’s lo-fi on your hi-fi and the Cheeky Vimtos are in full flow. With an unhealthy interest in Kevin Bacon and Dennis Hopper this ensemble ensure their set is an easy ride here at Telfords Warehouse and how can you give a fuck when you don’t give two?
It’s barefoot pseudo surf music played by serfs who claim they’ve got nothing left to live for, when it’s patently obvious they have everything to live for.
Almost shambolic in their approach and added Shakespearean banter between songs, Trecco Beis are sometimes Seazoo, sometimes Y Niwl, sometimes Mowbird, sometimes inspired and sometimes shite. The first song was all over the shop, by the last song we could feel the chilled vibe.
Demo tape music is the new ‘320 kbit/s 48 KHZ sample quality’ as bands throwaway the recording rule book and shove a microphone in their rehearsal room for a true early seventies recorded feel… And it’s great, they might call it 16-track roll’n’roll but this ace… Here, try this as you read…
With snow beating down on the highlands of Halkyn and threatening my journey back home, at least I had the warmth and comfort of Trecco Beis in my head as I drove sideways on sickle grease along the A55.
If Trecco Beis are naughty schoolkids then Seazoo are prefects by comparison. They are duck-tailed Dai dragging Uncanny Llinos at the Sock Hop Ball in the Union Hall, where the bop is their delight and it’s plain to see that the blue cats are rolling tonight.
The new single (their third?) Panda Pains pawed its way into existence yesterday and has enjoyed appreciative nods from 6Music, BBC Radio Wales, Geoff’s Teeth and God Is In The TV fanzine amongst other dignitary outlets – The beat is reet complete…
Adam Walton is the hoodlum biting his nails; that masochist putting on these irregular Crackling Vinyl nights at Telfords, no doubt ruminating on the potential turnout with snow filled skies offering no mercy. No perforated pride tonight Adam, say farewell to money owed, cos the devil drives ’til the hearse arrives, so you can lay that pistol down, Seazoo are in town; they are the ones with the flying feet.
We’re high on Haliborange, divinity, dead cats and morphine, Seazoo carefully place those musical electrodes to our temples and flick the switch. You may lurk in a dark corner of this ace venue with your lazy skin and ashtray eyes, but once the power is on, there is nowhere left to hide. You’re hooked, you’re lined and you’re sinkered – Seazoo are the utopic injection, the link between twee pop and psychedelic wonderment. You will bop until your legs hurt and you need more shirts.
You will ache, but it will be the sweetest ache.