Friday is traditionally the day where many of us seek oblivion through drugs and alcohol to numb the pain caused by pointless jobs and the crushing conformity of consumerist culture. Since our post-christmas beer cull we have sought out new highs to subject our Adonis-like torsos to.
Smoking banana skins isn’t doing it for us any more, nor is a lukewarm bowl of Alphabetti Spaghetti, so tonight it was an ‘all you can eat’ Curry Buffet…
Believe me… Jesus literally wept… We gorged so much and the normally brisk jaunt across town to The North was more of a cramped up crawl as we struggled with our childish gluttony.
So, put the curry down and rather than going for the sort of shit puns that make up 90% of Twitter, let’s get on with the review…
Looking like rejects from a Joy of Sex book photoshoot, Denbigh renegades Bad Earth had already bump-started their tank and rumbled toward the Western Front by the time we squeezed into the venue…
Recently awarded the title of one of the Top Ten Scruffiest Buggers in Wales, they did (fair play) try to make a bit of an effort tonight. But even a kinky sleeveless lumberjack shirt couldn’t make a conjunctivitis ridden guitarist in self-denial seem remotely sexy.
Cat-walking is not what Bad Earth are about.
It’s all about the bass, guitars, drums and rasping voice and those colossal riffs and those subtle bits in between
Bad Earth are close to becoming my favourite new band, an endorsement that carries the risk of me watching them as they shower. One step towards that accolade would be a record… It’s a huge void that this band have in their career. The sign reads BAD EARTH NO ALBUM – so c’mon guys it’s not going to record itself – the world (and the bar staff at The Vaults in Denbigh) is crying out for a sleeve with you lot on a tank and the content full of those thundering songs.
A report suggests that 200,000 people suffer from tinnitus in Wales… Well it’s not from them going to too many fucking gigs I can assure you! Baring this in my tiny mind as the gigometer keeps racking up, I chewed an old flyer into a pulp and stuck it in my ears for protection as Dead Shed Jokers eased into their set.
Now talking of albums, Bad Earth (or any band) could do themselves a favour and listen to the recording of Dead Shed Jokers’ eponymous release… It is nothing short of absolutely superb (as is the content), and clutching their newly bought copies on the way home, Tim and Michael were enthusing at what a great set the band had just played. I informed them the album was even better than what they had just heard.
Dead Shed Jokers are surprisingly young in real life as their music shows maturity… Think Them Crooked Vultures fronted by a contorted Neanderthal Jim Morrison with a voice to die for (at 27), throwing himself into the part.
It’s lick ridden rather than riff laden and the sounds all jam together to make beautiful noise yes? They’re not afraid to mix it, rubbing the rough against the smooth, the soft against the loud. Sometimes intricate and delicate like a lady’s henna tattooed hand holding jewellery, sometimes boisterous and brash like being in a hotel room while the couple next door are violently and loudly achieving orgasm.
We stood there, mouths agape, curry fumes oozing out, mesmerised at times by the spectrum of melodies (those bass runs!) interlocking and fusing then exploding. We wept with exasperation and held each other like children, hoping to be trapped in an endless feedback loop of rock’n’roll.