Nauzea

Duncan Black says, ‘They did throw Nauzea out before the gig – I know ‘cos I was the bass player. So you got one less band for your 50 pence.’

Justin Skinflick wrote this on his blog:

Bangor, North Wales 1991. I had pretty much missed most of the alternative scene that had been happening in the local students’ union up to this point, working on getting a head start on my alcoholism. So when the idea of doing a gig was bandied around one booze-soaked afternoon between Vaffan Coulo and myself, we had no idea where to start.
Vaffan Coulo were a punk band, not just any punk band; they were good friends and drinking buddies. But to me, and still to this day, I firmly believe they were one of the best bands to come out of the area. I saw them countless times, and they never disappointed and always entertained.
Full of naivety, cider, and young man’s bravado, we secured our local drinking hole, ‘The Friddoed Bar’ in Bangor. We hired a PA, supplied doormen, and roped in another band—the far-too-talented-for-their-age ‘Nausea’—and then set about with buckets of paste and posters and covered that town in both.

With a 50p admission fee, we might even break even.

Gig day arrived; it started badly. The bar manager decided to be as awkward as possible. At the time, I had my trusty old Atari ST and an assortment of synths and hardware which took forever to set up, but with some rough soundchecks, we were all good to go.
From the moment it started ’til the end, it was a downward spiral. They wouldn’t let Nausea play as they were too young; I had too many beers in me and got mouthy. Tensions rose. I was too drunk during my set, so I blasted through some songs, unaware of what I was doing but still throwing shade at the bar staff. One of the bar manager’s friends, who had a distinct steroid look, decided my card was marked.
By the time Vaffan Coulo came up, the place was pretty full, but you could feel the atmosphere. Halfway through their set, Vaffan Coulo blasted out ‘Shit Student Wankers’—a banging tune—only to be met with the power being cut and us all being told to ‘do one.’
The steroid man decided it was time to punch my lights out but was luckily dissuaded by our own security. Insults were made and marching orders were given; the crowd was firmly on our side. I think I may have been barred from there, or maybe on a different occasion.
So after the gear was loaded, I remember lying on the cool grass outside, surrounded by my partners in crime, unable to stop laughing and thinking, ‘I have to do more of this.’
We deemed the night a success, so we had to do another. Unable to return to our favourite drinking hole, we set about persuading the Students’ Union to rent us a room to play. This was no easy feat. They were not keen on local bands, especially alternative ones, but eventually they allowed us use of a back room they usually used for storage as long as we hired their PA system and sound man.
I no longer have the poster, but I’m pretty sure the lineup was the iconic three: Vaffan Coulo, Skinflick and a new band called Grot, an absolutely superb three-piece metal band. This gig went smoothly, a good turnout, and no threats of violence or shutting us down. We wanted to do more.