South Coast Concert Update

Typically Shite Live Photo




Even though I am a bit Hoegaardened at the moment (thank you double quiz at that pub place), Jamie and I went to see a band called Arab Strap last night. Was it not ten years ago that I heard The Last Big Weekend, before it was on some sodding rubbish Guinness ad with strippers and cows on it? Ah, they never really topped it did they? But they tried their best. Now they are nearly gone forever.

The great thing about the Strap is that they give great noise. Despite all those naughty words. Yes, Aidan talks his lyrics over, but it is Malcolm and the band that have learned to back it up in the years since. I enjoyed it. Here We Go and There is No Hope for Us and tons more, tons of "old songs" - every band should split up and play farewell tours (even if they don't mean it in the end). Aidan swore, talked and jokes. Yes, it was funny. Bloody hilarious, in fact.

All those wonderful songs about sexual shenanigans and petty recriminations and brutal honesty shining in our faces. Lovely dirty Scottish melodies soaked in resonating regret and bristling chords. Brilliant. Farewell, my captains, my captains. Even if there were a few ***** on nattering and chattering like disreputable coves, cards and cads .. I look on ye with evilish eyes, you scoundrels of conversation during songs (I still can't swear directly on this blog ... call me cowed ... and half deaf from standing in front of the left side stage speakers).

Quizzing you say?
Oh yeah. Yesterday, I will tell you all abou the apocalyptic quizzerdamerung that occured yesterday in the President's Cup match v. Cambridge at the Oakdale Arms.

For now, just blame Jesse. (He loves it when I mention his name in a derogatory fashion ... I'm going to say he plans to invade Poland next).