Picture the scene: legendary punk rockers The Descendants arrive in London for a two-date tour. First night doesn't go to plan - actually, it nosedives into embarrassing farce the very second lead singer Milo Augermann's voice decides it doesn't want to work anymore half a song into the set. After shambling through the show using whoever happened to be standing near the stage at the time as impromptu singers, the band inevitably postpone the second date the following night. So what do you do if you're the highly-rated support band on such a tour and you suddenly have nothing to do on a Tuesday night in London? Obvious, really - head over to a tiny South London bar, gatecrash an open-mic night and have a big ol' punk rock party. As you do. And when the announcement was made that a certain band called Teenage Bottlerocket would be making their debut London headlining show in a venue with a stage roughly the same size as a council house bathtub, I knew immediately that this was not to be missed; this show had legendary 'I was there' status written all over it.
And boy, was I right.
You have to pity the bands playing the open-mic night as already planned - they were treated to the bizarre scenario of playing to the largest, but probably the most apathetic, audience they will ever face. A room packed high with be-mohawked punkers and leather jacket-sporting rockers foaming at the mouth for punk rock action and being treated to the sight of, in order: an awkward-looking emo band (whom anxiously thank the masses for not throwing things at them), followed by a petit woman covering Mariah Carey (complete with window-shattering wails) and some random experimental metal jams that serve only to bemuse even the band themselves. An utterly weird spectacle that only serves to emphasise the last-minute, underground feel of the show.
But finally, at 9:30pm sharp, the rather clueless MC introduces some band called 'Teenage Rocket-Bottle', who proceed to squeeze onto the stage and fly into action for their set, speeding out of the starting gates at 100mph with 'Skate or Die'.
And from there they never look back; roaring at top speed through a non-stop, runaway rollercoaster of pure, old-fashioned punk rock fun, while the baying mob go, frankly, absolutely insane. Frenzied pogoing, frantic slam-dancing, spectacular stagedives and chaotic crowdsurfs, all present and correct for every minute of every song. The manic energy is unrelenting, crashing back and forth between the band and the crowd like tsunami waves. It's an incredible spectacle to behold, with the guitar-toting frontmen of Ray Carlisle and Kody Templeman unable to stop grinning like hyperactive teenagers as they merrily orchestrate the carnage, tossing out one glorious singalong anthem after another. Seriously, I've never been to a show where EVERY SINGLE SONG has people rabidly hollering the choruses back at the band. Rise Against, AFI, Cancer Bats, Billy Talent? Forget it. None of them could manage it. But these four punkers from Wyoming make it look effortless.
Make no mistake, folks, this is not particularly complicated stuff. Pretty much every song has at least one chord sequence that could've been lifted from the Ramones' or Green Day's back catalogue, and a large amount of the songs seem to blur together under the same four-to-the-floor drumbeat and four-chord hooks, with a couple of exceptions; 'Fatso Goes Nutzoid' in particular cranks the slam-dancing up to hyperspeed levels for ninety out-of-control seconds. So yeah, it's simple, not particularly original, and not particularly deep either. What it is, is energetic, passionate, emphatic, and absolutely brilliant fun from start to finish.
And you know what? In the largely stale musical landscape of today, that may be enough to stand out. Too many bands nowadays seem to view 'fun' as either something that's somehow beneath them and their fringes, or an excuse to goof around and make penis jokes like we're all 11 years old. And similarly, too many bands view 'punk rock' as an excuse to splurge out some clichéd slogans and be deliberately shit. Tonight, TBR provide a timely reminder as to how fantastic punk rock music can be, with a stinging cocktail of pop hooks, melodies big singalong choruses infused with raucous, driving energy. And that reminder turns out to be one of the greatest gigs this author has ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
And boy, was I right.
You have to pity the bands playing the open-mic night as already planned - they were treated to the bizarre scenario of playing to the largest, but probably the most apathetic, audience they will ever face. A room packed high with be-mohawked punkers and leather jacket-sporting rockers foaming at the mouth for punk rock action and being treated to the sight of, in order: an awkward-looking emo band (whom anxiously thank the masses for not throwing things at them), followed by a petit woman covering Mariah Carey (complete with window-shattering wails) and some random experimental metal jams that serve only to bemuse even the band themselves. An utterly weird spectacle that only serves to emphasise the last-minute, underground feel of the show.
But finally, at 9:30pm sharp, the rather clueless MC introduces some band called 'Teenage Rocket-Bottle', who proceed to squeeze onto the stage and fly into action for their set, speeding out of the starting gates at 100mph with 'Skate or Die'.
And from there they never look back; roaring at top speed through a non-stop, runaway rollercoaster of pure, old-fashioned punk rock fun, while the baying mob go, frankly, absolutely insane. Frenzied pogoing, frantic slam-dancing, spectacular stagedives and chaotic crowdsurfs, all present and correct for every minute of every song. The manic energy is unrelenting, crashing back and forth between the band and the crowd like tsunami waves. It's an incredible spectacle to behold, with the guitar-toting frontmen of Ray Carlisle and Kody Templeman unable to stop grinning like hyperactive teenagers as they merrily orchestrate the carnage, tossing out one glorious singalong anthem after another. Seriously, I've never been to a show where EVERY SINGLE SONG has people rabidly hollering the choruses back at the band. Rise Against, AFI, Cancer Bats, Billy Talent? Forget it. None of them could manage it. But these four punkers from Wyoming make it look effortless.
Make no mistake, folks, this is not particularly complicated stuff. Pretty much every song has at least one chord sequence that could've been lifted from the Ramones' or Green Day's back catalogue, and a large amount of the songs seem to blur together under the same four-to-the-floor drumbeat and four-chord hooks, with a couple of exceptions; 'Fatso Goes Nutzoid' in particular cranks the slam-dancing up to hyperspeed levels for ninety out-of-control seconds. So yeah, it's simple, not particularly original, and not particularly deep either. What it is, is energetic, passionate, emphatic, and absolutely brilliant fun from start to finish.
And you know what? In the largely stale musical landscape of today, that may be enough to stand out. Too many bands nowadays seem to view 'fun' as either something that's somehow beneath them and their fringes, or an excuse to goof around and make penis jokes like we're all 11 years old. And similarly, too many bands view 'punk rock' as an excuse to splurge out some clichéd slogans and be deliberately shit. Tonight, TBR provide a timely reminder as to how fantastic punk rock music can be, with a stinging cocktail of pop hooks, melodies big singalong choruses infused with raucous, driving energy. And that reminder turns out to be one of the greatest gigs this author has ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
Rating: 94%
I cannot believe this was a year ago.
ReplyDeleteWhat a cracker. Possibly the best gig I've ever been to. Stage diving from the bar was particularly fun.