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Marquee,
London TURKEY BONES / SCREAMING BLUE MESSIAHS - Marquee BUBBLE, bubble, a crowd in ferment. Imaginations polished, expectancy high, ready for a little twisted rock and roll. Wheel out those weirdos! Let us enjoy the spectacle of vim. Wind Scott up and make him turn blue; this is what we’re here for. Dance you buggers, dance! Toast those who have lavished care over their antique underwear, roaring cleft-sticks of rapier intent with no-hoper noise that cannot escape the cult levels and never will, making it more appetising still. The bass rampage comes from under an old raincoat and the guitar brought along a thin friend. Was that a drum stick I saw flying through the crowd? High times indeed! The ungodly Wild Dog rhumba gives you what you want, even though they didn’t blow up. The Screaming Blue Messiahs use a careful form of all the Wild Boys hold dear and for the life of me I can’t help but remember those old men called The Pirates, albeit trimmed down in weight and predictability. Ripples of delight appear when the guitar dares to lead and leap but mostly we hear some men making noise. They have rave status only because the familiar drought is on our hands. The singer’s close-cropped head is caught in the lights - an illuminated piranha studying sociology. So what? Who needs just another good night out? They’re good at what they do, but so-are Tears For Fears (horse’s teeth optional) and as anyone who smokes knows too well, if you turn 20 degrees in the wrong direction when the wind is a-whipping you’ll never get that lighter to work. Both bands tonight have reached Beachy Head. To the toppermost of the poppermost? I think not. |
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