Lucky for Some

Friday the thirteenth lived up to its reputation a few years ago. I’d called in the surgery to pick a prescription and bumped into my friend Clare, who was on the same mission. The computer was playing silly buggers and Jan, the receptionist, was getting rather frustrated with the situation.

‘It’s just an aftershock from two Friday the thirteenths in quick succession,’ I told her. ‘And there’s another one in July.’

‘Oh, no, really?’ she gasped. ‘What date is that on?’

Claire and I looked at each other, then we both looked at her.

‘You really are naturally blonde, aren’t you?’ I said, and the penny finally dropped.

When I logged into Facebook later that day, I created a one-off event – Friday 13 Part III – and invited Jan as the only guest.

Anyway, Friday the thirteenth was gig night in Jac’s.

But first, a digression: neither of the library books on heraldry which I refer to quite often (in my day job, obviously) include a term for ‘romping’. It’s a shame. I think ‘Romping Otter’ would sound great in medieval French. That was the first of the weird names which occurred during the gig. Romping Otter Promotions were showcasing four bands, only one of whom I’ve seen before. Having had my hand marked with a felt pen that’ll probably wash off by Whitsun, I joined Clint and Ros in the music room for a rather mixed bag of music.

First up were Stiff Necks. I don’t know who they are or where they’re from. Transcribed from my original notes, these were my initial impressions.

For Goddess’ sake, how many more sub-Sub Pop wannabe power trios can we produce in S. Wales? I didn’t like the scene when it was current, and nothing I’ve heard so far is going to change my mind. (Disregard previous – it’s just the soundcheck. I think.) I closed my eyes and I was back in the Bristol Hotel c. 1992. (Don’t go looking for it in Cardiff unless you’re into psychogeography in a big way.) All that’s missing is the dreadlocks and the cans of Kestrel Super. There might have been some good stuff going on, but (not for the first time) it was totally swept away in the sonic barrage.

Rule 37: Never trust a band whose soundcheck is longer than their set.

Once again, there was way too much swearing between songs. I can curse as fluently and volubly as Brian Blessed with his arm in a bucket of ice (look it up on YouTube and you’ll see what I mean), but is this a rock gig or a Chubby Brown show? It just gets people’s backs up and doesn’t make the band any friends. It’s all very well keeping the spirit of Punk alive, but if all you’re doing is retreading material that was wearing thin before you were born, it can come over as slightly pathetic.

OLD FART ALERT: When you kids have buried as many of your friends as I have, or seen too many good people go down the wrong road and struggle to pull themselves back from the edge – then come back and sing a song about how great drugs are. It won’t seem so much fun.

As they used to say on New Faces, Content: 3/10. Presentation: 2/10. Star Quality. 2/10.

Joe Kelly and the Royal Pharmacy (I told you it was a night of weird names) were far more like what I’d expected from the evening. Another trio, but with acoustic and semi-acoustic guitars, they had a definite West Coast feel. (No, not Aberystwyth, you cynics – a bit further afield.) They’re laid-back, bluesy, melodic, easy on the ear, maybe a tad nostalgic, but what goes around comes around. In comparison to the first band, they were far more pleasant and polished. Dare I say ‘professional’? I wasn’t clapping out of mere politeness this time. There were structures, and harmonies, and a mellow feeling throughout. In fact, they were so mellow that I found the drummer rather obtrusive. In my opinion, they could have got away with using just congas and percussion, and it would have enhanced the sound.

On the topic of sound: I think knocking the reverb off the mic channel between songs would help the audience to hear what the frontman is saying.

Which brings me to the third band: Deaf Horse. You might think it’s another weird name, but I can exclusively reveal its provenance.

Many years ago, my friend Vicki and I were in New Orleans, tracking down the surviving musicians from the original Delta scene. In a small wooden house on the shores of the Mississippi we met Blind Lemon Sorbet, an octogenarian visually challenged blues guitarist who’d worked with all the greats in his career. While we were interviewing him, he made a slightly off-colour remark (which his wife didn’t overhear), and laughed his rich Southern laugh.

‘I’ll give you a word of advice, honey chile,’ he chuckled, placing an affectionate hand on my thigh. (Did I mention the fact that he was blind?) ‘This is something my old friend One-Legged Gooseberry Fool once told me: a E m6 is as good as a G M7 (#5, #7) to a deaf horse.’

Anyway, Deaf Horse are from Bristol, and had a much harder sound than Joe Kelly and his pals. Unlike the first band, though, you could at least hear what was going on. They’re another trio, with plenty of material for my 1001 Rock Guitarist Shapes project. Sometimes I wish music videos hadn’t been invented, so musicians wouldn’t feel the need to fart about on stage. Then again, Clint and Ros wouldn’t have caught such amazing photos since coming aboard the good ship Jac’s.

I was initially tempted to throw them into the same generalised post-Nirvana basket as too many bands I’ve seen here. However, given time I think Deaf Horse could break out of the Sub Pop stable and run their own course.

Which brings us to Heavy Flames. It’s the third time I’ve seen them here, and last night they’d returned to their original electric set-up. And by the time they got going, time was against them. A truncated set of their powerful bluesy material was well received by a rather thin audience. To be honest, I thought their semi-acoustic set last time was much more effective. But any Heavy Flames is still way better than no Heavy Flames.

It was a pity the audience was so sparse, as three of the four bands were certainly well worth the ticket price. I still haven’t solved the mystery of the romping otter, but it’ll be interesting to see what this particular creature has in store for us next time.