Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Stylish pissy Riots
Stylish Riots at Cargo, Sunday 19 June 2005
Why book an all-dayer for a Sunday in June at Cargo, which has a big courtyard, and then have the bands play inside? If the neighbours don’t like the noise, book somewhere else. As it was, Dogs, The Boxer Rebellion, Thee Unstrung, Vatican DC, The Priscillas all played in a big, hot, dark, half-empty room while anyone with the slightest lust for life was outside going, ‘Shit, it’s hot, isn’t it?’, smiling and drinking shandies.
But even if the promoters had had some understanding of sunshine and/or air-conditioning, Stylish Riots would have been a letdown. Every time I went to check the next band, there was another group of blokes on the stage who’ve spent too much time studying the same post-punk and not enough time writing songs. I stand by my (drunken) assertion that rock and roll has more to do with hair and shoes than most of us like to admit, but when I’ve stopped admiring the scuffed white plimmies and the 1982 shaggy cut, I still want something worth listening to.
At one point, I try to escape the dirge and find Mr David Viner outside doing an acoustic set. He’s a talented man, but he plays cover versions of old blues and folk songs. Covers. At least we’re getting the original ingredients instead of the watered-down stuff indoors. I start to wish that the crowd would listen more carefully. Instead they are becoming a kind of Camden Big Brother - drunk people who want to feel cool, be the centre of attention and have sex.
There were two sets that kept me in the big hot room: The Priscillas and Dogs. I think The Priscillas listen to The B52s, watch Russ Meyer films and drink daiquiris while these boys are wanking over Joe Strummer. They rock, they’re funny, they’re saucy.
Dogs may be post-punk copycats like most of the rest of this lot, but when they play a good set (which is usually), not only do they have some fine songs, they have enough presence to keep you watching, to actually engage you. Each one of them is a distinct character on the stage; they’re like a kids’ cartoon (moody dog, cool dog, friendly dog, shy dog, happy dog that humps your leg). By the end, I think I like them more than the lager-filled losers invading the stage and trying to crowd surf in a half-empty room.
Why book an all-dayer for a Sunday in June at Cargo, which has a big courtyard, and then have the bands play inside? If the neighbours don’t like the noise, book somewhere else. As it was, Dogs, The Boxer Rebellion, Thee Unstrung, Vatican DC, The Priscillas all played in a big, hot, dark, half-empty room while anyone with the slightest lust for life was outside going, ‘Shit, it’s hot, isn’t it?’, smiling and drinking shandies.
But even if the promoters had had some understanding of sunshine and/or air-conditioning, Stylish Riots would have been a letdown. Every time I went to check the next band, there was another group of blokes on the stage who’ve spent too much time studying the same post-punk and not enough time writing songs. I stand by my (drunken) assertion that rock and roll has more to do with hair and shoes than most of us like to admit, but when I’ve stopped admiring the scuffed white plimmies and the 1982 shaggy cut, I still want something worth listening to.
At one point, I try to escape the dirge and find Mr David Viner outside doing an acoustic set. He’s a talented man, but he plays cover versions of old blues and folk songs. Covers. At least we’re getting the original ingredients instead of the watered-down stuff indoors. I start to wish that the crowd would listen more carefully. Instead they are becoming a kind of Camden Big Brother - drunk people who want to feel cool, be the centre of attention and have sex.
There were two sets that kept me in the big hot room: The Priscillas and Dogs. I think The Priscillas listen to The B52s, watch Russ Meyer films and drink daiquiris while these boys are wanking over Joe Strummer. They rock, they’re funny, they’re saucy.
Dogs may be post-punk copycats like most of the rest of this lot, but when they play a good set (which is usually), not only do they have some fine songs, they have enough presence to keep you watching, to actually engage you. Each one of them is a distinct character on the stage; they’re like a kids’ cartoon (moody dog, cool dog, friendly dog, shy dog, happy dog that humps your leg). By the end, I think I like them more than the lager-filled losers invading the stage and trying to crowd surf in a half-empty room.
