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The Wrens gig @ ULU
Feb. 18th, 2007 11:09 amYesterday, for Natalia's birthday, she opened Time Out magazine and found a gig we could all afford to attend. She picked The Wrens, playing ULU. I'd never heard of the band, and since I hadn't been to a proper gig in almost a year, I thought it would be a good night to discover new music.
We missed the opening acts. It was the first time I went to a gig where we could easily approach the bar for a beer, or move through the crowd until we reached the front of the stage. A soundtrack reminiscent of Mazzy Star played over the speakers before four middle-aged men came on stage and picked up the instruments. I thought they were roadies, checking the equipment. I was wrong.
The band, American, had their late 80s-early 90s alternative rock down to a tee. Ghosts of The Pixies wandered on and off stage while the crowd -- a mixture of students in sweaty T-shirts and academic types with leatherly necks -- bobbed their heads and sang along. Kevin pointed out later that we must have crashed a gig for the fan club, such was the enthusiasm. For one song, with a chorus that went Plastic Cup, Plastic Cup, Plastic Cup, a tall red-headed boy beside me went into a frenzied fit, punching his fists into the air and singing along.
Natalia's boyfriend, Mark, and his friend Sam, began taking the piss out of the band and the fans. At one point, the band pulled various audience members on stage, gave them drum sticks and had them tap along to their acoustic song. When the song was over and the fans came down the side stairs, Mark and Sam were there to slap their shoulders and tell them, in the most ironic voice, "well done". I retreated into the shadows, awaiting the first fist to fly back; but none did.
It wasn't a terrible gig, but the music was Meh and the lead singer was slightly cheesy in his guitar antics (jumping from the sound box, throwing the guitar up in the air and then catching it, shouting to the crowd that he would "never sell out", you get the point.)
I've had Sally Shapiro's song "I'll Be By Your Side" stuck in my head since Friday.
We missed the opening acts. It was the first time I went to a gig where we could easily approach the bar for a beer, or move through the crowd until we reached the front of the stage. A soundtrack reminiscent of Mazzy Star played over the speakers before four middle-aged men came on stage and picked up the instruments. I thought they were roadies, checking the equipment. I was wrong.
The band, American, had their late 80s-early 90s alternative rock down to a tee. Ghosts of The Pixies wandered on and off stage while the crowd -- a mixture of students in sweaty T-shirts and academic types with leatherly necks -- bobbed their heads and sang along. Kevin pointed out later that we must have crashed a gig for the fan club, such was the enthusiasm. For one song, with a chorus that went Plastic Cup, Plastic Cup, Plastic Cup, a tall red-headed boy beside me went into a frenzied fit, punching his fists into the air and singing along.
Natalia's boyfriend, Mark, and his friend Sam, began taking the piss out of the band and the fans. At one point, the band pulled various audience members on stage, gave them drum sticks and had them tap along to their acoustic song. When the song was over and the fans came down the side stairs, Mark and Sam were there to slap their shoulders and tell them, in the most ironic voice, "well done". I retreated into the shadows, awaiting the first fist to fly back; but none did.
It wasn't a terrible gig, but the music was Meh and the lead singer was slightly cheesy in his guitar antics (jumping from the sound box, throwing the guitar up in the air and then catching it, shouting to the crowd that he would "never sell out", you get the point.)
I've had Sally Shapiro's song "I'll Be By Your Side" stuck in my head since Friday.
