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Glasswerk Leeds Academy @ Mine, Leeds University
Date: 16th March 2006
Support: Piskie Sits+Vatican Jet+Bam Bam Francs+The High Chairs
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So there we were. All jazzed up and armed with the obligatory snakebite and pack of cigarettes, ready for the first ever Leeds Glasswerk Academy shindig. The blood red sofas and diner stools in Mine clubs were gleaming as if they’d been polished just for us, and we’d spotted the fit one from The Sunshine Underground going incognito at the bar. It was looking good, and maybe I was overexcited. But The High Chairs just didn’t satisfy me. There’s no denying they’re talented fellas (less of that singing-with-your-eyes-closed malarkey though) but this was no ground-breaking disco revelation. They’ve definitely found a comfortable niche in melodic pop with strong britpop overtones, and they do it well, but my disco shoes were not ablazing 'cross the floor…
I was feeling a little ambivalent as the dapper, black-clad Bam Bam Francs took the stage: how rude. A frenetic spike bomb of dark indie disco-fever, the francs spit out fuzz guitar riffs and synth paranoia with a ferocity that any ADHD schizophrenic would be proud of. Lead singer Johnny does his very best Cedric Bixler impersonation as his hurls his snake hips across the stage, even at one point doing a pretty convincing Karen O ‘Tick’ impression (not as easy as it sounds kids) as he flamethrows his way through the brutal ’Antagonist’ . This balls-out bravado up front is backed up in no half-arsed manner by the francs neat disco-lite drumming, which is the perfect foil for Johnny’s enraged howl. Definitely a similar style to Katie Forward Russia’s disco hooks (yeah they’re both girls, small world) which is no bad thing- in fact, the francs are probably what Forward would sound like if they munched some acid, shot their mom, and then decided to write songs about it.
Next up were the band I’d been most excited about all night: Vatican Jet. My ignorance fuelled vision of a damn good-looking band dressed so sharply they were bleeding was shattered. If That Seventies Show became a musical (I shudder), this would be it. Lead singer Dodge, (if my real name was Roger, I’d have an alias too) looking like the bastard offspring of Jim Morrison and Justin Hawkins (more dodgy than Dodge) thrashes rounds the stages firing off Doors-esque riffs like only a man who hasn’t realised the 70s are dead can. The Led Zeppelin references are inescapable (particularly on Monkey Magic and SUM1 2CU) and the boys definitely know how to crunch out big, fun, dumb rock n’ roll. Slowed down bass ska riffs were repeatedly churned up before the entire band errupted a into drum n guitar thrash that Page and Plant would not have sniffed at (unless they were silly. Or mashed off their faces. So probably then). Only problem was the slight technical glitch of a broken guitar at one point. Old Dodge responded to the crisis by promptly shoving his hand right down into the Vatican crown jewels for a thorough balls frisk. Nice.
Poor old Piskie Sits. Headline slot, a few beers backstage, happy as Larry and….. who stole the bloody crowd? Still, at least the lead singer had a sense a humour; “Get on your boyfriends shoulders n get your tits out! Come on this is stadium rock!” Token girl in crowd said no. Nevermind. The Sits specialise in a neat little brand of mid-tempo indie with pleasant enough strokes-esque riffs and earnest, heartfelt vocals reminiscent of Wakefield’s The Research. It was good, and it could have been great. But timing is everything. (And so is crowd capacity).
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