It’s been a long time since I last went to a concert. Partly because there’s been little I’ve wanted to see, partly because bands I might want to see often play at a venue which I really don’t enjoy going to, partly cos I’m lazy.
Last night I went to see The Darkness. You can laugh if you want, but I like them. I guess they’re not as popular now as they were a couple of years back, (by the way, anyone who liked the first album, but couldn’t be bothered to buy the second one: go buy it. Honestly. It’s just as good, if not better than the debut album), so the venue wasn’t too crowded.
And what an interesting selection of people were there. Blokes who looked like they were Status Quo roadies in the 1970s, women who looked like they were Status Quo groupies in the 1970s, woman who looked like they were planning on being Darkness groupies later that night, lots of rock fans (t-shirts: Fear Factory, Turbonegro, Metallica, Korn, Motörhead, Rose Tattoo), lots of kids who looked like regular business student-type humans, and me: looking like I’ve been living in a hedge, gettin all my vitamins and nutrition from eating Pringles.
An odd phenomenon was the Metal Threeway. I don’t know why this is, but I saw several middle-aged rockin’ men escorted by pairs of middle-aged rockin’ women. Is there some special Mormon-style plural marriage thing in the German rock fraternity that I don’t know about? Was I in a metal version of Jan and Dean’s Surf City?
So anyway, the support band came on and chugged for a while. They were Australian. And they were called Doomfoxx. There’s something about rock bands like this that I kinda admire. Firstly, they chose to call themselves Doomfoxx. ‘Let’s have a double X!‘ they must’ve thought. ‘Yeh, man, that’s fucking cool,’ they would’ve drawled, nodding to each other as mental images flashed through their minds of Robocop-esque armoured, laser-eyed foxes prowling the Sherwood Forest of Robin Hood-era Olde England picking off stray badgers with their foxxy cock bullets. I also admire the corkscrew-hair-and-no-shirt look that lots of guitarists sport. It’s just fantastic seeing a bloke up there so into this ideal of rock that he can’t help but want to be Slash. That’s something that was missing from The Darkness’ show; while it’s perfectly good for them to kinda know that they are vaguely ridiculous, the earnest devotion to rock is something I still admire.
The house lights go down, Abba’s Arrival (nice touch) comes through the speakers, and we’re off. The fella in front of me looked a bit like he was Jurgen Klinsmann’s dorky younger brother and was clapping right from the beginning, (and you know how much I enjoy that), but he seemed to be clapping to a different song by a different band. There waas a bloke dancing like he was at Hawkwind show, plenty of women doing that snake-hipped lava lamp dance, too.
The band were great. Justin Hawkins, looking like a meerkat dressing up as Rik Mayall in Comic Strip Presents… More Bad News, showing his plumber’s arse for much of the show. All the hits,
a bit of karaoke a couple of covers where the bass player sang AC/DC’s Highway To Hell and Thunderstruck, and at the end Hawkins got on a roadie’s shoulders and played his guitar walking triumphantly through the crowd.
Then it was over. The sound system, had it have been human, would’ve raised its eyebrows as it found itself playing (I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes (nice touch no.2) as the lights came on and folks trudged out into the nippy Berlin night. I had a good time, so I celebrated by having a kebab on my way home.