Iron Maiden 18/12/06

Pearl Jam 25/8/06

The Hedrons 22/1/07

This evening was a solid piece of entertainment for a fiver. Three bands awash with melodic guitars to at least get my left foot tapping. First up were Different Day with a succession of songs that seemed to get faster as the set progressed, the vocals conversely getting worse keeping up. The lead vocalist prowled the stage with all the demented stiffness of a reluctant frontman that in the context of the retrospective lyrics worked pretty well. I personally don’t give a crap whether this band came form Portsmouth, loyalty to any city is moronic at best (a football team is a different matter). They played a good solid time wasting set, with a guitarist clearly skilled above the material.

Get Amped soon followed – with fucking Jaosn Bowld of Picthshifter fame on the drums – bit of a shock to realise it was him (the PSI eye on the drum kit should’ve been the giveaway). Clearly a drum gun for hire, the band’s eco-friendly surf rock gurning was melodic and interesting enough, although the lead singer’s likeness to Robbie Savage, and his apparent love affair with himself, was slightly face-smash-in irritating. They did own the best lyric of the night, in their environmental power rock sermon, “Tyrannosaurus, was here before us, but now he’s down there, waiting for us. If there’s a Hades, we’re heading for it. Oooohhhhhh, We’re going down.” Amazingly mixing any number of belief systems together (dinosaur hell!), the song was from the Nickleback school of embarrassing, yet just about knowing, lyrics.
At the end of the day, I was there to see the Hedrons, amongst the perverts and dirty old rockers. Having seen them support Alice In Chains in July, when they effectively writhed and ran around the Astoria’s large scale stage. Disappointingly I’d missed the last gig they played, apparently to five people, but with an audience increase ten-fold tonight, this was a reasonable, if male-heavy, crowd.

Looking much smaller up close, the female foursome whipped thorough some pacey rock numbers, with the lead singer breaking her back with an energetic manic display, taking herself into the audience for the final couple of songs. The set gripped from start to finish, and the balls out energy, enlivened songs that on record, might lack that drive. “Heatseeker” and “Sympathy” were particular favourites, with the constant speed of playing. The band need to be seen live to be fully appreciated, but if you’re chauvinistically disgusted by the prospect of a good-looking all girl guitar group, no amount of praise is gonna change your mind. This was a pretty faultless performance – I’m not one to give a shit (or even really notice) any technical aspects of a band’s playing. Impressed and suitably mesmerized, I don’t expect them to be playing a small a venue down south again.

Papa Roach 29/8/06

It’s the usual state of affairs. A random sweeping of the usual online ticket sites, reveals a no advance warning, in two weeks time, announcement of the above’s gig at 100 Club, in London. A pricey cost price of £17 ramped up by Ticketmaster’s or Seetickets usual bullsh* £3+ booking fee, and the obligatory £4.95 special delivery, made this a very interesting possibility that required at least a momentary consideration. Firstly, a quick knowledge suck of The 100 Club, reveals about a 350 capacity – nice and “initimate” venue – the kind I enjoy despite the inevitability of being sucked up in the crowd moshing (which I can stand, providing my glasses stay on my face, and is always preferable to the moronic elbow throwing).

So I ummed and erred, weighing up the pros and cons of paying £20+ for a ticket, in addition to the £25+ for the train. But on this occasion the pros won out. Not only was I going through a dry spell gig-wise, the last being Alice In Chains on 4th July, with nothing coming my way till mid-September, but I had been hopelessly scouring the net for ages for any gig in the immediate future even contemplating the pointless waste of money that would’ve been The Bled or Nick and his Mondo Generator. So this was kinda heaven-sent, and whilst I desperately hoped that I could buy a ticket direct off The Club’s website, and save some booking fee, there wasn’t a link in sight. Yet good fortune favours the lucky (a paradoxical state of affairs) and a quick try on Ticketweb got me a ticket with a normal postage cost. 3 hrs later, the tickets were all sold out, and a ticket that cost me £20.69 tasted that much sweeter when the con-men clowns of e-bay start whacking on dozens and dozens of tickets at anything from £40 - £100 a pop. I personally think they’ve severely overestimated the market on this one, and there’ll be lots of tickets left, which actually makes me think I’ll enjoy the experience more – less than capacity, with the best value for money. Throw in an Over 18yr Only rule – f*k yeah – screw you shit little teeny bopper parent haters, and the obvious playing of new material, and suddenly I’m well up for this one.

As usual it means re-familiarising myself with the material – 3 albums worth – just in case they decide to play the classics – catchy, punchy anthemic four minute tunes about the usual angst – drink, drugs, self-harm, girls, dead pets, robots, so that’s my car’s CD player sorted till then. Come the day, it will be the usual scramble onto a train straight from work, and a stroll up Oxford Street.

Well, come the day of the gig, and I wasn't in particular good spirits, what with my face melting, and there was a f*cking train strike – so whilst I could’ve worked my way into London via Victoria, there was no hope in hell of me getting back that evening, on the limited services provided. So I called it quits and lost £17 + quid. Gutted I was, but it wasn’t worth the hassle.

Trivium 20/3/06

It took me over a month and a half from the time I saw this gig to the time I finally tried to write this review. And the simple truth behind the delay was, it doesn’t and didn’t inspire me. I bought my ticket way back in November of 2005, knowing full well that this band were the next big hot sh*t. Knowing well enough that some tout them as the next-gen Metallica. But as they would later prove by a sleek rendition of Metallica’s Seek and Destory, where the rock heavyweights are clean and anthemic, Trivium are heartless, soulless fret-wankers, with Heafy’s unclean vocals irritatingly smeering the otherwise interesting apocalyptic, cryptic lyrics, with a brash, bludgeoning growl that just makes you want to bury your face into a cacophony of some Panic! At The Disco, for some light relief. For gawd’s sake, just sing the lyrics, you don’t have to sacrifice aggression for coherence. Try listening to At The Drive-In, or Pitchshifter, for some lessons.

Somewhat aggravating was the fact that my team West Ham were on Sky Sports the same night, in a quarter final of the FA Cup no less, against a beatable team in Man City. But not one to waste my money, spent on seeing a “might be alright” band at the “acoustically challenged” Guildhall, in the heart of the “metal music desert” of Southampton, I set the video timer (i.e. told my dad) to record the match, and arrived half hour after the door’s opened to avoid standing like a sad, muppet lone gigger, amongst the dreadful scum of the metal youth.

Having been thoroughly appalled by a) the extortionate price for a tour t-shirt – the only time I’ve known it cheaper to buy from the interweb, and b) the appalling print quality and design of said t-shirt – a two-tone red and gray (they are American) number, I bought my customary £3 pint, and planted my feet firmly on the plastic covering the wires running across the width of the hall, a good distance back from the action (I told you - half an hour after doors opened).

First support act Bloodsimple were already in full shite, an unholy dirge of melded guitar and growls, like a pit bull barking into a tin, and completely washed over me, registering absolutely no resonance, or remembrance. God Forbid weren’t much better, but again despite trying to listen to some of their stuff in advance, this is not the clean, smart, polished, energetic, captivating, melodic stuff I actually like.

I actually continued to write this review in August 2006, as I tried to update on all the gigs I’ve seen since January 2006, and my vague memories are only triggered by the bullet points I made at the time. So here goes – there was a 10 year old wearing a Cradle of Filth t-shirt – seriously? Not only are they a Cradle of Crap, but there is no way anyone, let alone a little dipsh*t, can possibly comprehend the point of the misogynistic, media-baiting, offence for offence’s sake, crap that gets barked out by Dani Filth. It’s music like this, that makes me struggle to defend the genre. And what on earth are the parents thinking? Another serial killer is created.

Trivium came on stage to We Will Rock You by Queen, and pretty much played their last album in it’s entirety, only pausing for an ego-boosting fret-off between the lead guitars, that whilst technically superb, had me looking at my watch, and somewhere in the mix was a sodding drum solo. Yawn. The metal kids entertained themselves by getting copious amounts of cups of water from the bar, pouring it all over themselves and throwing the rest into the crowd.

Much talk has been in relation to the encore (see I’m bored of talking about the main bulk of the gig already), which effectively amounted to snippets or complete renditions of other people’s songs – everything from Megadeth (Symphony of Destruction), Maiden (The Trooper), Pantera (Walk), even Green Day, Eminem and Lynnrd Sknnard. And you know what, the encore was actually more entertaining. Hearing an instantly recognisable riff was an absolute delight, compared to the turgid nonsense that had proceeded it. A rendition of Metallica’s Master of Puppets with audience member on vocals was good entertaining fun, and again marked Trivium as a covers band of some skill.

That’s all I can be bothered to say. They’re supporting Iron Maiden in December 06, but at least they’ll have a new album out (and a shorter set), but given a choice I’d never need see them again. Truly forgettable, although strangely I’ve now got a little urge to listen to the album again to just check why I was bothered in the first place. Oh, and West Ham won. F*ck yeah.