(I originally wrote this piece years ago as a parody of both the "Choose Your Own Adventure" book series and the stagnant landfill-indie gig scene which then seemed to dominate London. Much of it probably already seems dated and irrelevant, but actually, so much of it still isn't. There really are still this many useless bands out there, and some of them have even enjoyed some popularity. So never mind, I say - here it is again).
Swinging London (an adult Choose Your Own Adventure game)
This mission – should you choose to accept it, adventurer
– will only need one die. It is
your task to attempt to find originality, excitement and wonder on the
talent-crowded London gig circuit, which you must sign to your newly formed
indie label Single Sock Records.
With so much cutting edge talent to choose from in the Capital, you’ll
need a keen pair of eyes and ears, and perhaps a bit of luck too!
ROLL YOUR DIE NOW AND GO TO THE CORRESPONDING ENTRY.
1.
You go to see
Blind Box playing at the NME Spotlight Night at the
Unigate Dairy Club. They are a band with two guitarists, a singer, and a
drummer. The singer, Peter Variable, has a floppy fringe with spikey hair
nearer the back, which has been dyed a sickly shade of tarmac black. It looks
rigid and plastic, strangely inflexible. He wears eyeliner in a panda-ish way
that would look profoundly ridiculous on a woman.
Their songs, such as “No Rest”, “Scarlet Trains”, and “Missed Again” are melodramatic
affairs filled with epic choruses, rather like the ones the Manic Street
Preachers used on “Everything Must Go”, but stripped of any string
arrangements. The verses and middle eights are just distractions, mere
afterthoughts that lead up to the Epic Choruses.
The lead singer is static on stage but screws his brow up at every intense bit,
as if he’s trying to force drops of emotion from his performance rather like a
dehydrated man attempting to wring drops of water out of a stone dry sponge.
A posh girl next to you instigates conversation. In fifteen seconds time, she
will say “My boyfriend’s in a band. They’re called The Korova Bandits. They’ve
been tipped for the top by Jonathan King. Have you heard of them?”
You leave. Adventure Over.
2.
You go to see
Couldbe Queens play the Jump up and Dance Brothers Sisters and Aliens!!! Night in the
Ploughshed. They are some sort of dated Electroclash band with a keyboard
player, a singer and two obvious ex-drama students whose precise roles are
rather unclear. They wear tight leather and make-up, and pull a variety of
slightly camp faces which have clearly been learnt through careful study, both
from bad drag queens and the mirrors in their bedrooms.
Their songs, such as “Your Mother’s Desecrated Ass”, “Motorbike Queen”, and “I
Know Where To Shove It”, are all pounding electronic numbers where lyrical and
musical subtlety is not at any point an option. One of the members, whose name
appears to be Needles, spends much of the gig threatening individual members of
the audience to a fight. At one point, he throws what appears to be urine at
someone. It turns out to be Lucozade, though. Everyone is most amused, as well
as being visibly relieved. Rock and roll!
The man stood next to you instigates a conversation, and in fifteen seconds
time he will say “Do you know where I could score some coke?”
You leave. Adventure Over.
3.
You go to see
The Lotion play the Go
Johnny Gogogo Night at the Cow and Flagon. They are a band with two
guitarists, a singer, and a drummer. The singer has Strokeshair, which has been
dyed a sickly shade of tarmac black. He wears a rather ordinary suit jacket
with a pair of far too tight blue jeans, and his performance speciality appears
to be a pop-eyed glare which he directs at the audience to notify “intensity”.
The songs, “Reverse! Reverse!! Reverse!!!”, “Churchill” and “Plague Pets” are
slightly mournful but somehow energetic ditties that manage to bridge the gap
between Joy Division and The Ramones. The lead singer Joe’s voice is a
hollering, barking cross between Jim Morrison’s and Ian Curtis’s. At one point
he sings
“I feel claustrophobic on the
outside/ and safer on the inside” repeatedly and with some intensity. You
wonder what this might mean.
The posh teenage girl stood next to you instigates a conversation. In fifteen
seconds time, she will say “My boyfriend’s in a band. They’re called The Korova
Bandits. They’ve been tipped for the top by Jonathan King. Have you heard of
them?”
You leave. Adventure Over.
4.
You go to see
Peace Corp play the Shilly
Shally Night at the Tail-cock Bar. They are a band with two guitarists, a
singer, and a drummer. The band all sport the kind of haircuts last seen in
1991, bowlhaired and possibly rather obstructive to safe road crossing routines.
Alvin Stardust would consider them out of their tiny minds. The lead singer
pouts a little, and shakes his microphone like it’s a maraca.
Their songs, “Cities”, “I Can See You” and “Ladders Without Snakes” all take
their cues from the back catalogue of the Stone Roses, but are pale and diluted
examples. The guitarist is average, the vocalist riding on arrogance alone, and
the drummer too self-consciously showy and obsessed with random fills to cut
it. They will also never play a four minute song where it can be needlessly
padded out to nine minutes with bland repetition. Between songs, the lead
singer cries out “Peace!” to great applause.
The man stood next to you instigates conversation. In fifteen seconds time, he
will say “Do you know where I could score some coke?”.
You leave. Adventure Over.
5.
You go to see
The Riptide play at the Pickled Onion Surprise Club at the Camptown Races venue, but the
gig is cancelled due to the lead singer suffering from salmonella poisoning due
to an undercooked meal he had from the kebab shop that afternoon.
Roll the die again.
6.
Congratulations, you have rolled a six!
You go to see
The Glamour Chase play at the Sugden Arms. They claim to
be a “reaction against mediocrity”. They are, in fact, a band with two guitarists,
a singer, a drummer and a keyboard player. The band all sport Duran
Duran haircuts, only dyed bright red and glaring peroxide blonde, and wear
foundation and eyeliner. They do indeed look like Eighties Smash Hits cover
star material.
Their songs “Return To Grace”, “Night Owls” and “The Backstreet Union Boys” owe
an enormous debt to Bowie, Suede and Duran Duran. The epic choruses in
particular have an anthemic quality which has been well thought through, but
the verses and middle eights are afterthoughts, distractions, obstacles in the
way of the rousing choruses.
The lead singer, Nicolas Hatherley-Gore, strides up and down the stage
confidently, and screws his brow up at every intense bit, as if he’s trying to
force drops of emotion from his performance rather like a thirsty man
attempting to wring drops of water out of a stone dry sponge.
A beautiful woman stood next to you instigates conversation. She has a weeping
cold sore on her upper lip. In fifteen seconds time, she will say: “My
boyfriend’s in a band. They’re called The Korova Bandits. They’ve been tipped
for the top by Jonathan King. Have you heard of them?”
You leave. Adventure Over.
