Multiplies, Bubblewrap Holocaust, Mother and the Addicts - Mono

Tonight in Mono, it's all very strange. The faces, the noises, the smells...everything feels like it's 2003 again when Glasgow was the centre of the world and it was inevitable that the better local bands would not only get signed, but follow the Franz Ferdinand route into Hyper Global Mega stardom to boot. The place is packed, but literally everyone here is either in a band or in a relationship with someone in a band...or Paul Jamieson. And everyone is here to see Multiplies. In common with 90% of the assembled throng, we left right after their set and missed out on seeing Mother and the Addicts play what must have been one of the most depressing gigs of all time. Still, they got signed so maybe they didn't care. Would the main attraction have swapped all their cult status and indie cred for that elusive record deal? Answers on a postcard...

First on the bill are a bunch of battle-scarred veterans going by the name of Bubblewrap Holocaust. The skinny frontman is instantly recognisable as the visual arts guy who does the spinning OHP acetates, transforming the anachronistic teaching aid into waves of psychedelic art. Or maybe I was just pished...in any case, his band are on top form tonight, with 2 bassists, drums and a keyboard accompanying his Hugh Reedisms with an angular backdrop that bears more than a passing resemblance to The Fall. Gordon from Bangtwister and Macrocosmica mans one of the basses with a dead ringer for the old guy out of The Commitments playing the other and it's a great sound, first time I've heard wah-wah bass and now I want more.

BH were very good but their appeal had started to wane a bit by the time they shuffled off stage, and the excitement in the air became palpable as folk began to stake out their spots in preparation for the 'plies. Eventually they took to the stage, James and Graham in white while David and Stuart were clad in black. Drummer James stood behind his kit with sticks aloft while the other 3 bowed their heads in (presumably) mock reverence as some dramatic choral music played...

...

...

...then they started.

Arms flail, chords snap, smiles and nods are exchanged, instruments swapped, and in the middle of it all stands Graham Ronald. Despite only 2 of his 3 organs fully functioning tonight, he is the star of the show, only narrowly failing to be upstaged by the demonic drummer behind him. Graham's parents are just in front of us and seemed to enjoy their son's endeavours (though I suspect they're still hassling him to get "a proper job" even as he protests that he's on tour with Mogwai next week). The show is undoubtedly a success, the fans certainly enjoyed it all.

Multiplies are not your usual self-effacing indie band, most of their songs come across like childish competitions between the 4 guys on stage to see which one can rock out most impressively. For most of the time this is no bad thing, but when they attempt to combine this with vocals from Stuart Memo on a couple of numbers it all comes unstuck a bit. Still, at the close of a short set nobody has had enough, and the band wisely go back to the stage to perform one last song...or is it? They seemed to be having a prety good time up there.

Check out Dananananaykroyd, Remember Remember, Data Panik and TextAdventure for some of the various members' post-Multiplies endeavours. They're all good.

Foxface, Skeleton Bob, Kevin Campbell - Mono

Drunk at the Pulpit, I kind of missed going to the last one, and took great pleasure of reviewing it anyway, is some kind of bands and record playing night, bringing together folk with music they wouldn't usually find, with esquisitly twee flyers.

First on stage is Kevin Campbell. Delicate finger picking, more like a recital than a set from the slide guitar player in Older and Faraway, most of whom happen to be in attendance tonight.

Bob, my companion, he thinks "He's got soul man, I also believe he rapes babies, you can tell by the way he plays guitar."

So there's this girl sat next to us, she appears to be drawing the gig. I think I've heard about her before, its been suggested that one of my cartoonist chums does a similar thing, but charges the promoters a more modest fee for illustrations.

So my friend Bob, we played chicken together as kids, I haven't seen him for ages, now he has only one leg, the other a rather half arsed prosthetic, the Nigerian NHS I guess. I don't really feel comfortable asking about it. It's ben 14 years, how long do these things take to grow back?

Skeleton Bob "Why's he singing like that? Is he American?" No Bob, its just the way he's singing, "He sings better when not singing in American."

Bob wonders if the drummer's boobs bounce when she drums, its hard to tell under that jumper. Nice drumming on the faster numbers, kind of just functional on the slower ones.

Ooh, one of the songs started like it was going to be a Joy Division cover, and then another like Born To Be Wild, before veering off course.

Bob's leg knocks against a table in time to the must, people nearby glance over, muttering to themselves, racists.

Foxface on last "Tired, been around Glasgow too long, they've stopped progressing and should really just stop." There's already one Sons & Daughters out there, do we really need another? For that matter I think they sound just like Foxface too, they need to find another audience, Bob's right, they need to progress somehow.

The wee oscillating, squeeling tone thing at the start of the set, whilst uncalled for, could end up being their saviour if they learn how to use it.

"The singer has just stood up on a table screaming, like a maddenned ostrich, oh no, he's pissing on someone's humus. What an animal, he shouldn't be allowed in a vegan establishment."

And as my companion descending is to potentially libellous claims about what is happening on stage, in a cynical effort to draw the reader's attention to this blog, I feel I should, not so much justify, but pontificate. Whilst I firmly established in my mind, that going to three or four gigs every week is possibly a symptom of a sick mind, especially bearing the quality of the bands and the promoters, and well quality of the review writing, I also feel that you guys, the readers, aren't pulling your weight.

I'm guessing that a number of you readers are actually in the bands that I go to see, or have a hand in running / promoting the gigs. I pay you money, and I tell people about the show afterwards, I try to tell people about it afterwards. I write about the bands, and my feelings the sights, sounds and sensations that you've provided, cos well to be honest no one else is going to. I feel its a bit of a lop sided relationship.

I thrive on people reading this, on seeing how many hits this site gets, just like the bands thrive on seeing a full and eager audience. The way this site gets loads of hits isn't by cultivating a small dedicated band of readers, I'll leave that to community sites, this site gets loads of hits by other people posting links in their websites, blogs and messageboards. Not just one link, but loads of them.

So go forth and reciprocate.

Maybe I'll start actually reviewing the shows if there are people reading.

Ooh, Drive Carefully Records at the 13th Note on Saturday
see you there

Photies
here

Reviews
here

Errors, Big Face, Konx Om Pax - Mono

All full of piss and vinegar pre-gig. In MonoRail they'd put the Plimptons album in amongst the random 'P' CDs rather than in 'new releases' or under a 'Plimptons' section. I know it isn't, but it feels like snobbery, a scenester conspiracy. Luckily, just opposite, on the notice board, there's adverts for two of my lot, the Deep Fried Wolfknuckles, playing McSorleys on the 15th for a Magnetic Fields tribute night and the Just Joans at this Saturday's Winchester Club.

I was rifling through the 12"s, really getting into whatever tunes the 'Mogwai DJs' were playing, when CommanderKeen off of Jockrock, accosted me to shoot the breeze.

The place was dark and full of familiar looking scenesters, all eager for Errors and wishing the show would start.

The chap who took my money on the door announces the first act, apologising if its too loud, but I missed the actual name of the act.

One bloke, crouched behind a rack of equipment, shuffling acetates on a projector, black and white images and illustrations, either yellow with age or cheap projector.

The noise is loud, the bastard son of a washing machine and the Clangers, turned up to eleven. After a while its almost dreamlike, like memories of the scary room at Madam Tousauds when I was six years old.

Bump into some old chums off of the internet and we muse over whether this guy is using backing tapes, or a drum machine, or synth or a combination, whether he's spent much time practising the changing of the acetates. Is there any precise timing to it?

"Once it progressed into a proper beat it was okay with layers, but there was too much fucking around"

There was this girl called Wee Laura.

The next act, possibly called their cute, hat-wearing girl, stood a little too far away fromher keyboard at first.

I tried convincing Wee Laura, that it was performance art, they never had a drummer, they just wanted us to think that they did.

Imagine bis, with an apprentice builder instead of Manda Rin.

Aw man, I just saw Graham from The Royal We

Hmm, when the scratchy lead guitar kicks in, I start to think the girl was drawn by Jamie Hewlett. Not sure about the vocals.

and I can see Big Duncan

I actually wish I were in this band, I'd turn the shoegazer up to 7 and whisper lyrics about the weather in the evening.

"Too many Chrises"

Killer cheekbonesand nice nodding, but she's sharing a smirk with the guitarist, an inside joke that we're not in on. Ooh, hang on, she's just sucking on the inside of her lip piercing.

Too many people around the bar for me to feel comfortable getting a drink.

and hmm, people leaving before the Errors hit the stage.

Woo! Squelchy electro!!

And drums, real live drums, played by a real live drummer!

"'Feedback'" we are told, "is the shortest word to use the letters'a', 'b', 'c' and 'd'" - genius, typographical factoids and squelchy electro, drummery, guitary music.

Fuck me, there's an 'e' and an 'f' in there too.

What about 'backed'?

Those bastards are so wrong, I might leave in disgust.

hmm, what about 'backfed'? Is that even a word?

Kind of clunky and machineish music, sounds like the theme tune to that level of Shinobe where there's all the conveyor belts and cyborgs.

Ooh, from here the keyboard guy with glasses, who took my money on the door, looks like either Gary Spence or that guy who played Cotton Weary in Scream.

Other reviews of this show
here