DEATH PEDALS/ RAD PITT- The Blue Moon, Cambridge 15.7.16
Its been a long time since I last reviewed anything and a lot
has changed. I have a dog. My husband comes for a walk with me and
my dog and spends his entire time bumping into lamp posts trying to
catch some weird bloody pretend creature that appears
tweeting at our feet. I blame Brexit for turning him into a knob.
He didnt vote to leave but I have to say that the
state of our country is probably responsible for most things gone
bad. And its made people really angry. Apart from me. I am now
at a stage of unshakeable apathy and this has, Im sorry to say,
apparently extended to my one-time obsession with the music scene.
There are few new bands now that stir my hollow soul.
So when said husband suggested we go and see a gig
of a Friday night because he liked the headliners name, I mostly
went along because there was the promise of cider.
Doing a bit of background research into what my ears were going to
experience, Colchesters Rad Pitt lasted a couple of seconds
before I started weeping in despair. And then I heard them live. Away
from the poorly produced recordings you can hear online, what we actually
are face-to-face with is five blokes for whom is no other existence
but to play rock and roll. God only knows what the hell the singer
is saying because a) the sound in this tiny room is crap and b) his
throat has been vaporised by a hit of a thousand metal demons, but
the sheer passion and energy that Rad Pitt exude is an intoxicating
combination. That number of time-signature changes in twenty minutes
or so should be banned but they do it cleverly, in a way that other
bands that they used to be in (such as The Jorneta Stream) didnt
have the same impact (at least, thats what I thought). The drummer
is jaw-droppingly good, backing up some very tight tunes and the singer
has a beard and tattoos so gets my vote as he paces around the floor.
We both agree we would watch them again, which is a real compliment
if you take into account what I wrote in the first paragraph about
the suburban Pokemon mania, so play another local gig soon please.
Oh, and get some decent recordings done? I feel awake again. Thank
Then on come poor little Death Pedals who play for half an hour as
if they know how stale they sound in comparison to their support act.
This was actually the band that got us out of the house in the first
place, with a comparison to my dearhearts, The Bronx, but it turned
out that this is the band that led us back to the feeling of frustration
and disappointment. The wall of sound might be pissing them off perhaps.
Maybe they cant hear what they are playing but one thing is
apparent- they dont seem to give a shit what they are doing
here. As they make their way through their set, the charisma-o-meter
sinks to minus twenty. Youre playing punk rock, for Christs
sake. Break something. Cause a little chaos. You dont need to
spit or anything- just prove youre not just a robot playing
a guitar. Could it be that they have been in East London too long
and once they cross the M25, a little part of their soul dies? Well,
part of my soul died watching them. Im sorry. You sounded great
on SoundCloud but, tonight, you sucked so much I cant even be
bothered to write about it. Now back to Dalston with you. Good morrow.
Make up your own mind here