by DzM Sun Apr 04, 2004 6:12 am
Christine Lattek stumbled across this rather uncomplimentary review of our prodigal front-man crashing the stage at a <i>Republic of Loose</i> show:
http://www.ri-ra.co.uk/features/review_live.html
The relevant part (to us) is:<blockquote><blockquote type=cite>This band have got the lot, not just the outstanding musical talent, but the heart, the soul, and when they really mean it and you just can't help but believe in them. They are also in possession of what would appear to be the most charismatic bass player in rock music today, and he looks as if he'd be just as comfortable serving you paella and chips or selling you a second hand Jag, as he is driving along this faultless rhythm section, and it was he that brought proceedings to a respectable finale when a certain legend, Mr. Shane McGowan, made an impromptu appearance.
It must have been the consistency with which the complimentary Stella bottles were being drained on stage that first propelled Shane McGowan stage bound, but once there it would seem he immediately forgot exactly what had enticed him to make that Tolkien-esque journey to the front, and instead by way of recompense he proceeded to gift us to a rendition of that popular old favourite, “Arse, Arse, Feck, Arse', a well known and highly respected song in Shane's World, but one that was left somewhat wanting with this newly fevered, demanding audience, left uneasy by this sudden interruption and the denial to their musical climax - if only someone had thought to hand Shane McGowan one of the plentiful Stella bottles in evidence on stage instead of the microphone. But help was at hand, as the world's most Spanish looking Irishman and quick thinking bass player sacrificed his own microphone and thrust it into the hands of vocalist Michael Pyro, who, whilst still managing to carry off that look of having just been fired out of a canon, brought vocal order back to the festivities and with it an utterly thrilling foot stomping climax to a memorable evening. I'm thinking that man could probably sing the phone book and make it sound like poetry.</blockquote></blockquote>
Christine Lattek stumbled across this rather uncomplimentary review of our prodigal front-man crashing the stage at a <i>Republic of Loose</i> show:
http://www.ri-ra.co.uk/features/review_live.html
The relevant part (to us) is:<blockquote><blockquote type=cite>This band have got the lot, not just the outstanding musical talent, but the heart, the soul, and when they really mean it and you just can't help but believe in them. They are also in possession of what would appear to be the most charismatic bass player in rock music today, and he looks as if he'd be just as comfortable serving you paella and chips or selling you a second hand Jag, as he is driving along this faultless rhythm section, and it was he that brought proceedings to a respectable finale when a certain legend, Mr. Shane McGowan, made an impromptu appearance.
It must have been the consistency with which the complimentary Stella bottles were being drained on stage that first propelled Shane McGowan stage bound, but once there it would seem he immediately forgot exactly what had enticed him to make that Tolkien-esque journey to the front, and instead by way of recompense he proceeded to gift us to a rendition of that popular old favourite, “Arse, Arse, Feck, Arse', a well known and highly respected song in Shane's World, but one that was left somewhat wanting with this newly fevered, demanding audience, left uneasy by this sudden interruption and the denial to their musical climax - if only someone had thought to hand Shane McGowan one of the plentiful Stella bottles in evidence on stage instead of the microphone. But help was at hand, as the world's most Spanish looking Irishman and quick thinking bass player sacrificed his own microphone and thrust it into the hands of vocalist Michael Pyro, who, whilst still managing to carry off that look of having just been fired out of a canon, brought vocal order back to the festivities and with it an utterly thrilling foot stomping climax to a memorable evening. I'm thinking that man could probably sing the phone book and make it sound like poetry.</blockquote></blockquote>
