![]() ![]() “You could have Gary Barlow burping his own name for 15 fucking minutes” explains the sweary poet laureate as he points out how starved of entertainment we’ve been, “and you’d still lose your shit”. I laughed, I cried, I even bought a book (in which Thick Richard lovingly inscribed the words, ‘go fuck yourself’). Unexpected detours find him vehemently bemoaning the lazy trains on the mythical island of Sodor and the death of Morrissey’s immortal soul (“the first of the gang to die who didn’t actually die”). ![]() Sipping from cans of beer pulled from a sports bag, Richard spills his vitriolic guts all over the stage with tales of incontinent bus drivers, dead rock stars and aging ravers. The foul-mouthed Mancunian has been hard at it since 1999 and supported the likes of Kate Tempest and The Fall with his harsh, obscenely funny performance poetry. They seem genuinely over the moon to be here and that feeling is most certainly mutual.ĭavid and Holly’s tradition of bringing alternative poetry to the masses continues with the arrival of the writer, performer and poet Thick Richard. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge when they launch into their first double drum assault: elevating the joyously noisy bombardment into the stratosphere. The Brighten-based duo combine synths and frazzled electronica with reverb-heavy vocals and motorik beats. As a long-term regular at the Brudenell, it’s a real spine-tingling moment to be stood in this room again. We’re only a couple of minutes into the duos set and I already feel like this is some kind of homecoming. It starts with a wall of drones and I can feel something stirring as synth-rock duo AK/DKlaunch into their propulsive set. The excitement is tangible as I make my way to my usual spot in the Brudenell and await tonight’s first act. With a couple of hours rest in-between I head back to the iconic venue to catch Lancaster’s finest, The Lovely Eggs. Tonight’s Lovely Eggs show would have been my first restriction-free gig in around 16 months but I’ve actually been at the Brudenell this afternoon to watch ska-punk nutjobs, Nutty Skunk. I’ve been to a couple of seated/ socially distanced gigs but this feels significantly different. ![]() Words can’t express quite how much I’ve missed live music. What once seemed like an everyday occurrence is now filled with a heightened sense of excitement and, yes, even a few nerves. Wonderful.It’s nearly 8pm and I’m heading off to The Brudenell Social Club to watch a few bands. Would You Fuck is Holly repeating the title with different inflections through a megaphone in a Lancaster accent. I Shouldn’t Have Said That opens with shouting before coming rackety krautrock (with shades of the Whole Lotta Love riff, we think) it and Wiggy Giggy have both been singles. Dickhead starts off with slow glam rock Glitter Band-style guitars and drums before taking off at 90 miles an hour in early Buzzcocks fashion and Holly rants (we think) about being abused for going her indie way. Like many of the songs, it starts off one way, but the drums and guitar come clattering in and it gets more lively and changes. If it was a Lips song, it would be one that, live, demanded balloons and confetti. The Flaming Lips connection can be seen with opener Hello I Am Your Sun, where Holly repeats the title, flickering in and out of each speaker. The sound is raucous and raw but fun, and even as the Eggs rail against comforming, you feel it’s done with a smile. They recorded this themselves at Lancaster Musician’s Co-op and their own house, before sending the files over to Flaming Lips/ Mercury Rev Dave Fridmann, who has added some stadium-filling magic. They were formed in 2006 by Holly Ross and David Blackwell, who liked the same music and happened to be married. A standard Eggs song has scuzzy guitar and basic drums, the kick drum hitting every beat in the bar. The Eggs are from Lancaster and offer DIY/garage indie songs with quirky lyrics and distortion. Sure, there’s some swearing (one song is called Dickhead, another has the F-word in the title) but then there’s Wiggy Giggy, whose opening bars are the lyrics “wiggy giggy, wiggy giggy, wiggy giggy, wiggy” alternating across the speakers. In this post-Brexit North Korean Trumpian world we need some cheer and the Eggs are the ones to do it. Should anyone make us rulers of England, our first act would be to give everyone in the realm a copy of this CD. ![]()
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