aaamusic | On 10, Jun 2010

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London, 4th June

The Damned were once called the musical version of the worst bits of ‘Tiswas’. And yes, there’s some truth to be found there, although I’d gladly argue against the “worst”. Anarchic, unpredictable and borderline bewildering, they’ve played a massive part in the UK music scene, but they’re more infamous than recognised.

The opening act was Texas Terri Bomb. I suppose “if Iggy Pop was a woman” would be a reasonable introduction. They’re a howling collective of that same garage-punk sound where the music sounds like you should go have a tetanus injection after listening, and it’s all fronted by the calculatedly unhinged Texas Terri. Some of their onstage antics seemed contrived, but with a band that fun, it is hard to criticise.

Next up was Ed Tudor Pole, who is not so much calculatedly unhinged as genuinely insane, playing a set on an instrument that seemed to be more sellotape than guitar, and singing about meeting his wife at a sweet shop, his nephew getting a fake moustache in a Christmas cracker, and of course the crowd-pleaser ‘Who Killed Bambi?‘ which became a singalong with several inebriated members of the audience.  Musically he belongs firmly to the old school of punk rockers with acoustic guitars, blending simple songs with a sharp sense of rock music.

The Damned put on their show with flourish, entering the stage to the sound of ‘Nature’s Dark Passion’, an atmospheric track from their recent album.
Unlike many bands who’ve experimented beyond their roots, The Damned aren’t afraid of their back-catalogue, playing songs from all over their 30-year career, which is no mean feat considering their evolution. How many bands could still pull off sharp and searing renditions of ‘Neat Neat Neat’ and ‘New Rose’ alongside the gothic ‘Shadow Of Love’ and their druggy, chart-bothering cover of ‘Eloise’, and still find time to work in ‘Thrill Kill’?

They held off playing ‘Smash It Up’ until last, and arguably everyone in the room was a little worse for wear and so it suffered from a slightly tired performance, but all things considered it was still a treat to see performed live.

It might disappoint some to find that Vanian no longer dresses as Dracula, but instead has matured into a suitably ageless frontman, and his voice is still as impressive as ever, ranging from a deep croon to sudden barks. As for the rest of the band, Pinch provides a sturdy and talented backbone behind his lightshow of a drumkit, Stu West is able to handle any and all basslines, be they chugging or melodic, that come his way with ease, and Monty Oxymoron still intermittently pogos behind the keyboards while looking like a cross between the prog rock generation and the Victorian era while adding his own contributions to the early punk material as well as driving the more recent melodic tracks.
And Captain Sensible? Where do we even begin? In possession of a long-suffering roadie who seems to function as a nanny (this time the roadie was fussing over a guitar strap and was shooed off with a towel) and a contingent of fans who chanted, conga-style no less, “Sensible’s a wanker!” at every opportunity, this is a man who steadfastly refuses to look on the upper side of 23, and the band is all the better for it. He provides the anarchic side of the proceedings in his trademark red beret and sunglasses, goading the crowd and joking with them in the best of bad taste. That said, he is a truly underestimated guitarist able to rattle off some impressive solos and riffs without batting an eyelid.

The set was over much too soon, and this was the most fun I’d had at a gig in a while. And this is an important thing to have. For every deep and meaningful sharing of wounds with music, you do need a band who aren’t afraid to crack jokes involving Michael Jackson and heavenly llamas.

Author: Katie H-Halinski

Photos: Katie H-Halinski