We Rock Like Girls Don’t/Ruth Martin/Miss The Occupier/Scragfight

Nice and Sleazy

Due to the tendency towards tea-time gigs in this city, we arrive at the venue to the sounds of a awfully ramshackle reading of Rockaway Beach. This is courtesy of Scragfight, a local punker trio enjoying their first live foray. And, boy, does it show.

But, among the false starts and bum notes, there’s definitely something interesting going on. There’s a song called War Crimes for which the drummer takes the lead vocal, lending it a smashing shouty-pop sensibility. But then, there’s a cover of Tiffany‘s I Think We’re Alone Now, which they fail to really bring anything new to the original, or even the (not that hilariously ironic even 20 years ago) Snuff version. Closer Zombie Girl (I think) is fantastic. Definitely suggesting a band that will warrant further attention in the future.

So, as rough and ragged as a poachers breeks, but there’s some thing about Scragfight that is ultimately rather charming. However, I suspect this is pretty much as far from their intentions as you can get.

Miss The Occupier are fantastic. It’s as simple as that. Even the somewhat lacklustre sound (which almost makes us suspect maybe Scragfight weren’t so shaky) can’t detract from that.

With the smashing debut album Recovery Position finally under their belt, we get yet another set of effortless edgy pop. Punk. Rock. Pop. It’s hard to pinpoint them. This is half the joy of the band. The other being you don’t really want to. Sop thinking about it and just go with the flow.

Guitarist Magnus Hughson is on crackling form. He’s definitely shaping up to be one of the most interesting and original musicians in Glasgow. Managing to be both angular and soaring at almost the same time. Great stuff.

All that and a particularly spirited version of Girlfriend Go Crazy (a personal favourite), what more do ou need? Someone should give them tons of money, so we can all start bitching about them.

Next a solo set from Ruth Martin, lead singer with Scragfight. Which you wouldn’t believe were it not for the fact hat she’s very obviously the same person. And, well, she’s a singer songwriter type with an acoustic guitar. About the most interesting thing she does is highlight that fact that when covering certain songs, changing the odd pronoun can tip the balance o near murdering them. It’s sadly all very dull. Sadly, because there’s some cracking songs in there. Just the delivery is so pedestrian, familiar. She should shove a rocket up them and give them to the band. That might be something to see.

Vas Antoniadou, drummer with We Rock Like Girls Don’t is a rock behemoth. An open handed demi-godess of the skins. Seriously, she picks up her sticks and Thor slopes off. Yet, with an astounding subtlty. She adds more flourish and flair to one roll than most thumpers manage in a lifetimes work. Frankly breathtaking. And worth the price of entry alone.

And brilliantly, that’s not even the half of it. Up front we have Roz Cairney. Yeah. In the beginning there was the riff; then there was Roz. I have no idea hat the hell she’s playing through, but the guitar is like a wall. You know when scientists do that stuff where you can listen to glaziers or mountains. This is what you expect to be the results. If the soundman’s been slacking tonight, he can’t help but wake up now. And, with a voice like a not-annoying PJ, she can be both terrifying and deeply vulnerable. And, even, at the same time.

There’s the rumbling groove of Queen Of Heavy Metal. The careering don’t-try-this-at-home holler of I Just Wanna Stick My Head In The Bass Drum. The exhilarating pogo like a loon ramalama of Rock ‘n Roll Freak. It’s irresistible. As in ‘resistance is futile’. Over the next few weeks people will be paying stupid money to see anemic boy bands (like Metallica and AC/DC) peddle their watery brand of (guaranteed over-extended) rock. These people are idiots.

Tonight is the launch of stunning debut album How Did It Get To This?. There’s party poppers, treats, drinks laid on and a raffle. Puny bands of Glasgow take note! And quake.

Finley Quaye

Glasgow King Tut's

Oh Finley, Where Art Thou?

That was the impression raised as the Edinburgh-born artist took to the stage with his ramshackle new backing band.

Confidence had been checked in at the door, and in the eleven years Finley Quaye has spent in relative obscurity since bursting onto the scene appeared to be rushing to the forefront of his mind as the gig commenced.

If Quaye made a gesture towards the audience in the entire hour-long set, then it would have been missed by most, because the former BRIT award winner in 1998 hid behind a set of dark shades in one of Glasgows’ shadiest venues. An excuse, one feels, to never embrace the Zeitgeist that made his Britpop-era persona so palatable.

So to escape his ‘Maverick A Strike’ album and the spectres that have followed him, those that ultimately made and destroyed his career in equal measure, he parades new, meandering tracks for the opening period. In truth, they never come close to raising a root of optimism from what is a generous crowd.

His trademark, reggae-driven rhythms are elongated across a number of songs that become frankly disinteresting, and half-way through the clearly pressurised Quaye appears to notice the malcontent, leaving his band to jam for a short period on their own while he attempted to gather his thoughts.

He returns, not refreshed, but with a new outlook, and decides to rally through his more commercial elements of his repertoire, post-haste, in order to end his apparent nightmare. Rarely does it occur, but those in attendance tonight witnessed a musical performer systematically disconnect himself with his vocation in the space of one short set of music.

It was horrible to be in the room as he whizzed through ‘Sunday Shining’, which remains a seminal record of its time, a beat ahead of his band, while not even offering due courtesy as to offer a name for any of his new, underwhelming offerings that surrounded it.

However, whilst the stage presence is sorely lacking, the same cannot be said of his voice; despite holding the microphone awkwardly away from his face (so much so that he demanded a sound increase, diva-like, early on) his unconventional, unique twang still sounds fantastic but wasn’t given the airing it deserved.

As the crowd dwindled so did his sense of being, and he looked so disinterested it became a countdown to end the despair for all parties involved.

Finley Quaye was indeed a maverick of his day, but tonight he did nothing to justify his exorbitant £17 entry fee that, in all honestly, should have been refunded after a gig as functionless and banal as this.
In the closing stages, Quaye disappeared again, and judging by his body language, it could be one of the last times he ever appears on stage. We will see.

Howling Bells

Aberdeen, Moshulu

A typically awesome performance by the un-stereotypical Aussies (ie dark, moody and at times spooky – as far away from a beach as, say, a polar bear) was almost marred by a stereotypical Aberdonian crowd. Dour as fuck. more… “Howling Bells”

End of the Month Club

Glasgow 13th Note

The last End of the Month Club! The organisers had decided, after seven years, to call it a day. I hadn’t been to EotMC for a while now I live on the east coast, but had to make the trip through to Glasgow to see the finest monthly shot of electronic fun anywhere. more… “End of the Month Club”

Magazine / Ipso Facto

Glasgow Carling Academy

As a rule I’ve always deliberately avoided reformations like the plague. Be it the Velvet Underground, The Stooges, Sex Pistols, whoever, I’ve kept my distance, stuck my fingers in my ears and sang ‘la-la-la’ loudly over any attempts to get me to even give it a try. more… “Magazine / Ipso Facto”

Broken Records

Edinburgh The Mill

Barely over a year ago, this troupe played in the same venue but back then they were one record deal shy (they joined Camera Obscura on the 4AD label this month), the Broken Records buzz was a murmur, the crowd less sardined – all a stark contrast to the hullabaloo they’re clearly causing now.
more… “Broken Records”