It's Only Rock'n'Roll But ... Georgia Satellies plus special guests plus unspecial guests, 22.11.04

[tamaranth]

Lock 17 used to be Dingwalls. Now it's run by Jongleurs and has a floor that doesn't stick to your boots, and tables. Arriving early, we bagged a table right next to the stage -- also, right next to the speakers. Please talk loudly when I hear you next.

Northern Remedy were on first. I was mightily offended by the bassist's tartan trousers, but it turned out they were all from Dundee and thus had the right to wear such things. (While making this discovery, I made another: my phone's predictive texting knows the word 'cannae', as in 'he cannae help his trousers'. I am sorry if it offends anyone, but this is rather unsettling ...) They were all young, and didn't look very rocktastic at all; the singer looked as though he should be in a punk band, the drummer as though he should be in his bedroom, doing his homework. But oh my, the voice (which didn't suit its owner at all, but seemed firmly attached). Think Rory Gallagher, early Zep, all those indulgent 70s blues-rock bands. They all knew what they were doing, and sometimes they did it rather to excess: drum solo in 3rd song, guitar solo in 4th, and so on. I hate the thought that if they make it (which they deserve to) they'll be tightened up, fluffed and image-ised, and made to (mis)behave themselves, musically and creatively. But oh, that voice. Even on the songs I didn't like ('Gipsy Woman' for example) they Had It. Bought their EP (plus a copy for my charming leather-trousered rock-icon beer-carrier) and am looking forward to seeing if they are faery gold, e.g. the sort of music that works like a dream live, but turns to ashes when recorded.

The Tracie Hunter Band should not have been there. I swear I'd have left at that point if I hadn't known how good the main act was. Tracie (who reminded me, come to think of it, of a girl I was at university with) was the sort of brassy, ballbreaking Rock Chick who I find very irritating. She swore from time to time, but with the air of someone who's swearing to be Bad. She had plenty to swear about; the sound was appalling, very badly mixed, and there was an uncomfortable feel about the whole band -- I hate to say 'bad vibes' but none of them looked happy, and maybe I was imagining the tension, but maybe not.
Having run out of stuff to write, I managed a haiku:
sunglasses; bad mix;
weak voice lost in AOR
rock chick centre-stage

Then, at last, the main attraction: various ex-Satellites. I was never a close follower of the band, so see childeric's very splendid and exuberant review here for details of who what where. I was mainly struck by the way that the three guitarists managed to look like three different American archetypes: the Farmer (pointed nose, pumpkin-broad grin, long lank hair); the Rocker (claims he's fifty but you wouldn't know it, shoulder-length hair, jeans and t-shirt); and Mr Bluecollar, all sensible haircut and burly shoulders.

That first Georgia Satellites is one of the first three CDs I ever owned. I still play it a lot. I still think 'Battleship Chains' is the best rock anthem evah (not all of the time, but enough to count). I hadn't realised that I knew every song word for word. And I hadn't realised how much they remind me of the Rolling Stones -- think Honky Tonk Woman.

My head still hurts from being so close to the speaker. My neck hurts from nodding (er, not quite headbanging) so enthusiastically to so many songs. (The audience, which consisted of Blokes with occasional Blondes, reminded me of jazz fans more than anything; not much moshing, but plenty of respectful nodding in every guitar solo.) It was very, very loud. But I could see everything, every expression; I could hear pretty well (especially with my fingers in my ears); I could drink up heat noise light and lovely Southern accents. Didn't recognise every song, but ooooh, 'Nights of Mystery' segued into 'Get it On'; 'Keep Your Hands To Yourself' becoming '(I Know) It's Only Rock'n'Roll'; 'Railroad Steel'! And some others.

Then, 11:50, I had to leave. What a polite audience! Only too happy to attract Dr T's attention and hand his coat over intervening heads ... And Damn, but (lucky with the trains) I could've stayed another ten minutes and maybe heard 'Battleship Chains'.

But I strode down Camden High Street, a spring in my step and a ringing in my ears, singing it anyway.

Stormin' gig. Thank you, childeric, for organising!

Comments

Sounds like a great gig!

[the-magician.livejournal.com]

... and I must remember to invest in a pair of rock earplugs if/when I next go to a loud gig!

In the US I've seen them for sale in places like Tower Records, and over here I know you can get them from most musical instrument shops that sell drums! In various levels of sound attenuation ...

... lovely review, captured the atmosphere very nicely!