The Horrors @ Carling Academy, Liverpool
Date: 23rd March 2007
Support: The Kreeps
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
So it’s a late start. We overhear excitable whisperings of the reason...it seems the band is held up in an interview for a Liverpool edition of Channel 4’s Transmission. The Kreeps make up for the wait though. A bizarre mix of slightly spooky Munsters style two tone inspired stuff, free jazz sax, and hardcore punk. The drummer sings, the guitar dude stands in the middle of the stage tricking you the he’s going to be the real lead singer any minute now, the bass is an awesome (and I use that word sparingly) electric double bass, and the keyboardist doubles up as a Theremin wielding ghost face killa. Ok just ghost mask wearer. He may kill in his spare time. I have no way of proving this.
Then the BEST thing happens. Ash walk in. Haha. Despite what is about to ensue, I spend a large amount of the night ogling in disbelief that Tim Wheeler really is that small. (Wicked Whisper…they didn’t clap. You’d think they would, wouldn’t you? Show some support for fellow artists and all, you know. But they are cute though. Little men. Ah.) Also, I get the finger from some munchkin coz she was kissin her boyfriend right, then this guy comes up behind her and licks her neck as a joke right, and the couple get all confused at what happened and I laugh, and they turn round and think I’m laughin at them and their young love and I wasn even laughin at that and they don even know something bout nuthin so shut up! (Wow, a true Vicky Pollard moment! -Ed)
After that, about 10.15 (ooh pushing it for an 11 o’clock curfew) The Hoorahr Henrys descend at last with gothy goodness to claw at our teased hair and peck out our kohl smudged eyes. The audience, right on cue, turn into the living dead, clawing their arms towards the stage with a Hammer Horror blood lust. A razor sharp light show and oozings of dry ice set the scene for the freak show, the hazy glare of the strobe picking out each of Faris Rotter’s scissorhand jerks. They stab out the songs thick and fast, maybe making up for lost time, maybe that’s just their bodybag baby. ‘Little Victories’ and ‘Sheena is a Parasite’ stand out, but in as tight a show as this it’s hard to pick a highlight.
All that’s left is a still pulsing, damp heap of body matter, a fuggy smell, and a scratching sound off in some dark corner. But why pray, must I run for the last train? Nevermore! The raven replied.
[Allergy advice: This review was made in a factory containing the work of Edgar Allan Poe]
For more information you can visit: http://www.thehorrors.co.uk
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