Times are tough these days in the medical world. More than ever doctors seem to be taking to drink and drugs to cure them of their job after spending ages getting qualified for naff all reward. Which is possibly why we seem to have five medical students (sensible shoes, jumpers, corduroys, brillcreemed sensible hair….) supporting Stephen Malkmus. Future Pilot AKA play jazz and folk fused hip hop sort of. Unfortunately the audience seem to think that Hip Jazz isn’t very good. One bloke standing behind me was reading a book (by the way, on the off chance that said bloke is reading this: What book were you reading? What sort of book do you read at gigs anyway? Any contributions to the last question would indeed be welcome….as I’m intrigued as to what books people read at gigs. As you do. Ladies and gents, boys and girls, back to the review!) This band have a repertoire that involves destroying Missy Elliot’s latest musical offering using an alto sax and trying to make it lo-fi. But what this band lack in musical know how they make up in unintentional showmanship and should by rights be put in Papa Lazarou’s circus. The alto sax’s facial contortions should carry a health warning whilst I feel rather sorry for their frontman who should be given a medal for optimism in the face of severe adversity, as shown by this small exchange:
Frontman: “er…we have 3 minutes left….”
Heckler: “1 MINUTE!!!”
Frontman: “We’ll just play another song….”
Heckler: “FUCK OFF!!”
I think that sums it up really.
Thank god they went away, brillcreemed hair may be sensible, but floppy hair is much sexier. Stephen Malkmus lollops on stage joined by his band, Jicks. As he finishes his first song of twistie indie (and it stays twistie indie in various tempos throughout the gig.) the hecklers start up again: “THAT WAS FUCKING FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!” Malkmus looks amused and seems to resign himself to a job as part time rock star and dusts down his repartee for his new job as full time DJ for a radio phone in. He does both very well, managing to do a passable cover of an REM song and point out to an audience member that the only time you ever get headfucked ”is when you’re born.”
One interesting thing about his style is that on high notes and twiddly guitar bits Mr Malkmus seems to do a strange impression of a dog cocking its leg. The higher the note, or the more twiddly the guitar bit, the higher his leg shoots up until he looks like Margot Fonteyn on steroids. It seems to annoy the drummer no end, who, at the end of Stephen’s set, loses it completely and runs around the back of the stage like Forrest Gump on speed waving a couple of tambourines.
Which was nice.
