Wednesday, March 21, 2007

So there is a God!

Thanks to the beneficence of the internet, and those who operate thereon, I have been reunited with my most beloved Thin White Rope album Moonhead (my vinyl copy of which lies literally over the ocean), which can be downloaded here. Needless to say, Wet Heart is making its way up my “most played” list in meteoric fashion.

In fact not one God but many, as I have been reminded by this awe inspiring release from the Young Gods themselves. Not only is my iPod now, in musical terms, richer than a butcher’s turd, but I also have tickets for their gig in Prague at the end of April. Two years ago I saw them play at the other end of the country in Ostrava and they were absolutely phenomenal, having lost nothing of the primal energy of ten or more years before. Afterwards my friends and I were lucky enough to be invited backstage, when I was stupid and insolent enough to contradict the great Al Comet when he told me that TV Sky came out in 1993. “Wasn’t it 92?” I blurted out, immediately feeling clod-hoppingly foolish for trying to correct a man about the facts of his own life history. On the other hand, I clearly remember listening to it when I was still at university, which I left in June 92. The Young Gods official website supports me on this issue Al (February 92 to be precise), so chew on that!

After a couple of listens to the latest offering I initially felt struck by how little they had changed, at how, much in the same way as other rock legends like Motorhead or the Ramones, whose classic anthems all sound rather similar, they had found their niche, their essential sound. My impression was that they were continuing to plough their own furrow in happy oblivion, letting the greatness of their work speak for itself without feeling much need to absorb further influences or mess with a style that works so well. Casting an eye about the net I then came upon an exhaustive and extremely well-written treatise from the Impostume asserting the exact opposite, charting their epic journey of metamorphoses from their beginnings to the present day, and realised I may have to revise that opinion. Either that or resolve it by means of a bare-knuckle fight on the train down to Prague for the gig (yes, he shall indeed be in attendance). He may be at least a foot taller than me (I speak no word of a lie here), but I have no doubt whatsoever that I am infinitely harder.

On the downside, however, perhaps Mr Hugh Briss has been overstaying his welcome round here somewhat. In my last post I complacently noted the pleasing decline in the number of Nazi skinheads around these parts, only to be rewarded a few days later with a slap in the face from some gross boneheaded oaf after a football match, so it’s quite acutely evident to me that the bastards haven’t disappeared completely. Or maybe he’d read my Hrabal post, but I somehow doubt it. In any case, luckily for me it could have been a great deal worse, and at least I’m now in good training for my forthcoming bout with the Impostume. ROCK!

Erm, now who was it who brought my attention to those TWR and Young Gods downloads?


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