Black or White

Debs and me scoot round to Simon & Jule's to drop off Lily with Tilly C we drop a quick G&T before bussing down Brixton Hill to the Academy where the bouncers are threatening to refuse entry to anyone who looks drunk. I'd ave thought that the least of their worries with the FWFB. The place isn't that crowded but doesn't surprise as although they are great not sure that most of the world realise it yet. There again this is a homecoming or homestaying. Anyways drinks in hand we are just in time to catch the second support.

The Black Lips play pretty straight up rock and roll with a southern country tinge. Well, a lot more than a tinge for some songs. They strut about wearing waistcoats and big hats. With the standard rock songs it's difficult to know if they're altogether serious or playing a part of southern rockers. Added to which their road crew are throwing toilet rolls out into the audience which gives the whole scene of packed youths a throwback to 70s football terraces. An odd combination and slightly disturbing. Soon they have bog roll wrapped around mic stands with it flapping about in the breeze from their fans. The electric ones not the dancing ones. Then they get wrapped up in the white streams too giving me a flashback to my 50th but I won't digress. Partly cos I've a vague memory only brought to life by photos. Soon there's toilet roll everywhere as the audience return the favour. There are a few dick head old blokes just in front of us flicking Vs and shouting at the band. Pricks. Firstly the band can't hear or see you. Second if they could they'd give a shit about a balding dick and friend abusing them. Third just go to the bar. You ain't 15 any more. I could go on about rude pissed ageing types who seem to be on their annual outing but suffice to say it doesn't help my mood. Anyways the Black Lips are energetic and musically accomplished enough to blow away any reservations about their intentions or what the audience think. They are hitting the spot and if you go with the flow great entertainment. Soon a beach ball and balloon appear which gives the audience more fun to play with and transports us festival wise. More of large gigs later. A great way to start the night.

Yee Haw!!

Black Lips on the terraces

After what seems an age of faffing about with tuning guitars and sorting mics the MC takes the stage to introduce the Fat White Family. Simon reckons the latest album is a big of a dirge and he's right in that they don't really kick off tonight. It's all a bit down and flat with a few rare shows of energy. They seem so together and slick and have lost their chaotic charm. Not that when I've seen them before they don't put on a great show musically but you never knew what was coming next and tonight you can predict it. They have three backing singers and to be honest seem a bit too clever. Maybe it's just me or the combination of them playing such as large venue. They aren't bad. Just not as compelling and can't take your eyes off em as I've seen them. I tend to think I'm right when the audience start waving their arms from side to side arena rock style and there's even a brief showing of lighters held aloft. And a couple waltzing in front of us. Jeez I'm turning grumpy. For the encore they get the Black Lips back on and possibly the 1st band but by that time I'm off for a jimmy and they only do the one song.

Fat Whites causing arm waving in audience

Outside the four of us decide to go to the White Horse, old stomping ground of FWFB, which is packed solid probably cos the FWF told the audience that the after show party is being held there. I arrive first cos I popped into the offie (don't ask how) and am accosted by a young bloke asking if I know the nearest cab place as his mate's had some ketamine and needs to get him home. Poor bloke is having a hard time trying to find a cab whilst keeping tabs on his wandering mate. Luckily a black cab passes and they're both in. Not sure why I felt responsible in some way. Must be the father figure in me. As the Horse is so packed we head next door to the Portuguese bar to sit civilised like at tables and make out we're in Lisbon or on the Algarve. Odd cooking related antics on the telly which our amigo at the bar tells us is Portuguese Big Brother. The end of entertainment as we know it? A fitting end to the evening I muse as Debs and I say our farewells to Simon & Jules and wander off to Stockwell tube.