Frash Dance

Olly with son Cameron call me from The Bedford which they've had to nip into for relief and of course it's only polite to buy G&Ts, apparently. Soon enough they're here and after a bottle of red we put on our dancing shoes and we're off out into the chill air Brixton bound. It's damnably cold out but snuggly warm in the ridiculously  packed Beehive and we're further warmed despite the ice with large Jack Daniel's and cokes at Weatherspoon prices. Cameron's mate Joe is on the late running GWR from my home town and so we decide to get over the Academy where we breeze in. Another round of JDs this time straight on ice and then it's into the arena to squirm our way down the front. Cameron goes back out to give his mate his ticket and that's the last Olly and I see of him until afterwards. We've missed the support, which is getting to be a habit with me, but the main act more than make up for that. To great applause Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes take the stage. I walked out at Glastonbury as the John Peel tent was absolutely solid and getting worse with the secret guests (Killers) fans cramming into it but I've seen Frank before a couple of times in his Gallows days. First at 100 Club where they were pretty metal (DM imprint on head story) and then about 7 years ago supporting RATM in Finsbury Park and they were more punky. Anyways they come on to great applause and really set the standard for Post Post Punk Thrashiness. The set starts off at a storming pace and the mosh gets going immediately. After a few thrash numbers verging on outright punk and others with a little metal smelted into the pot it veers off towards a slower heavier rock onslaught and careers into Stadium Heavy Rock with punters waving their lighters in the air. Oh dear. Frank seems to like it though. He's quite quiet tonight as he usually chats a lot from what I remember. Olly reckons it's cos they're recording the gig for a live album and maybe he doesn't want any edits. The sound is pretty damn good. There are a couple of slower numbers but soon enough we're back onto the fast thrash track and the boys with their T shirts discarded and tattooes start clearing the way for a big mosh. I still don't get that and it's all a bit contrived but fun once it gets going. Frank does give us a chat about those that we've lost and Olly and I have a brotherly moment with our arms round each other. Probably looked a weird like an odd couple but felt good. Cheers Olly. Then a slow number with keyboards and then back into the fast lane. Frank tells us how great it is to be headlining the Academy and how we're the greatest audience ever. Mostly when I hear this I think bullshit but in this case as he's so emotional and wears his heart on his sleeve I believe that that's exactly what he's thinking right now. Similar to Olly saying that this is the best gig ever. A bit of the Ramsay's there...

We finish with a slow one, if I remember rightly, and then they're back on for a couple of slammers. Literally. After introducing us to all the Rattlesnakes, the guitarist being his best mate, Frank and his cohorts are off stage and the light come on. Fantastic gig. Maybe not the best ever but one of the best you could go see these days. Great. No wonder Olly's seen them 5 times this year and he and Cameron last saw them on Tuesday night when the young lad lost his sole. In fact his whole shoe. Olly finds a faux furry mini scarf thing on the floor and shouts out who's lost a furry thing then changing tack to who's lost a dead cat to all and sundry. Causing lots of discussion about it and him. Outside he's glad no one's claimed it as it ain't got any warmer. We meet the young lads, Joe's delayed train meant he only missed the first song, and decide to have a quick one in Brixton. The Beehive is too full and the Prince of Wales on Coldharbour Lane refuses to let us in as we've not got ID. Yep, Olly and I are not let in as we've not got our passports on us. This is the Brixton Village independence gone mad. We're not sure if it's cos we look too old but maybe two old blokes, one wearing a furry scarf, and two young lads in tow are a bit too edgy for the Brixton pound. Whatever, the Prince Albert ain't gonna turn us away and we luckily find a table. It's fun in here what with the trendies hanging posing, the real locals chattin and drinkin and the beautiful young things dancing to the on point tunes. One of whom strokes Ollys fur as she passes and briefly flirts with him. Hmmm, don't take that the wrong way Sheren, I mean the furry scarf thingy. Me and Joe chat about Bath. He went to my school and bizarrely he asks if I knew Ms Anderson who was my chemistry teacher. She was newly qualified then and has just retired. Wow. Apparently she never did learn to control 15 year olds and stop them blowing down the bunsen burner gas pipes or smoke out the window. A bit sad really and it made me feel slightly guilty about how we used to tease her. After a couple we get the tube home to Balham where Olly and I leave the young uns in the burger shop that I refuse to name. Joe's veggie but still buy's their chips. Sorry, french fries. They are unreasonably excited that you can order from a large screen. The place is rammed with 15 year olds and it's 2am. Crazy. Sad. Me and my cuddle partner hot foot down to the Bedford for a last one and the boys miss last orders. Ha! Justice is done. After we are turfed out by the over zealous security staff we wander home for a last brandy then off to bed. Olly's up early to jog round Tooting Common. They make em hard up north.

Here's a rubbish photo. Sorry but I'm not getting a new phone just for the odd gig photo.

Frank and his Rattlesnakes