Thursday, 16 December 2010
221 SUGAR, Adorable, Venus Beads, London Kentish Town Town And Country Club, Sunday 27 September 1992
A hugely anticipated gig to see Sugar, the band who've tore up 1992, with this year's best single and album by miles. A good journey up listening to live footy on the radio got us there in time for Venus Beads' rocking but hardly original guitar set. Got the beers in instead!
Popped up onto the balcony for Adorable's set. Vocalist Piotr, again sporting a thin black tie and beige leather box jacket (apparently a homage to the dead one out of 60's cult TV programme "Randall And Hopkirk (Deceased)"), tore into the set with enthusiasm and passion, and pulled off a fine home win. Adorable, despite poor sound, were vital, fresh and exciting, with a swagger and style, and an excellent rendition of best number "Sunshine Smile" which even prompted old cynic Dave Bevan to comment on its' excellence. Top stuff, but even better was to come...
We stayed up on the balcony as Sugar took the stage; vocalist Bob Mould, looking more like the gigantic monolith of Husker Du days than the slimmer figure on his recent "Workbook" tour; Malcolm Travis, a constantly blinking unfocused drummer with forearms like hams; and Dave Barbe, resembling an ex-con with a boxers nose, cropped hair and five o'clock shadow. The three casually ambled onstage unannounced, donned instruments, then literally tore into the set like a pack of tinder wolves.
"The Act We Act", "A Good Idea", "Changes", the triumphant opening triumvirate to their awesome album "Copper Blue", plus 2 newer numbers, blasted by without pause, by which time I was downstairs and in the moshpit, hammering away for all I was worth. The set was raw, passionate, angry, mesmeric, UNBELIEVABLY LOUD, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant! Virtually all of "Copper Blue", at least half a dozen new numbers, mostly delivered by Barbe's rasping voice, each one a nugget of sonic overload rock'n'roll of the highest calibre. 2 encores, culminating in a jaw-dropping "JC Auto", which culminated in Mould bellowing, "I'm no Jesus Christ, I'm not," to a frenzied sell out crowd convinced of his divinity. Then, "thanks," and it was over.