Week 1

Week 1 - Thursday 6th January - Cardiff Students' Union: The Great Hall, Cardiff - You Me At Six - £15

“When we began, we knew we would have to make sacrifices. . .”

Thus spoke the wise Sandro, on the eve of our first gig of 2011. I’d had my doubts. I’d wondered if it were possible. I’d wondered if it was worthwhile. I’d even wondered if I’d need to shave before my 25th birthday. But not for the first time, and surely not the last, I was oh so wrong on all three counts.

Before beginning the Gigaweek challenge, we had both known that the first week of January may well be the most awkward. For pubs, clubs and music venues it’s the hangover to the saturated holiday period, and it ain’t pretty, especially with me and Sandro sniffing around. Particularly Sandro. Have you seen his beard?

I’d scoured the listings (i.e. 2 websites) without success, and I’d rung around the houses (my cousin’s and my Grampy’s). They had nothing. 

Although I suspected my Grampy was withholding information. There was something about the way he said, “What the bloody hell are you talking about you daft bugger?” that I just didn’t buy.

Cardiff. Nothing. Bristol. Nothing. Swansea. Thankfully, nothing again. . .

The landscape was barren, and those were the only three places I could think of.

We needed inspiration. We needed heroes. We needed, You Me At Six.

Desperate times call for desperate bands, and You Me At Six were as desperate as Desperate Dan at a conference on desperation (but not as desperate as I was for a good simile).

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You Me At Six (who henceforth will be referred to as YMAS, purely because we saw them after XMAS (I'm dreading ZMAS )) were an unknown quantity to me. I’d not heard of them until a listing for their gig at Cardiff University popped up at the 11th hour. 10:59 to be precise.

(Having not heard of them is not a failing of theirs I’d like to point out, my hearing's always been poor.)

With The Globe’s Twenty4Eleven festival failing to produce a named artist for their 20 days of live music (and therefore not being eligible under the rules of Gigaweek), YMAS were our only option.

I had to find out more. So I called on my most trusted of friends. 

Google. 

You didn’t think I had real friends did you? I’m going to see YMAS after all (no offence intended to the other losers who went to see YMAS).

So I googled. When I read that You Me At Six were teaming up with Chiddy Bang for their new single, I could barely contain my excitement. Contain it I did though. So well in fact, that if you’d witnessed the blank expression on my face as I read the news, you’d have been forgiven for thinking that I was unmoved.

But how could one possibly be unmoved at such a revelation? You Me At Six and Chiddy Bang? On the same record? I’m no expert, and I’d not heard of either of them, but this had best single ever written all over it.

Not according to YMAS fans though, many of whom feel that this hip-hop collaboration means the band have ‘sold out’.

But what kind of music do they make when they aren't fraternising with rappers? The South Wales Echo suggested Pop-Punk. 

Ahh, Pop-Punk, of course.

Like all resourceful researchers, my next port of call was Wikipedia. Reading the following excerpt on the bands Wikipedia page filled me with trepidation: 

'In their early material they incorporated elements of screaming and faster riffs, as placed upon their emo/pop punk musical style as one can expect in the post-hardcore genre.' 

Oh dear. 

Oh dear, oh dear.

Obviously, I was sweating by now. Emo/pop punk musical style? Elements of screaming and faster riffs? The post-hardcore genre? Are these real things? Which element of screaming? Not the loud bit I hope.


I felt like I’d aged forty odd years in the space of fifteen seconds. I quickly checked a mirror in hope, but no, I hadn't suddenly managed to grow a moustache for the first time.

Emo-music eh? Is it really a valid genre of music? Or is it just a bunch of teens with dodgy, skewed hair cuts and pouting pierced faces? Were these just more preconceptions of mine? Do people enjoy the sound of screaming? Did the post-hardcore genre have anything to do with pornography? These were questions that could only be answered by a gig.

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On our journey there, Sandro admitted that he’d never felt more embarrassed going to a gig in his life, and he’s a veteran of at least a dozen years worth.

“You shouldn’t be so judgemental,” I said to him. “It could be good.” 

“You misunderstand me,” he replied. “I meant, because I’m going with you.”

“There’s fifty more where this came from,” I warned him ominously.

Our tickets read 'Strictly over 14 years old only', which was reassuring. On entering the venue, it was apparent that a healthy proportion of the attendees were barely over 14 years old. “Come along, Kiddie Winkies!” I heard someone say as we walked in. The writing was on the wall, and the wall read 'Oh dear lord, this is going to be horrendous'.

Considering he was twice the age of half of them, I thought Sandro blended in rather well. He shared his immediate impressions on entering The Great Hall. 

“I've never seen a bigger bunch of losers in all my life.”

I've found my crowd, I thought to myself.

We’d arrived too late for the first support act, who were apparently called Not Advised, but we did catch the entire set of the second support band. They were called Canterbury, although by the end of their performance, Sandro had given them a slightly ruder alias. It’s not too difficult to guess (think James Naughtie).

They were notable mainly for the fact that Rupert Grint appeared to be their drummer. Interestingly, Sandro discovered that they were Rock Sound’s band of the week on November 24th 2009. Fancy that. They’re only youngsters though, and they’re giving their album 'Thank You' away for free online, so how could I possibly slag them off? 

Their front-man did seem like a bit of a knob though.

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You Me At Six’s front-man went by the name of Josh Franceschi. An Ice Hockey player’s name if ever there was one. They began in barnstorming fashion, setting the air alight with a spine-tingling rendition of, err, their first song. They followed this with another song called, something, and guess what came next? No, I don’t know either. But whatever it was, the crowd loved it. 

Sadly, Chiddy Bang weren’t in town so ‘Rescue Me’ didn’t get an airing (Who am I kidding, I wouldn’t have known either way).

The vast crowd were already in thrall, when midway through their set, during an extended interlude, Franceschi attempted to whip them into further fervour. He did so effortlessly, using an unexpected trump card: Nando’s. 

In a moment that said more about this audience than I could possibly convey with a thousand words, the crowd went wild at the mere mention of the band’s daytime lunch trip to Nando's. That's right, the Portuguese Peri-Peri chicken chain. One carefully planned mention triggered whoops and cheers comparable to those you might expect if a member of One Direction emerged from a 14 year old girl’s birthday cake.

He went on to explain how they’d been served by a waitress called Grace who apparently had “big bazoombas”. I heaved a sigh of relief at these words. I’d feel infinitely less guilty about taking the piss out of them now. 

The crowd were also delighted as Franceschi later gave ‘shout-outs’ to such acclaimed contemporaries as Attack! Attack!, The Blackout and Kids in Glass Houses. If you were still wondering what kind of music YMAS make (and let’s be honest, we both know my descriptions wouldn’t have helped much), if you place them somewhere between those three bands, you’re on the right track. He also mentioned that they’d be supporting Blink 182 this summer, who they cite as one of their major influences. I was mildly impressed. Mildly.

YMAS rattled along with more crowd pleasing numbers. One of them was definitely called, ‘Save it For The Bedroom’ and another must’ve been called ‘Finders Keepers’. They all seemed to do a similar job of keeping the audience entertained. 

Their music wasn’t to our distinguished tastes, but both Sandro and I were in agreement that they deserved praise. They created a buzz and they connected with their fans, which is more than can be said about plenty of bands I like, but have found underwhelming live. YMAS definitely whelmed.


Nevertheless, I was pretty certain that after this gig I wouldn't ever intentionally listen to a YMAS record.

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My reputation as a cool dude (which exists in my own head only) took a further blow during the gig. Toward the end, a scrawny, desperate looking young buck approached me and Sandro, clutching a £20 note, as though it was his most prized possession. 

“Excuse me,” he began. “Would you please buy me just one bottle of Bulmers, please Sir?” he asked nervously, but politely. I was particularly impressed by his overuse of the word please.

“Ahh, wouldn't they serve you?” I patronised.

“Aren’t you 18 yet?” Sandro asked in mock surprise.

“I’m 17!” the boy said, with what seemed like fierce pride, though he was convincing no one. He was 8 at the most. 

I can honestly say that in the past whenever I’ve had similar requests from anyone underage, usually gobby 10 year olds outside a shop (“Oh, bruv! Get us some fags!” more a demand than a request I suppose), I’ve politely declined and walked on, bracing myself in anticipation of the impact of a well aimed choc ice to the back of my head (in truth, that’s only happened once).

On this occasion however, I took pity on the poor scamp, and agreed to buy his cider. Maybe it was just pity. If you’re on the receiving end of my pity, then truly you must be a pitiful case. I think the boy may have started to realise this, as he began to cry.  

Maybe it was because I recognised myself in the boy, particularly his scrawniness and desperation. Or maybe it was because the 330ml bottles of Bulmers were £3.50 (more than a penny a millilitre!), and in my spitefulness I wanted to punish him. 

Principally though, I believe it was because of Gigaweek. The first gig of Gigaweek seemed like the perfect time to break with tradition. It felt right to go to a gig I expected to be shite, for the first time, and it felt right to go against my better judgement, and encourage this child along the path of alcoholism.

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We took stock of events over a not so swift pint in The Woodville. Despite enjoying the night, my doubts about Gigaweek briefly resurfaced. Maybe we should've stuck to the more selective policy of only going to gigs we want to. I put this thought to Sandro who replied with a swift slap to my face. It shook me to my senses.

How could I have such blasphemous thoughts?

“Have you not listened to a single lyric Josh Franceschi has sung?” Sandro asked passionately. 

(It must have been a rhetorical question because he talked over my answer of, “um, not really.”) 

“His lyrics of indolence and despair? Loneliness and desolation?” 

So that’s what the song ‘Save It For The Bedroom’ is about, I thought to myself. 

“These are by-products of inactivity!”  he proclaimed.

“I’m not inactive,” I protested. “I actively avoid activity.”

I protested too much. Even as I spoke I knew I had been wrong to question the wisdom of Gigaweek. Of course it was a positive influence. Had I really reached a crisis of confidence within the first week? Or was I just dramatising my feelings in a misguided attempt at humour? 

Either way, I needed that slap in the face, and as so often has been the case, Sandro had been a willing slapper. You Me At Six had triumphed over our cynicism, and for that they have our respect, if not our love.

Actually, they do have Sandro’s love. He said they’re better than Radiohead, but not quite as good as S-Club 7.

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January

1-7 - You Me At Six - ✓
8-14 -?
15-21 -?
22-28 -?