Week 8 - Part 1

Week 8 – Wednesday 23^rd and Friday 25^th February – The Globe, Cardiff  & Clwb Ifor Bach – Les Savy Fav & Frankie & The Heartstrings (Presented by SWN)

“Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty.”

Part One - Les Savy Fav

I always thought hair gel was just for vain, self obsessed, navel gazing fools, but then, during one of my hour long sessions in front of the mirror, I tried some, and realised I looked ridiculously good looking. Sandro recommended an eye test.

Les Savy Fav’s beautiful front man Tim Harrington understands exactly what Derek Zoolander was referring to when he spoke of the importance of wetness, and as I was to find out to my cost, moisture is crucial to his band’s live performances. Aided by their moistness or not, Les Savy Fav unexpectedly made tonight’s gig undoubtedly one of the best I’ve ever been to.

But enough about that, it has been pointed out to me that in recent weeks there has been an increase in attention paid to the musical side of our Gigaweek misadventures, with more talk of the songs and musicians we encounter than of the extracurricular activities that had offered some fascinating and vital insights previously.

For this I apologise profusely. It was not my intention, there just haven’t been many interesting Taxi rides recently.

With Cardiff’s Taxi community clearly wary of potentially devastating criticism from an influential figure as myself, I felt it was wise to engage the services of everyone’s favourite amateur chauffer, Parge, who volunteered (at gunpoint) to transport me and Sandro, along with our associates P. Mushy and Cousin Bish, to The Royal George in Roath for our pre-gig pint (or two).

At The George, making his first Gigaweek appearance of the season, Cousin Bish reluctantly discussed skippering Gareth Bale and winning our school’s player of the year award, (“for the second year running, did I mention?”) even with Bale in the team. Fresh from his exploits in the Champions League, Sandro seemed unimpressed.

(Following a recent poll, Cousin Bish can now add Gigaweek’s award for Febuary’s biggest loser to his burgeoning trophy cabinet.)

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It had been a long time coming, but at last our eagerly anticipated first double Gigaweek arrived. The first leg of the double header began with a return to The Globe to see Les Savy Fav, an American band who’ve released five albums since their first in 1997, and yet have somehow managed to remain under our collective radar.


We arrived at The Globe midway through the set of the first supporting band Truckers of Husk, initially taking a tip-toe view from the upstairs balcony. Admittedly, without being too gripped by what we saw of their mostly instrumental math-rock, it was hard not to be impressed in particular by their drummer, who was a ball of furious energy (think Animal from The Muppets), and appeared to be the leader of the band, even if he was understandably breathless between songs. 


I took up a position on the stairs that border the left hand side of the theatre (facing the stage) to enjoy their last couple of songs, before all four of us moved downstairs in time for the second band, a move that would later prove to be very wise indeed.


The other supporting band were Young Legionnaire. A trio dressed in ridiculously tight jeans comprising members of La Roux, The Automatic and Bloc Party. The latter two seemed to be in competition for the world’s worst facial hair (I’m not just saying that becaues I'm jealous of their ability to grown any), with Bloc Party’s bassist sporting a moustache members of We Are Scientists would be disgusted by. 


The beardy singer from The Automatic showed off a Mackem accent (not to be confused with the dramatically different Geordie accent) and spoke of an affinity to Cardiff having lived here for 3 years, so without wanting to criticise too heavily, it’s fair to say they weren’t the most entertaining band. 


“They're fucking shit,” was Sandro’s verdict. 


Still, they did generate a lot of noise. Well done boys.


In their defence, I think it’s safe to say that anyone would suffer by comparison with the man who was about to show everyone present exactly what a natural front man is.

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If you’ve heard of them (or googled them), then you’ll know that Les Savy Fav have a reputation for being a fantastic live band. So much so that it wasn’t necessary to be familiar with their music, although that didn’t stop me or Sandro trying to catch up on some of their output beforehand. Sure, I would recommend listening to their albums, but not as much as I’d recommend going to one of their gigs. Even if you’re not a fan of the post-hardcore genre, which has become the default genre of choice as far as Gigaweek is concerned, I would be shocked if you didn’t enjoy a Les Savy Fav live show.

Without meaning to disparage their music, or ignore the roles played by rest of the band, the main reason for that recommendation is the personality of Tim Harrington. They do have some catchy tunes and witty lyrics too, as their quality singles collection Inches shows, and no matter how entertaining the front man is, if the music is bad, the gig is bad. They’ve released a couple of albums since that collection, and played a mix of new and old material that did the job of keeping our heads bobbing and our brains interested, while the antics of the singer kept faces smiling.

It didn’t take long for those antics to begin. After informing the crowd that they’d never played in Cardiff before, and mentioning the Welsh language (always a talking point for foreign singers), I wasn’t sure if he’d made a faux pas, or was just toyfully playing with the crowd when he asked “Cardiff, England” if it was ready to party, to a chorus of boos. Maybe it was a savvy faux pas.

As they launched into their first song he removed his T-Shirt, revealing an impressive gut, and surprising lack of moobs, then stepped off the stage for the first of several trips into the crowd, continuing right into the thick of things, and embracing one gleeful onlooker, before singing through another’s long hair.

Returning to the stage he covered up his sweaty torso as he pulled on another T-Shirt, although within minutes he’d ripped it in half so that his belly was back on show (what a relief). Without meaning to insult Mr Harrington, he basically looks like a taller, fatter Paul Giamatti. No offence to Paul either, who I know is an avid reader. Sandro would consider that a compliment, although he rejected suggestions that he was a look-alike for Harrington himself, and quite right too. Sandro’s hair and beard combo is vastly superior to Harrington’s Mugatu look.

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With belly bared, the temptation to leap to the stage and bite him was too much to bear for one fan. 


“She bit me on my perineum!” Harrington said in mock shock. “. . . I don’t even know where that is.” 


It seemed like whether you wanted it or not, you were gonna end up with this man’s belly sweat on your face. As the music continued apace, looking over to our corner stage right, tiny Tim gestured to Sandro to down the remainder of his can. Sandro politely declined, and continued drinking at the same pace. When he next looked over though and pointed in my direction, my friendly nodded acknowledgement clearly didn’t appease Tim’s lust for mischief. 


'Uh oh,' I thought as he disappeared back stage.


It was like a scene from Jaws. I looked left and right, but he was nowhere to be seen. And then, without warning, I turned to see a look of pure horror on Cousin Bish’s face. Harrington had reappeared behind us and had forced his head and upper torso up the back of Cousin Bish’s shirt. “Get your own T-Shirt!” Cousin Bish squealed, “This one’s only big enough for one!”


Harrington then took a set of portable steps from the side of the stage, placed them directly in front of me and climbed them so his belly was at face-level. At this range I could see the individual hairs on his midriff, each gleaming with sweat. I could even see his perineum. I think.


Naturally therefore, P. Mushy couldn’t resist pushing my head into the welcoming belly, which I was immensely grateful for. Harrington was singing into the ceiling and didn’t seem to notice, so I withdrew my face and wiped my dripping cheek. Smiling stupidly, I wondered if I’d ever be the same again.


One of Harrington’s many other forays into the audience saw him at the bar, while another found him singing while leaning over the balcony rail upstairs. All the while he was constantly in contact with many members of the crowd, most of whom were delighted, although there was one notable exception toward the end of the night. From the top of the stairs he cleaned out everyone standing on it, by backing into them using the power of his larger than average backside.


Most of those dislodged happily moved aside but one woman took particular offence and refused to be budged, despite Tim’s best efforts. He then offered the mic back and fore and they had a duet of sorts. She was obviously extremely annoyed, and being a lip reader, I had to avert my eyes from the colourful language she was clearly using. 


Later on she did seem to accept an apology from Harrington who of course hadn’t intended to upset anyone. Sadly, he didn’t apologise to me for engulfing my face with his belly, or to an emotionally knackered Cousin Bish for scarring him for life.


His final act consisted of dressing in a flatteringly tight Tiger costume for the last few songs, while multiple fans stage dived without anyone batting an eyelid. It looked like he even left the building altogether, microphone in hand, during their final song. It was a fittingly bizarre end, to a thoroughly entertaining performance.


It was wet, and it was beautiful.

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Part 2 - To be continued