Week 16 – Thursday 21st April – Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff – Metronomy (£10, plus an 'approximate' booking fee of £2.12)
“You’re too drunk and you’re practically falling asleep. Go home and go to bed!”
I’d heard these words more than once before, but usually they're uttered by women, and usually they're correct. Tonight however, the words were neither correct nor delivered by one of the fairer sex. But more on that later. . .
It was a lovely and warm Maundy Thursday and there were two upcoming Bank Holidays over the Easter Weekend which wouldn't waste themselves. It seemed like a good Thursday to get drunk.
I met the beloved Sandro in the beer garden of The Pen & Wig, where I was surprised to find him drinking alcohol. As I made my way to the bar, I noticed a familiar face in the form of a flustered looking Flapjack, who was in the process of being served by the exceedingly busy bar staff.
He was sweating, panting, and badly bruised. Though I tried to duck away before he caught sight of me, Flapjack called me over, revealing that he’d been waiting nigh on half an hour at the bar. He generously offered to buy my pint to save me from the same fate. What a nice man.
I met the beloved Sandro in the beer garden of The Pen & Wig, where I was surprised to find him drinking alcohol. As I made my way to the bar, I noticed a familiar face in the form of a flustered looking Flapjack, who was in the process of being served by the exceedingly busy bar staff.
He was sweating, panting, and badly bruised. Though I tried to duck away before he caught sight of me, Flapjack called me over, revealing that he’d been waiting nigh on half an hour at the bar. He generously offered to buy my pint to save me from the same fate. What a nice man.
Little P, the unfortunate sister of P. Mushy, was also present, but suffered no such problem. She was served by a friend quicker than you can say “Flapjack! Look at that cheeky mare, she’s being served really quickly!”. Unimpressed by this example of blatant nepotism, Flapjack poured his beer over Little P’s head and disappeared in tears.
Sandro and I were then joined by Gavlova and Dante Tyte and the four of us made the walk from The Pen to Clwb Ifor Bach, which was where band of the moment Metronomy were performing. When we arrived, support act Ghostpoet was on stage in front of a fairly packed audience.
It was certainly no place for a coat. Having wisely ignored the lure of the cloak room I nonchalantly threw mine into the crowd, before taking the unusual step of buying a drink.
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It was certainly no place for a coat. Having wisely ignored the lure of the cloak room I nonchalantly threw mine into the crowd, before taking the unusual step of buying a drink.
Presumably due to the presence of 14-17 year olds, there was a one drink per wristband policy (I'd been ID'd before they’d reluctantly given me my wrist band), and Dante was unimpressed when the burly barman tried to prevent him from buying Gavlova’s drink. The word ‘jobsworth’ may even have been used.
“I’m just doing my job,” he defended himself.
“Do I look like the kind of pillock who goes around buying drinks for 17 year olds?!” Dante replied. I hid my face.
As much respect as we all had for Ghostpoet (truly the finest of all the dead poets), the heat was too much to handle and we had to get out of the kitchen, so we slipped back outside for some fresh air. Unfortunately the fresh air was full of smoke, but at least it was cool smoke.
When we returned, time was ticking away and Metronomy were imminent. The room was now completely packed and it was even hotter, but I desperately retrieved my coat from a desperate, shivering naked man (Sandro) and we respectfully forced our way toward the front of the crowd.
When we settled, to our surprise and delight, no more than 6 feet away were The Wendys and Buster Douglas, literally soaking up the atmosphere. (Is that acceptable? I literally don’t know whether I should have used the word literally in that sentence. I’m literally all over the place, have you seen me? I’m literally talking shit now. Sorry, I’ll clean my teeth.)
I illiterately said hello, before adopting the penguin stance.
Expectations were high for Metronomy. Dante had described them as one of his favourite ever live bands, and their 3rd album, The English Riviera, had just come out to much of the usual hoo-ha from the critics. Many stars were awarded and very few marks out of ten were left unused, plus Sandro had given them ‘Top Banana’, his most coveted award.
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Joseph Mount is the Devonian musician who Dan described as “the Man. He basically is Metronomy.” The founding member of the band, singer, guitarist, keyboardist, writer, composer and producer. Apart from that, apparently he does sweet FA. We shouldn't downplay the contributions of the other 3 members of the band of course, driver, roadie and Johnny Drama.
Despite a critically acclaimed second album, 2008’s Nights Out, Metronomy remained pretty much off my radar, and I wasn’t sure if their electronic stylings were really to my old-fashioned tastes (apparently this thing called dancing was encouraged).
My concerns were unfounded. Mainly because we were too tightly packed to do much dancing, but also because they were good. So good in fact, that they were very good. So very good in fact, that they were good.
My concerns were unfounded. Mainly because we were too tightly packed to do much dancing, but also because they were good. So good in fact, that they were very good. So very good in fact, that they were good.
Good is understating it actually, they were awesome. Full of energy, invention, ideas and infectious tunes. I’d say nobody went home unhappy, but Gavlova was there and he was still grumbling about Cloud Nothings’ sideways drummer. They bent genres like Uri Gellar bends the truth; electro, indie, electro-indie, disco, dance, electro-indie-disco-dance, electro-spoon-bending, you name it, somebody’s made it into a genre, and Metronomy can play it.
An entertaining accompaniment to the music was provided in the form of the synchronised chest-bound lights that were worn by each member of the band, and flashed in time with the music to create an impressive light show.
An entertaining accompaniment to the music was provided in the form of the synchronised chest-bound lights that were worn by each member of the band, and flashed in time with the music to create an impressive light show.
The English Riviera’s relatively slow burners 'We Broke Free' and 'Love Underlined' got things going before a couple of dancey numbers from Nights Out. There was a pretty even mix of tunes from 2nd and 3rd albums throughout, the sole exception being the excellent instrumental 'You Could Easily Have Me' from debut album Pip Paine (Pay The £5000 You Owe).
Everything they played had a dance element to it, with plenty of tunes that had the crowd jiggling in every direction, including Nights Out’s 'My Heart Rate Rapid' and The English Riviera’s 'Corinne', but recent single 'The Look' especially, made my pants want to get up and dance more than Dr. Hook ever did.
Holiday was a highlight, with Mount’s distorted vocals making it clear that he was in no mood for monogamy. “So you want me to yourself, well you must know, that won’t happen,” which is a shame because I think he’d make a fine husband, ladies.
Mount engaged with the crowd throughout, sadly without a “m’lover” in sight. He made it clear that they weren’t going to fuss about with an encore, and the decision to play straight through was welcomed by all in Clwb’s sauna, especially those within sight of a sweaty, naked Sandro.
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Impressed with Metronomy, we headed to glam for its famed Indie Night, where I intended to try out some of my new dance ideas, such as the Pigeon and the Zoidberg. Unfortunately, as you’ve probably guessed, it wasn’t to be.
Sandro had disappeared and planned to meet us inside, but decided to offload his trusty rucksack to me (no, that's not a euphemism). I queued with Dante and Gav who were ushered in ahead of me, before the doorman asked me what was in the bag.
“I dunno,” I answered carelessly. “It’s my brothers. Clothes I expect.”
“Open it up,” he commanded.
“Ok, sure. Hmmm, where’s the zip?” I said aloud, fumbling with the bag.
After a while searching in vain for the zip’s slider, the doorman lost patience.
“Go over to him,” he grunted at me, showing me to a 2nd doorman, whose name was Knobhead. As I walked over to him cheerily, he unhooked the velvet barrier rope from its pole, and told me to go for a walk and have something to eat.
“That’s a very nice suggestion of you, but actually I was intending to go in there,” I replied happily.
“You’re too drunk. Go for a walk and have something to eat,” Knobhead reiterated.
I could scarcely believe my ears. Moi, drunk? Sacrebleu! I’d only had 6 drinks, and I can manage at least 7 before becoming a drunken mess. However, I decided not to argue.
Partly because I was hungry and the idea of going for a walk to have something to eat appealed to me, but mainly because he was bigger than me and probably better at arguing.
Partly because I was hungry and the idea of going for a walk to have something to eat appealed to me, but mainly because he was bigger than me and probably better at arguing.
So I went for a walk, and I had something to eat. After about 20-30 minutes I returned triumphantly, looking forward to sharing the news with Knobhead that I’d taken his advice. I was pleased to see he was still there and he obviously recognized me because on sight he unhooked the rope once more.
“Ahh, Knobhead! Is that the VIP entrance is it?”
“Go home mate,” Knobhead said.
I was astonished.
“W-What?” I couldn’t believe it, “Why?”
“You’re too drunk, go home, and go to bed,” he said.
He’d changed.
“What do you mean? I’m not even drunk! I took your advice and had some food!” I slurred.
“Go home mate,” he repeated.
At that point Sandro appeared, having entered Glam while I was gone. I’d made him aware of my predicament via the joy of text.
“Is it because of the bag mate?” he asked Knobhead.
“No, he’s too drunk,” the stubborn bouncer replied.
“I’m not drunk, I’m just friendly,” I defended myself.
“I saw you! You were practically falling asleep in the queue,” he said slanderously.
“Knobhead, that’s a blatant lie and you know it,” I said aghast.
“He’s only had 6 pints. I can vouch for him,” Sandro vowed.
Knobhead looked at him in bemusement. “I don’t even know you!”
Shockingly Knobhead isn’t one of the 5 people who read Gigaweek.
“Google me!” Sandro said, confusing himself briefly with Danny Cipriani, to no avail.
Sandro and I briefly looked at each other with puzzled expressions. There was no getting around it. Knobhead was adamant that I wouldn’t be going inside, so the question was whether I was worth the hassle of everyone else leaving, and heading elsewhere.
Sandro and I briefly looked at each other with puzzled expressions. There was no getting around it. Knobhead was adamant that I wouldn’t be going inside, so the question was whether I was worth the hassle of everyone else leaving, and heading elsewhere.
Nearly an hour later, I completed the long, lonely walk home. . .
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April
2-8 - The Sunshine Underground - ✓
9-15 - Pete & The Pirates - ✓
16-22 - Metronomy - ✓
23-29 - Beady Eye
2-8 - The Sunshine Underground - ✓
9-15 - Pete & The Pirates - ✓
16-22 - Metronomy - ✓
23-29 - Beady Eye
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