Week 19 - Wednesday 11th May – Coal Exchange, Cardiff – Devlin - £11.50
“Isn’t it a wonder that this building was the place where the first £1,000,000 cheque was written?”
As anyone who’s ever met the two of us will tell you, I can pass for a grime fan pretty well. The attitude, the frown, the piercings, the muscles, the tattoos, the lingo and the little pointless shaven lines in my hair may all be missing, but I do know three Dizzee Rascal songs. Sandro is another matter entirely. With his long hair, beard and wide vocabulary, he’s about as grime as Tim Westwood, so I, knowing that we grime fans can be violent and unfriendly to outsiders, had a job on my hands to get him through the night unscathed.
Sandro and I had earlier met at The George and I taught him ‘the way of Grime’ by requesting my second favourite song, Fatman Scoop’s ‘Put Your Hands Up’ . We took a taxi to the Coal Exchange fairly early, and it was then that Sandro pronounced his awe at the great history of the building, and its significant role within the coal industry back when Cardiff was the biggest coal port in the world. Lots of youngsters with shaved heads turned and stared at us with bemused looks and arched eyebrows.
“Ye, innit wicked bruv. Word,” I replied, saving our lives brilliantly.
In reality though, if Gigaweek has taught me anything, and I do scratch my head sometimes, it’s not to presume anything about anybody. Rather than being full of negativity and vague prejudices, it’s much better to have an open and clear mind to begin (which isn’t difficult for me), and only slag everybody off behind their backs later.
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Inside, the 1,000 capacity venue was far from full, but the couple of hundred or so who were present at the time had taken the refreshing step of standing grouped directly in front of the stage where a DJ was warming them up, as opposed to scattered around the arena in pockets a la many indie crowds. I was also relieved to see a set of drums and a couple of guitars on stage. Another encouraging sight was an empty bar. Having been through the rigmarole of queuing in Camden last week for a beer that was likely to cost upwards of £4, here we were spoiled with instant service and downwards of £4 a pint.
Based on the ease of beer purchase, and the appearance of those present, it was fair to say that a significant percentage of the mostly male audience were under 18, but this was a crowd plucked from the opposite end of the social spectrum to those that populated the You Me At Six gig we’d started the year with. Dark, gelled, spiky haired heads were replaced by mostly shaven ones; ‘Emo-band of the moment’ shirts were replaced by polo shirts; and bad postures and skinny arms were replaced by bad postures and slightly more muscly arms.
Conscious of my bad posture and skinny arms, I followed Sandro, with his bad posture and more muscly arms to the fringes of the crowd. The DJ introduced the first support act, straight out of the ghetto, it was none other than Ghetts, who took to the stage with glee, wearing dark shades and a huge gold chain around his neck. He rapped ‘til his heart was content and the crowd lapped it up. I’ve no idea what his tunes were called, but Ghetts knew his audience, and he worked them well.
Ghetts was followed by Dogzilla, who was accompanied on stage by a guitarist which brought a bit of familiarity to proceedings.
Dogzilla, aka Dogzy or Dog Z, is a tad fatter than your average MC, which may be why he wasn’t on stage for particularly long. While he was on, he was quite entertaining so it was a surprise when he left so early. Little did I know then that he had a trick up his extra large sleeve.
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Devlin appeared on stage to delight the crowd, accompanied by two guitarists, a drummer and a female singer. Hailing from the mean streets of Dagenham, our Dev was apparently spotted by none other than Dogzilla, and brought into Dogzy’s Outakers (O.T) crew at the tender age of 15. Devlin then joined a group of other MCs who were big news in the grime world, in a collective known as The Movement, which also featured the one and only Ghetts.
His debut album, Bud, Sweat & Beers, was out last year and was well received in the grime world, and the real world too, but shockingly I hadn’t given it much of a listen prior to the gig. My ignorance knows no bounds however, and I was surprised how much I enjoyed the gig, and how accessible the music seemed. Of course, I could rarely make out more than a few consecutive words at a time, what with Devlin cramming in about ten per second, but I have it on good authority that he’s a lyrical genius (Sandro).
It seemed like an amalgamation of several different genres at once, and I couldn’t name any of them. All I knew was that beats were being broken at a furious rate, and we had to adapt to our surroundings quickly in order to avoid sticking out like a pair of badly bruised thumbs with pink polished nails. There was a whole different kind of dancing to what we’re used to, including the use of plenty of ‘finger-guns’. I cocked my thumb and joined in shooting imaginary bullets at the ceiling. “When in Rome eh?” I said to Sandro, who praised my shooting skills and pulled out his sawn-off.
The band stuck around for only a couple of songs before disappearing, although they did return later on. Devlin also reintroduced Ghetts and Dogzilla. Ghetts only stuck around for one song, whereas Dogzilla stayed a bit longer, before taking his own leave and allowing Devlin to finish on his own. He finished with an impressive freestyle as part of his encore, and despite not having a clue what he'd said, I cheered, clapped and capped the ceiling along with the rest of the crowd.
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Pleased with another entertaining and illuminating gig, Sandro and I decided to walk home. Passing through town on the way, we ignored the pull of the fast food chains and instead stopped at Spar to pick up a sandwich. When I exited, Sandro was in deep discussion with three youngsters who were sat on a bench on the corner of Queen Street. They looked like they’d been plucked straight out of west Baltimore, and apparently they’d been hassling some poor soul, before the big S had intervened.
“Whas goin’ on bruv?” I demanded as I swaggered over.
“These kids are causing trouble,” Sandro said.
I knew it was time for our good cop/bad cop routine so I eased off on the grime attitude.
“Is there a problem children?” I said pleasantly.
“Yeah, who are you bro?” one of them replied rudely.
“I’m his partner,” I said in character.
“Sounds a bit gay,” Sandro whispered.
“I mean brother. I’m his brother,” I clarified. “It’s a bit late kids, why don’t you scurry on home.”
“Yeah kids, piss off home, mummy’s probably terrified,” Sandro added.
“Pfft! Where are you two from?” one of the boys asked.
“Gabalfa,” I replied, boosting our street cred.
“Ahh, yeah, I know it well,” one boy said, before naming two or three streets to show off his knowledge.
“Yeah, they're in the general vicinity,” I guessed.
“How old are you?” one of the others asked.
“We ask the questions round here squirt,” Sandro said glowering.
It was getting tense. I didn’t like an enquiring mind, and they were wearing hooded tops.
“I’m twenty four,” I replied proudly.
“Really? No way!” the boy said in awe, “No way are you that old!”
“Well I did shave a few months ago,” I said stroking the baby-like skin of my chin. “How old are you?” I asked in return.
“Fifteen,” the boy replied.
“Jesus Christ! Fifteen! It’s a school night you know!?”
For some unexplained reason, without warning or provocation, one of the children suddenly decided to kick me.
I stood silently in astonishment for a few moments.
“What just happened? Did you just kick me!?” I eventually said.
People usually resist the impulse to kick me.
There was a period of silence.
“Did you just kick me?” I repeated. I was suffering from shock.
Just then, a police car drove by with its lights flashing and siren blaring.
“Shit! It’s the federals!” one of the boys said, and all three of them sprang from the bench and scarpered.
“O! I didn’t kick you hard did I mate? I didn't kick you hard,” the boy called back as he fled the scene of the crime.
“Did you just kick me?” I said once more.
There was no reply. They’d disappeared without a trace, leaving us to reflect with a mixture of amusement and bemusement.
--
“Did we just play a game of cops and robbers with a bunch of kids who are still young enough to be playing cops and robbers?” Sandro wondered aloud.“Did a fifteen year old boy just kick me, before the three of them ran away because they thought the ‘federals’ were on to them?”
Yes we did, yes he did and yes they did. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
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May
30-6 - Camden Crawl - ✓
7-13 - Devlin - ✓
14-20 - Beatles For Sale
21-27 - Manic Street Preachers
28-3 - We Are Scientists
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