Week 30

Week 30 – Friday 29^th July - Eddie Spaghetti - Thekla, Bristol - £10

“Sergio Leone would have loved this. . .”

Once upon a time in the West Country, the man with no name joined his orang-utan like brother in crossing the border for the first time in a month. In the vein of all great Spaghetti Westerns, and in the vein of all great Gigaweeks, there was a fine soundtrack, a brave hero (Yours Truly), an ugly villain (Sandro), and alcohol aplenty. This Gigaweek featured the spectacularly named Eddie Spaghetti’s Country and Western music which is why Sandro made reference to the legendary film director.

Eddie was an unknown quantity to Sandro and me, but his name was enough to inspire confidence, although we were unable to persuade the Good (Cousin Bish), the Bad (Salazar), or the Ugly (Candy) to join us. 

With it being pre-season, I was yet to enforce my strict no-alcohol-on-a-Friday (unless-my-arm-is-twisted-of-course) policy, so Sandro and I parted with a fistful of dollars for a four pack of Magners to take on the train. We were returning to The Thekla, a venue that would have looked out of place in most Westerns, considering it’s a boat. 

The girls on the door weren’t too sure about letting us board at first, doubtlessly threatened by Sandro’s Stetson and spurs, but they relented eventually. 

The gig was taking place in the small bar of the boat, rather than the main section that we’re familiar with, and when we entered supporting act Howlin’ Lord had already started howling. Although he looked like a hillbilly from the American South, he’s actually a Bristolian, which would have been surprising if I hadn't met plenty of Bristolians before.

He provided the scene setting, background, country music while we spent a few dollars more and sipped on the favourite drink of the Cowboy: a Morgan’s Spiced Rum and Coke.

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Eddie took to the stage with a guitar but sadly no harmonica and introduced himself with a twirl. Spaghetti was going solo tonight and is currently touring his third solo record, but he’s also the front man of an American rock band called Supersuckers who he proclaimed to be “The greatest rock and roll band in the world!” which was either tongue in cheek or he’s never heard of Hanson. 

He was an engaging stage presence who loved the word awesome and he shamelessly gave the audience a queue to go wild at the end of each song, which involved him playing a chord on his guitar three times and singing “Cha, cha, cha!” simultaneously. Impressively, although he kept this up for every single song, he somehow avoided it becoming tiresome, and it genuinely improved the atmosphere with almost everyone joining in.

The audience were also invited to make requests, and there were clearly a fair few Supersuckers fans present, as there were plenty of suggestions made for songs from their back-catalogue. “That’s a good one,” Eddie would invariably say, “I’m saving that for later. Did somebody say. . .” and then he’d play a song with a title that I’m almost certain nobody had asked for. 

Eddie had brought his family on tour with him; with his wife manning the merchandise table, where he mentioned several times that his new record was selling for the ambitious price of ten pounds. His daughter Elvis, who’s a toddler, toddled up to the microphone but then refused Eddie’s invite to sing into it, which was immature of her. 

His son Quattro however, went as far as to take up the guitar and perform a song himself. He must have been about ten to twelve years old and apparently the song was one he’d written for a school talent show. It was an excellent song for a ten year old but if he is actually twelve or older, he needs to pull his finger out.

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Shania Twain is Sandro’s favourite Country singer for obvious reasons (her voice), and while the Country influence was obvious, there was enough of a rocky edge to Eddie’s music to keep the show entertaining to the likes of me and Sandro. He played a mixture of Supersuckers’ songs, his own solo songs and covers, playing both a song called ‘Marie’ from his new album about the “Death of a Homey,” and a cover of Ice Cube’s ‘Dead Homiez’. 

There were a mixture of slow songs and some hectic songs, from the gentle cover of classic Country song ‘Always on My Mind’, to the frantic Supersuckers’ songs ‘I Want The Drugs’, with his own songs such as ‘Everybody’s Girl,’ falling somewhere in between.

He fitted in an AC/DC cover, a cover of Johnny Cash’s ‘Cocaine Blues’, and a song by the lesser known Lee Harvey Oswald Band, who included a member of Supersuckers, called ‘Jesus Never Lived on Mars’ which Eddie guessed may be, “the only song that describes Jesus as a bit of a faggot,” which may be correct.

When I returned from a loo break, Eddie was busy sharing the tale of a faux pas he’d made the previous night in Cardiff where, like Beardo of Les Savy Fav before him, he’d made the classic American mistake of referring to, “Cardiff, England,” much to the displeasure of the locals. 

“Most of them speak English,” he said, excusing himself, “they just put Gobbledygook on their road signs. I didn’t bother mentioning the fact that they put the English on top.” 

As proud Welshmen Sandro and I were both suitably insulted and shook our heads and tutted in fury.

“Has anyone got any Welsh relatives?” Eddie asked.

 “Yeah, my brother,” I said, but sadly Spaghetti didn’t hear.

“If you have, you’ll probably deny it,” he continued laughing.

“No, he’s definitely Welsh,” I said again pointing at my brother, “aren’t you Sandro?”

Sandro thought for a second and then nodded.

(You may be wondering why we risked Welsh baiting in Bristol, when we could have seen him in Cardiff the night before. If so, feel free to keep wondering.)

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Towards the end of the gig, during another Supersuckers’ favourite, ‘Dead on the Water’, Eddie invited everyone to raise their middle fingers and approach him on stage for a photo but Sandro, who abhors bad language and obscene gestures, held me back and called Eddie a ‘fucking wanker’ for being so immature.

Signore Spaghetti finished in true rock and roll style with a final Supersuckers song called ‘Pretty Fucked Up’, another fast-paced song about a girl who used to be pretty, but ended up as the title suggests, which if you’re ever lucky enough to meet my mother, is exactly how she’ll describe me.

Back on dry land, Sandro and I were surprised to find that the 40th Bristol Harbour Festival was on-going right in front of our noses. Intrigued, we did a bit of exploring and found hundreds of people gathered, sitting on the grass around Queen Square where there had been free live music and plenty of drinking. 

There were also plenty of stalls, selling a range of food from all over the world, from Chinese and Indian, to French and Bristolian, but there was no spaghetti. Sandro and I made the regrettable decision to buy some stodgy Paella at the first stall we came to, before heading back to the train station.

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 “So, what did you think of Eddie then? Did he pasta test?” I asked on the train home, with a wink and a nudge.

“Don’t start making terrible puns now,” Sandro warned me unamused. 

“Me!?” I said incredulously, “That’s prepastarous!” I added, while Sandro ignored me.

Clearly striking on a rich vein of comedy, I continued unabated.

“Do you think I’m some kind of pesto? Someone who would shamelessly penne an insult to the English linguini? What kind of a lame excouscous of a man do you take me for?” 

Inexplicably, Sandro didn’t laugh.

I would love to say that our journey home passed uninterrupted, with a constant barrage of pasta related puns, but the arrival opposite us on the train of a particularly irritating idiot ruined that. 

With Sandro and I sat at a table, three middle aged fellas sat at the adjacent table, and were joined by an equally middle-aged Essex girl, judging from her accent and fake tan. She’d clearly had more than a bit to drink, as had the men, who proved to be fairly annoying themselves.

She was full of Daily Mail pearls of wisdom, and some things she said would have made Nick Griffin blush, but more importantly she stopped me getting in some much needed sleep.

“I don’t pay taxes,” she said loudly, “but who are these people coming over here, taking our jobs, and not paying taxes?” she continued with perfect logic. 

“Who are these Romanians, eh?” She asked sensibly,

‘I think they might be people from Romania,’ I thought to myself,

“Are Romanians allowed to work here?” she asked to baffled laughter from the three blokes. “Do they pay taxes?”

When she then asked Sandro and me for a lighter, I wish I’d put on a Romanian accent and told her to choke on her cigarettes, or put on a Mexican accent and said: 

“Hey, Blondie! You know what you are? Just a dirty son-of-a-b-!”

Unfortunately, I doubted she’d ever seen any Spaghetti Westerns, so I just shook my head and reported her for tax evasion instead.

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July

2-8 - Tribes - ✓
9-15 - The Big Gig - ✓
16-22 - H. Hawkline - ✓
23-29 – Eddie Spaghetti - ✓