Week 38

Week 38 – Thursday 22^nd September – Little Comets – CF10, Cardiff University – £8.00

“I’ve had a good night. Not tonight, but I’ve had a good night . . .”

It was Cousin Bish who uttered these words, which were unsurprising considering he had Sandro and me for company. I don’t know if it made sense, or which dodgy comedian he’d stolen it from, but it seemed funny at the time. The night he wasn’t speaking of, was one on which we headed deep into University territory during Fresher’s fortnight.

We’d begun with a visit to see K-May and P. Mushy’s new bundle of joy, who was beautiful enough to throw P. Mushy’s paternity into doubt. After the bawling had ended, I wiped the tears from Sandro’s face and we left them in peace.

Deciding against food and a pint at a pre-gig venue, we instead headed directly to a new area of Cardiff University as far as I was concerned. The venue was called CF10, a smaller alternative to the Great Hall and Solus. It seemed spacious enough when we arrived, but mainly because there were very few human bodies to fill the space.

Showering down from on high (or Newcastle upon Tyne to be precise) were Little Comets, a band Cousin Bish and I had been entertained by in Camden, and Sandro and I had enjoyed at Reading and whose album, In Search of Elusive Little Comets, I’d enjoyed immensely. Consequently, I was surprised that the venue wasn’t filled to the rafters, but I suppose they haven’t had a deep impact on the public consciousness as yet, being quite little and elusive after all.

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Handily, the student bar maintained its student prices, which meant that bottled beverages were only £2 a pop, a massive improvement on the £5.73 a pint rate next door that had so infuriated me for five minutes last week. 

By the time the first support act appeared on stage, the crowd had swelled and there were at least six other people present. I had an inkling that they may have been members of the other bands, but that didn’t discourage The Slowdown.

“I can’t see much with the lights,” the young singer said as the bright stage lights shone in his eyes.

“It’s really busy!” I joked.

“It’s packed!” Cousin Bish yelled out. 

Spurred on by these words, they continued and concluded their set triumphantly, before leaving the stage and regaining their vision. “Everyone must have left as soon as we finished,” the singer was overheard to say despondently.

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The Slowdown were the first of two supporting bands, the second being The Low Suns, who the Little Comets had presumably invited to continue the cosmic theme. It definitely wasn’t because of their music. I’m kidding; they weren’t that bad. Although their fashion sense was. Sandro and I, renowned as the Trinny and Susannah of Cardiff, were deeply disturbed by what we saw. Two of the band wore black blazers with vests underneath (vests!) and the front-man topped off this repulsive combo with a red hat, evoking memories of Orson, or the infinitely superior Tequila Dealer.

They reminded me of the New Romantics that Cousin Bish is so fond of, and I get the feeling they have ambitions to be a massive pop band in the Duran Duran mould. The only feeling Sandro felt was revulsion, as he was reminded of The Feeling themselves, which infuriated him enough to demand Armageddon. An overreaction I felt.

Once The Low Suns had finished, one of their guitarists spent time wandering among the audience with a clipboard, recruiting for the bands mailing list. He didn’t bother asking Sandro, shying away when he saw a look of pure disgust, but while I also showed no inclination to reach for his pen, Cousin Bish grabbed it with both hands. It was a big pen.

“So, you liked them did you?” I asked our cousin curiously once the clipboard carrier had sauntered off. “No, but you did. . .” he replied cryptically. Of course! I thought to myself. I finally realised why I keep receiving emails from sources as varied as Alpecin.co.uk, Jonasbrothers.com and Arseticklersfaggotsfanclub.org.

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Before the main event we discussed an upcoming fundraising duck race, for which Cousin Bish and I had been dealing ducks for £2 each, with a £222 prize on offer for the owner of the winning duck.

I’d cleverly offloaded ducks onto an unwitting friend in an ingenious plan as I went on to explain.

“I sold three to Rhys Geese, a dozen to David Duckinson, plus Candy owed me twenty quid, so I gave him ten ducks and we called it even,” I said proudly. Strangely, the looks on their faces suggested they were unimpressed.

“Doesn’t that mean Candy now owes you forty quid?” Cousin Bish asked.

I thought about this for a moment.

“And isn’t David Duckinson a made up name?” Sandro added.

I didn’t have time to answer, and rushed outside to phone Candy instead.

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For some reason, when I returned Sandro and Cousin Bish were laughing uncontrollably.  I never found out why, because Little Comets arrived to add to the atmosphere as they took up their instruments. They were received with cheers by a crowd that surely now exceeded thirty in numbers.

They only played for forty minutes, which wasn’t surprising considering their only album so far is less than thirty five minutes long. The set was long enough to feature plenty of perky indie pop beauties, beginning with ‘Adultery’. More poppy indie tunes were peppered throughout, made all the better by one of the best Geordie singing voices since Jimmy Nail, which is the finest praise I can give.

In terms of their songs, ‘Joanna’ was the pick of the bunch, as far as I’m concerned. The likes of ‘Darling Alistair’, ‘Mathilda’, ‘Tricolour’ and ’Lost time’ all entertained, while the lyrics of‘Isles’ are pretty well observed. ‘One Night in October’ is their signature tune though, and reaffirmed in my eyes, that these guys are stars. The Comets didn’t even tail off towards the end, keeping up the tempo and entertaining to the last, finishing on a dancey number called ‘Dancing Song’ before they slipped away into space once more.

Our night wasn’t quite over. There was still time for a taxi ride home where we were amused by a portly forty year old taxi driver with a thick valleys accent and no semblance of shame. 

“I tell ‘ew what, some of these students. Cor!” he drooled.

“They get in the back in their short skirts, and I tell ‘em: I’d do you,” he said, reminiscent of the suave bachelor himself Gavin Henson.

“They bloody laugh, but I’m like, I’m serious!” he went on.

“Really, that never works?” I asked in surprise.

“Nope! They’re too stuck up see,” he said. “I’d give my right nut to be twenty-one again,” he added wistfully. 

We got out, making sure he couldn’t see up our skirts in the rear-view mirror, and wished him good night. We’d had a good night ourselves. Not that night, but we’d had a good night.

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September

3-9 - Willy Mason - ✓
10-16 - Toots & The Maytals - ✓
17-23 - Little Comets - ✓
24-30 -?