It's not unusual for people to hate the nearest town to them - it's the cheap and easy staple of any comic to slander the next-door neighbour town whenever they're working at one venue and reverse it the next week whenever they're in the town that they've just slagged off.
Towns that I have slagged off onstage in my last ten gigs include:
Barnsley
Wakefield
Elgin
Welwyn Garden City
Marseilles
Chloride (It's in Arizona)
Montevideo
Fray Bentos
St Petersburg
Atlantis
I've honestly got no ill feelings towards these towns at all, but it's easy to slate the unknown. I've only visited three of these towns anyway - although I'll always be sad that I haven't visited Fray Bentos in Uruguay to see if they specifically farm incredibly gristle-bound cows.
Coventry is a horrible city. If you've never visited, don't. I can very quickly describe to you the main attractions to save you actually needing to ever take the trip up the M6.
THE CATHEDRAL - After the tragic events of World War 2, the Coventry cathedral (which was a beautiful Gothic structure) was rebuilt as some terrible angular nightmare, bearing resemblance to a comic book villain's lair.
THE TAPESTRY - There is a massive tapestry in Coventry. It's of the virgin Mary, I think. Who even bothers making tapestries?
THE TRANSPORT MUSEUM - Just to remind the people of Coventry that once upon a time they had a thriving industry.
That's it. Nothing else.
There is no real reason for me to despise Coventry so. There really isn't. It is completely unfathomable. I don't really dislike anybody. I'll take a gig anywhere and pretend that I am madly in love with any audience that makes even the slightest giggling noise in my direction. For I am a comedy whore. A joke-bearing slut. I'll take gigs in Coventry (and often have) but the only reason I dislike the city - despite it having a ring road shaped like a Scalextric - is merely down to the geographical proximity to the town I grew up in.
I don't mind the people. There seems to be a larger chav population than most towns but fuck it, I've been to Burnley. Just because the rustle of tracksuits against fake Ugg boots punctuates the darkest of nights with noise and vague sparks, it doesn't make it a bad place. The fact that it is one of very few cities to have an Ikea within the city centre doesn't irk me, neither does the platoon of idiots that shop there, treating cheap Swedish furniture like its the most amazing thing they've ever seen whilst dodging roaming gangs of townie scum who are trying to steal large stuffed snakes for little Tyreese or Chardonnay.
It's not the layout of the town really. Sure, the previously mentioned slot racing-esque road system is annoying, as is the way that you have to cut someone up (metaphorically, not literally, although it may help relieve tension) in order to enter any of their roads because no one has the manners to actually let you out. I don't think that it's the fact that they decided to build some of the ugliest buildings ever committed to concrete - I mean, who the fuck decided to make a structure shaped like an elephant? Seriously?
Football is a major driving factor in my likes and dislikes - the fact that I was once chased by a man with a iron bar in Portsmouth means that I'll never speak highly of the town. But football doesn't bother me that much, especially when the team in question doesn't really matter. What have Coventry ever done? Keith Houchen once scored a fantastic header in the FA Cup Final, but apart from that? Nothing, asides from the legacy of having a famous brown kit. That is literally the ONLY thing people remember them for. What else is there? Having a football ground with stands that are too high for people to even walk up?
It's not even the fact that it's bigger than Nuneaton but further away from me, closer than Birmingham but not as big or that it has a shopping centre with an outside escalator.
Can't even think of a reason why I hate it so. Silly geography.
http://twitter.com/jimsmallman
Monday 24 August 2009
Wednesday 5 August 2009
20: Being the oldest person at music gigs
I recently went to see Kings of Leon with my Dad. I would class this gig as the biggest and most commercial that I reckon I've ever attended, with it being at the O2 Arena and all. You know what? It was very good indeed. Great support act (Glasvegas), great sound and great performance from a band that I tried for years and years to actively dislike. I just can't, because they're so talented and awesome and grrr. My Dad loves them so we attended together in a father-son type bonding way. Prior to the gig we ate Brazilian buffet food - which involves meat being brought to you on long knives by waiters. I made a dozen "pork sword" references in the first minute of our visit.
The good thing about attending gigs with my Dad is that I can guarantee that I'm not the oldest person at the show. Because I'm 31 and these things deeply bother me. The slight downfall of attending a gig at the O2 is that I have to sit down, pay a fortune for the right to attend and have to suffer the four types of fans that Kings of Leon seem to attract:
THE LOOKALIKEY - Late teen to Mid Twenties men who shop exclusively at All Saints and Top Man in their bid to look exactly like one of the Followills. All deep V necklines in charcoal with carefully coiffeured hair and a ton of necklaces. They only own the third and fourth albums. Own no trainers, only many pointed shoes.
THE GROUPIE - Women who fancy the Followills (usually Caleb). Dress in Top Shop's "I'm an Indie Whore" range - I saw one wearing an MC5 t-shirt with FUCKING GLADIATOR SANDALS and felt the need to ask her if she could name one MC5 song. Downloaded the singles "Sex on Fire" and "Use Somebody". Owns none of the band's albums.
THE SERIOUS MUSO - Wearing a band t-shirt - but crucially NOT Kings of Leon. Sonic Youth seemed popular. Lies and says he's there to watch Glasvegas only. Tuts when they play their biggest hits. Loudly requests an obscure B-Side to prove how much he knows about music. On the trip to the gig secretly listened mercilessly to the band's new album to ensure that he knew all the words.
THE CHAV - Heard "Sex on Fire" and liked it. Saw tickets on Ticketweb. Thought he'd go along in his tracksuit to see what all the fuss is about. Spends the first half of the gig pissed and screaming at the top of his lungs for Sex on Fire and (I genuinely saw this) Hey Jude.
Of course there were plenty of regular fans to balance out the above detritus, but you get the gist. I'm not one of those people however who decides to dislike a band merely because they become successful - after all, who on earth chooses to form a band to not sell records or fill arenas? They're living the dream, fair on them. It's just people that get my bile up. You might have noticed that.
Anyway, sometimes I'll go to gigs with friends and I'll clearly be the oldest person there. Due to the nature of much of the music I like, sometimes I'm not - Metal festivals are handy for me being able to blend into the crowd, as the bearded forty-something hordes come out to worship Thunder and Def Leppard. But more often than not, I'm the rogue old dude stood in the corner with people whispering about me. Ageism is rife in these parts.
You are probably thinking that the best way to deal with this is to throw myself headlong into gigs, whirling around the moshpit with my arms flailing and my face contorted into a grimace as the music takes over my very soul. I could do that, but I have my own solution.
To merely stand at the back of the gig, hands in my pockets, silently watching the music and the chaos pass me by.
Why?
Because then people see me and have to draw their own conclusions as to why I'm there. The youth of today are quick to judge and even speedier to leap to false conclusions. So I stand there and let them chatter amongst themselves, trying to work out why I'm there, like the proverbial rogue grey pube.
The best suggestions I've heard so far are as follows:
DRUG DEALER: It helps if you keep a coat on during the gig to pull this one off. Stare straight ahead at all times. Occasionally nod at a bouncer, so it looks like you've "paid them off". If anyone asks you for drugs, you have two options. You can either tell them that they won't be able to handle your "shit" with a sinister glare, sending them packing with a modicum of panic and dread; Or you can bring aspirin and paracetemol out with you and sell them at a vast profit margin.
UNDERCOVER COP: Every now and again just stop a youth and ask him what he's doing. Then let him carry on. Brilliant. Everyone will instantly believe you're undercover and you can then watch the gig undisturbed, with no circle pits of other childish shenanigans going on within a 50 foot radius of your location. Combine it with the Drug Dealer one too - start the first idea with some of the crowd, then the second part with some more of them and watch the panic spread.
MUSIC EXECUTIVE: Stand there watching the band and every now and then nudge the person next to you and say "I tell you, when they were recording this [INSERT LEAD SINGER'S CHRISTIAN NAME HERE] just couldn't get the harmony right, but listen to it now." Every now and again scowl as if you've heard a bum note or missed drumbeat. Ask people for their opinions of the band like you're conducting market research.
JOURNALIST: Take a notepad with you. A tiny one, like the ones you sometimes get in crackers. Every now and again take it out and write something down. Tut loudly from time to time. Allow yourself an ironic laugh or two as well.
THE MAN AT THE WRONG GIG BUT TOO SHY TO ADMIT IT: Every now and then nudge the person next to you and ask what the band onstage is called. Especially the headliners. Loudly wonder when The Communards Tribute Band is coming on. Keep looking at your watch and sighing.
BODYGUARD: Works if you attend the gig with others. Let them go off, but every now and then hold your hand to your ear, talk to yourself and then relay whispered messages to your friends. This is a bonus one, as your younger friends will have also entered the web of deceit. You win a pound from me every time you convince someone that you're trained in Jujitsu and your friends are all part of the Belgian Royal Family. And somehow are in Rock City Nottingham on a wet Tuesday.
You get the general idea. I'm glad I have this game, because I'm certainly not getting any younger. Neither can I bear the idea of stopping watching live music. But this occupies my time and keeps me from feeling too over exposed whilst bobbing my head to the music in a dreadfully out of rhythm fashion.
You could also argue that at 31 I should probably have retired from liking decent music by now and just become a Take That fan like every other poor fucking thirtysomething in the UK.
You could try that, but I'd ask you to grow up.
The good thing about attending gigs with my Dad is that I can guarantee that I'm not the oldest person at the show. Because I'm 31 and these things deeply bother me. The slight downfall of attending a gig at the O2 is that I have to sit down, pay a fortune for the right to attend and have to suffer the four types of fans that Kings of Leon seem to attract:
THE LOOKALIKEY - Late teen to Mid Twenties men who shop exclusively at All Saints and Top Man in their bid to look exactly like one of the Followills. All deep V necklines in charcoal with carefully coiffeured hair and a ton of necklaces. They only own the third and fourth albums. Own no trainers, only many pointed shoes.
THE GROUPIE - Women who fancy the Followills (usually Caleb). Dress in Top Shop's "I'm an Indie Whore" range - I saw one wearing an MC5 t-shirt with FUCKING GLADIATOR SANDALS and felt the need to ask her if she could name one MC5 song. Downloaded the singles "Sex on Fire" and "Use Somebody". Owns none of the band's albums.
THE SERIOUS MUSO - Wearing a band t-shirt - but crucially NOT Kings of Leon. Sonic Youth seemed popular. Lies and says he's there to watch Glasvegas only. Tuts when they play their biggest hits. Loudly requests an obscure B-Side to prove how much he knows about music. On the trip to the gig secretly listened mercilessly to the band's new album to ensure that he knew all the words.
THE CHAV - Heard "Sex on Fire" and liked it. Saw tickets on Ticketweb. Thought he'd go along in his tracksuit to see what all the fuss is about. Spends the first half of the gig pissed and screaming at the top of his lungs for Sex on Fire and (I genuinely saw this) Hey Jude.
Of course there were plenty of regular fans to balance out the above detritus, but you get the gist. I'm not one of those people however who decides to dislike a band merely because they become successful - after all, who on earth chooses to form a band to not sell records or fill arenas? They're living the dream, fair on them. It's just people that get my bile up. You might have noticed that.
Anyway, sometimes I'll go to gigs with friends and I'll clearly be the oldest person there. Due to the nature of much of the music I like, sometimes I'm not - Metal festivals are handy for me being able to blend into the crowd, as the bearded forty-something hordes come out to worship Thunder and Def Leppard. But more often than not, I'm the rogue old dude stood in the corner with people whispering about me. Ageism is rife in these parts.
You are probably thinking that the best way to deal with this is to throw myself headlong into gigs, whirling around the moshpit with my arms flailing and my face contorted into a grimace as the music takes over my very soul. I could do that, but I have my own solution.
To merely stand at the back of the gig, hands in my pockets, silently watching the music and the chaos pass me by.
Why?
Because then people see me and have to draw their own conclusions as to why I'm there. The youth of today are quick to judge and even speedier to leap to false conclusions. So I stand there and let them chatter amongst themselves, trying to work out why I'm there, like the proverbial rogue grey pube.
The best suggestions I've heard so far are as follows:
DRUG DEALER: It helps if you keep a coat on during the gig to pull this one off. Stare straight ahead at all times. Occasionally nod at a bouncer, so it looks like you've "paid them off". If anyone asks you for drugs, you have two options. You can either tell them that they won't be able to handle your "shit" with a sinister glare, sending them packing with a modicum of panic and dread; Or you can bring aspirin and paracetemol out with you and sell them at a vast profit margin.
UNDERCOVER COP: Every now and again just stop a youth and ask him what he's doing. Then let him carry on. Brilliant. Everyone will instantly believe you're undercover and you can then watch the gig undisturbed, with no circle pits of other childish shenanigans going on within a 50 foot radius of your location. Combine it with the Drug Dealer one too - start the first idea with some of the crowd, then the second part with some more of them and watch the panic spread.
MUSIC EXECUTIVE: Stand there watching the band and every now and then nudge the person next to you and say "I tell you, when they were recording this [INSERT LEAD SINGER'S CHRISTIAN NAME HERE] just couldn't get the harmony right, but listen to it now." Every now and again scowl as if you've heard a bum note or missed drumbeat. Ask people for their opinions of the band like you're conducting market research.
JOURNALIST: Take a notepad with you. A tiny one, like the ones you sometimes get in crackers. Every now and again take it out and write something down. Tut loudly from time to time. Allow yourself an ironic laugh or two as well.
THE MAN AT THE WRONG GIG BUT TOO SHY TO ADMIT IT: Every now and then nudge the person next to you and ask what the band onstage is called. Especially the headliners. Loudly wonder when The Communards Tribute Band is coming on. Keep looking at your watch and sighing.
BODYGUARD: Works if you attend the gig with others. Let them go off, but every now and then hold your hand to your ear, talk to yourself and then relay whispered messages to your friends. This is a bonus one, as your younger friends will have also entered the web of deceit. You win a pound from me every time you convince someone that you're trained in Jujitsu and your friends are all part of the Belgian Royal Family. And somehow are in Rock City Nottingham on a wet Tuesday.
You get the general idea. I'm glad I have this game, because I'm certainly not getting any younger. Neither can I bear the idea of stopping watching live music. But this occupies my time and keeps me from feeling too over exposed whilst bobbing my head to the music in a dreadfully out of rhythm fashion.
You could also argue that at 31 I should probably have retired from liking decent music by now and just become a Take That fan like every other poor fucking thirtysomething in the UK.
You could try that, but I'd ask you to grow up.
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