- Independent UK Promoting

Club COG Review - 3/5/08

Club Night Review

Saturday 3^rd May at the Metro, Oxford Street

Bands: Eight Legs, Getaway Team, Jadet, Red Vein

If every day is a good day, then what would be a good day? We need contrast in our daily lives so we can compare. Comparison is the only way us humans can appreciate things. This principle also applies to club nights on the first and third Saturdays of every month, Check Out Gigs club nights to be precise, at the Metro. Thus far they have all been astonishingly good. In order to provide useful comparison, and also to remove any complacency from the regulars, Club COG- deliberately- promoted a night of mediocre music and unintentional comedy on the 3^rd of May.

The first band to come on was Red Vein. Aren’t veins meant to be blue due to the blood being de-oxidised? But this one’s red, like an artery! Kudos, Red Vein, you had me there. That’s quite an intriguing name. Witty. Unfortunately there ends the interest.

The first song was like a soundtrack to an 80’s action film – to be exact, the moment where the romantic interest has nearly given up hope, but then suddenly the hero makes a comeback. Don’t worry baby, I’m coming. The rest of their set wasn’t any different, although the lead singer seemed to think so.

After the opener he became worked up and sweaty, dancing around the stage for the rest of the set. This show of passion was not the only positive. To be fair (well, generous) some of the music did develop during the songs, but it was a mere nod towards progressive complexity, the same way a sparkler is a mere nod towards a hydrogen bomb.

The music was of standard fare; nothing exceptional. Not once was there a surprise change of chords or a break out into something off-beat. But it was the lyrics that really let them down. Vague, clichéd, horrible lyrics on life and love, like if S Club 7 writers started penning songs for adults. And failed. The third track they played, ‘High Spirits’, was the poppiest of their set and a highlight, the same way a piece of sweet corn is the highlight of a turd.

Their image, their sound, everything about them gave off the impression they were one of those Ozzie or American soap opera bands, where one of the ‘edgier’ characters declares he’s in a band, his parents disapprove, but then they attend his pub gig and their feelings turn from embarrassment to pride by his ‘talent’.

Mums across the country would say ‘they’re a little bit loud, but I like that song of theirs I heard on Virgin Radio.’ Now, do you like the same music your mum listens to? Then Red Vein may be for you. They finished their set with a song that had the singer stare up at the ceiling, as if the quality of the music was really getting to him. I’d like to know how.

To conclude, Red Vein are a band that have tried hard to make their songs radio-friendly and have succeeded, but every band trying the same thing have done it with speed, quirkiness, soul, or something that defines their music with a little personality. Red Vein have none. On the plus side, they’re the perfect background to an interesting conversation at the bar. They’re capable and good enough to not offend the ears, but about as predictable as a man with an amputated arm playing a game of ‘which hand is it in?’

The – intentional – evening of laughable music continued with Jadet. They were the lesser of three evils, but carried on the theme started by Red Vein of having three reasonably dressed blokes and one guy who had to look like that tosser off of Razorlight. They had two guitars, one of which was played by the diminutive lead singer, who looks like Robert Carlyle and does to singing what motor neurone disease has done to Stephen Hawking’s mobility.

Who do they sound like? Red Vein, although with some groove to them and a couple of fine solos in their first song of the night. In fact, the music of Jadet is not bad at all, in particular the always developing lead guitar. All it’s waiting for is a gifted, talented and charming leader to give them that something special. A shame then that their singer does the opposite.

Not only that, but their penultimate song was a cover of Blur’s ‘Country House’. The whole point of doing a cover is so you can add something to it, not play it nearly as good – but not quite - as the original (particularly with the botched solo). They ended up sounding a little more amateurish than first thought possible.

But that’s not a reason to hate a band. This is: ‘This song is for anyone who’s been on the tube.” Really?! I’ve been on the tube! Let’s see what he has to say on London’s dilapidated transport system. Perhaps there’ll be a humorous anecdote or an insightful observation. No. Instead they proceeded to play the most generic song in the history of songs. He could’ve said anything. “This is for anyone who’s eaten toffee apples.” “This is for anyone who has a girlfriend.” Or even “This songs is for anyone who cried at the end of Lord of the Rings.” (I swear I didn’t) would’ve been adequate replacements.

The one thing about Jadet was that they did have a surprisingly large and boisterous support, no doubt consisting of teenagers who think Russell Brand is controversial.

The stage was a set for a band to overcome disappointment and take the evening by the scruff of the neck. Third time lucky? No. This is not the movies; it’s real life. In real life, bad things happen in threes. Welcome to the Getaway Team, the worst band of the evening.

The Getaways carried on the theme of a bad lead singer bringing down the quality of a band, with the slight difference that the band couldn’t be brought down any lower anyway. They sound like if Kaiser Chiefs and Futureheads had a lovechild with a congenital retardation, dribbling pretentious, empty, banal ‘music’ from its handicapped pores. But that’s only some of the time. The rest of the time they sound like a talentless Maroon 5, which is some feat.

The singer, bereft of personality whilst blurting out charmless platitudes like a wannabe American frat-rocker, kept primping and posing like he’d recently discovered Mick Jagger on youtube and thinks nobody else knows who he is. Their better songs, such as ‘I Regret’, show promise – like they would actually be good if they were performed by a better band, but other than that there are little or no redeeming features to this five-piece. They’re about as edgy as Enrique Iglesias and about as inventive as B*Witched. The Getaway Team: a band as memorable as they are forgettable. Think about it.

By this stage people of various faiths were praying to a multitude of deities that headliners Eight Legs make it a worthwhile evening. They did. Which is a damn good thing, as blood was going to be spilt. The shouty four-piece with a badly-cut Mohawk on the lead singer, started a little quietly but picked up dramatically. Punk, particularly that London sound pioneered by the Clash, appeared to be a major influence.

The skinny, hesitant lead gave off a troubled vibe, like Ian Curtis from Joy Division, but sang like Paul Weller mixed with a cockney thug. An unclear sideways glance or a mysterious look up from having his head bowed was enough to intrigue, which put the previous attention-seeking leads to shame at the ease with which he engaged the crowd.

The mod and two-tone influences were also apparent, building up Eight Leg’s very English sound. They’re not the cleverest or complex of bands, but they have a talent in taking their influences and incorporating them into an original sound, something none of the other bands on the night could claim to do, which is the reason why Eight Legs are one of the biggest myspace bands in the land, and are being promoted heavily by the likes of NME.

‘Tell Me What Went Wrong’ was a particularly lively track which showed the singer’s guitar prowess. ‘Pass the Bucket’ was another straight punk track with a dose of indie and a shot of grunge. The acoustic guitar came out for ‘Searching for the Simple Life’, the song their album is named after, but actually their most conventional piece. When they did slow down they still showed good ability and created potential hits like ‘Blood, Sweat and Tears’.

But their best song of the night came in the form of the very lively ‘Wear That Shirt’, a short, sharp song about hooliganism which rivals anything Hard-Fi could muster in terms of ‘lad’s music’.

At times they did sound like a garage band, but at least they were doing it deliberately. Although they had no real ‘instant classic’ songs, they had no weak songs either, and appear to be a band not just on the up, but possessing the means to stay there.

So you see it’s healthy to have bad nights, because only then can the good nights be truly appreciated. And yes, this definitely was an experiment. Honest. And I never cry at movies. Especially not when Frodo gives Sam the book and says ‘the last pages are for you.’ I’m not choking up as I write this….oh Frodo, why did you have to go? Until next time,

Muhammad Odeh