The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster – Crawdaddy, February 27th.

Posted on 1st Mar 09 by Liam Tyrrell | 1

Some 12 days ago, buried in the mire of bad followed by worse news, a low-key announcement of a charity gig to be held in Crawdaddy was made. Big whoop says you, and indeed said everyone, until a small buzz began to build as we entered the back end of last week. On Thursday, Drop-d’s unbelieving eyes finally caught this news-wave and our tiny minds almost exploded with excitement. For you see” this performance in aid of Concern was to be headlined by none other than Brighton’s finest export, The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, who had never before played an indoor venue in this country.

Crawdaddy was less than full at the outset of the evening, although maybe those not present had some inkling to the fact that the main event would not get underway until well after midnight. Drop-d was under the impression that another show was due to begin at 11, the people at POD do so enjoy putting two gigs in the one venue on the one night, and so we had trundled the miles to Harcourt Street in very good time.

There was another reason for our impeccable punctuality. Sickboy, who are now just a fortnight or so away from a ten gig jaunt to the U.S. of A. to include the iconic SXSW festival in Austin, Texas, were due to open the show. The Sickboy boys have been just that recently, sick, suffering all kinds of ailments, but they did as Jesus would have wanted and picked up their beds and rocked. They seemed a little rusty, understandably given that they haven’t been able to practice for some six weeks or so, but this loosener will serve them well for next Friday’s fundraiser in Transformer ahead of their American adventure.

They did as Jesus would have wanted and picked up their beds and rocked.

The ever-thickening crowd were then treated to the 3-piece rock n’roll stylings of Legion of Ape. LOA had some nice riffs, but were lacking a little in chunkiness, especially in terms of the guitar. Some audience members complained to the engineer to increase the volume, but it didn’t seem to be a PA problem. Drop-D diagnosed the lack of a Boss Metal Zone 2 pedal as the true cause, but in any event there was little meat in the stew served by LOA. The simian army will descend on The Village twice in the run up to Paddy’s day, or perhaps it’s to celebrate the second week of Seachtain na Gaeilge [why is the week of Irish two weeks long? - Ed.]. Whichever, they’ll need to kick it up a notch if they want to be taken notice of.

It’s not too often that one sees a band that one would be better off not speaking about, but Drop-D is not going to leave a paragraph blank because it doesn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. This might be a good time to mention that if you’re a member of House of Dolls, you should look away now. Go on, just skip to the next paragraph, you’ll thank us in the long run. Yes indeed, that aforementioned abode of inanimate representations of the human form took to the stage in a flurry of designer haircuts and leather jackets, well, perhaps a flurry doesn’t quite do their speed justice, let’s call it a sloth-parade.

Perhaps a flurry doesn’t quite do their speed justice, let’s call it a sloth-parade.

Perhaps Drop-D’s judgement was impaired by the ever-growing anticipation of the main course, but when, after an Aeon, House of Dolls finally began dishing up their brand of dull shoegaze it felt all too languid and unimaginative. The intense boredom felt by all led to some serious gaps developing in the crowd, and brought some much needed body heat to the bitterly cold smoking area. Unfortunately, it seems that House of Dolls are somewhat typical of the so-called rock bands that this city produces: bland and utterly unexciting. Even if House of Dolls were playing somewhere else soon, Drop-D could not in good conscience recommend that you attend.

With the Earth circling the sun at the mid-point of two Friday the 13ths, a fizz of anticipation and school-girlish excitement whipped through the now-thronged room: no better band to straddle the apex of misfortune than The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster. Giving a lesson in speedy stagecraft to House of Dolls, TEMBLD were set up and ready to eviscerate the ears of all in no time. Guy McKnight strode onto the stage attired like a country gent, but his refined appearance gave the lie to what was to follow. Within moments of the start, McKnight was knee deep in fans as he descended from above to meet the masses, screaming in conchord with the ultra-agressive machinations of his four brothers in sonic abuse.

McKnight was knee deep in fans as he descended from above to meet the masses.

New guitarist Tristan McLenehan seems to have slipped in seamlessly, his roaring lead licks complementing the jagged rhythms served up by his fellow axe-man Marc Norris, although Norris still leads in the style stakes. The crowd bayed with joy as classics such as Mister Mental, I Rejection and Chicken poured down from the stage. McKnight spent his time between shielding his ears against some terrible feedback those on stage were experiencing, no doubt a result of the terrifying volume the band employ, and surfing gracefully on a sea of willing hands.

The normally irrepressible Sym Gharial on bass was somewhat subdued in terms of his movement, owing to an injured leg suffered in the recent blizzards in England, but he pounded along regardless, ably supported by the manic, pumping, crashing beats of Tom Diamantopoulo. The relentless assault continued with the band showcasing songs from their new record, [more on this during the week - Ed.] which were lapped up by the exuberant audience. The band’s most recent single In The Garden received a rapturous response, but that was nothing compared to the frenzy unleashed as the band went all the way back to their debut album, Horse of the Dog, to pull out Charge the Guns and Celebrate Your Mother.

Some six hours after getting to the venue, Drop-D had nothing left to give as the show ended. The band had the class to hang out with the punters afterwards, ensuring that they’ll get an even better reception the next time they come to these shores. There were no doubt many bruised bodies and ringing ears on Saturday morning, but shows like this are why anyone with a love for rock music heads into the unknown on any given night of the week. The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are the embodiment of agressive imagination, and their lessons should be well heeded by those who create and long savoured by those who consume.

Fan Videos of the Gig

Tags: crawdaddy, house of dolls, legion of ape, sickboy, TEMBLD, The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster