Live Review: Vile Imbeciles, Club Hell, The Cross Kings, London

Posted on 4th Jun 09 by Liam Tyrrell | 3

Drop-d packed up our troubles in our old kit-bag and bailed on the Emerald Isle for the Bad Bank Holiday. Our destination: LDN baby! The bigger smoke, home of our dear friend Lizzie. The Streets of London are indeed paved with gold, or at least felt like it as Drop-d emerged blinking into the 40-degree sunlight having tubed beneath the city’s vast expanse.

We had travelled to witness a performance by some of our favourite British troubadours, the loveable rogues Vile Imbeciles. You may recall we spoke at length with Chief Imbecile Andy Huxley last summer, prior to the release of the band’s second album Queenie Was A Blonde. The band are still touring that record, although an eager robin flew in our window on Saturday morning in Sarf Wimbledon to tell us that another LP is on the way.  

The crux is this dear Reader: Drop-d dragged its arse across the Irish Sea and jazzed up to The Cross Kings to attend Club Hell. Trouble was, no one else seemed to be bothered showing up. Drop-d is no stranger to two-men-and-a-dog shows, we often prefer when the band can hear every muttered insult echoing around some despairing hole of a venue, but when we’ve come to rock, we prefer it heaving and swamped.  

Vile Imbeciles were not aided by the support act that we saw. Recognising the familiar twang of our native city, we watched Black Soul Strangers with discomfort. Dublin lads in search of pastures new, we can totally understand why they had to leave. We’re not convinced their quest will be successful. 

Not quite the heaving throng we’d expected, five or so other folks in the bar all stood politely waiting as Drop-D ordered another cut-price beer or four in anticipation of the greatest live show we had ever seen. Vile Imbeciles strutted onto the stage, their dark, stylish attire marking them out as gentlemen of some import. The first strains of weirdness floated eerily from the stage. Impartiality didn’t have a chance – Drop-d’s tiny minds shattered almost instantly through sheer joy and rampant madness.  

Hair’s snarling bass slinks around the room like a sex-crazed Chinese girl in a Rockabilly club

 

 

 

Then, just as soon as it started, it was over. Six songs and that was it. For the 462.60 kilometers traipsed and 5 Great British Pounds squandered, 6 songs was all we got. Tramp, Bad Ideas, Puncture Me In Touch, Jennifer, Shoe God, and one we didn’t recognize – as our dear friend Liz would say, “One was rather well-on.” But oh God, Reader, don’t get us wrong, we had a ball, an absolute blast. Vile Imbeciles live are an entirely seperate animal to the recorded edition.  

There’s an underlying sinister aggression in their performance: Huxley stalks, prowls, and kicks like Nick Cave in his pomp. Guitarist Caz Rospigliosi grinds out savage growling sounds while swinging his guitar 360 degrees around his head. James Hair’s snarling bass slinks around the room like a sex-crazed Chinese girl in a Rockabilly club while Evan Reinhold’s insane mane whips with a frenzy as he pounds out unrelenting hammer-shots from the behind the drumkit. All this, combined with Club Hell’s choice B-Movie trailer projections, lends extra spice and menace to this brief, yet insanely intricate performance. 

The band were obviously disappointed at the turn-out, although they did maintain that London was generally a good place to play with 400-strong crowds being coaxed to some venues to see their rock-horror show. Drop-d would certainly have enjoyed a larger crowd and a longer show but the chaotic charm of a poorly-promoted gig can be infectious all the same. Performing to a meagre audience demands confidence and energy, and to pull it off with the vigour that Vile Imbeciles did, is an immense feat. Rest assured dear Reader, Drop-D will endeavour to see the Vile Imbeciles again, and next time, you’re coming too.

Until then ask yourself just one question: Who wears two pairs of shoes? 

Tags: Death Jazz, Vile Imbeciles