The last month or two have been fairly quiet with regards to
gigs, as you may have noticed from the lack of activity on this site. However
as the weather quickly degenerates into the rancid pile of faeces that is the
British winter, going outside becomes less appealing; instead there is an
increased temptation to be indoors, consuming large quantities of alcohol in a
bid to forget that we live in a semi-underwater country for most of the year.
On the plus side, this means that more people are drawn to gigs, especially all
day events where the Red Stripe is cheap and the liver assault is broken up with
a pie eating contest. This weekend saw what I think is the 4th
annual Pie Race festival, which bought together some of the best in punk, ska
and kazoo based music to draw in anyone not tempted enough by the pie based
revelry alone. We missed the actual pie eating competition along with the early
acts due to hangovers and sleep deprivation, but reached the Well in time to
catch Leeds own The Swindells, whose gravelly punk rock rivals Geoffrey Oicott
in terms of unadulterated Yorkshire pride…and I don’t say that lightly. Fast
and fun, beer is flying, pissed up dudes are trying to dance but mostly falling
down on each other, and I already know that I’ve made the right choice for the
night. Their set finishes with shouted choruses of ‘Yoorkssshiire, ‘til the day
I die!’ ably assisted by various kazoo players who have materialised, which
would probably have seemed strange if I didn’t know that a kazoo band had
already played earlier in the day. The day was laid out so that the artists
playing alternated between two rooms, so we headed upstairs to grab a beer, sit
down for a while and listen to Billy Liar’s set of acoustic one man punk, which
drew comparisons to early Against Me (before they decided to be a crap indie
rock band). Then it was back down for Revenge of the Psychotronic Man, who woke
up those who were starting to flag with a short and to the point set of furious
hardcore. Working in plenty of songs from the new album in to a small amount of
time, there was still room for some older classics, and a solo punk rock
rendition of Kirsty MacColl’s ‘There’s a Guy Works down the Chip Shop Swears He’s
Elvis.’ They also set the tone for the rest of the night’s dancefloor carnage,
with human pyramids, wheelbarrow pits and drunken face plants a-plenty. It was
an awesome sight to behold and there will undoubtedly have been some impressive
bruising going on around Leeds the next day.
This is the
point at which my memory starts to get hazy with regards to the order in which
people played, but I have an idea that after Revenge we wandered upstairs for
another sit down and to listen to Wakefield’s Louise Distras. Playing heartfelt,
bluesy acoustic punk, it’s easy to see why she’s starting to get some high
profile support slots. Her stripped down set acted as a counterpoint to the
madness downstairs. After she had finished we lurked around upstairs for some
time, unfortunately missing Acid Drop, but it was a necessary sacrifice in
order to ward off the onset of tinnitus for a while longer (time to invest in
ear plugs I think, what an old bastard I’ve become). The next band we saw were
Benson, who despite having a truly awful name, played a tight set of bluesy
rock with a horns section, that bought to mind a more polished, indie
influenced Rocket from the Crypt. One of the best things about the Pie Race is
the way that the promoters aren’t afraid to mix up the bands they put on style
wise, so from here it was straight downstairs to the far rawer ska punk sounds
emanating from below…Faintest Idea are the best proponents of horn driven punk
in recent years in my opinion and they didn’t disappoint. Their half hour was
used to showcase much of their newer material, which already sounds as classic
as anything from the last two albums. By now my head was reeling and my ears
were ringing, but I was more than ready for the surreal ramblings of Captain
Hotknives. Those who know don’t need telling, but any line up can be improved
by the addition of Bradford’s finest, I can’t imagine anyone witnessing this
and not being in stitches. This could have been the end of the night, and
no-one could have felt cheated, but the punk rock icing on the cake came in the
form of Roughneck Riot’s furious folk punk, which saw the nights drunken
dancing reach its climax. This band need to be seen live, and they bought the
night to a drunken, uproarious close. Two days later and I’m still slightly
haggard, roll on next years!
5/5
Jono
