I had been quite looking forward to this show, not least because it was to be my first visit for some years to the Astoria which was the venue for both the first concert and the first night club I ever went to. I have many fond and surreal memories of the place. Of course it’s been G.A.Y.-ed up since I was last there, but thankfully apart from a handful of vaguely homoerotic paintings on the walls and fewer tables upstairs little has changed (What the hell was I expecting, all pink neon and fluffy wallpaper or something?).

The band I was there to see were schedule to play at the uncommonly early time of 7.30pm, but thanks to an unprecedented show of efficiency by the U.K. public transport system I had arrived at the venue nearly an hour too early and I was far from alone. A decent sized crowd was there for the Black Velvets. Their entrance was about as low key as it gets, four scruffy longhairs just strolled on stage, tuned up their instruments for a few minutes then almost as an afterthought started playing some songs. In fact you could easily believe that they just popped in to play a quick show on the way to the pub, so laid back did they appear.

The music was good enough without being particularly innovative – fast and powerful, with plenty of volume and feedback. Good old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll, not breaking down any barriers, but setting plenty of feet tapping and heads nodding. It was only a Lycra catsuit and a kick in the nuts away from the Darkness though. The talented lead singer did lay on some moves, but again it was very laid back, as if to say "y’know I could prance around like that southern shandy Hawkins lad, but I’m just too cool, like”. His Mick Jagger style posing was a touch camp in places though, perhaps as a tip of the hat to the venue, who knows?

It was a nice heavy set, and it flew by. I barely had time to note how loud the P.A. was and how good the lights were for a support act before I was joining the rest of the crowd cheering at the end of their last track. Of course the Black Velvets were good – they’re from Liverpool – only the best bands from that town make it as far as the capital.

I stuck around for Nick Oliveri’s set and I am glad I did. The former Queens of the Stone Age bassist strode on stage armed only with an acoustic guitar and blew me away. Bathed in shadows like Colonel Kurtz out of Apocalypse Now, the semi naked bearded skinhead produced some really aggressive music, pounding away at his guitar and bellowing into the mike. He liked a good swear up as well, getting all GG Allin for a moment, singing about shit and piss. The highlight of his set for me was a cover of ‘Wake up Screaming’ by the Subhumans – you don’t get to hear acoustic versions of their songs very often, I can tell you.

The headliners were the Mark Lanegan Band. Unfortunately they came as something as an anticlimax after the energy of the first two acts. My initial reaction to this earnest seven-piece was ‘what an up-its-own-arse load of old cock’, but really the problem was one of scheduling. Lanegan’s sound is understated and cerebral (I’ve since heard some tracks on mp3 and I liked them, actually), when what was needed, in my opinion, was something to take the atmosphere up to the next level, not down a notch or two. Obviously, the running order is all down to the relative selling power of each act but nevertheless it would have made for a better evening to have Lanegan opening or even playing second. I tired of the anticlimactic sounds after just four songs – lucky I did, as the trains were back to normal by then.

words: Harry Harris

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