It’s a mighty long way down rock 'n' roll as Mott the Hoople once sang and my god, The Damned have been a mighty long way indeed. By the looks of it mind, so had many of the audience. We arrived to find Eddie and the Hot Rods, pub rockers extraordinaire, murdering the R&B classics. I thought I’d seen the back of cack handed guitar solos. I don’t know what’s worse, a bass solo or a drum solo. Lead singer and the one remaining original Hot Rod, Barrie Masters, introduced the band as they massacred Gloria (the song, not the lass selling hot dogs). | "If you were out on the streets last night and were wondering where all the odd folk were, they all had tickets to see the Damned." | |
We were introduced to the band and they all took a solo. It would have been nice if they’d all been playing in tune, but even the drummer was playing in a different key. Rapturous applause The Damned took the stage to rapturous applause, looking like The Damned, but suffering from the propping up by mates and session musicians. We had Captain Sensible and we had Dave Vanian who was wearing a pair of trousers that probably belonged to Vic and Bob’s Mulligan and O’Hare. He looks good for it mind, and his voice is a deep baritone that cuts through the dreadful sound. If you were out on the streets last night and were wondering where all the odd folk were, they all had tickets to see the Damned. I am amazed that for a select few, the Damned are their old, favourite band. Grown men were playing out every song with wreckless drunken abandon. In some ways it’s heartening that bands, 30 years down the way, have this loyalty, but imagine going to back to theirs after the pub: ‘What do you want to hear, The Damned or The Damned?’ Respect Special respect must go to the bloke wearing the Toon Army top with ‘Sensible’ lettered out across his shoulders. What he was shouting at the Captain doesn’t bear repeating, but it was funny and good fun. They provided all the hits and the crowd went bonkers, but on a sour note the venue doesn’t help the sound at all. The foyer at the Arena turns all attempts at sound mixing into top-heavy tinny mush. I like loud music, it lifts you, but no one could really say that sound baffled by curtains and corrugated iron is a good thing. It’s not, it’s nasty and it’s horrible. That carp aside we had good value for money Damnedness. There was moshing, pogoing and plenty of mindless banter from the Captain. The songs sounded good, but they were more metal than punk. I prefer to remember them in the Hope and Anchor, a pub basement in London with spit, snot and sweat cascading down the walls, not playing in a barn. Neat, neat, neat? No, Stretcher Case Baby. | 
