Sunday, 15 April 2012

Dancehouse Theatre - Cabaret Regale

I went to the Dancehouse Theatre in Manchester yesterday evening as my former girlfriend, and current friend who is a girl, was performing with a very strange band....


Before I went there though, I had to get changed!


"Tell us what you wore!"


I will schizofriendia, as I have now taken to calling you.


"Err... go on then?"


Oh yes, of course! Well, I wore this!


Click on pictures to enlarge


"Holy crab cakes! That is some real hot shit and no mistake!"

Oh my yes. It really puts the "Grr!" in 'garish' doesn't it?

"It does. But you seem to have aged horribly in this picture?"

Obviously, that's not me. Even if I had aged twenty years overnight, I wouldn't wear jeans would I? Denim is for cowboys and people who lack that sumptuous, Germanic flare for fashion that I posses.

"Quite. So where did you get it from?"

You really think I'm going to reveal where I get my vintage disco shirts from, and have the swines who read this buying clothing that should rightfully be mine?

"I don't think you should call your readers swines..."

Some of them are literally pigs.

The Nazis bred a race of pigmen during the war to try and infiltrate the UK's livestock production camps and incite an 'Animal Farm' style uprising amongst the nation's farm animals. It failed of course, as I'm now remembering that 'Animal Farm' wasn't actually published until 1945, meaning the pigmen had no blueprint upon which to base their diabolical scheme. A small colony still lives in the south of Germany anyway, handing their shame down from generation to generation, their punishment being that they are bacon, and yet they may not eat bacon.


Well, they can eat bacon in that sense I suppose. I really didn't want to draw that by the way. 
But I had to.


"Yeah, so you were saying you went out?"


I was, I was!


Yeah, so I'd never been to this particular venue before, although I'd always wanted to, as the Oxford road bus line has whisked me past it at unproblematic-to-your-neck speeds many times, and I am a curious creature.


I'm pretty sure it used to, or still does, have a sign up outside which says 'temporary sign,' on it, which gave it a feeling of not quite being a real place from the outside, and I'm glad to report that that feeling persists to the buildings inner core too. The first bit of it I saw was the bar, which is a little red walled box room with no windows, which felt like it was out of some weird Terry Gilliam film, or possibly the bar from the film, 'Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with me.'


The unreal feeling continued into the performance room, but then again every stage feels like they exist outside of everyday reality, because they do.


And then there was entertainment!


The idea of the night was that it was like an old style variety night in the style of the old Music halls, and it was like that, I thought, as a large and posh man, who I'd earlier seen smoking a pipe, walked onto the stage and did some banter, before introducing:


ALEX CHOW!




I really like acoustic fingerstyle guitar music (which is what his business card, which he gave me, informs me that this is), so this was a real treat for me. He's playing tonight too, at Kyoto (Lounge?), if anyone is up for it?

Anyway, moving forwards, there was some more banter, and then:

THICK RICHARD!




In my mind this guy looked a bit like an under age teenager who'd managed to blag his way into the SS. Not that he had swastikas on him or anything, his clothing just had that cool, World War 2 Germany pizazz to it. Oh, and he's probably not a teenager either, but he did look quite young, although he's probably not as I've now spotted this picture of him online in which he looks about ten:

"Hello, I'm, *cough cough,* Thick Richard"

Thick Richard is a poet, but that piece which I've posted a video of, which he opened with, is more like a short story really, although still no less ultra-fantastico as a result. Unfortunately for him, he was quite poorly, and he had to stop to cough a few times, but that only added to the amusement to be honest.

And then came the band that I'd shown up to see:

THE BRADAWLS!

The 'tranny' in question was a transistor radio


The weird, Gilliamesque venue was perfect for them, as they're a weird, Gilliamesque sort of band, and just as the entire place felt like it could be deep in the heart of the earth, in a half-effective nuclear radiation bunker, they felt like the sort of mutants that would end up performing in that sort of place.

I apologise for my overuse of German similes in this post, but the front man, sporting scruffy blonde hair and a dishevelled sun hat, did look like a fugitive Nazi scientist who was hiding out in Brazil.

Which, so far, doesn't really say much about the music. But here is some more of it anyway!



They were very good, but I think that says enough about them to be honest, as you definitely benefit from going in only half knowing what to expect.



Yeah, so if anyone knows of any other good gigs coming up, let me know!


2 comments:

  1. See that Gregg's Pastie Emporium next door to the Dance House? That used to be the Dance House Bar. I once went out with a librarian and he got me very, very drunk there and I fell into the band. Which was embarrassing. But. He still took me back to his and fed me mouldy bread and read me Keats. He had a ceiling with sheets stapled to it. We sat on the step and talked to the neighbours. He looked a bit like Joseph Fiennes, the librarian did, the neighbours looked like the seventies. Umm. That had nothing to do with anything, sorry.

    I think your pig pictures are kewl.

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  2. Nice. As in pretty much every sentence of that.

    Were you too drunk to stop him feeding you mouldy bread, or just too drunk to mind?

    Thanks for liking the pig pictures. I had the idea for the second one, and then thought, "Yeah, I don't really want to draw a pig giving another pig head," but I had to unfortunately because I just need to get on with things sometimes, then the finished picture made me really want to give someone head, then I worried about myself for a bit, and then I thought that the guy could be called 'Ludpig,' and everything worked out for the best.

    According to the internet, you are a dead author of erotic fiction?

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