A Cautionary TalePerhaps we should regard these gigs as a form of ‘Care in the Community’, musical methodone for a doomed generation who contracted a virulent strain of ‘Rock and Roll Madness’ in their formative years.
Now old and vulnerable they venture out in search of that elixir of youth. Emerging from behind their piles of re-issues and box sets - the damned (Not literally ‘The Damned’ they’re a punk band ), pale and hollow eyed (quite Dave Vanian like come to think of it ), they go out in search of the ‘hard stuff’.
“Hey Grandad, fancy a shot of that sweet, sweet, Carlsbro penta-tonic!” they are powerless to resist.
Travelling to the ends of the earth (an ex-lap dancing club at the bottom of Smyth St. actually) , even from the exotic poppy fields of Kazakhstan, they gather to enact their sordid rituals.
Endless discussions of 5.1 remixes, re-masters and wether it’s a Big Muff, Little Muff or a Little Muff Pi in the Pete Cornish pedal board. A sorry sight indeed.
Two hours later it’s all over and cold turkey for six months ‘til the next fix. (I do wish the missus would find something else to put in me sarneys).
“Oh yes, we’re down on Terminal St. tonight”
“Oh no, don’t go on Terminal St. tonight”
Think on.
And yes I am that Soldier.
