How can I help you dream when all you do is scream?

[reddragdiva]

Last night, arkady and I went to see Deathboy at the Garage. (redcountess was utterly shattered from the weekend's serve of adrenalin and couldn't come out.)

Deathboy had severe laptop problems (remember, no-one ever made it big running Windows on their stage computer), but acquitted themselves suitably during the set. The kids loved it.

They were followed by Mignon, a woman from Berlin who sings and jumps around to a backing track of metal-sounding pop with bad-girl lyrics. Mignon is what happens when people of no talent listen to Nina Hagen and Lene Lovich records.

Rico are a pop band who think they're a rock band. The singer does the precise same screech as Kurt Cobain, every song. If I tell you their current single is a cover of "Psychokiller" by Talking Heads done a bit slower with the screech, you know exactly what all their songs sound like. We stuck around for the number with Gary Numan, which was actually the best thing they did. The electric cello (apparently played by Martin McCarrick, ex-Therapy?) was damn fine too.

markeris applied the Wasp Factory Wallet Hoover and got me for a Faetal CD. hairyears spoke of seeing Tubeway Army first time around. Bastard!

This morning, Liz and Arkady went out to the flat to watch the electrician do his stuff and liaise with the agent. Upshot: the electrics are fucked and need a shitload of work immediately (before we do anything so foolish as to switch on the boiler and try to dry the place out — the carpet still squelches); Liz quoted relevant portions of the relevant Act at the agent; the agent is now enjoying the Butt-Pounding Fist of Legal Requirements. I'm sure we'll receive more information in due course.