1 post tagged “tattoos”

I go and check out The Flatstock exhibition in the Convention Centre.   This is where all of the  artists who design the posters for the shows the American bands ply come to exhibit their wares.   I love this shit, not the old psychedelic nonsense from The Filmore, but the great alternative stuff designed by artists such as Koop and The Hernandez brothers during the nineties.   I always pick something up and this year is no exception.   I get this great pink Kasabian poster of Sharon Tate's face in blood, dripping down the blade of a kitchen knife.
   I head over to the Levis' fort for the second day of the Fader party.   I am fascinated to see how Gallows cope with playing to an even more laid back crowd of jaded industry hacks than yesterday, coming on at lunchtime playing in this car park.   Most bands would use the occasion as an excuse to deliver an off performance.   Complain that there was no vibe and just go through the motions.   Not so Gallows.   They create the excitement, grabbing the microphones and charging into the crowd, bringing the show right into our faces.   Regardless of the location they still triumph.   Frank even manages a lightness of touch, getting everyone to sing "Happy Birthday" to their photographer Jess who is celebrating today.   In contrast the next band up are another bunch of Arcade Fire botherers, but they do prick my interest in having two painters up on stage, both of them creating pictures either side of the performance.   Back in the day I did the same with a band called Mrs Mills Party up in Manchester and it is good to see the tradition lives on.
   I go and walk over to Stubbs to see Kings of Leon deliver the best show of the entire festival.   They look so damn good up there and the sound is spot on.   It clears the air, the perfect combination of two guitars, bass, drums and vocals.   This is what rock and roll was always meant to sound like but inevitably disappoints.   Caleb has one of the finest voices out there and is backed up by a remarkable family of musicians.   Add to this, a career which is now three albums deep giving them a rich catalogue of songs from which to draw.   New songs like "My Party" and "On Call" are greeted like standards and rightly so.
   Back out on the street I run into Gallows on their way to a tattoo parlour.   Bassist Stuart is having the band's name written across his lower lip.   I chat with Frank about his time as an artist.   Seeing the fondness with which he recounts his work I think he might just pack up this rock and roll lark and return to his first love.   He is planning on visiting an artist he worked next to at a convention in London.   He lives nearby.   Frank was astounded by his work rate.   He could manage two hours and then he would be exhausted, but this guy went all day straight.   Then he went back to his hotel room with this one punter who had his entire leg filled, stayed up all night to get the job done.   He knew the artist was returning to America the next day and wanted to grab the opportunity.   Poor bastard had to drag his leg out of the hotel the following morning it was so numb.
   It is my first time in a tattoo parlour.  It is as bright as an operating theatre and smells of disinfectant.   I flick through uninspiring books of images and look over at Stuart as he pulls back his lower lips with a pair of surgical gloves.   The girl doing the work has an impressively steady hand, especially with all of us gawping on.   He doesn't flinch and not a drop falls from his eye.   He is not meant to smoke or drink for a fortnight but like that is going to happen in Texas.   As a precaution he is off to the chemist for some mouthwash.
   I wander down Trinity and catch a bit of Mute Math on an outdoor stage.   They are pulling a big crowd keen to check out their commercial brand of Emo.   I am not sure about the "keytar" the singer brandishes or the over enthusiastic drummer, but they are the most pop outfit I have heard since I came here.   I end up back at Stubbs watching Pete and The Pirates.   There is definitely something about them, the singer burns with a passion and sincerity and their songs bring to mind a more sophisticated side to indie rock.   They do get a little too frantic but it is worth keeping an eye on.   I go inside to keep warm and catch a few numbers by Lissie, this singer songwriter from San Fransisco.  She has a charming voice and an endearing manner.   Does a great version of Leadbelly's "Rock Island Line"
  Back outside I watch Andrew Bird from Chicago.    He looks fascinating, dressed formally in a suit but with a brown hoodie inside his jacket.   The stage is littered with unfamiliar looking amplifiers and this huge black and white gramophone horn mounted on top of a large box.   He reminds me of Dylan circa The Rolling Thunder Review and is a little unsure of himself, sweating profusely, but that might just be a fever he complains of.   The music is inventive and subtle, he plucks at a violin before swinging his guitar back that he has slung across his back.   The songs are funny, subtle and heartwarming.
   Finally I get to see Perry Farrell's new band Satellite Party.   I was a big fan of Janes Addiction and their recent reunion shows that there is still a lot of fire left in his belly.   He is backed up on stage tonight by former Extreme guitarist Nuno Bettancourt.   They certainly make an impact.   Perry is dressed fabulously in a silver cravat beneath this tight white and black striped v neck over these impossibly tight sparkling silver trousers.   They unveil the new album in front of a legion of adoring fans who take it to their hearts.   The music borrows from all areas of Perry's career combining the edgy funk with impossibly catchy melodies.
   Its late and I grab a cab back to the hotel.   The driver is up tight and manic, he has been up four days straight and it is starting to show.   I pass up his offer to take me to the airport tomorrow morning.