As the chorus of their opening song says, King Kurt are back again, and the way my body feels this morning, it was the first steps on my own road to rack and ruin. I need to remember in the future I’m a man in my 50s and perhaps wrecking should be in the past. But fuck it, it was King Kurt what was I supposed to do?
My first time in Rocknrolla’s in Paisley and it certainly is an imposing and impressive venue. What wasn’t my first time though was seeing tonight’s support band, The Three ‘n’ Eights. A band who, for the uninitiated, play, in their own inimitable style, their unique combination of country punkabiilly, for want of a better description. Their set was the perfect party starter, their own songs, including a couple of cracking new tunes, interspersed with covers from the likes of Conway Twitty and Johnny Cash, with Gregor taking vocal duties for their ubiquitous cover of Rancid’s Timebomb, and Phyl having a blast dancing out front as she played and also going for a walkabout round the venue. Closing with a couple of energetic covers in Monkey Man and Drunken Lullabies, they more than warmed up the crowd for King Kurt. I for one am awaiting an album with great anticipation.
The usual suspects had already warmed up the “pit” ahead of the appearance of King Kurt, kicking off their set with The Road to Rack and Ruin. I had decided in a moment of unusually lucid maturity, that tonight I would stand on the sidelines and enjoy the music, watching the wrecking from a safe distance… the infinite wisdom of this plan lasted approximately 4 pints. The snap decision, I say decision, but it was more of an “aw fuck it, its King Kurt” lunge into the melee, was one which my aging aching limbs may be feeling today, but, as Edith Piaf once sang, je ne regretted rien, I had a fucking blast.
There is something about a King Kurt gig that just makes all troubles disappear, for an hour or so, nothing else matters but the tunes and the camaraderie, and the wrecking of course… the set was crammed with crowd pleasing King Kurt party anthems, I even had to resort to dancing the Zulu Beat at the bar while awaiting drinks… Destination Zululand, Do the Rat, Banana Banana and of course Wreck-a-Party Rock, all part of an insane set that rocked the rafters of the old converted church. I’m sure there are many others who will be feeling the after effects of their exertions but doing so with a huge grin on their faces as they remember the positive vibes and general feeling of, I know this is going to sound cheesy, friendship and community.
The whole night felt like a real opportunity to let your hair down and not give a shit about what anyone else thinks, a chance to spend time in the company of like minded souls, catching up with friends and making new acquaintances, including the weirdest experience I’ve ever had at a gig, with Eli leaving the stage mid song, not usual in the grand scheme of things, Phyl went walkabout with her trombone after all, but when he started to make a beeline towards me, asking “are you David Reid’s pal” it all felt a bit surreal. If you’ve read any of my blogs before, I know I may sound like a broken record sometimes, but I’ll repeat again, these sort of gigs are what live music is about, that’s one of the reasons why gigs are a huge part of what I do. You’re in control (well until a few pints have you rushing the pit), you can hide in the darkness of the crowd and enjoy the music if that’s where your head is at, or, like this gig, you can be whoever you want to be in the heat of the moment, letting your hair down with no fucks given, with no fear of judgement.
A huge thanks to both King Kurt and The Three n Eights for making this a night to remember, but more than that, a huge thanks to all the people who helped make it a special night, those who I knew before, and those who I know now…
I’m already counting the days until the next King Kurt gig…I’m just not getting a taxi home from the rank at Central Station.