Bauhaus. Manchester Academy.
Last night...fucking awesome.
The minute I walked into the Academy, I knew this was going to be something special. The atmosphere was charged and the place was buzzing with anticipation.
From the off they kicked arse. The flow only being interrupted due to some dickhead launching a can of lager at Pete Murphy. Murphy returned the can, at speed in the general direction from where it came, to applause.
Nothing was going to spoil the night. If anything it increased the energy and excitement in the venue.
Highlights among many were...Dark Entries, She's In Parties, In The Flat Field, Terror Couple Kill Colonel.
Oncour's (sp?) were; covers of Joy Divisions, 'Transmission' (that brought the house down). Bolan's, 'Telegram Sam', Bowie's, 'Ziggy Stardust' and to finish the night perfectly, 'Bela Lugosi's Dead'.
This band's material from 1979-83 is nothing less than remarkable. What a shame they didn't produce more. Much like the Faulty Towers comedy series, all the better for it.
Like I said fucking awesome!
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Choose Liverpool. Choose the dole queue. Choose to scam disability benefit. Choose mind-numbing, grinding efficiency over flair. Choose Torben Piechnik, Istvan Kozma and Paul Stewart. Choose not to win a single league title since the backpass rule was implemented. Choose penalties. Choose car stereos, hubcaps and stanley knives. Choose to trade on your proud sense of tradition and then not lift a finger in protest when two American billionaires who don't even know the name of your club decide to buy it. Choose to win the European Cup whilst only having to play seven matches. Choose to bask in a perpetual, sickening, media love-in. Choose celebrities who **** off out of your city as soon as they have earned the money to do so and then spend the rest of their lives harping on about how wonderful it is. Choose to sing about Munich until confronted with your own tragedy. Choose to end it all in an orgy of self pity, just another excuse to perpetuate the grief culture spawned by your selfish, insular ****ed-up excuse for a city. Choose your future. Choose Scouse.
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