The Damned
Queen Adreena
The Urban Voodoo Machine
Texas Chainsaw Travelling Horror Picture Show @ The Forum, London
Friday November 30 2007

When is a gig not quite a gig? Instant answer: when it's a theatrical extravaganza put together by the horrorshow rock 'n' roll carny troupe that is the Texas Chainsaw Travelling Horror Picture Show.

Now, that name doesn't quite describe what's inside the tin here. The TCTHPS (I'm not going to type it out in full every time) are based in London, not Texas. They don't travel, unless you count their perambulations around assorted London venues. The much-vaunted horror element is actually cartoonish and played for laughs, and this ain't no picture show - it's live action all the way. Apart from all that, everything is exactly as described. Tonight's not-quite-gig is billed rather optimistically as a 'Multimedia Horror Show', but might be better summed up as an Ed Wood-style interpretation of the traditional English pantiomime, with a vintage horror movie inspired narrative of sorts. Innocent young girl falls into the clutches of mad professor in his crazy laboratory, somebody gets a chainsaw out, and whaddaya know, it's blood and gore a-go-go. You know, that kind of thing. If I seem a little vague here, it's because it's frankly almost impossible to follow the plot, which is rolled forward by extended bouts of mumbled on-stage dialogue between wackily overdressed characters, none of whom seem to have grasped the fundamentals of stage acting (face the front, project to the rear stalls, darlings!) Still, none of this matters too much, because we're not here for the amateur dramatics. We're here for the bands.

A warm-up set by The Urban Voodoo Machine passes in an amiable blur of good ol' boy 'billyisms, whereupon the musicians are unceremoniously dragged offstage by the cast - a genuinely funny bit of business, rather more entertaining, it must be said, than the band's set of jaunty Americanisms. We're then into the, erm, 'theatrical' part of the show, which need not concern us here. It certainly doesn't concern most of the audience - aside from the diehards keenly following the action down the front, the bulk of tonight's punters simply mill around impatiently waiting for the next band.

It's almost a shock, then, when Captain Sensible appears on stage in the disturbingly convincing guise of a French maid. He gives us a cheery rendition of 'Happy Talk' while pretending to sweep up some artificial gore (someone's had their arms chainsawed off, or something - don't ask me for details, I was at the bar). Fun stuff, and good to see the Cap'n looking fit and chipper in his frilly dress. Perhaps revealingly, this little interlude - by far the most pantomime-esque aspect of the entire show - works better than any of the other theatrical stuff.

But what we're really waiting, of course, for is a full-on blast of visceral rock 'n' roll. And, as it happens, Queen Adreena are here to provide just that.

Last time I saw Queen Adreena - a few years back at the ICA - I ended up feeling a little underwhelmed by the experience. The band made a suitably loud, but ultimately rather formless quasi-metal racket, and I concluded somewhat sadly that Queen Adreena's early promise had been eclipsed by a long, slow, slide into Heavy Metal Hell. On the strength of tonight's performance, however, it seems the band have clawed their way back into contention. The tiresome metalisms of yesteryear have been junked in favour of a tightend-up punk-blues sound, as gritty as road dirt and as implacable as Patti Smiuth arm-wrestling John Lee Hooker. KatieJane Garside, as ever handling the vocals and swooning chores, flops, flounces, struts and stomps around the stage like a rag doll in a very bad mood. I've remarked before that KatieJane's freaked out, barely-on-the-planet stage persona strikes me as just that - a persona. She may be exorcising her demons live on stage, but she always keeps them on a short leash and makes 'em play it her way. In spite of the oft-expressed view that KatieJane is constantly on the brink of going fruityloops on us, I tend to the view that she's actually far more in control than the myth would have us believe. Her stage actions tonight - singing to us from a variety of contortions on a garden chair, like a cabaret artiste doing callisthenics, then hurling herself across the stage to headbutt Crispin Gray, on guitar (he accepts his fate, as ever, with stoic grace) - have the feel of showbiz dramatics rather than impromptu bursts of craziness. And, on that level, it all works. As a kick-to-the-head theatrical experience, Queen Adreena are a highly effective performance unit, and now that they've decided to neck the punk pills again, instead of swigging the metal medication, the omens have suddenly got good. Slightly to my surprise, I'm a born again Queen Adreena fan by the end of the set.

There follows a rather awkward delay, during which a young lady delights us upon the flying trapeze - a neat spectacle, but not obviously anything to do with the supposed horror story narrative of the show. Then we get an extended bout of carnival barking by the compere, to whip up a bit of spurious excitement during a period when nothing else is going on. This, I suppose, illustrates the pitfall of trying to turn a gig into a continuous theatrical show. The first thing you learn about the crazy old world of rock 'n' roll is that nothing ever runs to time, and trying to get a band on stage and rockin' bang on cue is probably a scientifically impossible task. Finally, however, all is ready, and it's showtime again.

The carnival feel of tonight's show suits The Damned down to the ground. With no new album to promote - indeed, no record label and no prospect of a new album any time soon - the band's current strategy seems to be to tout their greatest hits around the circuit as a kind of good-time rock 'n' roll revue. That might sound like a distinct step away from anything contemporary and cutting edge, but the band's back catalogue is full of gems, from their ramalama punkzoid early material to the classic English psychedelia of their latter-day hits, and the individual members have honed their on-stage personalities to a fine art. Captain Sensible, as ever, is the overgrown delinquent schoolboy, leering mightily at the crowd while effortlessly peeling off guitar riffs that crackle with insouscient energy. Dave Vanian is a very avuncluar vampire, grinning tolerantly as the mayhem unfolds around him. On keyboards, Monty Oxymoron has perfected the persona of a tetchy schoolmaster. As beer cans fly (throwing things at The Damned is a time-honoured sport) he takes it upon himself to scold the audience, threatening to stop the show if any more disobedience occurs. The impact of this lecture is slightly diminished by the fact that Captain Sensible is standing behind him all the while, making comedy 'Oo-er, missus' faces at the audience. Yes, The Damned are always good for a laugh, but the songs tie it all together. 'Shadow Of Love' is a slinky psychedelic beast, 'Love Song' a thundering bass-driven freight train. Oh, The Damned have still got what it takes, no doubt about that. They can still generate that authentic rock 'n' roll rampage, and notwithstanding their reputation as a boisterous punk rock comedy troupe, they've got a repertoire of killer tunes that other bands would die for.

The set tonight seems short - I don't know if it really is, or if that's just a function of the non-stop barrage of hit-tastic songs. At any rate, there ain't no encore. The Damned shuffle off, and are replaced by some sort of body modification suspension act. A rather apprehensive-looking gentleman sporting all sort of stainless steel hardware is apparently going to be hoisted aloft by means of a rope tied to his piercings. Unfortunately, with the band offstage and last-train time fast approaching, the audience is moving swiftly and implacably towards the exits. As far as the crowd is concerned, the show is finito. In this I suppose we see another problem with the idea behind tonight's event. Regardless of the 'multimedia horror show' concept, the fact that tonight's entertainment was based around three bands playing live meant that the audience inevitably regarded the proceedings as a gig. And when the bands finish, the gig is over. As I head out with the crowd, the compere is trying desperately to rally the dwindling numbers. 'This guy has got hooks in his skin,' he hollers. 'Let's hear it for the hooks!'

I've got a better idea, mate. It was a good gig, but now let's hear it for the Northern Line and a tube train home.

Essential links:

The Damned : Website | MySpace
Queen Adreena: Website | MySpace
The Urban Voodoo Machine: Website | MySpace

Texas Chainsaw Travelling Horror Picture Show: Website | MySpace

For more photos from this gig, find the bands by name here.