Selfish Cunt
Sohodolls
Mechanical Cabaret
Earth Loop Recall
Underworld, London
Friday December 21 2007

A somewhat subdued night in the Underworld, without quite as much of a crowd as we might otherwise have expected. It's all down to timing, I suppose. This gig falls in the no man's land of the not-quite-Christmas holiday period, and it seems even London's rock 'n' roll reprobates have headed off to family firesides. At any rate, they ain't in here. That doesn't prevent Earth Loop Recall cranking up the intensity, building their slow-burn storms of looming guitar. To a certain extent the band are pacing themselves tonight. Vocalist Ben is in the grip of the latest flu virus, and it's noticeable that he's holding back a bit, keeping a brake on his usual vehemence, rather than doing that alarmingly I'm-flaying-my-soul-right-open-in-front-of-you-BASTARDS thing, which is his usual frontman style. But even when they're treading carefully, Earth Loop Recall have a kind of introspective menace about them, as if, having stared into the darkness of their own psyches, they've decided to throw everything they've found there into the faces of the audience, on a carrier wave of two guitars, bass, keyboards and programming. It all seethes quite magnificently under the red stage lights.

Oh, look, it's Mechanical Cabaret again, doing their usual fill-the-support-slot thing. It's probably unfair to complain about Mechanical Cabaret's ubiquity, because it's not like they crop up at every gig I go to. It just seems that way sometimes. They run through a selection of their jaunty sleazoid-synthpop tunes, and it's all very familiar and business-as-usual. Which is the problem right there, I suppose: Mechanical Cabaret keep cropping up at London gigs, and they keep giving us the same show. It would be nice to see the band do something on stage that wasn't the usual rinse-out of the same jaunty synthpop selection, and from the band's point of view it would surely be a wise move to play some gigs that aren't just support slots at Flag Promotions shows in London. While the band certainly have some diehard followers, it's pretty obvious from gig to gig that their fanbase isn't exactly expanding fast, if at all. It's time to make some new moves - preferably away from the London support circuit.
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The Sohodolls crowd on stage and arrange themselves around the centrally-situated double bass like presents around a Christmas tree. Yep, they're using a double bass these days, the only time I think I've ever seen a non-Psychobilly band haul such an instrument on stage. Not that this innovation has changed the Sohodolls sound: the band still pirouettes gracefully upon their poptastic tightrope above the Great Abyss Of Glam. Vocalist Maya is as sparkily upbeat as ever, and the songs pack their punches, as neat as packed lunches. Now that their album is out, I dare say the Sohodolls could've used a somewhat larger crowd tonight - they have to promote the product, after all. But while the hardcore Doll Army is down the front, there's not much of a crush elsewhere in the venue. Still, the band give it loads, with humourous remarks between the songs and an insouciant pop grace during them.

With a name like Selfish Cunt, you know that these boys are not in the business of chasing rock stardom. What they are in the business of doing is kicking the stinking beast of rock 'n' roll all over the stage. Guitar riffs pile up like fly-tipped rubble, the drums hammer and clang like barn doors in a hurricane. This music is so raw it's still oozing blood. Can we say no frills? Listen, you want frills, you go to Agent Provocateur. Selfish Cunt have so little truck with the usual strictures and structures of rock that they pointedly refuse to use the drum riser. Their kit is set up front-centre, so close to the crowd it's barely necessary to mic it up. An acoustic force in your face: percussion as challenge. Over on the left, Matthew Saw (who we last encountered handling guitar chores for Andi Sex Gang in Prague) wraps himself like a question mark around his bass. And, clambering around the hardware, gesticulating in slo-mo and striking attitudes a-go-go, please welcome Martin Tomlinson, Selfish Cunt's frontman, vocalist, and resident specialist in the art of punk rock vogueing. He shapeshifts around the stage, fixing the crowd with an unsettling stare, while pouring unadulterated angst into an innocent Shure SM58. It's a bit like watching the Stooges fronted by a rock 'n' roll Rudolf Nureyev. The juxtaposition of that intense, forward-rush feel of the band's music and the bizarro ballet of the singer provides the secret formula that makes Selfish Cunt's art work - and it certainly hauls the band head, shoulders, knees and spleen above the shouty punker crowd. There is a weird energy in the house tonight, and you see those intense and strange gentlemen on stage? They're the ones wot dun it.

Essential links: Selfish Cunt: MySpace Sohodolls: Website | MySpace Mechanical Cabaret: Website | MySpace Earth Loop Recall: Website | MySpace For more photos from this gig, find the bands by name here.