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Selfish CuntSelfish Cunt
Amy Fox
Macbeth, London
Thursday April 7 2011

 

 

 

Amy Fox must be wondering what she's got herself into. Alone on stage with only her acoustic guitar for company, in front of a restless crowd who are all keen to get their Cunt on, she has the interesting job of being tonight's support act - and at a free gig, too, which means the place is packed and heaving before anyone's even played a note.

Coming on first in this situation is a task that might make the loudest bunch of punkers quail, but Amy gives it plenty of attitude and whangs at her guitar with a certain take-no-shit fierceness, and against the odds she grabs the crowd's attention. She plays it fast and pithy, although I suspect she's deliberately biased her set towards her most robust numbers - if she's got any gentle ballads in her repertoire, tonight is not the night for them. Final song appears to be called 'Stuck On Sucking You', and it also appears to be about oral sex. But that's only the way it seems, because in the final verse Amy reveals that it's actually all about smoking. Well, she had us all going there. She leaves the stage to cheers. Mission accomplished.

Selfish Cunt

And now, here come the Cunts. Selfish Cunt are, I suppose, a band forever at the mercy of their name. It's an attention-getter, obviously, and it hints at a certain, erm, extremity - because you don't call your band Selfish Cunt if you do winsome little love songs. It also means the band will never be stars, either. Maybe that's the real meaning of the name. It instantly rules the band out of all the normal showbiz channels. It sends a message: whatever this is, it's going to be different.

It's going to be bloody loud, too. The guitar cranks up to head-slicing volume, the bass rumbles out of the PA like a squadron of tanks taking on Salisbury Plain. There's a new drummer - presumably now that Joao Pires is a full-time Dogbone, they've had to bring in a new bloke. Moustachioed and polo-shirted, as if he's just strolled in from the golf links, he gets stuck in as if driving off with a couple of hefty woods. But it's when vocalist Martin Tomlinson appears that we really know we're in the presence of Selfish Cunt. Throwing shapes like a mentalist vogueing enthusiast, dressed improbably in fetching silk bloomers, he's a one-man theatrical experience, flouncing tremendously around the stage while yelping a vocal in an otherworldly ululation. He's like Iggy Pop's dangerously girlie brother, and his performance is a bravura display of strut and swagger.

Although the four members of the band might look like they've all beamed down from different planets (apart from Martin Tomlinson, who looks like he's from another dimension altogether) Selfish Cunt make for a very tight, cohesive, straight-for-the-jugular rock 'n' roll experience. Their songs seethe and burn, the venue becomes a boiling mass of bodies. Someone stagedives, and crashes headlong into the drumkit. He grins triumphantly as he realises there's bood all over his face, and flings himself crowdwards once again. Selfish Cunt are one of the few bands around these days that can induce an honest-to-goodness mosh, even to the point of audience self-sacrifice. It would be downright scary if it wasn't for the feeling of celebratory release in the air.

But tonght's gig, intense experience though it is, is just the curtain-raiser. There's a new album in the works - Shaved - and more live dates coming up. This freebie in the pub is the warm-up to a lot more of Selfish Cunt's weirdpunk burlesque. We shall consider ourselves duly warned. Like I said: the Cunts are coming.

Selfish Cunt

Selfish Cunt: Website | MySpace | Facebook

Amy Fox: Facebook

For more photos from this gig,
find Selfish Cunt by name here.

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