Sunday 22 February 2015

Vincent Walden's not-so-professional reviews: The Lucid Dream

Last night, I saw a gig—and now I'm starting a new feature for this blog, of which I review things in a 'super professional' manner.

We had a line up of strange and wonderfulness for the evening, which included overly-high singers, moshing and songs that extended longer than the fictitious length of a lad's genital area. 

The night kicked off with a DJ of great skill; I doubt he's the world best DJ but he has a bloody impressive record collection, ranging from Dub classics to Wilson Picket.

After about 15 minutes the first band entered the stage, they were "The Postcard Band" who were what I would describe as 'Dad Rock', playing songs about public transport, with no drummer and a pint chugging keyboard player. This sounds derogatory but they were rather good, although not to my taste at all. They were a good but I wasn't all that taken away, so I'll leave off the review on for them now and press on.
A strong 6/10.

After a short spell of  art rock records, of which I couldn't decipher a word, we could slowly began see the next band begin to set up their things—all the whilst accompanied with amazing drum test solos and the odd tap of a unplugged microphone.
 The next band were "The Purple Heart Parade" who looked and acted like the real-deal art rock band, with beer bellies, long hair and overly skinny lead singers. Now, on the subject of the lead singer; I have honestly never seen anybody so bloody high in public at any point ever. I mean the guy wandered around the stage looking at his microphone stand as if it had come to life and started whispering words of offence to him. He stood as if the floor below him was being shaken whilst see stared fiercely at the members of the crowd; especially the guy at the front of the crown who looks suspiciously like my tutor David Robert, except rather than being at home enjoying a good film, this guy was rapidly shaking his head to and throw like he's seen something on the floor that keeps sporadically moving up and down and he just can't quit seem to loose his gaze upon said thing.
Then suddenly, mid set, the singer jumped into the crowd and crouched onto the floor (beside the avid moshing man), with his butt crack showing, as he screamed in waves of distortion, all accompanied by the trashing sounds of delay pedals.
8/10, would of been higher if he was higher. I'm joking children, it's impossible to be higher than that man.

Once our ears had been well warmed by the sound of being repeatedly attacked by a Gretch attached to the devil's pedal board; we could see the infamous, the anticipated, the locals, The Lucid Dream. 
Mid set-up, I thought to myself, I recognise some of those people on stage, actually I recognise all but one of them. Turns out, I knew half of them, without actually knowing. Even though that doesn't really matter.

Anyway, They were flipping brilliant!
They were hard to put a label on, like some kind of crazy mix between Dub, Metal, Punk and Psychedelia. There was no way to tell that one song had ended and another had started, other than the claps and cheers coming from the audience; whether mistimed or not. The performance was like being hit by a wall of sound, except this was so massive and distorted, it felt like being hit by the great wall of china of sound, with each brick being a riff that pierced your ears like a parasite of beautiful feedback.
To accompany the sound that would be enough to scare a small child half to death, there was a light show that was almost as disorientating as the music itself. 
The lights were so ridiculous that they could reversed photosynthesis, stopped superman in his tracks and blind a bus-full of elderly folk.
9/10—bloody feckin' brilliant. Thank you.

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