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It’s been a while since The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster played a venue this size around these parts (it was only a few months ago that they were blitzing the Underworld, a mere third of tonight’s crowd). And given the size of tonight’s audience, it’s about bloody time: by the time the band skulk onstage people are crammed into Scala like eye-liner wearing, bouffant haired sardines, ready to rock out with everyone’s favourite south coast psychos.
The lads are still every bit the glam/goth heroes they were five years ago. Lead singer Guy parades around the stage like a seasoned pro; a mound of well coiffured hair atop his wide-eyed bonce, it’s like he’s never been away! Dressed in a sea of black, a little bit of white, but mainly just black, the lads get started with a flurry of brand new songs, including their latest, ‘In the Garden’. 2005’s unreleased ‘Love Turns to Hate’ is more anthemic and melodic than the psycho-billy metal we are used to from TEMBD, but goes down well with the swarming mosh-pit.
Things switch up a gear with ‘Kemptown Animal’ (another newie) and upbeat thrasher ‘Mister Mental’ from 2004’s Royale Society, which prompts a veritable swell of activity down the front. And true to form, it’s not long before our beloved Guy thrusts himself straight off of the stage and into this sweaty throng, much to the delight of the groping masses, who do their best to keep hold of him.
But it’s not until the band start churning their way through the real bangers off of 2002’s Horse of the Dog that things really start to kick right off – absolute classic ‘Psychosis Safari’ incites as close as you can get to a proper gutter-rock singalong, whilst the bouncy psycho-billy ‘Giant Bones’, and it’s guttural growling chorus scream of “oooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” has heads banging and fists flying – lovely.
Whilst man mountain bassist Sym, and original guitarist Marc take it in turns to approach/menace the crowd at the front of the stage, Guy is properly off on one. Climbing precariously atop the speakers, scrambling back down again, laying down, jumping up, spinning, falling, pushing bandmates etc it’s hard not to focus solely on this one man trail of impending destruction. Much like an over-excited toddler, it seems like he knows little of what he is going to do from one second to the next - as the band prepare to leave the stage for the first time, Guy squats next to the drum kit after half threatening to pull down his super skinny tight jeans – realising that he shouldn’t really be simulating, or actually taking a shit onstage, he jumps up, does up his trousers, and starts throwing bottles of water at into the crowd (NB not across the crowd, not into the crowd, but hard, AT the crowd).
“COME ON!!!!!” he growls repeatedly as the band wrap up with a stunning encore of ‘Presidential Wave’ and ‘Fishfingers’. It’s worth mentioning the sound was shit tonight, must’ve had a deaf chimp working the sound-desk, but it’s of little consequence – the band’s return to the capital’s big stage has been a triumphant one, come back soon!
