InCulture, Music

We’re all in love with something that we can’t see…

They say one of the secrets to a captivating and interesting blog post is the use of photography. High quality photographs which illustrate the content, as well as an image of the blogger perhaps. Well, I apologise now. This post is going to flout the rules and achieve little of those objectives, but with due reason.
Last night, I went to see the much loved Black Rebel Motorcycle Club at The Ritz in Manchester. Yes, don the leather jacket, poof up the hair, smudge on the eyeliner and prepare! What for? What they’re famous for; heart pounding bass, scuzzy guitars, feet thudding beats and thee most beautiful guitarist… I’m joking, Julian Casablancas is way better looking.
There’s a funny tale about how I acquired the tickets, but it’s not one for now. However, they’ve been booked since December, shortly after their tour was announced. Why? I saw them five years ago and knew that the ticket price would be money well spent.
Arriving at the gig, with my music loving friend Liz, we were pleased to see we’d heard of the support, The Big Pink. Both of us could only remember their ‘Dominoes’ hit (you remember it surely, ‘These girls falls like Domino oh ohs, domino oh ohs,’ thought so) but we were a welcoming audience. Now I know why I only remember one song, all of the songs performed followed the same generic tempo and structure, making each song blend into one noise which could only be described as …The Big Pink! Nonetheless, I liked their drum kit and decided it was worth a picture whilst the gig waters were calm, so to speak.

 Following The Big Pink, Liz and I idly chatted about our favourite Black Rebel songs. Mine is ‘Berlin’, you might have seen it mentioned in my ‘Berlin Calling’ post. However, we both agreed that we’d both come for the iconic ‘Spread Your Love’. Arriving promptly on stage at 8.30pm, we marvelled at Black Rebel’s punctuality. Little were we to know that we were in for a musical cocktail of foot stomping anthems and low key acoustic melodies, enough to melt even the most withered heart.

Now, at gigs, I’m not one to dance. Sometimes I’ll nod my head to the beat or tap one foot, sometimes I’ll jump up and down…but last night, we had the works. Sashaying, hands in the air, beer-filled hair flicking, jumping… It got a little rough down near the front, especially as the crowd was mainly men, and five minutes into Black Rebel’s set, I’d long lost hope for blog photographs, I was merely hoping the strap on my bag would hold!

If you want to peek at footage from the gig,  last night’s fearless gig goers have shared this YouTube:
(Look out for me at the start!)

Two hours later, the curfew had arrived and we were being herded to the doors and cloakrooms with only memories, weary legs and the promise of YouTube to grip on to. The mixture of heat, beer air missiles and hair swishing had worked their magic and transformed my hair into its Kate Bush alter ego. Thank God I had stuffed my hat into my coat pocket, much shame avoided for the walk back to the car.

If you ever get the chance to go see Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, GO!

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