The Beat Surrender

Well here we go with my first review for the mighty Beat Surrender, although I should tell you that a similar article should have been posted after the Cockpit gig in November, but as I’m not the most motivated person in the world, its still sat in my ‘to do list’. Sorry Kev.

For some daft reason the Sat Nav has told us to go down the M621 to get to the gig, which makes me anxious that were going to end up being stuck in traffic, but slowly my anxiety gives way as we make it to the venue in good time, and I start getting that familiar rush that tells me we’re in for a good night.

When I was younger, I used to make it a must to see the support act, just in case they ever became famous, and I could brag to my mates that I saw them well before they went up their own back sides. This slowly passed way for me as I got older, as I stayed in the local boozer until 5 minutes before the main act would come on.

Anyway, I’m taking this serious tonight and making a conscious effort to broaden my horizons, and I’m happy to say I’ve been rewarded as Billie the Vision and the Dancers, a seven piece from Sweden, absolutely blow me away.

If you can get your head round the six foot six blonde transvestite and his bunch of odd ball associates, who oddly reminds me of Klas Ingesson, you’re in for a right treat, the stand out tracks being My Love, A Man From Argentina and Nightmares, with the later making me ask ‘where is Pablo?’.

Back to business. As you may guess, you could probably right down on the back of a beer mat what I know about the blues, therefore, I’m sorry but I can’t act the smart ass and offer any comparisons. However, for the last two moths since seeing the self proclaimed ‘Song and Dance Man’ at the cockpit, I’ve been banging on to every man and his dog how they should check out the grizzly looking 68 year old and his three string guitar. Just ask KT Tunstall, if you don’t believe me.

As my missus will tell you, I’m no Columbo, but tonight I notice that some drums have been set up on stage, which has raised a couple of eyebrows from my colleague. Anyway, the lights are dimmed and suddenly the slow strum of My Donny starts to reverberate around the venue, to which the crowd give the hobo a rapturous applause as he enters the stage.

As the tale finishes, the big fella introduces us to his drummer tonight, a former pal of his from Steve’s days in the Level Devils, who resembles someone that got lost in San Francisco in the 60’s, I cant remember the bloke’s name, but I feel no guilt, as he was shamelessly exploiting the crowd with the unwarranted scarf!

The energy that comes from these two is amazing though for a couple of coffin dodgers, as we thrash out my personal favourite Cut My Wings, and even though Steve may be getting sick of his tales, so he says, we ain’t, as I could listen to the story of Sherman and the $75 dollar guitar a thousand times and still be amused.

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