The Wax Conspiracy

Turbonegro (& Hard-Ons) Gaelic Club 17/10/03

If you'd have told me that 11 hours after the show I'd still be pulling some clumps of blood from my hair & finding feathers stuck to my shoes, I'd have said you were insane. Beer getting sprayed by a guitarist or an excitable fan is a given, yet the blood and plumage was a definite surprise.

"it is not pig blood, as they told you on the radio," said the singer, trying to quell a smirk. "it is... dolphin blood."

To which those splattered felt an instant putrefying shame yet managed to laugh it off as a more than likely hoax. One song later, the same ogrish singer would throw a slightly torn down pillow into the darkest, most violent section of the pit, where it was instantly torn to shreds. Maybe there's six high powered fans (to move the air around, not the kind singing along) strapped to strategic wall locations within the Gaelic Club, and all of them succeeded in turning the air into a feathery blizzard. Breathing was near impossible; such craziness was not anticipated. Yet the effect comical. The heaviest moshers of the night were effectively bloodied & feathered.

Suffice to say, it was almost the highlight of a show which was a string of highlights. If such a thing is even possible without reducing the value of each highlight, or even the word "highlight" itself.

To begin, Turbonegro look like six of the denim-borne hardasses from The Wild One with Marlon Brando, chosen at random and then sprayed with kitsch '80s makeup. The frontman, in all his ursine glory, walked on with a cane, and barely waited one song before removing his shirt. So much sweat for one man. There's no explaining the fear some felt as he gestured to the front row to catch his sweating bulk and attempt to crowd-surf for the exact length of one guitar solo. The lead guitarist would also do similar things; i.e., crowd surf or stand on the shoulders of the crowd while playing. The bass player would hold out his axe for the fans in the front to hit as part of his solo.

As an opening act, the Hard-Ons seemed full of energy. Very loud, with varied song stylings. As there were only two bands performing, this gave a lot of time to be waiting around for stuff to happen. Hard-Ons played for about 50 minutes, as far as people without a decent timepiece can tell, simply by counting inside the brain.

A memorable occasion to behold; time taken for the break between the main set and the pseudo encore, and fans spontaneously erupting into a chorus of "woh woh woh... i got erection" for five minutes while waiting for the Scandinavian clan to stomp back onto the stage.

What followed was moderately crazy. The band's lineup was introduced by the frontman, who was himself introduced to the crowd by the bass player. The crowd was then ordered to sing "Happy Birthday", as it was his 31st anniversary of life that particular day. Or so it was claimed.

The show, full of crazed ramblings from a man who was quite possibly drunk out of his brain, was filled with audience participation - something which makes it a more personal experience for the folks who turn out. Quite a comedian and an entertaining stage show. A grand night out indeed.

Jimmy Weasel

Reviewed on Sunday, 19 October 2003

The Wax Conspiracy




Other reviews by Jimmy Weasel