Cardiff trip (part two)
There was a total of eight bands playing that night and I can’t say any of them particularly floated my boat: almost all of them sounded like they wanted to be The Strokes!
None, however, could match Black Wire for their rock’n’roll strutting. Stick-thin and dressed in de rigeur black, there was no doubting that they meant it maaan.
Trouble was, the lack of a real drummer seriously undermined their rock credentials (drum machines are for disco boys, no?) and apart from one interesting ‘Roxy Music’ their music rapidly became very formulaic.
Worst of all, the singer had an unpleasant habit of going completely bonkers at the end of each song, squawking like a demented cocker spaniel.
Several of us took this ear-splitting hysterics as our cue for the bar, where we stayed for the remainder of their set.