I was told good things about Stanton but they didn't really live up to any kind of expectation I had. I was looking forward to a crazy riot of noise blowing me away. There was noise alright, but it wasn't enjoyable. I was pleased when someone got up to go to the toilet, I really needed a sit down. Disappointing.
Wolf Colonel was only Jason Anderson. On his tod. This was beautiful. He sat us all down and sang to us, discarding the microphone. He did not need amplification as his voice filled the room and tears began to fill my eyes. He sang about our lives, paining for affection to a soundtrack of early nineties American Indie-Rock. This is what they mean when they say "Shoe-Gaze".
Something had to come break this contemplative state of mind; onto the stage slither Parva. There's something dirrty about these guys as they confuse us with the sounds and images or sexy young glams and angry young punks. That's the look they're going for as lead filth merchant Ricky Wilson rock'n'rolls all over the place, even under the place. There's definitely some sweetness of youth there somewhere though, proven by the way he'd excused himself for burping in front of me earlier that evening.
They sing "put us on the cover of your magazine" and someone should.
