Little Red
21.06.10
Little Red are a 5 piece from Australia who were over in Blighty showing off their rock 'n' roll feel good tuneage. Having been described as the "the best band in Melbourne at the moment" we thought we'd check out the cream of the crop while we had the chance.
www.myspace.com/littleredmusic
He Said
The night before I got drunk with James Cordon and got thrown off the loose Women set and fucked up my ankle. The gig loomed ahead I didn't want to let her down AGAIN. Wracking my brain for a way to get out of this mess I decided to change this nightmare into an evening of possibility... Called my mate and told him to get down there pronto... Take it away Dave...
...So I got a call from the normal He of this fine blog telling me he'd got us tickets for Little Red. This was unusual: normally he has the foresight of five year old Glaswegian crack baby, and would rather take your Nan down a dark alley than do anything for you.
"But I can't go, soyou'vegottogowithEmilybye!"
Message ends. No time to reply. No answer when I call back.
I had met She from HeSaidSheSaid just the once, and I was drunk, drunk enough to forget any conversation we had (which, all things considered, might be good thing). It would be churlish to not mention that I found her attractive and, thinking about it I realised that though I thought Little Red's music was pretty awful the only reason I was going was to go with a pretty girl - as fine a reason as any, I might add.
After turning up a little late and doing the requisite hi-how-you-you's-Chris-is-a-cunt-ain't-he?, it transpired we were about two hours early. "Fine!" You say. "Hit the bar! Oil yourself. Show off! Become funnier!" Except, thanks to a previous week of pleasure that had been fuelled by little else than liquor and crudely cut chemicals, I was on a self enforced booze break (so was She, thankfully). This meant, though, that I was forced to do that most unnatural of things... Have a normal conversation with a girl, and rely on my natural wit and charm (snigger) to see me through.
Fortunately, there was some good music on hand to chug things along. The opening act may have been dressed in the kind of mustard cardigan/brown slacks combo that several good men have died in, but he was actually rather sweet, ruthlessly self-deprecating and sang simple acoustic ditties that were full of lines like "There's a fine line between talented and me."
Second act Planet Earth aren't worth discussing, so it comes to Little Red who I'm ashamed to say I totally misjudged. Yes, they're relentlessly chirpy (I do like a bit of misery). Yes, they sound a bit like a soft version of Jet on record. But live they are a thing to behold: they jump, they strut, they swap microphones, they have guitar lines so bouncy they'd make Tony Blair forget he made the whole world hate us and lose his rag on the floor. More or less every song concludes with the crash of keys, drums, guitars and brass, and a four person harmony along the line of "ah-ah-ah-ah", "ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh" or, just occasionally, "ah-ooh-ooh-ooh." The only time they falter is with their ballads which, to be frank, are a load of horrible schmaltzy shite and should be left to Scouting For Girls.
Little Red will never change the world but they are essentially the best wedding band you'll ever see. They play 'cos they clearly love it, the fans love it more, and they have a unpretentious dedication to entertain that probably won't but should light the heart of every self aware scenester getting a hard-on for the latest abhorrent shit coming out of a toilet somewhere in Clapton.
And I still think she's fit.
She Said
I'm used to being let down by men. Have got to the stage where I'm passed caring and always expect the worst in the hope that one day someone might surprise me. So I was standing ever waiting, ever flicking the proverbial fag in agitation as a tap on the shoulder revealed not the boy, but his mate Dave.
Me: "Where is he then? Gone to the loo?"
Dave: "Nah, he couldn't make it, something to do with a sprained ankle and James Cordon. Told me to come keep you company instead."
I tapped away at text which was appropriate to the situation, mainly consisting of swear words. The reply came quickly and glee tinged.
Him: "Enjoy each others company, you'll get on. Just remember you don't owe him anything, and don't get in any unlicensed cabs and always use protection."
Fucking cunt. I turned back to Dave to find him smiling expectantly and then realising I had been bloody set up. Out the blue, sans make up and sans appropriate attire.
We had met before at a gig a few months ago but I hadn't spoken to him much as my usual boy seemed cagey to let us get a word in edgeways (he likes to be the centre of attention). We both ordered cokes which felt weird and we were 2 hours early so that was weird and there were lots couples kissing everywhere which was weird and I kept accidently staring at them which he noticed and I'm sure he thought that was weird.
OK so to the bands, I'll ignore the first two mainly because the only thing I can remember about it is that Dave really hated the lead singers t-shirt and I thought it was alright but didn't want to tell him because he didn't like it. Loved Little Red's set, t'was brilliant... I particularly loved their hardcore Australian fans that had some of the best dance moves I'd seen for ages, the lawnmower made a cameo as did the bus driver. I think I even saw a girl hook a guy with a fishing rod and then reel him in. It was special.
Me and Dave chatted away while everyone revelled around us. We bitched about him a lot and discussed stuff we wanted to do or were trying to do. Normal 20 something's trying to work out what the hell we're meant to be doing. Then he walked me back to the tube very gentlemanly like and that was it... Well for that night anyway.
It was a really nice evening actually. Very, er... Surprising.
