Day Thirteen

1st October 2007 – Derby Revolution

Or “It smells of chips”

 

Sam Christie:

“My favourite story of the whole tour…hmm….I think it’s the one where I slept in the van with Simon and Grant, in Derby, and had Grant sprawled out to my right and Simon sort of at a right angle over my head. Simon snored all night, Grant kept shouting ‘Rrrrrrudy’ at the top of his voice in his sleep, they both stank to high heaven, at some point in the night, Grant took his trousers off and I woke up with him, erm, poking me, Simon seemed to think there was room for the both of us in my single sleeping bag and I had about 30 minutes’ sleep…”

 

Grant Purser:

“That’s bullshit.”

 

What.

 

A.

 

Shithole.

 

Sorry Derby, but you were rough. Really rough. Our van pulled into the town centre at 6 in the evening and the first thing we witnessed was a full-on bottling. As in, a man taking a bottle and smashing it over the head of another man. At 6pm. We then arrived at the venue to discover we were being bumped down the bill by the dickhead promoter who wanted to put the local support on second as they had sold a lot of advance tickets. As I wrote in the diary at the time: “that’s why you put them (the local band) on first, you prick; so everyone enjoys an audience.”  We were REALLY angry at this. We tried arguing, but the promoter was having none of it. We stropped off to get some food and bitched and whined amongst ourselves.

 

Said local support were fucking hilarious, mind. The most nasty, offensive little band I had ever encountered, they were called The Parents and were a kind of pub rock punk rock band in sub-Oasis stylee, with homophobic, sexist, shitty little lyrics that appeared to be delivered with no sense of irony or humour. They meant it, man. And what they meant had – according to some locals we befriended – resulted in them being banned from every other venue in the area. Our jaws dropped as we watched them soundcheck. We genuinely couldn’t work out if they were a wind-up or not.

 

We played a petulant, irritated set to a mostly empty venue, then watched The Parents with a chip on our collective shoulder and a massive strop-on at having suffered the indignity of going on before these jokers. Their setlist included songs called ‘Bastard’, ‘Fuckfest at Tiffany’s’, ‘Dildo Massacre’ and ‘The Homosexualle’, the latter being performed from the lap of one of the frontman’s friends. “Come on!” went the chorus of ‘Fuckfest at Tiffany’s’ “I wanna be your sex pest. Come on! Let’s go to the fuck fest.” ‘The Homosexualle’ left us even more incredulous, with a lyric that went something like “I’m gifted, limp-wristed, come and get your shirt lifted.” They seemed to be taking it so seriously, and the friendly locals we got talking to told us that this was actually a toned-down set. Blimey.

 

SohoDolls went on and – having seen their set a lot – we weren’t really paying much attention until suddenly Maya Doll flew off the stage and started attacking someone. Ooh, drama! We craned our necks to get a good look and realised that she was pummeling the singer from The Parents. Wow. We speculated wildly as to what had caused this, but sadly it was nothing more exciting than the fact he kept filming them and Maya had asked him repeatedly to stop.

 

After the show, Mikko, Matt and Paul joined us for a night on the booze. Some of the bar staff took us to a club called Scream where we saw some fights and danced to a load of indie, Simon and I demanded (and got) Prince again and we headed back to one of the bar-people’s flat for a party. Eventually the various members of the bands scattered, with me passing out on a sofa somewhere and Simon, Grant and Sam sleeping in the van.

 

I love the Internet. Thanks to the Internet, I can show you The Parents. Looking back now – without the anger at them usurping us on the bill – I still can’t work out if this is serious or not. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Fuckfest at Tiffany’s.

 

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