One week on from my last Therapy? show in Stoke, I hadn't planned on writing this review but things have changed. Now in a much larger venue, Therapy? seem much hotter than last time, even if the choice of material is, at best, eclectic. The backdrop appears to be a Christ figure arising from a lake of fire, surely inspired by Mike McKeegans favourite band of all time - Saxon. The band start up with the pounding, heavy Fat Camp, and then, as the song ends it all falls apart. The guitars don't seem to work.

"In the true tradition of stadium rock, we're gonna do a drum solo" Andy beams. "Any drummers in the audience?" I'd just like to point out to everyone I am in fact a drummer. (My brother can testify to this). And so I yelled out "ME! I'll do it!". Andy points at me, and says "Bring him on". I'm dragged out of the crowd. Andy shakes my hand, and I whisper something in his ear. Welcome to the longest and shortest thirty seconds of my life. Andy repeats what I just said to him : "His name is Mark and he is a fucking drummer!"

And so I'm lead to the kit, make the Hail Satan finger gesture to the masses in the tradition of true stadium rock, and start pattering away. What nobody tells you is when the lights are on you you can't see the crowd - I feel like a rabbit in headlights. But my mate Darren tells me it looked and sounded really good and everyone was cheering me on. So I owe him a fiver. My mine goes blank, so I play the first song I can think of - Intact by Neds Atomic Dustbin. Looking back at it, I should've played Therapys? Accelerator as my band play it all the time. Whilst I'm playing away, Graham the drummer joins in behind me on toms and stuff, before I get the Nod from Andy, the guitars fixed, and a quick drum roll later - it's all over.

A few cheers and the rest of the show commences with an all too quick blur of "hits", and music that straddles the middle ground between US Hardcore and Stadium metal. New song Joey is a spiky burst of a thing, Six Mile Water is revealed as a sad, gentle lament to exhaustion and fury, and Evil Elvis still shines as the greatest single that never was. A crowdsurfer breaks my glasses - cheers mate - and a multitude of people all say "Nice drums" to me in bizarre places across the venue. A crewmember actually says that if Graham had puked again and had to stop the show they'd asked me to do it. (I mean, Wow!)

I've said loads about Therapy? in my other review. I just thought I'd share my brief flirtation with infamy with you all.

Only registered users can write comments.
Please login or register.

Powered by AkoComment 1.0 beta 2!