Glasgow. A city that smells faintly of soot, triumph, and someone else's chips; cold, half-eaten, stepped on. The perfect setting, for a W.A.S.P. gig. Although It wasn't a concert in the traditional sense. It was more a series of escalating dares between fire, feedback, and denim.
When Blackie Lawless came onstage the audience erupted. Someone spilled beer on me, and a security guard smelled of panic and Lynx Africa.
Then they proceeded to play their debut album in its entirety. "I Wanna Be Somebody" is still a cry so primal and ridiculous it looped back around and became profound. Half the crowd shouted it, the other half acted like they were trying to laugh through a midlife crisis.
During the medley of "Inside the Electric Circus" / "I Don't Need No Doctor" / "Scream Until You Like It", a woman near me screamed and did SEEM to like it. I hope they’re doing okay...
The guitars didn’t so much scream as accuse. One solo sounded as like someone had angrily trying to solder a microwave using only hatred. The drumming was an avalanche of fists. My trousers vibrated in a way I’m still not fully comfortable discussing.
By the end, my ears were ringing like dinner bells. I staggered out into the Glasgow night, mascara smudged (And I wasn’t even wearing any when I got there), with only one thought in my head: I need tea. Strong, scalding, restorative tea. And maybe a bath where I can scream underwater and reflect on my sins.
Words: Matt Denny
When Blackie Lawless came onstage the audience erupted. Someone spilled beer on me, and a security guard smelled of panic and Lynx Africa.
Then they proceeded to play their debut album in its entirety. "I Wanna Be Somebody" is still a cry so primal and ridiculous it looped back around and became profound. Half the crowd shouted it, the other half acted like they were trying to laugh through a midlife crisis.
During the medley of "Inside the Electric Circus" / "I Don't Need No Doctor" / "Scream Until You Like It", a woman near me screamed and did SEEM to like it. I hope they’re doing okay...
The guitars didn’t so much scream as accuse. One solo sounded as like someone had angrily trying to solder a microwave using only hatred. The drumming was an avalanche of fists. My trousers vibrated in a way I’m still not fully comfortable discussing.
By the end, my ears were ringing like dinner bells. I staggered out into the Glasgow night, mascara smudged (And I wasn’t even wearing any when I got there), with only one thought in my head: I need tea. Strong, scalding, restorative tea. And maybe a bath where I can scream underwater and reflect on my sins.
Words: Matt Denny
RSS Feed