...So anyway, there I was watching
Eastenders early on Sunday afternoon, sipping a small vodka -n- freshly squeezed orange
when suddenly it was dark and 5pm! How the fuckedy-fuck that happened, I dunno, but
it’s not my first experience of time travel. It’s lucky Dexy Blend called, that
was my wake up call.Within an hour I showered, threw stuff in a bag
and cobbled together an "outfit" (i.e. it fits, and I’m wearing it
out) while listening to Stax Golden Greats, Mansun and treating the neighbours to
a blast of "Scream And Shout" by King Adora. I bolted out of the door, I REALLY
wanted to go to this gig. Blighty might be small but I was still gonna be pushed to get
from the South East to the South West coast in time to see a band leaving this late. The
challenge was on.
Bonfire Night is now in it’s third week as I walk towards Nu-X Station,
the Rocklands sky is lit and hit. Lit with pretty colours and hit with loud bangs. I
sometimes wonder if people who have recently arrived from war torn countries get the
fright of their lives - our peace isn’t always so peaceful...
******
An hour later, having drenched myself in too much perfume from a tester, I had
a first class carriage all to myself. The carpet is dirty so as far as I’m concerned
my peasant class ticket is valid and the ticket man must have agreed cos he didn’t
say nothing.
At least the band aren’t on until 10pm, which plays havoc with getting
home but I’ll worry about that AFTER the gig. Instead I check what I threw in my bag
for this adventure... boa-scarf, children’s rain hat, sesame snaps, energy bar,
w.a.s.t.e. hooded fleece, opium perfume, can of coke, pens, Martin Millar book, mini
jewellery box, half a lemon, mobile phone, make up, bubble gum, remains of vodka, jet-lag
"recovery tin" from a posh as fuck hotel, camera and a drink bottle what some
nice lady was giving away at Charing Cross...
For the rest of the journey I apply more eyeliner, change my earrings, squeeze
the lemon and coke into a bottle, and add vodka. Exchange phone texts then settle down on
my huge mobile sofa (hmm, mirror lights off now I think) and do some reading while I enjoy
my freshley made in-flight refreshment. Portsmouth, here I come!
******
Around 9pm I am in the grooviest bit of Portsmouth where the Wedgewood Rooms
live. Bit far from the stations (a taxi ride) but it’s not half empty like I
expected, King Adora, minus publicity includes a sell-out tour (apart from this one show).
Instead of being quiet and Sunday night atmosphre free, the dance floor looks like a style
video shoot of rockers and sleazy babes.
I like the band that are playing now, a great sound track while trying to
get "real fruit juice" at the bar. Eventually after being shown all manner of
fluorescent, chemical flavoured narstiness and alco-pop hell, the bar man finds Britvic
grapefruit juice. "Phew! I’ll take it!..." I exclaim happily. "...with
a double vodka in it please."
Refreshment in hand, I catch the band, Scarlet Soho. I’d been wanting to
see them. Their choons are new wave pop with a beat that the lively glamorous posse at the
front of the dance floor appreciate highly. Some were already fans. Scarlet Soho exit to
loud applause.
The house lights
came up and King Adora’s audience are as punk, rock’n’roll, as weird and as
gorgeous as ever. As with the other cult bands, among them are the future’s movers
and shakers, just look at how far rockfeedback.com has come since doing the first proper
K.A. interview! The 21st century punks were out to play tonight.
It’s not busy in the bogs so I lock myself in a cubical for five minutes
to finish the chapter I’d started - aah, the luxury of solo missions. Suddenly I hear
the sound of somebody being horribly murdered somewhere. No, it’s a giant baby
grizzling in temper! No, it’s the main support, Little Nikita. I’m outta the
bogs and onto the dance floor to see. Once there I can appreciate them, they really
kerrunch! The dance floor is fuller and vibrating to the chunky rock blasting from the
stage. "We nearly died today" says Ms Bass player (they’d had a blow out on
the motorway) but they far from died on stage. People who came out tonight to rock were
certainly getting their money’s worth judging from their response.
The ace atmosphere was diluted a bit when the house lights went up after Little
Nikita. The DJ plays his favourite metal choons but the audience don’t react much,
they chat among themselves. Perhaps they would have been up for singing along to
Q.O.T.S.A., Mansun, Nirvana, Manics, Hives, Strokes etc (Meanwhile some escaped convicts
are walking around the stage... nope, that’s King Adora’s road crew...)
welcome to 
CUM ON
FEEL THE NOIZE, GIRLS GRAB THE BOYS, WE
GET WILD WILD WILD...