GIG REVIEWS
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GIG REVIEWS |
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Skid Row
@ Bradford Rio 21.12.03 www.vanguard-online.co.uk Scientists tell us that after a global holocaust the only survivors will be cockroaches. They're wrong - the creature most likely to survive any worldwide destruction that didn't involve an onslaught of barbers' scissors is the cock rocker. Resistant to change yet adaptable to any environment, this beastie thrives on adversity, particularly in the sweaty pit that is Rio's; a place where the dancefloor still fills up within five seconds of such angst-ridden gems as Poison's 'Unskinny Bop' and Warrant's 'Cherry Pie'. You'll be glad to know that Bradford was well up for it and ready to rock till it was a sweaty and bedraggled mess (well, more of one, anyway). Skid Row's new vocalist Johnny Solinger, replacement for the sacked Sebastian Bach (who once wiped his arse with the Daily Star onstage at the London Arena), bestrode the stage in the manner of a Texan who knew he was better than the mighty cockroach. And he let us know by telling us over and over how fuckin' good we were and how fuckin' everything else was. He also gave us some quick tips on what to do if anyone told us Skid fuckin' Row were no good. We were to break the bridge of their fuckin' noses with our elbows. Yet this is Bradford on a Friday night, where such barbarity will happen regardless of whether you think Skid Row are past-it cock rockers or not. Heavy bands like this at least go out of their way to show off, strut around and entertain as they do with such gonzo anthems as 'Slave To The Grind' and 'Monkey Business', as well as new offerings from their 'Thickskin' album, making an effort that many shoegazers don't. Solos are taken, hands are shaken, shout outs are made and voices frayed. It's all a show and the band are enjoying it. Snake Sabo, on guitar is smiling and looking like a newer vintage Keef Richards whilst Scotti, on the other guitar, grins, swings his axe about and spits beer over the outstretched hands of the fans. Bassist Rachel Bolan, who's a he not a she, belts out 'Psychotherapy' by way of tribute to its departed authors Joey and Dee Dee Ramone. Power ballad time comes in the shape of acoustics on stands and 'I Remember You' but Solinger's usually impressive gruff rasp doesn't quite match the soaring sonic delivery of his predecessor. Still, would you tell that to a cowboy hat-wearing, nails-looking redneck who proudly declares from the stage 'a band that doesn't drink is a band that SUCKS DICK'? |