God has a plan and that plan involves rain. Rain is Her way of directing you towards her reason for putting you on dear damp planet Earth. And that reason? I hope that it is to drink Guinness but it is probably something more spiritual. So it was that I found myself once more in the basement that is Pivo Pivo to spend time in the company of, and lock weapons upon, Owls in Antarctica, The Future Capital, Skinny Rhino and Just Home.
First in my sights were Skinny Rhino. They hail from Edinburgh and, after an uncertain start, they managed to establish themselves as the kind of band that was determined to survive on the cusp of American power pop and indie rock. Rather amusingly, whilst the singer attempted an extended 12” remix version of tuning his guitar, the rest of band went for a walk down Henry Mancini lane. You don’t get many laughs in this line of work but that gave me a chuckle.
Next on were another east coast band going by the name of The Future Capital. Curiously, a strong and unexplained smell of toasted white bread pervaded the room whilst they executed their set of upbeat pop meets rock songs and, though they did lose impetus quickly, they did at least provide evidence that they were capable of proper harmonies. Surprisingly, they didn’t generate much interest from the audience so perhaps they should retain the service of a relative who could threaten any and all potential audiences who fail to recognise the second – or is it the third? -coming of Jesus when they hear it.
Owls in Antarctica were the next to demand attention and potential punishment. They had the mark of a band that could be interesting if they were to take a more serious outlook on their live performances. Hiding melody inside metal riffs isn’t a new thing – and, I suppose, neither is having an untidy drummer who was on a different page from his cohorts – but intellectual rampage of the type that Owls in Antarctica aim for needs a lot more focus than they gave tonight.
Reading a sound guy’s handwriting is never easy so I hope that the last band were actually called Just Home and not something else. A touch limp and in clear and present danger of tripping over their influences, they soon found themselves entangled in the safety net of mediocrity before simply fading away.
On a philosophical point, and considering that the west of Scotland eats chips with everything, why are there so few decent chip shops in Glasgow? Time for a speedy return to the joys of chicken pakora methinks.