To take a (small) liberty with that Shakespeare boy's prose - I come not to bury The Ghettobillies but to praise them for tonight was the last night of the UK leg of the Ghettobillies' farewell tour. A long time favourite of the Bluesbunny, it would appear that the end of the road has been reached for this dynamic Chicago based band. So the Bluesmobile was duly loaded up with beer and pies and course was set for Hurst Green. For those of you unfamiliar with the locus, Hurst Green is a town without shops. Not just no kebab shops but a complete lack of any sort of shop. That's why research is so important. Without it, the post midnight snack and drink scenario could have become a tragedy.
Stopping only for a three pub warm up (that's all we could find), the Memorial Hall was duly located. Fortunately it turned out to be next door to a pub. God watches over us all and guides us along the path to righteousness.
A most righteous sound indeed greeted the Bluesbunny's ears as entrance was gained to the venue. It turned out to be the embarrassingly commercial sound of Lancashire band, The Ragamuffins. Songs with melodies? There are times when you wonder if melody has been forgotten in popular music but not tonight. Lead singer David Jaggs showed confidence and style as he sent the joyous "Lucky Stars" bouncing off stage into the audience. A musician said to me recently that it was really hard to write a happy song. Well, The Ragamuffins have them by the barrow load.
To the main event. The Ghettobillies are big in this part of the world. Why they never became big in the rest of the world will probably become a question that philosophers will ponder for centuries but tonight it was time to fuel up on the local bitter and get ready to worship. I mean, this band has the best drummer on the planet in John Maloney even if he is sporting an Edinburgh style goatee beard and an eighties sweat band tonight. It's their second night here so the audience know the songs already and that tale of youthful misadventure "My First Porno" is greeted like an old - if somewhat sweaty palmed - friend. You know things are going to get riotous when the audience keeps buying the band drink. And so it was. "Dirty Hippies" shook the floor. "Hiding Out" likewise rattled the rafters. It might well be one of those standard rock journo phrases but it has to be said - this band is tighter than the proverbial duck's bottom. What more is to be said? Well, most of the audience ended up on stage with the band as their set ended. Not some poxy stage invasion either, this was more like a spontaneous choir with every word of each song recited perfectly. Sing along? You'd better believe it. Oh, and the band had stripped to their underpants by this point as well.
The Ghettobillies are no more but perhaps all is not yet lost. If you, like this Bluesbunny, are going straight to hell then take heart. I have it on good authority that the Ghettobillies have a residency there so I'm sure we will all meet again in the front stage mosh pit.