Words: Syd James
Battling through wet children playing in the water fountain
that blocks the entrance to Queen Elizabeth Hall, fans made their way into the
large – very clean – venue, usually reserved for author events and orchestras.
Everyone seems slightly unsure of themselves sitting in allocated leather
seats, there is no intimacy, and dirt, that these fans are usually greeted
with. The only saving grace, or hint at familiarity, is the few fans at the
front bouncing around large inflatable footballs, and together we think ‘they
will shout “SPORTS” with me’.
No such theatre performance would be complete without an
introduction from Nile Rogers. Rogers remarks that Meltdown has been one of
“the most insane weeks of [his] life”, he then encourages everyone to stand up
as the Boys have told him “this is the weirdest sh*t ever”. Instantly the crowd
seems relieved at the acknowledgement of this bizarre arrangement.
As the band leak onto the stage and dive straight into
‘Research Chemicals’ their hectic-nonchalant energy is quickly injected into
the crowd. It is hard to keep track of vocalist Sebastian Murphy as he throws
himself to the ground and crawls around the front of the stage, but somehow we
notice the particular emphasis on the lyrics “everything seems wrong”. Maybe
it’s the dramatic light show behind them?
It only takes a few minutes for his shirt to be disposed of and for the
trademark dancing to start; hellish normality is restored. With this go ahead,
fans start rushing from their seats to be closer to the noise, they quickly
fill the stairs much to the dismay of the Southbank staff who are already
stopping people in the front rows doing headstands on their seats. This is
certainly no Ian McEwan.
The band worked through most of their recent album ‘Street
Worms’ in the stonking one and a half hour set. Just two extended saxophone
plays in, the crowd is hit with ‘Sports’, oh and by the tennis balls and the
inflatable footballs we spotted earlier. Having got endorphins pumping, the
band cools us down with ‘Worms’. The tempo is slowed, the room is filled with
smoke and the crowd joins Murphy in a general sway as they soak in the doom
filled lyrics as they rejoice at the thought of being joined together through
bodily decomposition. The set ends on ‘Shrimp Shack’, the devilish riff and
piercing saxophone taunting the audience with the end of the mayhem. But this
isn’t it, the crowd is met by an ‘encore’ of sorts (he didn’t really leave the
stage) a hypnotizing saxophone solo, a perfect fit for this unholy evening.
What came with this unusual venue aside from many
Shakespeare jokes, was perfect acoustics, a huge step up from heady festival
sets. Looking at the stage, you could feel every note from each instrument
coming at you from the fingers or mouths of each musician. Under this
microscope, Viagra Boys flaunted their true musicianship, reminding us that
what we hearing is exactly what they planned, whether crisp baseline or a
shrieking saxophone, there are no happy mistakes here. A true dissection of
punk. This band has the ability to make an theatre feel like a pub, this beer
and plastic cup lead attack on this venue proves it.