When it comes to music, some bands never know when to pack it in. That's why Manic Street Preachers are still plugging away despite the fact that it's been over a decade since they released anything worth listening to. But I have a fatal weakness. I can't let go. For this reason I'm still buying Manics albums, still wanking myself silly when minor-league Britpop acts reform and still trooping off to poorly-attended gigs by people who really should know better.
It was this attitude that, in 2005, led me to a Christmas concert featuring Space. Having had gigs cancelled in such illustrious locations as Skegness & Pontefract, the boys had decided a hometown show couldn't fail. And, to be fair, it wasn't bad. They played the hits. We clapped and cheered enthusiastically. They played the new stuff. We, erm, went to the bar. It was to be their last gig, although it wasn't billed as such. However, one couldn't help thinking that they should have packed it in and got proper jobs years ago.
Not particularly blog-worthy, you say? Very true. Until I tell you about the support act. Five suited lads, all the way from Kendal, who played 45 minutes of the best pop shizz I'd heard in a very long time. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Seven Seals.
Isn't it great when you have a 'what the fuck?!?!?' moment? You know what I'm talking about. The first time you heard Paranoid Android on the radio. That time you were in an indie disco and the DJ decided to spin Oh Bondage!! Up Yours!!. Well I had one during their set. A thudding bassline, courtesy of a bald man, kicks in. The funny dancing man doing the singing fixes his eyes on the crowd and utters the best four lines I have ever heard....
'A table is a table
And a chair is a chair
I LOOK like a TABLE
But I FEEL like a CHAIR!!!!'
Well that was it. I was converted. However, I got the distinct feeling I was the only one. Liverpool is not generally kind to support groups at the best of times and the Space faithful were waiting for Female of the Species innit. Even my beloved, always willing to lend an ear to new music, seemed distinctly unimpressed. But fuck 'em. I knew I'd discovered the Next Big Thing.
Three years on, it hadn't quite panned out like that. There were ups and downs for the Seals. A management deal was struck with Liverpool scene legend/fat Space bassist, Yorkie Palmer, followed by a recording contract with V2 Records. Debut single Loose Ends was stone-cold excellent, but for some unfathomable reason V2 elected not to continue their association with the Seals & debut album 'Owl Cage' went unreleased. The trail then went cold. Until now that is. For the Seals are back.
Single number Two was released on August 1st and it's fucking brilliant. Bassist Jimmy produced a Seven Seals comic and it's fucking brilliant. Both Jimmy and funny singing dude Simon now have facial hair and it's fucking brilliant. They made a video and it's fucking brilliant. Everything about this band is fucking brilliant. Except for the fact that you, dear reader, don't know them. But we can change that. Visit their fucking brilliant (when they actually launch the fucker) website. Become their fucking brilliant friend on Facebook & Myspace. Send them a fucking brilliant message and they will send you a fucking brilliant reply. You could even put your hand in your pocket and buy the single. I know they'd appreciate it.
That's it for now. Next up will be a report of my forthcoming London weekend during which Jez, Pete, Hanna and I are off to see the fab Chemical Brothers. Until then, comrades.........................
It was this attitude that, in 2005, led me to a Christmas concert featuring Space. Having had gigs cancelled in such illustrious locations as Skegness & Pontefract, the boys had decided a hometown show couldn't fail. And, to be fair, it wasn't bad. They played the hits. We clapped and cheered enthusiastically. They played the new stuff. We, erm, went to the bar. It was to be their last gig, although it wasn't billed as such. However, one couldn't help thinking that they should have packed it in and got proper jobs years ago.
Not particularly blog-worthy, you say? Very true. Until I tell you about the support act. Five suited lads, all the way from Kendal, who played 45 minutes of the best pop shizz I'd heard in a very long time. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Seven Seals.
Isn't it great when you have a 'what the fuck?!?!?' moment? You know what I'm talking about. The first time you heard Paranoid Android on the radio. That time you were in an indie disco and the DJ decided to spin Oh Bondage!! Up Yours!!. Well I had one during their set. A thudding bassline, courtesy of a bald man, kicks in. The funny dancing man doing the singing fixes his eyes on the crowd and utters the best four lines I have ever heard....
'A table is a table
And a chair is a chair
I LOOK like a TABLE
But I FEEL like a CHAIR!!!!'
Well that was it. I was converted. However, I got the distinct feeling I was the only one. Liverpool is not generally kind to support groups at the best of times and the Space faithful were waiting for Female of the Species innit. Even my beloved, always willing to lend an ear to new music, seemed distinctly unimpressed. But fuck 'em. I knew I'd discovered the Next Big Thing.
Three years on, it hadn't quite panned out like that. There were ups and downs for the Seals. A management deal was struck with Liverpool scene legend/fat Space bassist, Yorkie Palmer, followed by a recording contract with V2 Records. Debut single Loose Ends was stone-cold excellent, but for some unfathomable reason V2 elected not to continue their association with the Seals & debut album 'Owl Cage' went unreleased. The trail then went cold. Until now that is. For the Seals are back.
Single number Two was released on August 1st and it's fucking brilliant. Bassist Jimmy produced a Seven Seals comic and it's fucking brilliant. Both Jimmy and funny singing dude Simon now have facial hair and it's fucking brilliant. They made a video and it's fucking brilliant. Everything about this band is fucking brilliant. Except for the fact that you, dear reader, don't know them. But we can change that. Visit their fucking brilliant (when they actually launch the fucker) website. Become their fucking brilliant friend on Facebook & Myspace. Send them a fucking brilliant message and they will send you a fucking brilliant reply. You could even put your hand in your pocket and buy the single. I know they'd appreciate it.
That's it for now. Next up will be a report of my forthcoming London weekend during which Jez, Pete, Hanna and I are off to see the fab Chemical Brothers. Until then, comrades.........................