So last night I went to Manchester's finest ghetto-based music venue to watch my favourite band, Brand New perform.
They didn't disappoint, they quite literally rocked my boots off. If I was wearing boots but I wasn't boots are not part of the emotive rock lifestyle. Converse or death.
Some select points from the evening:
* Walking from the centre of town to the Apollo is NEVER a good idea; the distance seems a lot shorter in your head. Add to that the freezing cold weather and my weak bladder and I can assure you fun wasn't had. Tight jeans, cold weather and full bladder do not a happy man make.
* Doormen, why move me from a prime perving space in the auditorium just because of some so-called health and safety rules? Yeah I know you have to keep it clear in case of fire, but im never gonna get the courage to talk to the girl, so at least let me glance at her. (This makes me sound like some kind of deviant, I assure you im not. Ask my mum.)
* Promoters of Brand New, why not next time book a support act who sound even remotely like the main act? Not an act who sound like a bunch of hippies doing rage against the machine sound-a-like songs. The lead singer had a fucking accordion for gods sake! And he danced like a 6 year old at a wedding reception after too much chocolate.
* Sellers of fake t-shirts outside gigs, why not make the effort with your knock off merchandise instead of just googling 'brand new' and flinging the first thing on a t-shirt. Also, don't assure my friend that even though he requires a medium, the large 'isn't that large'. It fucking is son. Because it's a size large. And it's a fruit of the loom t-shirt, they are standard sizes. Money you give to these people funds unicorn culling, you know.
I was going to write something else to do with my thoughts on the afterlife, but that's a bit too deep for a night like this isn't it?
A hug to the lonely.
A handshake to the taken.
Thanks for reading.
They didn't disappoint, they quite literally rocked my boots off. If I was wearing boots but I wasn't boots are not part of the emotive rock lifestyle. Converse or death.
Some select points from the evening:
* Walking from the centre of town to the Apollo is NEVER a good idea; the distance seems a lot shorter in your head. Add to that the freezing cold weather and my weak bladder and I can assure you fun wasn't had. Tight jeans, cold weather and full bladder do not a happy man make.
* Doormen, why move me from a prime perving space in the auditorium just because of some so-called health and safety rules? Yeah I know you have to keep it clear in case of fire, but im never gonna get the courage to talk to the girl, so at least let me glance at her. (This makes me sound like some kind of deviant, I assure you im not. Ask my mum.)
* Promoters of Brand New, why not next time book a support act who sound even remotely like the main act? Not an act who sound like a bunch of hippies doing rage against the machine sound-a-like songs. The lead singer had a fucking accordion for gods sake! And he danced like a 6 year old at a wedding reception after too much chocolate.
* Sellers of fake t-shirts outside gigs, why not make the effort with your knock off merchandise instead of just googling 'brand new' and flinging the first thing on a t-shirt. Also, don't assure my friend that even though he requires a medium, the large 'isn't that large'. It fucking is son. Because it's a size large. And it's a fruit of the loom t-shirt, they are standard sizes. Money you give to these people funds unicorn culling, you know.
I was going to write something else to do with my thoughts on the afterlife, but that's a bit too deep for a night like this isn't it?
A hug to the lonely.
A handshake to the taken.
Thanks for reading.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
Still, looking good for both of us. And you beat Swansea. Jackass Jackett can stick that!