We arrived early to grab a couple of beers and sat in the bar amongst quirky and obtuse individuals, there to suck upon the teat of dark gothic folk. After a hastily downed gazpacho we endeavoured to enter the sweat pit. On previous visits, I have boiled into a pool of sweat, like that senator dude in X-Men when he is zapped with Magneto’s mutant ray and turns into a pulsing watery slug seeking redemption upon Jean Grey’s trestle table before slopping over the sides like four gallons of carlsberg special brew. But it seems they have installed air conditioning, which is a nice touch.
Unfortunately, Sal had to go, his brother had smashed his car up into some pensioners vehicle and thus he needed to make a mercy run to allow him access to his insurance documents.
So I watched the gig on my tod.
Timber Timbre added to the atmosphere by positioning red lanterns around the stage and as they came on to play, a projection of 1922 seminal horror Nosferatu was also projected behind them.
They are low fi, sinister and dark. Check them out. One of the opening scenes of Nosferatu below, note red lantern and hooded lead singer Taylor Kirk, grim reaper-esque.
Renfield, he’s got a messed up face.
….on the fiddle
As Nosferatu was a silent film, it’s interjected with dramatic story text. It’s of its time…. shame some lanky piece of piss baalhead messed up this shot.
And not quite this one.
Nosferatu… sink your sharp buck teeth into that lanky piece of shit blocking my view
And then into the night air, as yet (Wednesday), The Mall wasn’t smothered with people in tents hoping to catch a glimpse of Kate Middleton and the future Kaiser (all those shenanigans would happen Friday). So it was a serenely beautiful spring evening.
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