The Blueskins @ Cockpit
By Dave Sugden
For fuck sake, it's deafening in here. Irony is that I avoid suggesting to the soundman that it could be worthwhile him twitching his fingers in a general right to left and downward motion because, quite frankly, it is soooo loud he would not hear my request. Not that it would have much of a difference; Billy Mason Wood's vocal style - a mixture of yelps and howls - is not for those obsessed with noting lyrical content. Even when a coachload of Blueskins fans drift through to see what all the commotion is about, there's not enough of them to soak up the excess volume so by the end of Mojo Pin's Zeppelin-meets-Stones (meets grunge at times, like Pearl Jam) jitterbugging my ears are ripped to shreds. A few new fans won I'd say from a very well rehearsed five-piece, and an excellent extended guitar solo (which had occasionally been a touch too safe) a track or two from the end could indicate an interesting and bright future...
"This is the shit!" proclaims splendidly named Ryan Spendlove, the devilish yet boyish vocalist of four piece The Blueskins. Sporting a Bob Marley t-shirt - somewhat suitable considering the aroma hazily wafting through the audience - he grins like a kid with brand spanking shiny new toys. Or like a young musician with a brand spanking, shiny new guitar, whatever.
Also in possession of a brand new guitar is the Beatles-y Richie Townsend, whose appearance is apt during the Beatles-like three-part vocals that flit in and out over the top of the quick fire, two-minute poppy blues-like rock'n'roll. Tunes as sharp and snappy as his blue jacket... yeah nice! At times the set is bashful rockabilly, and the local kids lap it up as the ten songs fizz along with pause only to announce the next title. Which is probably just how it should be.
The press call The Blueskins forerunners of a new British Blues scene, although the closest we seem to get to blues is the explosive encore. An encore demanded by the "we're lovin' this" audience. Initially I write "Max Power Blues", when in fact it is more likely called "My grandpa got some blues" or some similarly aptly-named tune with "blues" at the end. Although my ears are now well and truly fucked, I can still recognise a good tune even if I can't hear its title, and this is a great end to a scuzzy riffs-aplenty set.
