The live music scene in Madrid is not that exciting, but it still offers a reasonable range of possibilities. Last week I did something that I should do more often, and went to see some bands I'd never heard of in one of the small clubs near where I live. Only laziness stops me from doing this more. The music on this night could be described as being close to thrash metal, without reaching Napalm Death levels of excess.
The second group were my favourites of the three that performed, I don’t know what they are called so let’s call them Tattoos All The Way Up My Arms (Tatwuma for short) in honour of the member of the group who acted as enthusiastic cheerleader and part-time vocalist. Mostly his contribution seemed to consist of bellowing “Fwaaaarrrrrkk” into the microphone, but he did it well. It was, how shall I say it, a tiny bit difficult to distinguish very clearly what they were singing about – nobody will ever be able to accuse them of supporting terrorism in their songs. The only word I could clearly distinguish during their entire set was a crystal clear “cojones”! But then I found that I could more or less fit words to what I was hearing, and after a while I could convince myself that this was what they were actually singing. It is quite possible that the songs People Cry For Rice, George Bush Can’t Walk, and You’re From North London are just products of my imagination; although if you ever hear songs with these titles, then remember where you read about it first.
The club was small, and with the music not being that interesting I also had time to study the audience reactions a bit. The man at the front with more hair on his sideburns than on the rest of his head was having a great time, while there were others looking very serious and nodding intently as if they were listening to a lecture on German Expressionism rather than being at a concert. A shame that the only beer at the bar was Budweiser, awful stuff - fwaaaarrrrrrkkkk.
The second group were my favourites of the three that performed, I don’t know what they are called so let’s call them Tattoos All The Way Up My Arms (Tatwuma for short) in honour of the member of the group who acted as enthusiastic cheerleader and part-time vocalist. Mostly his contribution seemed to consist of bellowing “Fwaaaarrrrrkk” into the microphone, but he did it well. It was, how shall I say it, a tiny bit difficult to distinguish very clearly what they were singing about – nobody will ever be able to accuse them of supporting terrorism in their songs. The only word I could clearly distinguish during their entire set was a crystal clear “cojones”! But then I found that I could more or less fit words to what I was hearing, and after a while I could convince myself that this was what they were actually singing. It is quite possible that the songs People Cry For Rice, George Bush Can’t Walk, and You’re From North London are just products of my imagination; although if you ever hear songs with these titles, then remember where you read about it first.
The club was small, and with the music not being that interesting I also had time to study the audience reactions a bit. The man at the front with more hair on his sideburns than on the rest of his head was having a great time, while there were others looking very serious and nodding intently as if they were listening to a lecture on German Expressionism rather than being at a concert. A shame that the only beer at the bar was Budweiser, awful stuff - fwaaaarrrrrrkkkk.
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