I hadn’t been to The Flying Dutchman in years. It used to be in Camberwell, but these days its exact location cannot be pinned down – just like the venue itself. What seemed a weird idea from Mayor Gary Linekar proved to be just that. Strange, listless and dreadfully null. I sometimes see it floating over King’s Cross, attached to that odd blimp, and wonder how things got that far without anyone of any sort of intelligence thinking, “hang on, is this worth it?”
Despite its unpredictable nature, South London’s arty types saw it as an ideal space for their annual ‘Artists for Art Is…’ (maybe nightmare parking is cool now? Fucking hell). A get together where they perform, lie about how amazing they all are and go home with their heads as big as the Dutchman’s helium carrier. Let us dive in to the evening’s entertainment.
Shirley and The Seabass
I don’t mind Shirley so much, but The Seabass has become insufferable. Yes, I know it staged something at the Barbican last autumn, but honestly, at this point, who hasn’t? I don’t think I’m being unfair when I say that performing at the Barbican is the cultural equivalent of farting in the bath.
I think Shirley is fine – she just hits the play button for the backing track as far as I can tell. However, I think the Seabass is selfish. Putting itself second in the name of their act – if you can truly call it an act – is a puerile gesture, thinly veiled in shoddy altruism. I can imagine it saying, “no, no, you go first. You’re amazing and I don’t even mind going second!” Well how very brave and kind of you. At least it doesn’t spend the entirety of the show droning on about the utterly unrelatable life of a land-dwelling fish, as if it’s some bloody miracle. OH WAIT… IT DOES.
Well done for breathing on land, of course, but after two years I’m mightily bored of it. And to that mad scientist whom created it – fuck off back to the Valley of Doom! This experiment was a failure!
Gerard Butler’s Puzzlement
Never heard of them before. Turns out, doing a Rubik’s Cube while Olympus Has Fallen plays in the background isn’t thrilling enough to hold my attention for the full 37 minutes it ended up taking. At least get someone who knows the algorithms; they teach that at Primary schools these days! Any five-year-old could’ve finished it in under six minutes and we would’ve been spared 31 minutes of Olympus Has Fallen (which is roughly equal to two hours in normal time).
Idea for improvement: Connect 4 and The Bounty Hunter. Some levity, at least!
Masturbation Annihilation
Could hardly start before they were tackled by security. Supposedly have a set at Boomtown next year.
Sewing Needles for Eyes
I’m surprised the blimp didn’t rupture under the pressure of this band. Singing about puppets and dirt and sharp knives and worms, I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable. The lyrics, mixed with the deafening, grating noise-scape, caused such potent intensity. I’m sure the person sat beside me started bleeding from their ears.
And then, after pure anger, raw hate and seven spider dissections, the event’s compere had the gall to suggest he enjoyed it. “Thanks guys. Wow. That really was great. I’m so full,” he said, squinting through bloodshot, weeping eyes. The band’s exhibition readily made me route for the airborne pub to crash land in Battersea Park, yet their hosts couldn’t see past their own ego to criticise it. It made my blood boil – especially frustrating as it had just cooled from boiling point, following the 12 minute opus ‘PHYSICAL SYMPTOMS INTENSIFY’.
That was the last straw. Agreeing with borderline brutality just to maintain some sort of farcical, “All Art Is Beautiful,” pretense. Oh, and they only served Brew Dog (a business that has been kept afloat exclusively by the, “t’was an awesome night,” crowd) – the worst offence of the night.
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And with that, I waited for the blimp to sink close enough to the ground so I would only leave with a couple of bruised heels. Never again.
Written by Sam Irate
Not Yet Music 