Shwin Bandari took this gig in, and came up with these words:
Ah sweaty basement shows, the deafening loud PA system, the longing for water and fresh air, the inability to move without being crushed against the tiny platform they call a stage, and the bruised elbows as a result of fending off stage divers. Nothing else like it eh?
Being the busy Uni student I am, I took some time out of my very busy schedule of self loathing and pity to see Dads at a venue 5 minutes away from my apartment block. While sadly I didn’t get there in time to watch Bluebird, I did get to see Hindsights, a four piece outfit from Berkshire with enough twangy guitar sections with distortion pedals and melancholy vocals to really hit you in the feels. They played a variety of songs off of 12inch record that they released through Beach Community this year, and although the crowd reaction wasn’t anything special (other than a few obligatory nods) they left enough of an impact to warm things up and set the tone for the rest of the night.
Nai Harvest for some reason are very popular with “hardcore kids” in the UK, which makes it somewhat amusing to see people wearing tough guy windbreakers and Breaking Point t-shirts angrily finger pointing along to fast paced and upbeat emo lyrics. They open with their title track off the latest release Whatever with everyone in the room courageously singing along without a care in the world, play 3 or 4 new songs that no one has a clue about yet, then finish with the classic ‘Distance Etc’. All in all a very enjoyable set.
And finally, Dads (9) emerge, opening with their post-rock anthem My New Crass Patch, and then straight into Breakfast at Piffany’s,where a reasonably sized pit opens up behind me, and I fall onto Dads guitar pedal. Ouch. Not to worry though, they carried on regardless of my pain. Their drummer John Bradley comments on how the bartender did ‘the nicest thing ever’ by putting a lemon in his water, as well as the fact that their bass player George Bush wasn’t there at the show. Gosh darn it. Their guitarist didn’t speak much, but the noodly riffs encompassed in concluding tunes such as “Get To The Beach” and “Shit Twins” more than made up for the lack of on-stage banter.