Louisiana, Bristol, 23 May 2005 : bollocking goth babble !
The Violets at The Louisiana, Bristol, 23 May 2005 There is a moat-like distance between stage and gig-goers until The Violets step up. What’s the attraction? A panda-eyed, Deborah Harry-lite, mere slip of a girl in a tight tight dress. Is the music any good? No, it’s atrocious sub- Siouxsie Sioux bollocking goth babble. Alixus (what is she, a Greek goth?) resembles SPINAL TAP’s Bobbi Flekman. And I feel like shouting ‘GET OUT OF THE ‘80’S!’ Alixus prances and pouts darkly as if she is singing very poetic, deep, meaning-filled stanza’s, but sadly she utters lines that resemble the mutterings of a Super-Tennants-at-nine-AM tramp: ‘PLY THE WAY WITH FASCINATION / UNSCREW THE DIRT WITH SOUND / AND I KNOW THE EGG IS / OFTEN BLUE’. I agree. Her theory is correct and can be applied to the theory of all human existence. Jean Paul Sartre is reeling with envy in the heavens. There is also the cringe-worthy fact that Alixus’s voice is the equivalent of a seven year old having a tantrum on Christmas day. Why are people (okay, MEN) gawping with such slack-jawed awe? Because she’s a curvy girl camping it up as she gads around the cusp of stage - and she frequently sits in blow-job position. Context is vital. The Violets are a south east London band on Angular Recordings, previous home of Art Brut and Bloc Party. I’m sure the art-wank, 80’s New Wave nostaligic nobbers who regard the New Cross scene as hip ‘n’ cool think of The Violets as rock en roll saviours. And they’re welcome to. Review by Miss Fliss
The Violets at The Louisiana, Bristol, 23 May 2005 There is a moat-like distance between stage and gig-goers until The Violets step up. What’s the attraction? A panda-eyed, Deborah Harry-lite, mere slip of a girl in a tight tight dress. Is the music any good? No, it’s atrocious sub- Siouxsie Sioux bollocking goth babble. Alixus (what is she, a Greek goth?) resembles SPINAL TAP’s Bobbi Flekman. And I feel like shouting ‘GET OUT OF THE ‘80’S!’ Alixus prances and pouts darkly as if she is singing very poetic, deep, meaning-filled stanza’s, but sadly she utters lines that resemble the mutterings of a Super-Tennants-at-nine-AM tramp: ‘PLY THE WAY WITH FASCINATION / UNSCREW THE DIRT WITH SOUND / AND I KNOW THE EGG IS / OFTEN BLUE’. I agree. Her theory is correct and can be applied to the theory of all human existence. Jean Paul Sartre is reeling with envy in the heavens. There is also the cringe-worthy fact that Alixus’s voice is the equivalent of a seven year old having a tantrum on Christmas day. Why are people (okay, MEN) gawping with such slack-jawed awe? Because she’s a curvy girl camping it up as she gads around the cusp of stage - and she frequently sits in blow-job position. Context is vital. The Violets are a south east London band on Angular Recordings, previous home of Art Brut and Bloc Party. I’m sure the art-wank, 80’s New Wave nostaligic nobbers who regard the New Cross scene as hip ‘n’ cool think of The Violets as rock en roll saviours. And they’re welcome to. Review by Miss Fliss