Monsters of Rock 2006: Thunder 3rd June 2006
Setlist: Loser / River Of Pain / Higher Ground / Low Life In High Places / I Love You More Than Rock N Roll / Can’t Keep A Good Man Down / Love Walked In / Fade Into The Sun / Dirty Love
I like Thunder. Have done ever since I first saw them on a music television programme back in the early 90s… back when Danny had lots of hair that wasn’t grey, and he hadn’t already eaten all of the pies in the northern hemisphere.
A musician acquaintance of mine, who shall remain nameless, having just seen Thunder play live at a West Midlands venue, described them as ‘a great pub band’. Whilst I don’t think he meant that in a kind way either, he did have a point. Playing in a pub is one of the hardest things a band can do. If the audience are not happy, they’re right in your face and don’t mind making their feelings known. Being able to work an audience is a skill which many bands never master, Queensryche being just one of them.
Thunder, on the other hand, brings that small, sweaty club feel to every show, even big, outdoor ones like the Bowl. Danny Bowes can work an audience like few others I have seen and his ability to involve the crowd is a joy to behold. In fact, if he reminds me of any one other person, it would be Ray Davies in the way he taunts and toys with the audience, winding them up and teasing them throughout the set. At a Thunder gig, you always feel involved, part of the show and, usually, you leave tired out from all the jumping up-and-down, waving your hands, clapping and singing.
I like Thunder. Have done ever since I first saw them on a music television programme back in the early 90s… back when Danny had lots of hair that wasn’t grey, and he hadn’t already eaten all of the pies in the northern hemisphere.
A musician acquaintance of mine, who shall remain nameless, having just seen Thunder play live at a West Midlands venue, described them as ‘a great pub band’. Whilst I don’t think he meant that in a kind way either, he did have a point. Playing in a pub is one of the hardest things a band can do. If the audience are not happy, they’re right in your face and don’t mind making their feelings known. Being able to work an audience is a skill which many bands never master, Queensryche being just one of them.
Thunder, on the other hand, brings that small, sweaty club feel to every show, even big, outdoor ones like the Bowl. Danny Bowes can work an audience like few others I have seen and his ability to involve the crowd is a joy to behold. In fact, if he reminds me of any one other person, it would be Ray Davies in the way he taunts and toys with the audience, winding them up and teasing them throughout the set. At a Thunder gig, you always feel involved, part of the show and, usually, you leave tired out from all the jumping up-and-down, waving your hands, clapping and singing.
Musically, each member of the band needs no introductions here. They always deliver the goods and I’ve never seen a bad gig from these boys. At MK Danny looked as if he’d been laying off the puds and was looking a lot less chunky than last time I saw them. If I have one complaint, it is that at these kinds of shows, we don’t get enough of everyone’s favourite little drummer boy: Harry James. At regular Thunder shows, Harry gets his own little solo spot(s) but, in these depilated festival spots, there seems to have been a load of Veet spread around the stage and we are virtually Harryless.
Come on; keep up with the program… Not really much else to be said about Thunder. They are just damn good.
But first, a little history, followed by an extended rant about tossers in the audience.
Come on; keep up with the program… Not really much else to be said about Thunder. They are just damn good.
But first, a little history, followed by an extended rant about tossers in the audience.
In 1919, the eighteen amendment to the US constitution, the Volstead Act was passed. This meant that as of January 16 th 1920 (not New Year's day, as is often thought) it was illegal to manufacture, distribute, buy, sell, and consume alcohol for any non-medical purpose. It proved impossible to maintain and enforce but, for 13 long years, it was the law, eventually being repealed in 1933, with the twenty-first amendment to the constitution. I am one of the last people on the planet to advocate prohibition. In fact, I fundamentally disagree with it, as I do with censorship. I have been a big fan of alcohol since I was 15 and still am. So, for me to actually even consider that prohibition an option, something must be up. And, so it is.
At gigs, festivals, and all events where the public are permitted entry, you always see them: wankers, pissed as farts by 2PM. I just don’t understand the mentality. Why go and pay £40 to sleep through most of the show, be unable to remember what you did see and, most likely, have no idea how you came to have so many bruises, the black eye, split lip and a mouth that tastes like a badger’s bollocks, when you wake up cold and alone after everyone else has gone and left you for the deadbeat DNA thief that you evidently are? But, hey if you want to waste your money, get the shit kicked out of you cos you’re an arse, then fall asleep face down in someone else’s vomit and piss, that’s your right. As long as you keep away from me, I’m cool with that and respect your right to act like a twat. Oh, and I reserve the right to smack you in the mouth for being such a dick. These types are usually harmless enough; virgins, teenage, male, single, work in games stores, HMV, Blockbuster, KFC, McDonalds and Pizza Hut, and are known only by their patronymic name. Sadly, when they are 40 years old they’ll still be doing the same thing but, hey, the world needs someone to ask, “Would you like fries with that?”
At gigs, festivals, and all events where the public are permitted entry, you always see them: wankers, pissed as farts by 2PM. I just don’t understand the mentality. Why go and pay £40 to sleep through most of the show, be unable to remember what you did see and, most likely, have no idea how you came to have so many bruises, the black eye, split lip and a mouth that tastes like a badger’s bollocks, when you wake up cold and alone after everyone else has gone and left you for the deadbeat DNA thief that you evidently are? But, hey if you want to waste your money, get the shit kicked out of you cos you’re an arse, then fall asleep face down in someone else’s vomit and piss, that’s your right. As long as you keep away from me, I’m cool with that and respect your right to act like a twat. Oh, and I reserve the right to smack you in the mouth for being such a dick. These types are usually harmless enough; virgins, teenage, male, single, work in games stores, HMV, Blockbuster, KFC, McDonalds and Pizza Hut, and are known only by their patronymic name. Sadly, when they are 40 years old they’ll still be doing the same thing but, hey, the world needs someone to ask, “Would you like fries with that?”
The ones that really get me going are the ones who come pushing through with no thought for anyone else, or respect for anyone else’s space. They are more often than not Scousers, bald, have a selection of battle scars, several unusual skin diseases (probably communicable), no necks, hairy backs, a football shirt made from a material that does not mix well with a nitrogen-rich atmosphere, and a vocabulary that extends to about ten words. Five of these involve curry and beer, and five are good, old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon nouns. That said, Homo Vulgaris is extremely creative in combining the two groups of five words in a very impressive array of possibilities. In addition to the ten basic words, there appears to be several thousand assorted grunts and facial expressions which enliven their pack mentality and collective consciousness. Whilst they appear to be able to communicate effectively within the pack, higher beings such as you and I cannot understand a single bloody thing they are saying, which usually seems to enrage these rock apes and, generally, this triggers their fight response mechanism and convinces them that their alpha male position has been challenged.
There are two ways out of this. The first is to smash the base of their skull to a bloody pulp. Of course, this is pleasurable and no court in the land would convict you of anything, but it does have the downside of possibly causing damage to your own camera. Furthermore, cleaning grey matter, bone fragments and blood out of the body and fiddly bits can be a real pain in the ass. The second is to wait for the beer-need reflex to kick in. You see, Homo Vulgaris is inherently stupid and can’t take its beer. The merest whiff actually causes them to become paralytic, and even though they’ve just paid anywhere from £3 upwards for a pint of raw urine, sorry Carling, they still insist on raising their plastic glasses (so they don’t inadvertently hurts themselves on a real glass) to the heavens, as they punch the air, emptying their ‘beer’ over anyone within a five-yard radius. They never actually drink more than ⅛ of any given pint, so it’s just as well that they their ability to get drunk is not directly related to their fluid intake. Incidentally, this is where the phrase ‘can’t hold their liquor’ comes from. Fortunately, research shows that the beer-need reflex kicks in, roughly, every fifteen minutes, so any exposure to such primitive individuals should be, mercifully, short-lived.
You may wonder why I mention this. A couple of drunken tossers came and staggered next to us for a portion of Thunder’s set. I guess there was no football on telly that day. They didn’t appear to be Thunder fans; they didn’t appear to know any words to any songs, or any of the songs, or which way was up. We just waited for the beer-need to kick in and they staggered off, too drunk to find their way back again.
There are two ways out of this. The first is to smash the base of their skull to a bloody pulp. Of course, this is pleasurable and no court in the land would convict you of anything, but it does have the downside of possibly causing damage to your own camera. Furthermore, cleaning grey matter, bone fragments and blood out of the body and fiddly bits can be a real pain in the ass. The second is to wait for the beer-need reflex to kick in. You see, Homo Vulgaris is inherently stupid and can’t take its beer. The merest whiff actually causes them to become paralytic, and even though they’ve just paid anywhere from £3 upwards for a pint of raw urine, sorry Carling, they still insist on raising their plastic glasses (so they don’t inadvertently hurts themselves on a real glass) to the heavens, as they punch the air, emptying their ‘beer’ over anyone within a five-yard radius. They never actually drink more than ⅛ of any given pint, so it’s just as well that they their ability to get drunk is not directly related to their fluid intake. Incidentally, this is where the phrase ‘can’t hold their liquor’ comes from. Fortunately, research shows that the beer-need reflex kicks in, roughly, every fifteen minutes, so any exposure to such primitive individuals should be, mercifully, short-lived.
You may wonder why I mention this. A couple of drunken tossers came and staggered next to us for a portion of Thunder’s set. I guess there was no football on telly that day. They didn’t appear to be Thunder fans; they didn’t appear to know any words to any songs, or any of the songs, or which way was up. We just waited for the beer-need to kick in and they staggered off, too drunk to find their way back again.
Before anyone starts berating me about racism, let me state that I am not at all racist. I have nothing against the Scottish people per se; I deflowered many of your young virgins in my youth. Mind you, I do despise the ffrench. Fuck them and their ugly cars! Apart from Johnny Frog, I have nothing against anyone, no matter what their race, colour, or creed. Assholes come in all colours and I think that I probably loathe more white English people than I do any other race. I mean, the country is run by a mentally unstable wannabe despot, who is more concerned with his image than his policies, and is so out of touch he may as well have his fingertips removed. We laud a hideously ugly, jug-eared scouser with the IQ of a poodle, just because he can kick a football. We continue to praise a tennis player who has never won anything of note and has brought nothing but disappointment, year upon year. Even now, despite the fact that we know that it is the most dysfunctional family in the history of the world, we still roll out and line the streets waving little Union flags whenever any of those greedy, grabbing, inbred tossers deign to stick their deformed features outside of the biggest council house in the country. Oh wait, they’re not English…
I am aware that this reads like a bad review, but it isn’t. Mostly, it doesn’t even cover Thunder’s set, but I have a word count to maintain, so bite me. No, seriously, Thunder were great, they always are. The old songs are still as good as they always were, the new stuff is plenty singalongable. They push all the right buttons, everyone has a good time and it’s all gravy. Danny still can’t dance and Harry has less dress sense than Noddy, but what ya gonna do? As much as I love Thunder, it was time for Danny, Luke, Ben, Chris and Harry to sod off and make way for the band I’d been waiting 26 years to see…
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
10th June 2006
I am aware that this reads like a bad review, but it isn’t. Mostly, it doesn’t even cover Thunder’s set, but I have a word count to maintain, so bite me. No, seriously, Thunder were great, they always are. The old songs are still as good as they always were, the new stuff is plenty singalongable. They push all the right buttons, everyone has a good time and it’s all gravy. Danny still can’t dance and Harry has less dress sense than Noddy, but what ya gonna do? As much as I love Thunder, it was time for Danny, Luke, Ben, Chris and Harry to sod off and make way for the band I’d been waiting 26 years to see…
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
10th June 2006
