A/V Room









ARE Weapons are shite! - Underworld (May 28, 2003)

Story: Roland Stanbridge-Miles

Oh my god, they're fucking awful. It's as hot as hell in here, but in this case the Devil doesn't have the best tunes, in fact he doesn't have any tunes.

I feel cheated out of my tenner, even more cheated than I felt after paying to see The Matrix: Reloaded. At least that had a few good action bits.

No sign of the NY bandwagon-riding trio stopping bullets in mid-air or
jumping around in kung fu fights (though I'm tempted to try a bit
of impromptu kung fu on them myself).

Instead we have a guitarist
with stupid hair, a keyboardist who looks like a knob, and a
singer with zero charisma, lazily talking in accompaniment to the aural assault our ears are being subjected to.

You know it's bad when you find yourself looking at your watch
every five minutes, wishing it closer to 11pm.

In the end I just go into the toilets and refuse to come out until they go away.

After the show a friend goes up to the lead singer and gets him to sign
her arm (should have demanded our money back too).

He signs it 'ARE Weapons, Brain'. We reckon he's actually called Brian, but
has difficulty spelling it.

The writing won't come off, it seems like permanent marker - she has been branded for life!

Worse even than having a tattoo of your ex-lover's name!

To be fair, I can't say I wasn't warned. I'd heard one single quite a while back, which I really liked, but read a few reviews slating the band, and, before we go in, a mate tells us he listened to the album earlier and it was crap.

We should have stayed upstairs watching the thrill-a-minute two hours of goalless football in the European Cup Final - lying on a bed of nails, drinking bleach - it would have been better.

What can the two support bands think about being below this bunch of losers on the bill?

I didn't see the first lot but the second - Nylon Pylon - sound ok from what I heard.

Time Out describe ARE Weapons
as sounding a bit like Suicide, but I think they should just commit suicide.

I've seen bad support bands before, but these lot are undoubtedly the worst band I've ever handed over my hard-earned money specifically to see.

Ten pounds, what a waste, I could have bought 30 Mars Bars, 1,000 one penny sweets (if they still exist), or continuing the food theme, rotten tomatoes to throw at these perpetrators of crimes against New York garage rock.

May pigeons use their heads as target practice.

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