Those mince pies have been playing on my mind since Morrisons put them out last week. 'It's too bloody early for mince pies, it's still October', I kept telling myself. Yesterday morning though, I just couldn't hold off any longer. I had a dozen in my trolley before I'd reached the fruit and veg.
So yesterday I ate my first mince pie of the year. And yesterday night I heard my first Christmas song of the year. Courtesy of 14 Carat Grapefruit. If you don't know them, you should. Their songs are rock rants and raves about tarts and posh birds, Scotsmen and Yorkshiremen, Colins and Daves, clergy and hippies, teenagers and modern technology. Virtually no one or nothing is left off 14 Carat Grapefruit's lyrical list of the loathsome.
Just off the far east end of London's Oxford Street, which incidentally already has its Christmas lights in place, if not illuminated, there is a basement club/lounge bar called Punk. No toilet, it is quite respectable, a bit posh even, for a music venue. Tuesday nights there are promoted by Dead or Alive Promotions who also put on gigs at The Comedy, off Leicester Square, as well as at other venues in the capital. This is where I cycle to see 14 Carat Grapefruit.
14 CG take the stage at 8:15. Despite it being a Tuesday night, they are playing to enough of a crowd to make it feel worth while; for them I mean - it's always worthwhile watching them. They are the first of four bands. They are not bothered about headlining, about bill-status, they're bothered about playing regularly, and to their fans. Many of their friends and fans work in the West End and the City, so going on early not only assures that they get to see them in a high-spirited after-work-drinks kinda-situation, but also that the band themselves aren't all too pissed to deliver a good performance.
They are a little ragged tonight, but this is not unusual and is all part of their charm and punkness. There are a few false starts, mostly the result of technical problems caused by what lead-ranter Otto Pthrugg (above) describes as the "IKEA house drum kit", but then musical tightness is not what they're about. Musicianship, I'm sure Otto would tell you, is for musicians, and musicians are all a bunch of righteous and lazy c#*ts. And he wouldn't be exaggerating that much, would he?
They kick off with three newer songs. The first, My Mate Dave, is an attack on Otto's mate Dave, a new-age hippy-type, who despite a diet of health foods, is always unwell. Everyone knows someone like this. Second is Volvo Driving Woman, which finds Otto at his most belligerent yet and sitting at the wheel of his car which is stuck in a car-park queue behind the female protagonist who is attempting to park said vehicle. He is helped in this rendition by a car steering wheel apparently recently acquired on Ebay. A 51-second two-chord wonder follows, and ends with Otto berating his band for always overruling his authority. This leads to string of old favourites including Minger, 40 years, Posh Totty and the afore-mentioned Christmas song.
As well as making me laugh, their Christmas song starts me reflecting on what a good year 2009 has been for 14 Carat Grapefruit. And it ain't over yet. They have a gig at The Enterprise in Chalk Farm for London Tourdates and a Christmas PUNK-ROCK-TIL-YOU-DROP gig at the legendary Hope and Anchor, with Punks Not Dad, to come.
The Grapefruit are where what many of us hope to be. They have achieved what many of us aim to achieve. And that is simply to play regularly -they play about once a month. And they don't just look like they're enjoying it - they are enjoying it. And we, the audience, are enjoying ourselves because they are.
After their set, I cycle home for an early night and a mince pie, or two.
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