Saturday didn’t start well. It's no secret I like a drink but the amount I had consumed up to that point had begun to seriously affect me, and our tempers were frayed and the conversations short.

Dave: Morning barrett
Me: Go fuck yourself you vegified freak

Saturday started at Proud where we watched Jenna Calquhoan, who I recall to be partially shit and offended when we asked for a picture. I’m not being funny but she had the face of an abused pit bull and the voice of a castrated cockatoo. I didn’t like her and after she smelt last nights beer breath its fair to say she took an instant dislike to our sorry souls. I would also like to say she had redeeming features, but her tits were like two aspirins on an ironing board.


From there we took a stroll along the river to the Kings Cross it was at that point I actually started to like Dave and the Challenge as a whole; it was the only time in the week I wasn’t stood in a shit hole, my ears not being raped by the sound of a thousand bad record collections.

The band we watched at Water Rats were the leftovers of a collections of posh wanks I had in the summer of 2004 while I listened to a diet of solely Blink 182 and Sum 41. I won’t say anymore than that as I know Dave feels strongly about them, thus I will let him say his piece:

First things first: Four Letter Cure were the worst band I’ve ever seen.  I was pretty sure I was going to hate them before we turned up, described as they are on Myspace as ‘Hardcore/Punk/Ska.’  Musically, I am pleased to say, they fulfilled all my expectations. 

However, to leave things at that would be to do these London teenagers a disservice as I absolutely loved their gig.  I had more fun at watching them at Water Rats than at virtually all the other gigs on the Challenge, put together. At first I was just laughing at the music, trying to cover up my open mouth to hide my hollow mirth at these boys that said the wrong thing, sang the wrong thing, and generally broke all the rules of how I believed a band should act onstage (their bassist continually moaned about his wrist hurting due to ‘Wankers Cramp’ inbetween songs).

It all changed when I went to get some drinks from the bar outside the stage area, and had my ears molested by a surge of feedback that blew the head off my Guinness.  Upon going back to the stage Barrett was hopping around, smacking his head with his hands like a masturbating monkey as he told me that their lead guitarist, who hadn’t been there before, had run onto stage mid-song  , plugged his guitar straight in, apologised for being late and joined in (badly).  After this my conception of the gig changed completely- to judge them by the standards I would a normal band seemed wrong.  They didn’t care that they were only playing to 5 friends and us (they actually commented at one point that the 7 in the crowd was bigger than they normally played to), they didn’t care that they were largely out of time; they were just playing for playings sake, and to give their mates something to go along to.

We spoke to them all afterwards and they were friendlier to us than we had any right to, not least the cramping bassist, Ryan, who was laughing about the fact he didn’t even know most the songs.  They certainly ain’t going to headline Glastonbury, but for pure enthusiasm and genuine, unpretentious aims they are miles ahead of thousands of indie shysters fingering the holes in each others denim jackets on North London’s backstreets. 




Saturday ain't over by a long way, and there's dancing midgits and a bevy of Essex wideboys still to show their face, so don't be a stranger...




Thanks to Jenna Calquhoan, Proud Galleries and Ilena, Bridget and Boubous for witnessesing.  Also to them lads in Four Letter Cure, their fans who so posed for so many pictures, and Andy, Pat and Asher for witnessing the gig...

Posted In Gobshout Gig Challenge, May 07 2010. Words - Chris Barrett