The Clapping Gavins: A band Review

Occasionally, I do some work for a music magazine reviewing bands and that. Here is one of a reviews that which i have done.





Who: The Clapping Gavins

Where: London's BumFun Nightclub

Why: For the Rock of it!

When my editor asked me to go to 'the big smoke' for to do a review of The Clapping Gavin's live show, I said "what?" and he asked me again and I said "OK".

Currently on a regional tour, they are almost literally playing live to promote their new album. Called 'Hermetistics' it has been released on the band's own 'Girth' label, and has caused quite a media stir; dubbed in turn "Godawful earache material" by the NME, "Painfully Inadequate" by Kerrang!, and "Absolute Fucking Dross" by Record Collector, it is a collection of musical whimsies, recollections and 24 minute improvised theremin solos and unbearably pretentious new age Britrock served on a bed of experimental Jazz.

I arrived at the venue early, in order to swap a few words with Blythe Chappaquidick, the band's Frontman (though he prefers the term 'Frothman'), violinist, singer and self-publicist:

"We wanted to create something new that hasn't been heard before by anyone ever. Not even us" he says, sipping porridge out of a German Army helmet. Even when he drinks he likes to stay on the cutting edge.

I asked him to give me a rundown on the line-up. "At the moment, we have the sextuplets taking turns on bass, Tam-Tam on skin-flute, me on violins, words, poetry, sex and howitzer, and my four year old niece stroking a cat's back with a rod of amber. We leave the drums empty as a statement, and instead get Jix our drummer to create a percussive effect by catapulting crockery into the face of a horse, recording it, cutting it and playing it over a telephone through the P.A." (at this point he pauses to snort up a rack of finest 'Columbian Itching Powder'). "We place the horse at the merch desk during shows and get people to write their contact details on her for our mailshots".

Jokingly punching me really hard in the face, Blythe gets up; "Fuck off out of it - I've got a visual masterpiece to paint" he quips, and then elbow-drops me in-between the shoulders and walks backstage. I get the feeling this is gonna be a great night...


Six hours later and five people have arrived, making the tiny venue nauseatingly packed, with all of them fighting to get further from the action; "Good evening London"
wheezes Blythe as Jix starts up a powerful horse-plate-catapult rythm - and there's a surprise - rather than the usual telephone setup, the Gavins have decided to make the horse-drums live which, though it looks fantastic, dramatically slows down the songs due to the fact that they keep having to reload the catapult and revive the horse.

Blythe is leaping and whirling and howling like a frog/dervish/banshee combo, sweat pouring from the big bag of sweat that he had carried onto the stage and then burst: Jix dances expressively in between shooting the horse and the sextuplets take it in turn to pluck and slap at a pint of bass - Scary stuff!

I was in ecstasy thoughout the show - shortly after the music started, Blythe's niece got a bit carried away with the amber and managed to launch an electrified cat at 70mph into the side of my head, knocking me into a coma and landing me in hospital.

People have since asked me why I'm bothering to write a review of a show which I didn't really get to see (or hear properly due to the fact that the human brain cannot process music played at such a low rate), and I just tell them one thing; "don't fuck with the 'claps man - just go and see them - they will blow your tiny mind"

"They will blow your tiny mind"

Wym Wember Jan '07