Another live review.
TALULAH GOSH
Finsbury Park Sir
George Robey
HAVING JUST ‘necked’ a gross of kustomised kans of Kult 45 beer, deliberately not washed all day and blown up
my house with the awesome sound of Ian and Billy’s ‘Peace Dog’, I was in the mood for war, or woooaaargh at least.
All along the watchtower, the battlecry rang out: def to false kuties. Backed by a handpicked kohort from the Slayer Satanic
Wermacht Fan Club, the plan was to blow Talulah Gosh off stage with a gut-wrenching pea shooter assault. Then the bastards
went and ruined it by being not nearly as bad as I’d hoped they’d be. Indeed, they’ve redefined their cuteness.
When the cosmically puffy tones of ‘My Best Friend’ start up, the tweeness still grates and the lads still look like massive bozos
but some things have changed. Gone are the bobs and floral smocks, having been replaced by short crops and bovver
boots which leave the chicks looking like Dolly Mixtures. Why, new chick Eithne even had a T-shirt with a pair of tits on and
Amelia has stopped calling herself Marigold and got herself a jacket with Toxic Vermin written on the back—this is more like
it!
As the Goshies all cry “Farleys rusks, I can handle them”, the message is still grow up. Even if they were
alarmingly bearable tonight.
ROY WILKINSON