Pogo No-go

Mr P and I went to see a band called Yuck a week or so ago. They’re a great band, fusing together early 90s grunge sounds with mellow tunes and punkier numbers. They’re like a cross between The Cure and Teenage Fanclub.

Mr P and I have now got to the agewhere, barring the bouncers, we are the oldest people at gigs. This is because I harbour fantasies of owning my own record label and so will trawl through Myspace and the NME looking for new bands we then go and see live for £8. It’s my hobby.

Yuck attract a geek chic crowd; there were lots of oversized, Clark Kent glasses (without lenses probably), tweed, cardigans, bow ties and knee socks. I was expecting a dirty, grungy, beer-throwing gig so I didn’t dress up to the nines although I did wear suede shoes, which could have been to my detriment. Had the gig not turned out to be one of the most sedate I have ever been to.

There was not one bounce, one pogo, one mosh. Even the expected diehards down the front stood still. The applause was a polite smattering, and you could actually hear people taking during the quieter songs.

This baffled me. Yuck have their softer moments but are basically a band you want to jump around to. I wanted to jump around. Even Mr P wanted to. But the others, these kids full of energy in their bow ties, didn’t move an inch.

Afterwards, I asked Mr P whether he thought the band would’ve been disappointed by the lack of movement. Apart from that, they got a good reception. He thought that because of the type of crowd Yuck pull that maybe pogoing / moshing / dancing just isn’t cool anymore.

He could well be right. On the upside, my shoes emerged from the gig unscathed. On the downside, a gig isn’t a gig if you haven’t been drenched in beer (or worse) and leave it red-faced, sweaty and panting.

But maybe that’s just my age.

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