Yes, the great teenage trainwreck
Skins is back on our screens for a fourth series, still 'shocking' us with lewd images of immaculately-voiced shop mannequins taking drugs and being all cool and shit. Don't get me wrong, especially considering the location-bumming nature of the last post, it's great to see programmes set in Bristol, but I've just never
got Skins.
Perhaps all these ridiculously beautiful youngsters a-snortin' and cavortin' makes me feel distinctly un-rock'n'roll and a bit old into the bargain, but the dialogue is clunky and the acting is awful. The whole pretentious thing isn't a gritty exploration of a dark, misunderstood young underworld, it's Channel 4's big suits trying to prove how edgy and ker-azy they still are by broadcasting a bit of coked-up nubile tit. (Can you tell I've been reading a lot of
Charlie Brooker lately?)
So, it was with two minds that I approached the transparent-PR-athon of the
Skins House project at the Old Fire Station. On the one hand, it's great to see emerging talent that's a little under the radar come to Bristol - Ou est le Swimming Pool, Two Door Cinema Club, Man Like Me, Chew Lips and various DJs - have, over the last two weeks, all been under the same roof and for great value, with tickets only at a measly quid.
On the other hand, the great unquashable cynic inside me was predicting crowds of gurning little shits, Nathan Barley-esque fashion horrors and an actual altar at which to worship Effy, Cook and 'the crew' before sacrificing yourself to the god of trashy television.
Friday saw Monkey!Knife!Fight! take residence, with the likes of Turbowolf, Man Like Me, Crystal Fighters and Pulled Apart By Horses gracing the subtly branded main stage, above and below, whilst DJ sets from Shitmat and Scotch Egg kept things ticking over nicely in the upstairs room.
A line-up like this can't really be sniffed at, and, musically, there was something for everyone. The dancefloors were full with a crowd that was noisy without being rowdy. (I didn't really get the chance to take that many photos, as it was quite busy and I was quite pissed, so here's the lovely sign again, from a slightly different angle.)
Big Jeff was there somewhere, and if it's alright for Big Jeff, then it's alright for me. The venue itself is wicked (the great red building sat just before Broadmead) with a spacious but not cavernous interior, and there are different rooms on different levels to stop you getting bored. Get rid of the wanky tv tag and it'd be perfect.
Thankfully the focus was on the music - there were no meet'n'greet autograph booths or 'special appearances' - which was enough to pull in all types of post-teenagers not necessarily willing to gobble down any old E4 bullshit poured down their awaiting throats, but make up their own minds about new and interesting music and a venue with atmosphere. (There were some sartorial 'attention seekers', it must be said, particularly an outfit Rupert the Bear's dad would have really dug and a girl with a cassette tape strapped to her head. Not making it up...)
Anyway, I just hope this isn't the future of live music - that we'll need to rely on multi-million pound corporations with their own agenda to provide these events - because then there'll be too much competition for normal people to get any sort of new and innovative ball rolling.
Maybe I'm taking it too seriously. Checking out new places and dancing to music and dressing up is good, and if there's a chance you can get on some cool tv show, then even better. Or whatever.
