How do you get rid of the winter blues? Or, perhaps, on another evening of World Cup disappointment, the winter Les Bleus? The answer’s easy. You go to the Thekla, jump about like a lunatic, sing at the top of your voice and fall into the drunken, loving embrace of the world’s finest shanty punkers, Skinny Lister.
From the very first moments of set opener, Wanted, this evening was only going one way. Fists were thrown in the air, dancefloor mayhem was only ever seconds away and voices were found for a perfect, sing along chorus. From there on it was simply a case of rinse and repeat. There was more jumping and more singing, suddenly whatever was happening in Qatar seemed pretty inconsequential.
There were a few die-hards that refused to give up their screens but even they were soon swept up by the infectious energy all around them. George’s Glass and Rattle & Roar kept the pace relentless; they’re a little bit Rockabilly, a little bit skate punk, a little bit Pogues. Infact, the last time Skinny Lister played Bristol they supported ska-punks Less Than Jake and matched them for energy and pop thrills.
It’s that that makes Skinny Lister such a great band. They have maximum pop sass. Lots of which comes from just one source. Lorna Thomas runs laps of the tiny Thekla stage, throwing Punk Flapper Girl shapes, posing, pouting and rabble rousing. Her voice is slightly ragged – a late night in Newcastle the night before – but when she sings there’s a sweetness behind the shouting. What Can I Say has a chorus as big as a house and Colours is just one of the great songs about England in the summertime. As the sold-out audience take over vocals at the end the timbers of Thekla are well and truly shivered.
The Thekla is, of course, the perfect venue for a spot of noisy shanty punk. Both Damn the Amsterdam and John Kanaka cause utter chaos. Driven by Max Thomas on a melodeon that is pushed (or, possibly, pulled) to the absolute maximum, he conducts the choir and the choir respond as though lives depend upon it. By the time Bristolian rockabilly, Scott Milsom, has hoisted his double bass onto his shoulders, once again, for Rollin’ Over the stage is set for the final ratcheting up of jump-up-and-down-to-forget-about-the-football madness.
When Thomas isn’t singing Dan Hepinstall is. He’s the captain of this particular ship and leavens the noise with a great punk-pop voice. He sings the two songs that perfectly sum up Skinny Lister. Trouble on Oxford Street is a drinking song with a brilliant chorus that’s custom tooled for some mosh pit action. Every word is sung by everyone in the place as smiles and bodies collide.
Then the evening ends, as it so often does, with Six Whiskies. Another drinking song, it is jubilant, ecstatic and totally fitting. By then the stage is littered with two support bands, Lorna Thomas’ dad and the merch man as well as the whole band. Arms are thrown around each other, microphones thrust into the crowd. This is the party that a whole boatload of people wanted. As the song weaves, drunkenly, to a close the repeated refrain goes “and I declare my undying love for you”. ‘Nuff said.
Gavin McNamara
TallFolk 