SLUTT

JULY 1988


JUNE 1988

GIN SLING/SLUTT – Ashington Central

TWO OF the finest exponents of ‘Sleaze Metal’, both from the Newcastle area, opened their double-barrelled assault on some of the nation’s venues in their own heartland. Yup, Slutt and Gin Sling, on the verge of commercial success, played to a full house at one of the North East’s most revered rock venues.

Local band Byzo were on first with a short set largely reminiscent of early 70’s Black Sabbath.

They made way for one of the most colourful bands around. Slutt, in full Kiss-like regalia, strutted the stage as if it were part of a world tour. “Hiiiyaaa Ashinglon. We’re Sluuuut! announced Jay C (what’s this? Geordies with American accents). The band premiered tracks from their forthcoming selF-titled album, due in mid summer, including an inspired version of ‘Blue Suede Shoes’. The music was loud, fast, raucous rock with perhaps a hint of Thrash.

Headliners Gin Sling finally hit the stage just before last orders. The band looked and sounded very sleazy with torn shirts and a raw sound that may not have appealed to some of the traditionalists in the audience. Nevertheless, they won over most of the punters with tracks such as ‘1-2-1′ and ‘Burnin”.

Highlights of the set, though, were undoubtedly their single Heartbreak’ and ‘Love Crazy’ with sleazy covers of ‘King Rocker’ (Generation X) and ‘Twist And Shout’ thrown in for good measure.

Two bands with a future.

DAVE ATKIN

HARLEQUYN

JULY 1988


1988

HARLEQUYN – Marquee, London

ONE FROM the Far North Music showcase, one half hour of transluscent tops (almost) and one band with half a guitar and a whole set of ideas cramped into a short set in front of a crowd from home who looked keen to travel.

From the oft, vocalist Paul Mother apologises for lack of time, “We haven’t got time to talk, sorry,” but refuses to let it stand between him and the abundance of wimmin at the front. If they were playing to the converted, and that’s just about what the first three rows were, they played it well.

They like them in Wales, where they’re never keen on anyone, and if you can crack it there you have to possess a certain something, usually a gun, and Harlequyn do. Their sound is swimming somewhere in the water that runs off the back of fundamental rock and mingles with the indies while somehow striking for the surface with a guitar solo. Clever.

They’ll draw me back another time when the odds probably won’t be so heavily stacked against them, when they’re standing on their own ground and when they get a full hour to themselves. Then they might really do it. We shall see…

PHIL WILDING