MACC LADS – MARQUEE, LONDON
THERE IS, as you probably know, e quite major requirement for watching the Macc Lads. You must be drunk. We’re not talking a little tipsy, we’re talking gibbering, staggering, shouting and aren’t toilets funny drunk. So following this simple rule with the aid of a drinking partner, I joined the throng for an evening of insults and bottom jokes.
Warming up the crowd was a large chap called Eddie Shit. Mr Shit was about as subtle as the Tories introducing Poll Tax on April fools day, but considerably funnier. Well, until his horrendous Judge Dredd-style cover versions began to wear a great deal thinner than the performer. We escape to the bar and await the Lads.
Okay, so the Macc Lads are stupid, sexist, infantile and ugly. But there comes a point where you just have to forget these things and sing along.
Credit where it’s due, the Macc Lads, white not yet making Macclesfield internationally famous, put an incredible amount of enthusiasm into their sets, and manage to avoid electrocution despite being drenched in beer from start to foul-mouthed finish.
Muttley gives his usual on-stage banter about Southerners being flat lager drinking homosexuals, though I can’t help thinking that he looks tired and perhaps wouldn’t be so brave without the support of their massive roadies.
It also strikes me that while the Lads will never be world renowned (other nations just don’t find toilets amusing) the Italians will no doubt hear all about Sweaty Betty during the world cup. I can only suggest that they get enormously drunk and learn the words.
The lads from Macc show no mercy and not an atom of sense.