In last month's UNCUT, our writers, friends and favourite musicians reminisced about their favourite gigs. Well, in this month’s issue we’re looking back on the worst gigs we’ve ever seen - including The Stone Roses, Bob Dylan, Kevin Rowland and David Bowie - with rare photos from the shows t...
In last month’s UNCUT, our writers, friends and favourite musicians reminisced about their favourite gigs.
Well, in this month’s issue we’re looking back on the worst gigs we’ve ever seen – including The Stone Roses, Bob Dylan, Kevin Rowland and David Bowie – with rare photos from the shows too.
We’re also going to publish one of the worst gigs every day, with online exclusives, so feast your eyes on this, and be glad you weren’t there!
*****
Lenny Kravitz
Edinburgh Playhouse
December 1, 1991
Alastair McKay:
It wasn’t really Lenny’s fault. When it comes to tight-trousered rock, played on analogue equipment, subtly blending the dullest aspects of Lennon and Hendrix with a side order of Prince and a rumour of Bob Marley, he is your man. That’s what it said on the tin, and that – on this clear winter’s night, is what he delivered. Actually, he was too kind. The guitar solos went on for eons, possibly because Lenny’s trousers were so tight that he was unable to rescue himself from his axe hero posture.
The trouble was, my mind was elsewhere. I knew that at 10pm, ]Nirvana would be taking the stage at the Southern bar, a pub favoured by bikers on the Southside of Edinburgh. At this point, Nirvana were the best band in the world. Kurt’s demons hadn’t yet consumed him, and they were still at the stage where they would play in a bar to raise funds for a local hospital.
At 10pm, Lenny was still warming up. In his catalogue of retro postures, he had barely reached 1966. Soon, I knew, he would discover the Summer of Love. When that happened, it would take an all-mighty effort to get him back to the present. The Playhouse felt like a prison with velveteen seating. Lenny was channelling Are You Experienced? Soon, the Beatles of his mind would split, and he would launch a bed-in for Bangladesh.
It was too much. So I fled, running the length of the Bridges, and arriving at the Southern to discover the doors had been locked. The muffled sounds of an acoustic Nirvana were just about distinguishable from the street, where, moments later, the band emerged, looking bashful and bewildered. I said hello to Dave Grohl. If he said anything in return, I didn’t hear it. In my ears, Lenny Kravitz was approaching 1972.
*****
plus WERE YOU THERE?
Not even UNCUTs war-weary gig-hounds have been to every show in history – but you lot probably have.
Email Allan_Jones@ipcmedia.com to share your memories, of the ones we’ve published or any which we have missed, and we’ll publish the best in a future issue!