Back in the 90s when I was listening to stuff like the Bridewell Taxis and The Stone Roses me and a few mates set out to find this indie club in bradford called 1 in 12 we had never been before but we was assured that it would be a top night. After walking around the streets for the best part of 2hrs we made it to the front doors gasping for a pint of yorkshires finest when we were confronted by 2 bouncers on the doors, the first thing I noticed was these wasn't your average indie club or any other club type bouncers these were 2 most gargantuan fellows I had ever clasped eyes on. On top of their physique, they sported a most menacing look that I just wasn't used to and on top of this they weren't suited and booted they had 12ft mohicans and piercings that I didn't even know there were places.
After paying our entrance fee it suddenly became apparent it wasn't indie night at all but punk night, it also became immediately apparent that we were in a very sticky situation infact it was the stickiest situation since Sticky the Stick Insect got stuck on a sticky bun. After the staring had stopped and the music started playing again and we had eventually been served at the bar I started to relax then after a couple more I even thought about joining in on the dancefloor, that's when it all went wrong.
I was really getting in to it jumping around jumping in to people arms of kimbo then crunch, I looked down and like a popped balloon I see this snarling dribbling buffoon launching his fists straight for my head luckily I was quick enough to duck underneath the oncoming rocket propelled fist, however, unfortunately my friend was not. He got smacked clean in the jaw and the blood splattered everywhere like a scene from a Tarantino movie, I stepped in and managed to calm this brute down. It turned out during the chaos this poor unfortunate chap had somebody jump on his head whilst he was calmly taking a nap in the middle of a punk dancefloor filled with angry geezers wearing docs, astonishing.
At first he refused to let anyone leave but after 30 mins of gentle persuasion and pleading from myself he calmed down and even bought us all a drink for our troubles. This menacing delinquent turned in to one of the most friendly honourable chaps I had the pleasure to meet, it just goes to show you should never judge a book by it's cover.
That night was the first time I had heard the dead kennedys and the first time I had really listened to any punk music apart from bands like The Clash, The Undertones and alike. So when I first heard of Nouvelle Vague and heard that they had done cover versions of tracks like Too Drunk To Fuck and Love Will Tear Us Apart I reserved my judgment until I had a chance to listen and was pleasantly surprised. Click to buy.