The Gramps. 4.2.16. Cluny 2.













In the thirty or so years that I’ve watched live music, it’s become almost too easy to predict the sound of a band based on the clothes of the audience.

John Lydon’s attack on music fashion is bang-on; it’s seemingly more important to wear a uniform rather than be an individual. The Ramones fashionista of punk; the sportswear and mop top of Britpop; the neon glow of harder edge dance music.

What a load of shit.

Isn’t music supposed to be defined by originality.  Substance over style.

To see the Gramps crowd is like finding yourself in the middle of a family doing the Time Warp.  Everyone looks familiar, but, well, odd.  Not every piece fits together.  Some stuff matches, some stuff doesn’t.

There’s big quiffs, a-line dresses, full sleeves, skinheads, jeans, sherrif jackets, hipster tashes and hair grease.  Some people look outstanding.  Others look like they shouldn’t be standing.

The jumble sale culture makes sense when you hear the Gramps (a Cramps tribute band) play live- they’re rock and roll, they’re punk, they’re rockabilly, they’re trash, they’re thrash.  They’re an intense, lo-fi revelation.

This is a band who pour energy into their performance make a serious challenege to the crown of the Stooges for intensity, energy and belief.   They play to seemingly both energise and antagonise the crowd; creating a challenging, daring, event.

Its manic, it’s shambolic; it’s live music at it’s very best.

7 years on from Lez and I cant believe I’ve only just found out that Cramps fans are a bunch of cool people who don’t need a uniform but do need intense music.






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