Smell & Quim Gullivers Manchester 13th July 2013

Smell & Quim
Barbarians
Chalaque
Septacaemic Vomit
Smut
Evil Man


Gullivers, Oldham Street, Manchester, 13 July 2013



Apparently the landlord at Gullivers is a mate of Mark E Smiths, a regular of sorts who is immune from being barred. You can see why MES likes this end of Manchester which is touted to anyone entering the city as ‘Northern Bohemian Chic’ but is in reality a sea of drunks, rotting buildings and hen parties tottering around on unfeasibly large heels.

Finding somewhere to park the limo is proving difficult due to half of Oldham Street being ablaze. Smoke drifts down the streets 9/11 style and the smell of burning wood permeates everything. Drunks stagger around holding bottles of wine and cans of beer, one of them is escorted from Gullivers in a state that appears to be one sip from total collapse. Walklett swears blind he’s seen someone talking to a lamppost, there’s feral kids chewing on burgers whilst begging for cash and around the corner William Bennett is spinning Italian disco platters. On the way over, dropping down off Saddleworth Moor, there's a coach ablaze on the hard shoulder. Flames are pouring out from underneath its back end as a group of Chinese students look on from five feet away. As we pass there are still people sat on the coach. Everything appears to be in place for a Smell & Quim gig.

Stewart Walden is talking costumes which is of course the main topic of conversation pre S&Q gig. He’s opting for boxing gloves and bananas. There’s talk of mock ups of the ‘Have You Seen Shannon Matthews’ t-shirts that appeared around the time of the little mites ‘disappearance’. Fred and Rose West, Jimmy Savile, and the little mites abductor Michael Donovan loom large.

But first to the room above Gullivers which like many rooms above a pub is a grotty as fuck but whose complaining? You can have the room for not much moolah and make as much noise as you want. There’s a bar in the corner, ledges propped up with mannequins legs and rock icon posters down one wall upon which Dr. Steg appears to be scribbling something with a pen. Dr Steg has been drafted in as a member of Smell & Quim for the evening and will spend the entire set sat two foot away from the right hand stack spray painting his stencil paintings that contain messages like ‘I’VE NEVER BEEN SEXUALLY ABUSED BY JIMMY SAVILE’ and ‘GORDON BROWN IS A CUNT’ some of which are given out to the audience during the set, some of which are to be seen adorning the back of the bar upon leaving.

But first to first act who is Mutant George and female companion who throw beer bottles into a wicker basket, scrape violins and generally make an ungodly racket. The bottles explode upon contact, bits of glass flying, there must be a contact mic in there. George pulls the wicker basket towards him and smashes everything around a bit more for good measure. I think that was Evil Man. Band names appear to have been made up for the night and I’ve not heard of any of them except The Barbarians and Smell & Quim so forgive me my lack of knowledge.
Someone plays a guitar like Gerry Garcia, lots of high end finger frotting and electric beats.  This could be Smut. The high notes are designed to reach right down into my ear channel and cause immense discomfort so I decide to get some fresh[ish] air and check out the DJ downstairs who has a huge silver chain around his neck and is spinning James Brown and Joni Mitchell tunes to a crowd of middle aged punters all downing pints of lager in a bid to keep cool during the hottest night of the year so far.

Somewhere along the line there’s a twin guitar attack who could be Smut, Evil Man or Chalaque. Not exactly Solmania but the screaming is effective in a oh-isn’t that-hurting-my-ears-kind-of-way. One stood, one crouched, one nearly deaf. 

Next up is some kind of thrown together three piece death metal band fronted by a bare chested [and footed] man who growls into his mic as guitar and drums thrape away. Obscenities are shouted at the audience which only makes them like it more. To be honest I’ve never got thrash whateveryoucallit but people are grooving to it [if that's what you do to death thrash doom metal].

The Barbarians have prayed at the Smell & Quim altar for long enough for the vibes to have seeped through outer membranes. When a 45 gallon drum is rolled into place its apparent that things will be pretty chaotic and so it proves. 45 gallon drum is hit with a piece of wood until the wood splinters, person with paper head shroud screams, person at back of stage screams, someone stage front twiddles knobs, what could be a deflated dinghy is dragged into the fray and worn by various members of band and audience. Drunk audience members join in, chucking and hitting things and falling over. The surge in noise levels is such that it has the power to make me momentarily lose my balance. My inner ear is once again being attacked.

And whilst everybody is outside having a fag and watching the drunks roll up and down Oldham Street Smell & Quim start their set with a good old religious tune. As played from a 60 year old gramophone deck that looks extremely vulnerable in this enclosed space. Someone [Nigel Joseph?] is dressed in an inflatable clown get up and is playing a babies head. Morris is stripped down to underwear and is wearing a Jimmy Savile mask and wandering between audience members. Kate Fear is wearing a Rosemary West mask as cod piece. Stewart Walden is waving his banana-boxing glove combo about. Walklett is bending over to reveal no undergarments whilst wearing a Fred West mask and black curly hair wig. He picks up an angle grinder and takes on a metal disc at stage edge whose sparks cause several audience members sat too near stage front to leap put of the way. Morris collides with them and knocks them over. Drinks are spilt. Dr. Steg sits stage right and spray paints his pictures. I collar him at the end of the night to ask him if he enjoyed his stint as S&Q member and he cant hear me. ‘Can’t hear a fucking thing’ he shouts even though its now quiet. I notice that Gullivers bouncer has appeared and is looking anxiously over peoples shoulders trying to see what all the fuss is, this just seconds after the angle grinder has been dropped in favour of a baseball bat and the demise of a microwave oven. He leaves suitably satisfied that nobody is getting murdered. It is of course a horrible noise and at around the fifteen minute mark perfectly judged. At its end the hymns appear once again and there’s a swaying joining in from Walden and Morris and of course more warm and appreciative applause.

Gullivers is a great room above a pub venue. The PA is spot on, the back drop of Public Information Films [one showing Jimmy Savile and another Rolf Harris] triggered lots of childhood memories for me, the music they play in-between acts [Faust, Happy Flowers, The Fall, Lightning Bolt] lifts the spirits as does the music played downstairs early doors [Manc based Indie]. Thanks to all involved for a memorable evening and for cleaning all that shit up afterwards.

As we make for the limo the smoke is still swirling around Oldham Street, the beggars are still trying their luck and Dr Steg is adding to the litter by chucking his artwork to the floor. A drunk staggers out of Gullivers and life goes on. The car is still there and the hills are calling.