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The Beatings : Glasgow Barfly
It's all gloriously simple, self-explanatory stuff
Live, The Beatings rattle about like a violently drunk man trying to stand up straight to piss; a sticky mess of spit and drool, sweat and alcohol. In just thirty minutes they manage to turn an initially nonchalant crowd into feral rock 'n' roll monsters - not so bad for an end of tour 'wind down'.
OK, so check-shirted frontman Nick is blessed with the whiniest voice in Christendom, and musically we've heard it all before - this is garage rock after all - but when the demented crack-hillbilly riff of 'Jailhouse' kicks in, all is forgiven. Chronically drunk people storm the stage, mic stands are sent flying into the audience and minor injuries are sustained - the loonies taking over the asylum, for one night at least.
Like all good cheapo rock 'n' roll entertainment - from Chuck Berry to Black Sabbath - you don't have to think too much about The Beatings. It's all gloriously simple, self-explanatory stuff. They're not here to soundtrack long dark nights of existential conflict - they're here to make you throw beer around and act like a delinquent. And for that alone they should be lauded.
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