At this very minute I'm sure that up and down the country guitar shops are reverberating with big, burping guffaws over the fact that these dorks named themselves after a packet of fags...
At this very minute I’m sure that up and down the country guitar shops are reverberating with big, burping guffaws over the fact that these dorks named themselves after a packet of fags. The reality, guys, is unfortunately several leagues away from all-out mirth-fest.
[a]Ten Benson[/a] are an average bar band. Maybe if you were a bit ‘mental’ you’d book ’em for your post-wedding booze-up or something; with their lumpen ZZ Top/Quo riffs and matching grease-monkey caps and shirts they’d raise a few chuckles.
However when rock-as-comedy is the summit of your ambitions then you’ve got to at least have the guts to go all-out gross on your audience and Benson never lose their self-conscious paralysis for the entirety of tonight’s mercifully short set. All the half-assed shape-pulling in the world can’t hide the fact that these guys would’ve failed an audition for They Might Be Giants.
Sure ‘Rock Cottage’, with it’s pro-Satan posturing and archetypal AC/DC riffs, was enjoyably dumb the first time you ever heard it spun but tonight, naked and unadorned, it’s limp. ‘Robot Tourist’ sounds like Joan Jett drained of bombastic heart and replaced with an embarrassed snigger and anyone who’d waste five minutes of their (obviously limited) shelf-life banging out extended versions of ‘I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside’ are obviously ashamed of something. [a]Ten Benson[/a] make rock music for people so uptight they think AC/DC are funny.