It's all gloriously simple, self-explanatory stuff
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, roll up roll up for the main event. Tonight’s show involves stage-invading freaks, endless recycled Stooges riffs and amps that (probably) go to eleven. Yup, it’s The Beatings, numbskull purveyors of the very finest in thrift store rock thrills.
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.