After some ‘Quantum Unpleasantness’ I, Galmorphagorph, was forced to lay low. As such, I chose the bucolic sublimity of the heritage city of Bath. It’s scenery is Idyllic and, should I be found by my enemies, its rending from existence following our great battle will be most satisfying to watch. To pass the time I, Galmorphagorph, have taken to quietly observing the local music scene and after approaching ‘Bath Gigs’ to work as a correspondent (Rejection would have resulted in a most fleshy death) they were happy to receive me, as will you. Needless to say, this town is in dire need of frank and forthright appraisal from a being who has long ago broken loose the shackles of time, space and dimension, and appraise I shall.
After being disturbed from my Subsonic Frequency slumber I was drawn to what I would learn was ‘Party in the City’, one night of live music sprayed haphazardly across the many venues and parks that pepper this small town. I focused my time and attention on Queen Square, who’s towering central monolith was the interstellar way-point by which I was able to arrive. My slumber, it seems was interrupted by ‘Jamma de Samba’, a horde of yellow shirt wearing hide-thumpers who’s rumbling carnivale through the narrow Georgian streets filled me with energy and enthusiasm. Their cult-like attire and relentless devotion to the rhythm put me in mind of the thunderous battle beats of the K’AATK war-blobs. Their pounding latin drum-craft was intoxicating, a firm keystone of clave around which the sands of rhythm could fluidly shift yielding razor sharp Sesquialtera that were as satisfying as they were surprising from a gaggle of otherwise hopelessly middle-class Bathonians.
I, Galmorphagorph, thanks to my cloaking technology had decided to perch atop the monolith to watch the remaining bands play out the night. The first band was ‘The Maitree Express’, an esoteric bath-based 7 piece Reggae outfit . There was a great deal of bass, but in spite of what was clearly a lot of rehearsal and work put into their set, I, Galmorphagorph, was left a little cold. The songs, while admirably original were somewhat uninspired and unmemorable. I also felt their overuse of ‘space-invoking’ Theramin was grating, but thats more of a personal bug bear because I come from space and it doesn’t sound like that at all . Regardless, from my high vantage point, a large crowd had gathered. A few in the centre were dancing while others merely swayed and watched. I enjoy the arial view of human congregation. I am fascinated by the shifting social geometry of a live music audience. Humanity is, of course, doomed.
The final act of the night was ‘The Blues Others’, an eye rolling name for an otherwise highly entertaining act. Let down somewhat by a very middle-frequency sound mix that lacked both the punch and volume the band deserved, they were otherwise fine musicians who knew how to get a party going. I’ve been to parties that didn’t end in violence, this seemed like one of those. Playing a plethora of upbeat Blues and Mo-town covers they acquitted themselves with precision and grace, however the real star of the show for me (Galmorphagorph) was the band’s female singer who took the lead on a few tracks and who’s ballsy full-throated vocal power correctly and pleasantly vibrated my Aural Bladders. Upon finishing her scorching rendition of Aretha Franklin’s ‘Respect’, I accidentally let slip my Tri-toned victory screech attracting the curious looks of a few drunk revellers at the bottom of the Monolith. Their inebriated cow-eyed stares blurred by libations and the evenings constant flow of drizzle gave me pause, a glimmer of compassion for these strange and doughy creatures in their cosmic infancy. I spared their lives that night, for my mood was agreeable. However, the next time a trilby wearing walking cardigan compromises my cloaking device with his Vape-smoke, I, Galmorphagorph, will ensure that all that remains of him is the vapour he left behind…