To be Punk Festival - Novi Sad, Serbia 31st May 2008
Ok so its in Serbian, but what did you expect -
This is a very favourable review, published in one of the top 3 best selling national daily papers across Serbia!
The Garage, London, 24/5/04 Kerrang!
Kerrang! - June 8th
by Stevie Chick
Ten seconds into the timebomb-ticking intro to 'Black Elvis' we
realise, f**k, just how we've missed Goldblade. Oh sure, there's been
all manner of snakeoil salesmen beefing soul 'n' R&B up with
überdecibelic guitar pain in their absence, and the Detroint garage
renaissance was anticipated by the Blades's lamé-flecked devotionals.
But no-one else delivers rock's gospel as surely, as totally, as
Brother John Robb. His restless spirit courses through the urgency of
the 'Blade's glamour-drenched strut: the sense that every moment of
your life is all-or-nothing, to be lived to the utmost, and that rock
'n' roll can be your fuel, your salvation, our reason for living.
And with rock 'n' roll as sweet as this, who'd doubt him? Yowling over
a re-tuned GoldBlade, Robb delivers old favourites (the oily sin of
'Hairstyle') and future classics ('Who Was The Killa?') with equal,
utter conviction, a prodigal figurehead for a ragtag generation of true
believers. Come join the congregation.
The Garage, London - 24/05/02 - The Independent
The Independent on Sunday - June 2nd
by Simon Price
"Do you believe in the power of rock 'n' roll?" Goldblade's John Robb
does, and by the time he's asked us for the twentieth time we do too.
No fags or beer for John - the terrifyingly gym-hardened singer is as
straight edge as they come, his only crutch being fast, loud and
euphoric music.
If you don't know John Robb, you'll know his face. The boundlessly
energetic musician, author, producer, journalist, model and TV star is
the Mancunian with the brush bristle quiff, comic book cheekbones,
superhero physique (at Gold Blade gigs, you could lay bets on how many
songs he'll last before whipping off his fur bomber jacket and showing
off his pecs) and a cheeky glint in his eye, who always crops up on
those I Love the Top Ten of 1977 punk shows.
Gold Blade however, is his main project: a shamelessly fundamentalist
collision of The Ramones, James Brown and The Stooges, typified by the
anthemic Strictly Hardcore and new single AC/DC (which concludes with a
cheeky Angus riff). Throughout their set, Robb comes across like a rock
'n' roll Billy Graham, bug-eyed and wired on adrenalin, slapping
high-fives with the front row and bellowing exhortations to join him in
his devotion. His band of tatooed rockabilly rebels are back by the
tribal thump of not one but two drummers.
Gold Blade may have their rivals in the testifying punk-rock-soul genre
(notably The Make-Up and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion), but you won't
see a more inspiring, thrilling, enlivening show from any of them.
Witchwood 06/04/02 - Manchestermusic.co.uk
GoldBlade - R*ck N M*ther F*ckin R*ll OK brothers !!!!!!! Goldblade committed what can only be described as the musical equivalent of a full on beach assault, incorporating heavy artillery, landing craft and an assortment of field nuclear weapons. Quite literally taking the stage by storm , frontman (and we mean, man) John Robb gave it everything and more (although we have no idea where on earth he managed to muster more from). With a hardcore punk/new wave blast, a triage system had to be set up at the front of stage, as the audience tried to match the energy output of the on-stage antics. Blistering, uncompromising, unrestrained mayhem ensued, with Robb eventually stripped to only a pair of skin tight patent leather (plastic?) trousers. For those of you who saw Iggy Pop in translucent kecks, on the "White Room" (live TV music show), you will have encountered a similar experience during the Gold Blade performance. Outstanding What else can we say New Album New Dates Check 'em Gig of the weekend.
CD Reviews 'Rebel Songs'
Play Louder Magazine
FACT: If Goldblade came from California, they'd be as big as Green Day.
But - they don't - They come from Manchester - Which is good.
The world needs the Manc Punk Perspective. Because we have the Yank
Punk Perspective. Don't get me wrong ? We fucking love it. But we know
exactly what it's like to be American forty-odd and left wing and
pissed (off), thanks to the continued (and remarkably consistent)
efforts of NOFX et all. Americaland is big enough to support a
tightly-knit, self-sufficient, self-helping punk scene. For some reason
all we seem able to support over here are football teams and Nazi
rabble-rousers. It's the UK's unflinching insistence on continued
renewal that makes us continuously dope and fresh, but it also fucks
with development, and tradition? Punk, after all, is just folk music -
to deem it a quaint historical movement with no current significance is
to dismiss the idea of noisy communication itself. And to leave it in
the hands of revolting poseurs like The Others is fucking retarded.
Leave it to Goldblade.
Goldblade know what the fuck they are doing, and they love what the
fuck they are doing. It is a love that shines forth from each song on
this shiny round little bit of plastic. Here you will find the best
bits of the history of the modern folk music that is punk, shot though
with a gristle-popping vigour that should embarrass the fuck out of
every band to have played the Rhythm Factory, like ever.
Proof is easy to find and will require inserting the CD into, like, a
CD player, and pressing PLAY with all your might. Then you will
understand how 40,000 Russians or whatever it was managed to sing along
to a song most of them had never heard and had yet to be released at a
recent show. For it is AWESOME. It goes, "OOOOH-OHH EH-OH!" in that
glorious, primal fashion, that "OOOOH-OHH EH-OH!" that is Pure Anthem.
It goes for the balls like a spurned lover, it features an guitar solo
you can pogo to, and lyrically, it's the sort of snowpure gonzo
sloganeering that screams "PENCIL CASE", unabashedly, gaily,
righteously:
"WE LIVE IN MEDA-EH-EVIL TAYMES!"
Spits Brother John Robb, somewhere between Lydon and E Smith, Bowie and Bashy.
"WE LIVE IN COMPLIKAYTID TAYMZAH! MY LIFE IS FULL AV CONTrrA-DICK-SHURNZZAH!"
He even Clash-raps at the end.
And, with the door righteously blown the fuck off, the Blade continue
to mash like Terrahawks through a further eleven super octane blasts of
Nu Folk JOY. Righteous sloganeering the too-cool crowd would sneer at
(like, it doesn't fuck you off what they've done to Che Guevara?
Everything ISN'T for sale? The people running shit AREN'T cunts?
"Mother Earth" hasn't been raped bloody? ShuT Up.) and a range of
guttoral roars and "OOO-GH"s that make Lethal B's "OO-UGH!"s sound like
hiccups.
They roar like, like no cunt has since fucking Out Come The Wolves They
roar: "FIGHTING IN THE DANCEHALLS! FUCKING IN THE STREETS!" They hot ?
they tight like babies asshole, they riff crazy up and down fretboard,
they smash percussion, they wreck carcass like ebola.
A track called 'Stereo Gangsta' starts like 'Boris The Spider' and
turns into a skanking Turbonegro. The title track mashes the mighty
Sham 69 into fucking Guns N fucking Roses. Stiff Little Fingers riffs
tear the fuck out of ADF basslines, trip over Prince Far I percussion,
blitz Pogues, roar into mighty Meatloaf melody, pure, CRUNK to FUCK
Trick Daddy hype, "COPS AN ROBBAHS!", Cramps, Bauhaus, Killing Joke,
"SUPERMART RELIGION, CUT PRICE DEALS!" shagging, feeling "wild",
"alive"... Another fucking mean riff, another burst of solo guitar joy,
key change, tempo change, fast slow smack you in the face in sixty
fucking seconds...
And back To The
"WOOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OO-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
I'm glad Goldblade aren't huge. It makes their small victories all the
sweeter. Riots in Russia! Pandemonium in Prague! UK Underground Brother
Creeper Sponsorship! REAL LOVE AND RESPECT FROM THEIR PEERS and fucking
REAL PEOPLE...
And a fucking nuke for an album.
You can hear the glee, and the POWER in Brother Robb's every spat
syllable. They're hungry like fifteen-year-old emcees in Harlesdon. All
the setbacks, the label closures, the music press blackballing, none of
this has jaded, soured, or embittered them one iota ? why should it?
They are grown ass men, road warriors, doing what they love. They have
loved and lost and lived to tell the tale and they shoot six
hunnerd-and-sixty-six shots of straight wisdom through their amp
stacks. They scream, "ANCIENT ROME IS DISNEYLAND!!!!!!!!!!!!" For them
to do anything other would be weird and blasphemous. Gold Blade are the
distillation of every great Punk record you ever heard. Maybe it is
true. All you need are rebel songs.
Akira The Don
Reviewed on 17 Apr 2005
Pocketful Of Change Magazine - USA
Captain Oi! doesn’t sign new bands very often but its clear why they
made an exception here. Rebel Songs hits hard enough to knock you down,
its got anthems that will have you singing along on the first spin and
the lyrics, well, according to them “Guitars are machine guns! Words
are our weapons!” From the funky beats of “Stereo Gangsta” past the
tight breakdowns of “Everything is Porn” to the knowledge of “Cops and
Robbers” this disc is no joke. Twenty years from now labels like
Captain Oi! will be re-releasing this disc to the diehard punks of the
day, don’t wait until then to get your copy.
I Really Love Music.co.uk
So how's this album then I hear you scream in gloriously choreographed unison?
Well it's sheer fucking quality, gone are the horn sections, gone are
the 'experimental' tracks where they try and realise their desires to
be the Nick Cave of rockabilly. Instead, 'Rebel Songs' consists of 12
tracks of straightforward riffed up call-response pumped up action that
will have you stretching the limits of your amplifier/headphones.
Lyrically there are times I am sure you are meant to be laughing out
loud, after all, can you take a chorus laden classic such as 'Fighting
In The Dancehall' seriously when the follow on line is 'Fucking In The
Streets', I hope not. Then again, there are times when you know that
The Clash styled sloganeering is meant to be converting people over to
the cause. And just in case you were wondering what is the cause? Old
school manifesto driven punk rock of course.
Quality adrenalin fuelled noise from start to finish.
Bring on the MTV special.
Montagpress.co.uk
Just when you were beginning to think that punk-rock had pretty much
folded in on itself in an orgy of self-referencing wankery and general
dead-horse flogging a band will grace our musical sonar with a blip of
the charm and all-but-forgotten swagger of a long-dead musical
revolution.
In tracks like ‘Psycho', ‘Fighting In The Dancehall' and ‘All We Got Is
Rebel Songs' Gold Blade prove themselves one of the last composers of
the fist-in-the-air chorus-heavy punk-rock anthem like Sham 69 but with
an unexpected sleazy rockabilly twist that infects the vocals with
style and attitude. Sneering from their upturned collars at the
depressing musical zeitgeist they've built up a massive cult following
regardless and to date have achieved such unlikely things as appearing
alongside talentless Geordie life-partners Ant & Dec on CD:UK and
causing stadium riots in Russia where national newspapers sing the
bands praises.
‘Rebel Songs' is worth hearing just for the awesome strength of its
stand-out tracks and whilst predictably enough the rest doesn't quite
measure up so well they're all still pretty strong and I'd be lying if
I said any were anywhere near forgettable - however latter tracks which
attempt to reflect the band's position on the Iraq war come worryingly
close and deprive ‘Rebel Songs' of the timelessness that gives it such
power.
With massive singalongs and massive attitude - this is punk-rock for the drunken bus-ride home.
Drowned In Sound
“Welcome to the TV War! What’s the latest score?”
With ‘civil unrest’ (a nice euphemism for nutters blowing people up or
cutting their heads off with machetes) running rampant across much of
the globe, the chemical-choked Earth threatening to belch up the
generations of polluted shit it’s been force-fed in an almighty wave of
climatic violence and half the population of the world’s only
superpower heartily endorsing an agenda of greed, fear and hatred, as
long as it’ll stop a few poofs getting married people’s tax breaks –
the sick, unholy bastards, it’s time to draw a sharp line in the sand
between vapid faux-rebel posturing and real rock’n’roll action – as
ready to give a call to arms as it is a ride to the party.
Step up twelve-legged soul-powered punk rock crew Goldblade. Now in
their tenth glorious year, Goldblade have always been talking loud but
now they’re saying more than ever. ‘Rebel Songs’ – their fourth LP – is
the finest yet and offers just what that uncompromising title promises:
The adrenaline-and-Brylcreme rock’n’roll testifyin’ of old has been
stripped away for a vicious, scathing assault on the piggy-eyed
reptilian scum running the blood-splattered circus from boardrooms and
holy places, caves and WhiteHouses.
Oi-inspired opener ‘Psycho’ casts the die, John Robb spitting out his
rage and confusion at the madness of modern times: The rampant,
unchecked greed, the blood spilled over worthless religious dogma, the
seeming blind stupidity of the people, burying their heads in the sand,
getting pissed; too scared or too dumb to face up to the ugly truth
behind the smokescreen of lies and hypocrisy; dollars signs lighting up
behind the crocodile tears in the cold, dead eyes of the well groomed
and oh so plausible men on TV, next time a Super-Smart-Intelli-missile™
lands on a kindergarten by mistake. ‘Fighting in the Dancehall’ and
‘Cops and Robbers’ ram home the urgent wake-up call to the misguided
thugs fighting amongst themselves and it’s not hard to guess who the
“idiot son of a son of a gun” is in ‘Decline and Fall of Ancient Rome’.
‘Sick World’ and the Cramps-flavoured ‘Everything Is Porn’ even take in
– good Lord – environmentalism. It’s not cool to sing about saving the
Earth, but then little that’s worthwhile was ever ‘cool’ – Good taste,
as Brother John is constantly reminding us, is the enemy of revolution.
So ‘Rebel Songs’ is an angry album then, but this is Goldblade’s turf,
which means you’re never far from a party. Rebel songs, these may be,
but John Robb’s rants are stuffed with bizarre humour and wry
references and, like all the best rock music, at heart Goldblade are
great pop. While their 1997 debut ‘Hometurf’ lurched violently from
boisterous punk anthems to sleazy psychedelic soul and their last
effort 'Do You Believe in the Power of Rock’n’Roll?' stuck largely to a
pared-down punk blueprint, ‘Rebel Songs’ mashes up all manner of
seemingly ill-matched styles into some of Goldblade’s biggest tunes yet
with effortless grace: On the surface of it, these are megadecibel
punk-rock anthems pure and simple, but scratch that surface a little
and there’s all manner of lunacy going on here, from the gonzoid Dick
Dale surf guitar on ‘Fighting in the Dancehall’ to the equally barmy
sea-shanty guitar break on ‘Psycho’, the neo-Clash Ramalama of ‘Cops
and Robbers’ and ‘Decline…’, and even jazz stylings on ‘Government
Lies’. The dementedly twisting minor-key melodies lifted from Russian
folk music, scattered liberally throughout the songs and rammed in your
face with all the subtlety of a band of Cossacks bum-raping Muse’s Matt
Bellamy with his own guitar – while playing Tetris – suggest Goldblade
picked up more than a few thousand fans on their sold-out tour of
Russia while ‘All We Got is Rebel Songs’ and ‘…Dancehall’ have enough
angular pop moments amid the dirty Cramps grind and early Manics pomp
and circumstance to make fashionable young turks like Franz Ferdinand
and Kaiser Chiefs (Goldblade fans to a man) smile.
But all the experimentation and ambitious genre-blending, all the
right-on sloganeering, all the muscle and the bravura would mean
nothing if these weren’t boss tunes that you’ll be singing in the wars
and the protest marches yet to come. Goldblade deal in anthems: Moshpit
igniting dynamite, custom-honed to set off a sweat-drenched frenzy from
the colossal stadia of Moscow to the sweaty clubs of LA, to, er, The
Witchwood in Ashton-under-Lyme.
Goldblade wear their souls on their sleeves and pull no punches –
‘Black Sheep Radical’ is about Che Guevara, for heavens sake – but
never does it feel like they’re lapsing into heavy-handed cliché,
because at the end of the day, the truth is the truth: Callous greed,
lies, hypocrisy, scaremongering, warmongering, mob hysteria, cruelty,
religious blood hunger and pretending not to give a shit because you’re
scared of looking like a hippy will always be well snide and
righteousness, justice, unwavering protest in the face of indifference,
bravery, conviction, excitement and fun will always be well boss.
As will Goldblade.
Designer Magazine 2006
Gold Blade have often been overshadowed by journalist John Robb's
unique views on nostalgia TV each week. Morley would relate the event
to it's social context and drop in references such as Sartre and Camus,
Maconie would recall the time he met some obscure band called "Dog
Shit", but you could always rely on John Robb to deliver a succinct and
simple slogan spluttered out before nervously laughing. While being
called upon to spout opinions on everything from the Spice Girls to the
Sex Pistols and McFly through to Metallica, Gold Blade has always been
a passionate and ongoing concern. "Rebel Songs" is the bands most
cocksure and consistent album since the debut "Home Turf". With a
political underbelly crossed with the sort of tunes that made "Strictly
Hardcore" and "Black Elvis" so essential.
"Psycho" was the song that kicked off this new era. Already a live
favourite it caused a near riot in Russia. The lyrics are as you'd
expect from Robb, short and punchy, "The streets are full of sex &
violence, the situation seems so vacant. Some times I feel so reckless,
sometimes I feel pretty violent". "Black Sheep Radical" looks at Che
Guevera, or Cliché Guevera as he's now known. Detached from his context
Che has just become another image to front ad campaigns and add that
acceptable face of revolution to their products. Everything's that
dangerous has to be neutralized.
"Fighting In The Dancehall" and "All We've Got Are Rebel Songs" are the
centre piece of the album. On the latter you can't help but think of
the Edwyn Collins lyric "too many protest singers, not enough protest
songs". After a couple of forgettable tracks in the form of "Stereo
Gangster", "Everything Is Porn" they bring the lyrical tour de force of
"Cops & Robbers" - "Old Muck Donald had a farm and on this farm he
grew some GM crap".
With songs like "The Decline And Fall Of Ancient Rome" and "(War) Not
In My Name" Gold Blade have released an album which any self respecting
punk fans should own. It may not have the lyrical depth of Asian Dub
Foundation or the humour of Chumbawamba, but "Rebel Songs" has got a
spirit which is impossible to ignore
Alex McCann
In The City Magazine April 2005
Showcasing the sounds of Elvis duking it out with The Clash down a
dimly lit Manchester back alley, Goldblade are the real rock glam, punk
'n' roll deal.
Its almost criminal how underrated in their homeland (though big in
Russia, by all accounts) this rock solid five piece are and 'Rebel
Songs', once again, perfectly illustrates their ability to blend
big-beats with almost primeval pounding and the catchiest choruses this
side of prime time Misfits.
Throw in several nods toward 1970s glam and more than a smattering of
Duane Eddy style surf licks (check out ˜All We Got Is Rebel Songs' if
proof were needed) and youre left with yet another irresistible
Goldblade offering.
The Garage, London - 11/03
“Do you believe in the power of Rock’n’Roll?”
For nine years, this has been the rallying cry of Goldblade. It has
also been the call of many others. But no-one has spoken it as
forcefully or as eloquently as John Robb and his mighty army of Teddy
Boy guitar slingers and piratical tub-thumpers.
No-one else writes songs that sound like The Pistols backing Gene
Vincent and no-one else has the balls to call their songs things like
'AC/DC' and 'Strictly Hardcore'. Goldblade take the stage like a group
of men possessed, always energetic, tonight they seem positively wired,
bouncing around the swirling, driving racket, clad in uniform black.
Standing side by side, rattling out the ferocious punk’n’roll riffs at
the heart of Goldblade’s tunes, Pete G.O.R.G.E.O.U.S. and Johnny
Skullknuckles machine gun the audience with the necks of their twin
white Les Pauls. Robb is a bug-eyed gonzoid blur of energy throughout.
Whipping his shirt off after about, ooh… thirty seconds, he stalks the
Garage’s tiny stage like some gym-hardened ninja, even buffer than
usual, kung fu kicking invisible opponents to the ground. One over
enthusiastic young man jumps up on stage, apparently taking literally,
Mr Robb’s request to 'Kiss my Ass'. “I am Elvis Presley. I am the King”
growls John in 'Hometurf', dancing with three young ladies, plucked
from the crowd to join him on stage... 'Who was the Killa' and '16
Tons' add a surprising two-tone twist to the fierce rumble. 'Not in my
name' brings a serious message to the cartoon swagger. The rumbling
guitar squalls of 'Black Elvis' start the encores, a wild-eyed John
inciting the audience to thrashing, rubber-limbed moshpit japery.
No garage band writes tunes this anthemic. No stadium straddling rock
band dispatches their tunes with such viciousness. No punk band
performs with such an unpretentious exuberance.
Among an army of racket-worshiping rock’n’roll devotees, they no doubt
helped to inspire, Goldblade are still the kings of rabble-rousing,
testifying rock-soul party mayhem.
Tommy Mac
Drowned In Sound
Manchester Academy - 16/12/04
Goldblade - Manchester Academy 16/12/04
Do You Believe In Rock And Roll?
Goldblade certainly did as they descended upon their hometown in support of marathon new wave/punksters New Model Army.
The Academy one came to life as the band treated us to their ska punk
flavoured rock and roll with relentless spirit and euphoric loud riffs.
The music was the most rock and roll influence tonight, as in true punk
spirit John Robb and the gang ignored all clichés of sex, drugs, and
rock and roll, pouring their passion into the music and on stage fun.
Leading the fun, If that wasn’t enough, was Robb’s lively and cheeky
front man demeanour, which could only add to the party atmosphere, as
with a cheeky glint in his eye, he bantered and flirted with the front
row, repeatedly jumping down to be closer to them near the barrier.
Not ones to miss out, and finding it hard to resist the infectious
ska-punk enthusiasm of “Who Was The Killa,” new single “Psycho” and
“Black Elvis,” the rest of the crowd took solace in dancing
enthusiastically or looking on in awe, as the energy and rock and roll
flowed.
Katherine Tomlinson
www.contactmusic.com
Manchester Academy - 29th Sept 2006
Not so well known amongst the more commercial, but gods in their own
right to the punk community, John Robb made it easy to see why British
punk is undergoing a revival. Playing from the gospel that is their
latest album ’Rebel Songs’, written as a reaction to the Iraq war and
the re-affirmation of punk, Robb was like a memorising evangelist
leader. Jumping in to the crowd and placing his hand on a fans head
screaming ’Do you believe in rock and roll?’ he had them eating out of
his hands. Judging by the crowds deafening cheers, everyone believed in
him and worshipped at the Goldblade altar. A fantastically energetic
set, Goldblade are a band not to miss live and proved punk is
definitely not dead in 2006.
Goldblade were support to The Misfits.
Rock Industry Magazine Nov/Dec 2006
Available as a free download from HERE
CD Reviews 'Home Turf'
I Really Love Music.co.uk
Now this is the one. Punk rock for r-n-b freaks. Mix the Clash with
Stax, uptempo horns clash with feel good stomps. Fan-fraggin-tastic.
Having got very bored with the malaise that is the UK music scene at
the moment, when the new year has crossed to 2001 I needed to hear
passion, rants and chants and guitars on stun. This meant 'Hometurf'
was the obvious choice. 50 minutes of classic manifesto lead vibes. The
singing is gruff the horns are badly produced - but there's a passion
in this stuff that Wet Wet Wet could only dream of. White boy soul
never pumped the adrenaline so well. Strictly Hardcore indeedy :-)
We need Goldblade more than ever now.
Bridgewater - Oct 2006
John Higgins - BBC Somerset
Support to SLF October 2006
Goldblade were the support band for the night. They hit the stage at
around 8.30pm and blasted their way through 30 minutes or so of their
high-velocity, catchy, punk rock which had a definite nod to the early
English punk bands, mixed up with a dash or two of '50s rock and roll.
Formed over a decade ago by Mancunian journalist John Robb (whose
recent book Punk Rock - An Oral History is definitely worth a read) and
bassist Keith Curtis following the demise of their previous band The
Membranes, this bunch of lunatics is now a polished act. Having toured
the world, and apparently having a large fan base in Russia, they had
no problems conquering Bridgwater.
Central to their performance is the belief that a great show has
several key ingredients: energy, spontaneity and a feel-good vibe. From
the first minute, this is evident as this brigand of punk-rock
hooligans utilises the whole stage and beyond in the name of
entertainment.
Kicking off with a street-punk style number, charmingly entitled
Fighting in the Dancehalls which boasted a sing-along chorus that puts
bands like Rancid to shame, the band then blasted straight into AC/DC.
Every song was a riotous sing-along anthem and before long, the
charismatic, if somewhat unhinged, singer was stripped to the waist
flailing around like a man possessed.
With wild staring eyes and dance moves that are erratic rather than
erotic, his persona is that of a deranged preacher from a horror
B-movie. It was not long before he was down the front, up against the
barrier, bantering with the crowd, flirting with the front row, shaking
hands and preaching to his new-found brothers and sisters.
During Do You Believe in the Power of Rock 'n' Roll?, he passed the
mike around as he tried to recruit converts to the Goldblade ministry
of madness.
Beside and behind the singer, the three musicians provided a cohesive
unit and appeared to be having immense fun throughout. Guitarist Johnny
Skulknuckles was a swaggering greaser straight out of the '50s, all
tattoos and hair pomade, posing and throwing his guitar around. Bassist
Keith somewhat resembled Paul Kaye's Dennis Pennis creation, and the
oddly named Pete G.O.R.G.E.O.U.S. brandished his guitar like a machine
gun as he 'shot' at the crowd. All the while, drummer Rob Haynes
attacked his kit with great gusto, as the band sped through numbers
like Black Sheep Radical, My Name is Psycho and Jukebox Generation.
As the band finished with a bombastic Kiss My Ass, during which Johnny
left the stage to play atop the barriers to his right, the dance floor,
which was sparsely attended half an hour earlier, now heaved as more
and more people were coerced to the front, dancing away and seemingly
enjoying a warm-up act which was in fact an incendiary device.
I don't know how aware this Bridgwater crowd was of Goldblade, as I
don't think they've been in the area since they played the Glastonbury
Festival in June 2002, but by the end of the evening I reckon they'd
gained a fair few new fans, and I honestly believe that if they were
from over the pond rather than Manchester they'd be huge by now!
Reviews 'Drop the Bomb'
NME 05/04/1997
Duchess of York, Leeds - Feb 1997
Melody Maker - Feb 1997
