If it hadn't been my friend's friend's band and also first experience of The Pleasure Unit in Bethnal Green I probably would have said to the doorgirl "Five quid?" and did a 180 out of there.
But that wasn't what fate had in store for me. Lemme paint you a picture: The first thing that hits you when you enter the Pleasure Unit is the brown. It was like stepping into Nelson Mandela House. Then there's the issue of there being a giant pillar situated right in the middle of the stage. Perfect for obscuring any members of the band who might want to stand... in the middle of the stage.
Last night, that was the singer of the feeble Every Other Gift, which was actually pretty cool, because he looked like a cross between The Concept Of Emo and Steven Merchant. His band were the sorriest looking trolls I ever saw in my life.
The music could be charitably described as 'Nickleback without the charisma', or 'Puddle Of Mudd without the attitude'. And they would be appropriate descriptions given that they not only sounded like a slow motion version of those two bands, but the drummer was actually Wes Scantlin's long lost twin - complete with back to front baseball cap and Puddle Of Mudd t-shirt.
The rest of the band wasn't much better. I'd never really appreciated what the phrase "thousand yard stare" actually meant until I saw Every Other Gift's bassist, who I actually think was an frozen alien approximation of an actual human.
There were two guitarists, though they were so tedious, in my mind they are one grey, lifeless mass of guitarism. The one exciting thing about them was that they (he) looked like Iain Dowie. Iain Dowie! And they gave it about as much enthusiasm to their playing as you might expect Iain Dowie to give were he in a band.
I didn't view their songs as music, per se, but as Karmic retribution for every wrong thing I'd ever said or done. Every half-arsed Slash-lite solo was the time I left the rabbit's hutch open and a fox got it. Every atonal grunt from the singer reminded me of the girl I cheated on that one time. Each song with names like "Shut Out" and "I Wished You Hated Me" were reminders of the paper round I had when I was 14 and the little old lady who never got her paper because I couldn't be fucked with the hill.
There was a false dawn late in the performance when the bass amp appeared to go down. Sadly the problem was fixed and they carried on playing.
Even so, I spent the entirety of the performance struggling not to laugh as my mind wandered and I started imagining that a band like Arctic Monkeys might pastiche this performance for their next video - it's already disturbingly like their video for I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, but my internal director went further. It would be a punter's eye view of the stage, with the pillar obscuring the singer's face, the rest of the band unmoving and the camera turning ever so often to look longingly at the 'Way Out' sign by the exit.
By the end, I reflected that the name of the night was "Don't Forget Your Bass Amp". They should have forgotten all of them.
Never listen to this band.