Super Furry Animals

Somewhere, in space, this is_ all happening right now. It’s out there, in the stars, that the _real Super Furry Animals are kicking out the interstellar jams on the dark side of a meteorite ploughing its way through a strange planet’s outer rings; they’re busting moves to space-age rock and roll that not a soul on the lameoid planet Earth have ever wrapped their lug-holes about. This, friends, is merely cabaret – a tribute band to an act so amazing that if they ever did descend to this little blue ball of ours then, surely, all conflict, of all kinds, would quit its nonsense and a smile the size of the Great Australian Bight turned on its proverbial head will spread its merry way across the faces of shit-smirking politicians everywhere. The ICA nods approvingly, clapping and dancing and dancing, but… we know they’re up there, amongst the twinkles.

Their counterparts on terra firma begin proceedings in Power Rangers get-up and end with two spectacularly inebriated DiS pen-pushers leaping about to a song they’ve heard so many times before – live as well as on record – like they’ve dropped a baker’s dozen years from their age and just sipped their first Hooch. Just how does a song so offensively titled turn rooms full of otherwise perfectly well-mannered individuals into potty-mouthed, fist-punching and on-the-spot hopping maniacs? ‘The Man Don’t Give A Fuck’ but oh me, oh my we do… so much so that we don’t give a shit that someone’s telling us off for spilling beer all over this lovely floor.

Yeah, there are five or so efforts from the forthcoming Hey Venus! LP, and they’re all neat and sweet and sort of saucy, in the vein of all quality SFA offerings, but when the hits hit, all new material is forgotten. We’ll hear the promo, thanks. Tonight, we’re busying ourselves enjoying to excess the absolute balls-out brilliance of ‘Rings Around The World’, ‘Golden Retriever’, ‘Ice Hockey Hair’, ‘Do Or Die’, ‘Northern Lights’, ‘Juxtapose With You’… yeah, you get what we’re saying here. SFA are, when they’re in full flow (or, rather when their drone underlings are), quite the most perfect pop band in the known universe. Totally alien, totally unique. Pop like no pop should be, but quite, quite brilliant.

Of course, what’s way out there’s a load better, but since we’re a fair few years off even getting as far as Mars, shows like tonight’s will do… and do… ‘til we pass out in a pool of our own sweat and booze. Like we very nearly _do_.

Blurry picture by me... sorry... I was dancing...