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House of Lords +Weena Budapest - A38 4 April, 2008 Well, I have been going to concerts non-stop for the last 30 years or so but I have to tell you I have never felt so out of place at a rock concert in my life. Just read some more and you'll see why. As much as I loved the band around 1990 I knew not to expect the classic House of Lords 30 years after their debut that got me their fan. So my expectations weren't as high as they would have been before, plus I'm not getting any younger either so no hot-headed enthusiasm drove me when heading out to the gig. I was also very "professional" about not arriving too early having to survive the opening act yet I got to the venue early enough to witness the majority of their set. There are no words to describe this outfit who are supposed to be Germany's answer to Nightwish but in an absolute Cow & Chicken cartoon like fashion. The band (of a wooden handed drummer, a teenage construction worker apprentice on rhythm guitar, his 40-some bald overman on bass, and an almost-rocker looking lead guitarist) was fronted by an anorectic opera-singer dropout. By the end of their set (during which Sylvia, the singer, changed her outfit about five times, had several performances from reading newspaper then tearing it apart to rolling on the floor covered with a grey blanket) there were about 100 people squeezed together in front of the cloakroom, the only place to espace to from the concert hall itself. They didn't only run from the noises (yes, the thing these people did with their instruments can hardly be considered "music") but also from the performance itself: imagine a 40-some bass guitarist with the skills of a 13 years old beginner who picks every damn G sound from above the neck with an absolutely self-satisfied face thinking he's friggin' Billy Sheehan doing so. Ouch! Add the unbearable screaming of Aida gasping for air in her cave while dying with the looks of a female dancer who just escaped from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and you don't even get close. Had I not met countless friends and former fellow musicians of mine at the "cloakroom ball", I would have thought I missed the venue.
Yet I have to admit his voice was absolutely in shape, and the band was as tight as it can get (okay, what else can you expect when having to play along with the tapes?!). The tapes took their toll on the performances for sure. BJ Zampa played drums like you have never seen before. He had his head facing forwards with a stiff neck the entire gig long, not moving his face an inch to the left or to the right, it was only his hands that were moving as if he was afraid his ear-plugs or his hair-scarf would slip if he moved his upper body. I could have sworn he was fuckin' mumbling to himself while counting the rounds. Matt McKenna, a relatively young "I'm always there when they need a pro" bassist did a good job and sang the best backing vocals of the entire band while Jimi Bell had a guitar sound that sticked out of the mix as much as his stoner looks would have sticked out of the band back in its glory days. His playing was okay though, I only wish I could forget his absolutely pointless guitar solo.
I know that "These Are The Times we live in", the times when singers tour with the names of their once famous bands with hired musicians nowhere near the classic line-ups (Mike Tramp anyone?), the times when rock bands use samples almost as much as hip-hop DJs but for fuck's sake, don't call it House of Lords. Call it the Hut of a Lord or something cuz that was what I saw... Review by Endre "Bandi" Hübner, bandi "at" rockunited.com 09 June 2008 |