LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL-

Mechanical Cabaret upstairs @ the Garage 22/02/02

It’s Friday night and we’re outside Islington’s Garage venue in possibly the worst February gale in years. Tonight is the grand reopening of former Thursday club night  Club Noir. Relocated from Soho’s Gossips, the club should hopefully pull in a few extra punters who were formerly worried about partying on a school night, although it remains to be seen if this evening can go head to head with alternative powerhouse Full Tilt down the road in Camden.  As well as music of the pre recorded variety, tonight also sees a bill of some of the underground’s finest displaying  their live wares.

Planned openers Cartagia and Sand are no shows, so the bill of Synthetic and Mechanical Cabaret has been joined by VT faves the Sepia. As we prepare for the bands to take the stage there seems to be a pretty matey atmosphere about, for it appears as if all the members of the Sepia and Synthetic know every member of the audience personally. Whilst it may be good for customer relations, yours truly is a bit old fashioned  in the respect that  he likes his rock stars to remain distant and omnipotent (Yeah, I’m very old fashioned!).

Behind a curtain that bears a striking resemblance to a paper doily, The Sepia mount their vast banks of keyboards and hammer away in a manner that guarantees RSI. The band’s music is (as before) a classy new take the old FLA EBM dance floor formula. There’s new material aplenty, with an even greater mixture of vocal and instrumental tracks. The Sepia’s free handling guitarist also gets more parts to play, but despite his increased musical role within the band, he’s still hidden behind the racks of keyboards. Whilst the Sepia’s material continues to get better, their performance style still drags them down a few notches. Their actions onstage for the most part consist  of the band’s heads bobbing up and down in a manner that recalls Depeche Mode circa 1983. At present the Sepia’s compositions are guaranteed floor fillers, but as a live act they still aren’t quite there, although as tonight’s show was a last minute affair, we’ll forgive them this time around. The band are scheduled to play this year’s Zillo festival, so hopefully given a bigger stage and greater facilities  they’ll be able to delver a show that does justice to their material.

Synthetic are a band I have a bad habit of missing. Last gig they played (Black Celebration 3) I walked in a minute before the end of their set. However, the last time that situation occured with a band was with my now beloved Mesh, so that has to be a good omen. Synthetic themselves are an ecclectic bunch, including a rockabilly, fag puffing guitarist and the obligatory cyber goth  female on keyboards. Sound-wise, they aren’t quite the industrial EBM machine their publicity would have have us believe. Their frivolous, playful beats have in truth more in common with the early nineties indie dance crossover of Jesus Jones or PWEI. The bands nineties credentials are only increased by the fact that Synthetic front man Tim bears an uncanny likeness to Mike the Senseless Things singer!  Whilst Synthetic’s consumer friendly electro, goes over well with the crowd, the performance appears to be missing a vital edge that could push it onto a further plateau. Perhaps Synthetic are too cuddly in their demeanor- Several songs are dedicated to individuals in the audience, thus kind of killing any confrontational atmosphere between the band and their spectators. Again, call me old fashioned, but I like my Rock stars to be aloof and mysterious.  However, with the eighties  revival  well and truly upon us, it can’t be long before the NME makes the sounds of the early nineties the next in thing, thus assuring guaranteed interest in Synthetic.

As I muse that the modern Goth scene is nothing more than gay disco for heterosexuals (and those that aren’t certain), along comes the moment, that I’ve waited five years for. A band that will make your jaw drop in such awe,  you’d think that you’d dreamt them up. Their name- Mechanical Cabaret. So what’s so great about them? I will mention three words - Sheep On Drugs. Yes the nineties finest pair of agit pop, schlock horror ringmasters finally have some heirs. From the moment the duo of Mech Cab singer  Roi and multi pierced drum pad thwacker Tobi stroll onto the stage in militaristic garb the air almost crackles with tension. Ten seconds into their bump and grind lo fi soundtrack and know you’re watching the band who are going to be the next big thing. Lurching forward from the stage as if we’re watching him through 3D glasses, Roi is the embodiment of every narcissistic frontman who’s taken the stage before him and them some. Imagine  the androgynous menace of Marc Almond in his Soft Cell prime, bolstered by the high camp of Tim Curry in full Frankenfurter mode.

Apart from the legendary SOD, Mech Cab’s sound finds close similarities to Throbbing Gristle, Sex Fiend, Suicide and on a more contemporary level, 2000 AD faves Katscan. However, Roi was a member of Martin Katscan’s former band Necromantik so that shouldn’t be much of a surprise. However, Mech Cab are a far more challenging  experience than  Katscan’s lively Hip Hop crossover. More songs about screwed up sex, life in the gutter and Luke doing rude things to his sister Leia? Yes please!

Bring on the movies, too! Mech Cab perform before a backdrop of some of the sickest images seen outside of Bernard Manning’s nude self portrait collection. Delights include gutted teddy bears, cling film encased toilets with captured turds, some rear entry (Surely illegal outside Soho?), A naked gimp masked by a Tesco bag  and OAPs indulging in a spot of slap and tickle. Slides man Bruce is a star in the making, already boasting  his own fan club and the position of Roi’s mid show ‘bitch’. I think we may have found the noughties answer to Carter’s Jon Beast.

Tonight’s show from Mech Cab was everything that last year’s Soft Cell reunion wasn’t (Ball and Almond’s October show was so mediocre that we didn’t even bother reviewing it!). Tobi and Roi have already been described by Martin Diablo as dealing in  "Grinding electro so dirty that the listener is left feeling like they have been break dancing in a skip full of crack addicts shit", so I’ll have to better that by saying that their sound is like being ejaculated onto by a crowd of VD ridden  hookers.

If Marilyn Manson  deals in arousal, Mechanical Cabaret are pure penetration. To quote Trent Reznor, they want to "fuck you like an animal", but they’ll eat you from the inside.  Are they destined  for fifteen minutes of fame? Dream on- Let the good times roll!

SYNTHETIC - 'A D S R'

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