Sleigh Bells were lame

Last night as a respite from my tortuous revision regime, (as if) I thought that I would go along to the Deaf Institute to see a band I had reservations about, but was sweetly and patiently willing to be proved wrong. It was perhaps going to take a bit of effort to persuade me that their over hyped jangly, metal pop was on the nice side of irritating, but I could imagine that perhaps they'd put on a good show and that maybe in the flesh they were slightly less well groomed and a bit more punk and credible. The venue was absolutely brimming with every variety of douchebag, and whilst being rubbed up against by some dick head in a wife beater and long hair who thinks he looks like that twat out of Razorlight (so 2005) is quite amusing for a while, I was looking forward for the music to start so that I could have a distraction from the feeling of being packed like sweaty sardines. But no, I might've well have been to see Britney Spears, except at least, as my friend pointed out, Britney has a dance routine, which requires at least some inkling of effort. The music came on but I didn't even notice that the band were on stage, as it became apparent that Sleigh Bells were miming their entire set. I mean, they were excellent at looking good. The girl had that pseudo-punk thing down to a tee, wearing her tattoos really convincingly as if she was actually quite alternative, not in a glorified PR groomed version of McFly. And the guy held his guitar the right way round which is a start. But his soloing was really quite out of sync and when she actually had her microphone plugged in her screaming sounded like a molotov cocktail hitting someone in the face. I actually began to feel quite awkward and embarrassed as the girl kept throwing the same poses and the guy still hadn't taken his trendy jacket off, but luckily they didn't have to keep the act up for long because after half an hour of track skipping on the sound system behind them they'd exercised all possible talent and called it a night. I mean, Neil Young played a two hour set and he's had a stroke, talk about wasting their youth. I'm now totally convinced the whole thing is a massive troll by the music industry, and the joke was most definately on the crowd. On the plus side, an extremely drunk girl next to me spent the night trying to hold my hand, which was creepy, but didn't quite feel as humiliating as having paid to see the pitchfork equivalent of Busted.

Photos coming soon.