The Parkinsons/Police and Thieves/The Cherry Reds
@ The Water Rats 21/01/04

In a time where John Lydon, the instantly recognisable face of punk rock rebellion, is appearing on the arse end of television ‘I’m a Celebrity, Get Me out Of Here’, can we really criticise punk bands who refuse to let go of the sound of ’76? When the mainstream has grabbed hold of American punk and diluted it for the mass teen market (Good Charlotte et al) should we be unsurprised when a handful of bands maintain the type of rock n roll that didn’t die with Joe Strummer?

First on the punk rock bill were The Cherry Reds, a bratty bunch of Clash fans unleashing their own spin on the 70s punk formula. That’s not to say they weren’t good – to be fair, all the songs were extremely tight and snappy, with the dual guitars and harmonies grabbing us by the necks and hurling us back in time. By far the most smartly dressed act on tonight - all suits, sneers and snotty attitude, and at times reminiscent of the early Manics with their stitched on patches, coordinating outfits and pseudo-political punk, but perhaps lacking the ‘4 Real’ element that kept the latter’s royalties rolling in before your mum started buying the albums.

Following them were Police & Thieves, who kept the retro rock flame alight, but with worse dress sense. At least The Cherry Reds had the whole style thing going, making their set a lot more seductive. These guys just seemed to rehash 60s style pop melodies and rhythms with a heavy dose of distortion.

So, onto our headliners of the night; The Parkinsons. If the job of the day was to bash seven shades of shit out of your instruments, then this band passed with flying colours. All in black, they jittered, jived and jumped, extending the punk tribute theme of the night and gave us a steamy concoction of the Ramones riffs and the Stooges sounds (sadly, minus the excess of Iggy on this occasion – in the past Parkinsons gigs have ended up with trashed gear, mini riots and nudity). Launching a complete aural assault on our ears for 45 minutes, they successfully revived the old ‘1-2-3-4’ intros followed by flying volleys of power chords and aggression, spitting at the crowd venomous lines like ‘you are so charming’ with a caustic energy. Most of the time the songs were simple, fast and fucked up with raucous and mostly unintelligible vocals; “Too Many Shut Ups” is really just ‘Gimme Shock Treatment’ - however a few, such as album track “Primitive” with its howling line ‘Oh baby, it’s a long way to nowhere!’, highlight the gems among the dirt. The trouble is, although The Parkinsons are pretty hot at delivering amphetamine riffs and choke every song ‘til its dying breath, there’s part of you that had hoped for some onstage brawling, a pint of piss hitting you in the chest, or even a flash of bare sweaty skin – the very least that one expects from a Parkinsons gig. I guess there’s always next time.

By Kate Etteridge

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