The Barfly is, as always, packed with people drinking away their weekly woes aided by the backdrop of live music with no set theme. The toilets have already flooded, someone has graffitied Videodrome spirituality on to the stall wall (Cronenberg fans can be fairly militant when it comes to new media), and I am up to my toes in warm, dirty water sat on a toilet seat that has seen better days. This is the perfect setting for Denim Snakes.
Coming on stage in a cascade of swagger (much as I’m loathe to bandy the word around), there’s an attitude emanating from this Welsh group that has no doubt been aided by the success of their tour—people have travelled from previous shows in the UK just to see them blow the roof off London, and I can’t really blame them.
Denim Snakes look nothing like they sound. There isn’t enough hair between them to make one solid cock rocker from the ’80s, but they make up for it with good old-fashioned hair metal, played without a hint of irony, channeling the undead spirits of Bon Jovi, Twisted Sister, and Motley Crue—but without the underlying fear that somewhere backstage there’s a groupie under the influence in various states of undress.
Needless to say, the band rock. They put on a great show, with energy kept high from start to finish. The only thing that threw me was that, despite this being their single launch, they didn’t bother to play a single note of “Stronger.”
No rule is too sacred for these guys to break.
