A review of Architects, at the [shit beer brand] Academy, LondonDisclaimer: I only went because I was given a magic bracelet that gave me free drinks in the VIP lounge.
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What happened? I turn my back for, like, two minutes and everybody below the age of twenty-five turns into a ridiculous parody of MTV2? Take a long, hard look at that collage of living idiots up there. Do you have any idea how painful that was for me to assemble? I had to sit on my hands and work the mouse with my toes just to stop myself from punching the screen. Every single one of those penises was a "friend" of the band on their MySpace page. Fucking incredible. Where do they all shop for those floppy hats?
Urgh.
Now imagine being stuck in a tiny room with over a thousand of them. I don't like people touching me at the best of times, but get these donks sweated up so they writhe around like a gaggle of ridiculous worms in eye-liner and I was caught somewhere between a heart attack and a holocaust.
You horrible posers.
God. I was so depressed. You know, if you multiplied all the hours these simpletons spent getting their look just right it would stretch longer than the known universe has existed. It would be, like, a zillion-squillion years counted out using the clocks that London Underground use to lie about the time with.
And please, if you can stomach it, take a look at the collage one more time and let me know what they're looking at when they gaze into the middle distance like that. Is there something out there that I can't see? A blinding light of stupidity calling to them?
WHAT. ARE .YOU. LOOKING. AT?
All answers on a postcard that you can just shove up your immaculately groomed assholes because I don't actually care.
Oh, and according to the the lead singer, this gig was the "best gig ever". WHAT?! He couldn't have made it to see Phil Collins live at Wembley in 1987 then. They had a flippin' inflatable dog bigger than a house at that show! Incredible.
But what do I know. The band has over 60,000 friends on MySpace. I don't even have a MySpace and I only have one friend in Real LifeTM.
Oh, and a quick question to the fans: what do you carry around in those oversized backpacks that you all wear? It's tampons, isn't it?
I knew it.
Gah. Roll on April 19th.
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(Oops. I've just realised I didn't actually review the band, but who cares. 'progressive hardcore' does NOT utilise choreographed dance moves. Sorry. Never in a billion years. 1 out 5 stars.)
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