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  AC Rid, the Victor Pope Band and Simon Patchett live at Bannermans in Edinburgh


AC Rid at Bannermans

The ideas just keep on coming. Let’s go to Edinbugger and see what might be happening on the east coast of music. Let’s go to Bannermans and pass judgement on AC Rid, Victor Pope and Simon Patchett. Let’s lock and load and have that Guinness in a glass for a change.

A young man with a hoodie and an acoustic guitar isn’t generally likely to generate much in the way of enthusiasm outside of the roundabout town of Livingston but, with his good natured brand of showmanship much to the fore, Simon Patchett demonstrated that energy was just about enough to divert your attention from his musical merits.

Fronted by a man surely old enough to know better than to wear a Superman t-shirt were Victor Pope. Or the Victor Pope Band since there were more than a quartet present on stage. Purveyors of offbeat rants that often masqueraded as songs, these good gentlemen (and lady) transcended audience confusion in search of that alternative universe where Jonathan Richman thought moving to Edinburgh would cure his angst.

The door to the venue is open. American blonde outside says she can sense the aroma. She asks if it smells of piss. No idea who she is, by the way. An olfactory examination later the conclusion is drawn - Edinburgh piss smells a lot better than Glasgow piss. Normally it would be 50 points for “retiring” a tourist but, for one night only, you lose 100 points if she is blonde. Rules are rules in the game of life and, strangely enough, peroxide doesn't always get you the high score.

AC Rid are fronted by a wee man with a red bass guitar and he isn’t messing about. The post punk vibe is there for all to hear but so, glory be, is a horn section. The result? A veritable litany of fast as France two minute love songs that would get any beer fuelled party going with skewed lyrics veering wildly between such topics as transsexual eskimos and the musical evil that was, and always will be, Hearsay. May the force be with them always.

Outside in the darkness, the French tourists are being herded up and down some steep hills by a sadist disguised as a tour guide. Summer means fun.



Reviewer:
Review Date: May 6, 2015


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