@ RoTa
Notting Hill Arts Club, London
21st February 2000
There’s a great sense of expectancy generated by Chicks On Speed tonight; buzzing chatter from the West London cool squad building up a tension upon a foundation of eclectic Electro DJing. When the Chicks come on stage in decorated paper dresses (on sale at the merchandise nook too) there’s an urgent crush to the front which drags all before it, even into the maw of the bassbins cramped up into one corner. Lined up in front of their mics, the trio get ready to do their stuff as an oscillating hum builds for the storm of electronic Punk to come…
So when it does break loose, it’s a bit of a disappointment to say that CoS go for the tried and tested route of starting off with a hook from one genre or another, cranking the sampler output up to eleven, and alternately pogoing or screaming in shrill harmonies over the top while semi-abstract video footage plays on the wall behind. There’s Electro, banging Techno, even an ill-advised handwave into distorted Euro Housiness. Add in impenetrable (thanks to an unforgiving basement muffling the sound) vocals which are often only discernable as “One Two Three Four” but actually seem to have more depth if, only they were mixed in better – and it’s suddenly a little reminiscent of Sheep On Drugs‘ appropriation of cheesy crowd pleasers for their own twisted ends.
Still, there are moments – the tranced-out post-Motorik groover, the near-unrecognisable cover of Social Distortion‘s “Eurotrash Girl” rapped out in crunchy slow motion – and they certainly get sections of the audience moving rapidly from stumble-jog to exuberent air-punching, especially with the closing MIDI guitar chord frenzy in decidedly Punky Digital Hardcore-style. With not much room for instrumental manouevre in a pre-programmed set, however, the only real avenue for personal live expression comes from a sprightly ability to leap about the stage shouting for all their lungs’ worth. But they have fun while they’re doing so, and make an entertaining racket in the process. Seeing them in a cellar is one stage removed from where they’ll really work well, whipping up a half-bemused auditorium of several thousand discerning electroheads into some kind of paper cut-out moshpit.
-Alvis Presidently-
