London
19 April 2019
Ten years is a long time in music. Well, I mean, it’s quite a long time in anything, really. And if you adjust for inflation, ten years in the nineteenth century is actually AGES. Especially for a punk band. So it’s quite a thing that The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing are celebrating a whole decade of their anachronistic anarchy of gin, comedy and The Clash (to paraphrase The Pogues quoting that bastard Churchill) with three nights at The Black Heart.
Tonight is the second night of the three, and although recent releases have seen the band moving further from their comedy roots, that isn’t to say they no longer like a laugh. So tonight’s supports are both comedy acts, the first being the Men’s very own Andrew O’Neill. Somewhere between the gentle absurdism of Eddie Izzard, the Burroughsian cut-up structure of Harry Hill and the twisted occultism of Aleister Crowley, he has a lot more hair than at least two of those three and barely gives you time to laugh between his seemingly stream-of-consciousness digressions and flips. Chuck in a bit of music, and you’ve got a great comedy act.
Following him is Boothby Graffoe, who I have vague memories of seeing at Glastonbury in the ’90s, though it being Glastonbury in the ’90s I remember little of what he actually does. Turns out he does musical comedy — very short-form songs which don’t have time to fall into the trap that the vast majority of singing comedians do, which is not being very funny. Graffoe is very funny indeed, and ends with a hilariously complicated audience participation number about the Hartlepool Monkey Trial. By the time The Men take the stage the room is basically a sauna. The band are visibly melting in their awesome though not entirely practical stage attire as they belt through a set encompassing their entire history. They start with a one song per album structure (as did The Cure at Meltdown), but that soon breaks down into ninety minutes of great music. A lot of the old comedy songs get played, some for apparently the last time (well, that’s the tour in general, not specifically tonight), and it’s remarkable how well they sit with the more in yer face Double Negative material. And, let’s not forget, the vast majority of the non-comedy stuff is still pretty damn funny.That’s not to say they’re apolitical, though — far from it. We get a brief aside from Andrew in “Bedlam” to explain why the word “whores” has been replaced by “sex workers”, and “Doin’ It For The Whigs” gives him time to deliver an impassioned sermon on behalf of Extinction Rebellion, who as the band play are currently occupying various locations round Central London. “Charlie” is extended into what’s practically an entire sketch in its own right, which ends up seeming like the punchline to a joke that’s taken ten years to tell, and which is all the better for it. Atheist goth anthem “This House Is Not Haunted” sounds better than ever, and throughout the band are tight, manic and punchy — even during the cockney knees-up singalong that pops up inexplicably halfway through.
I’m aware I’m repeating myself when I say The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing get even better with every new outing, but it is still true. Already one of my top five best live bands in the country, if not the world, tonight proves they aren’t just using the decade as an excuse to sit on their laurels. Here’s to the next ten years of righteous Victorian anger. Pour one out.-Words: Justin Farrington-
-Pictures: Dave Pettit-
