Bandwidth

Artwork by Will McConnell.

Forgive the poor quality of this article…

[Editor’s Note: Every one of your articles should start like that.]

… but to be honest it almost didn’t get written at all.  Every time I tried putting pen to paper, for the past six days, the only thing that would come out was romantic poetry about Cara Cowan.  I say romantic poetry, I kind of just wrote out the lyrics to the soppiest Bon Jovi songs while slugging from a bottle of Jack.  But that wasn’t even the main reason.  I heard about this show in the morning of the day it was on, and immediately called Johnny.
‘Johnny I’m going to the gig at the Black Box tonight.  Ever since I saw Cara Cowan on In Stores Now I have wanted to see her live.  It’ll make a good This Is Not A Review, too, which is handy.’
‘That won’t be necessary Ian.’
‘What do you mean not necessary?’
‘I mean we’ve already got a Bandwidth representative covering that show,’ he said.
‘What?  Who?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Well now I REALLY fucking want to know.’
He paused.  ‘It’s Nicola.’
It was my turn to pause.  ‘You’re fucking with me.’
‘Told you you didn’t want to know.  She’s just joined us and she’s got the gig.  I’m sure you’ll think of something else to write about.’  And he just hung up.  I reached for the bottle of whiskey and turned up the Bon Jovi.
Nicola.  The only woman I ever truly loved.  It was a love that was never to be though.  We met when I started working for the Belfast Telegraph, and I knew I loved her from the first time I ever laid eyes on her awesome tits.  Of course she was beautiful too, and seriously, seriously cool.

[Editor’s Note: Ah, that’s why it never worked out between you then…]

But she was with a senior editor at the paper, and I was just a lowly critic.  My angle was to critique entire establishments based on the quality of their toilet facilities.  We hung out a lot and despite the obvious chemistry, our dynamic never got past me telling her about toilets.  Recommending good ones, warning against the bad ones.

[Editor’s Note: How did you know what the ladies’ toilets were like?]

God, it hurts even to think about it now.  It was the happiest time in my life.  But like I said, we both knew it could never happen, and eventually the pain got too much for me and one day I just didn’t go back to work.  I never saw her again since then, and you know the rest.  I moved on to bigger, better things with Bandwidth and tried to forget about her.  And now of all the music sites in all the world, she had to start working for mine.

When I ran out of whiskey, I headed into town.  Most of what followed is just a haze but after getting kicked out of a bar for yammering loudly about how terrible the men’s toilet was, I spent my last couple of quid on a bottle of Bucky and lay down in the gutter to die.  In my dreams I was visited by an old man, whom I assumed to be a ghost from the future.  We had a long, drunken conversation about the situation that culminated in him telling me I had to get up, goddamnit, clean myself up and go to that gig.  It was my final chance for closure.  I came around and realised it was just some old tramp waking me up because I was in his favourite spot.  I handed him what was left of the booze and shambled off.

It was getting late, so I employed the age-old cinematic technique of montage to get home, wash up, shave, put on my finest threads and get to the Black Box on time for the gig, all in the running time of one Foreigner song.  Obviously nobody else there knew about the montage trick, because besides the bands, I was the first person there.

‘That’s five pounds please,’ said one of the women at the entrance.  I handed her a ten, the other one stamped my wrist, and they went back to their conversation.  I stood, awkwardly silent, until they looked up at me again.
‘I think that was a ten I gave you,’ I said.

‘Oh, so it was,’ she said, and gave me back a five.  Then I remembered it was a fundraiser gig and they probably assumed I was being charitable.  Asking for change from a charitable donation, what a classy start to the evening.  I hit the bar and, not wanting to take a table all to myself I stood there like an awkward twat, watching as people trickled in.  I was three drinks in when she swayed in and my heart swelled up so much my chest looked almost as big as hers.  She didn’t notice me, of course, and I stayed in the shadowed corner of the bar, hoping she never would.  Then she did, and came right on over to say hello.  Like nothing had ever happened!  I jabbered a pathetic hello-how-are-ya and almost fucking died when she suggested we sit together.  The music hadn’t started yet and the small talk was painful.

‘So what are the toilers like in here?’ she asked, with a big cheery grin.
‘Pretty good, actually,’ I said.
‘Wow, you usually have more to say about them than that.  How are you gonna fill a review?’
‘I’m not doing the toilet thing any more,’ I said.
‘Oh, what is it you’re doing now?’ I opened my mouth to speak, and the music started.  I looked over at the stage as Cara Cowan started into her first song, and all of a sudden I forgot all about Nicola.

The music scene in Belfast is a sham and a disgrace.  Sometimes, anyway.  People leave here in their droves to sit in a tent in some godforsaken field in Punchestown for the Oxegen festival.  They pay 24 Euro for a mangy burger and crap in port-a-loos for a few days.  They stand in a field full of muck and smelly people.  They do all that, just to see The Black Eyed Peas.  But put on a charity fundraiser with some of the best local bands we’ve got and you couldn’t fill a small room with fat people.  It was kind of a shame, and the room did fill up a bit more as the night went on, but for me it just made Cara’s performance all the more impressive.  I already knew she was original and innovative and has a great voice because I saw her on In Stores Now, so I’m going to assume you know all those things too and I’ll settle for saying hers was the best set of the night.  Which is high praise, because there was some stiff competition.  If you haven’t already heard her music and fallen in love with Cara Cowan, go do it now.  Your life will be better.

Next up was Uber Glitterati, an electropop band whom I really didn’t expect to like as much as I did.  I’m no techno fan.  In fact I know so little about it I don’t even know if techno and electro are the same thing.  Point is, I’m no fan of the genre but even I couldn’t deny the sheer catchiness of their weirdly wonderful sound.  They’re already making waves on the scene, and rightly so.  The following two acts are at a slight disadvantage because by this point in the night I was really, really hammered and don’t remember anything with too much clarity.  The upside is that I like to rock out when I’m pissed, and I remember that the music went down pretty damn well.  Lucky for you, you don’t have to take my word about Kitty And The Can Openers or Jackson Cage because they both have their own spot on In Stores Now too!  Check them both out here, and here.  Is Will’s finger on the pulse of the Belfast music scene or what?  Again, folk-indie bands with pretty female singers just aren’t my speciality, but Kitty And The Can Openers are fucking excellent, simple as that.  Last up was Jackson Cage and, frankly, everything Will said about them is bang on target – they’re just chock full of energy, have a sound very much their own and most important of all – they play the shit out of their songs and have a really great time doing it.  When they closed their set I was genuinely disappointed that the night was over, and not just because that meant the bar was closed.  It was a cool, low-key night with the kind of good vibes and great music you would expect.  It was also for a genuinely worthy cause, which you can help out with here.  As one of the singers very aptly put it on the night, what happened was a fucking shitty thing.  I can’t top that – ‘fucking shitty’ just sums it up – so help out, if you can.

If you can learn anything from this crap I write it is that Will McConnell is a fucking oracle – pay attention to what he says, for he will not steer you wrong – and don’t be a fucking cheapskate.  Pay some money and go see these bands live.  Buy their albums and E.P.s and remind them that what they’re doing is special and worthwhile.  And what about Nicola, I hear you ask?

‘So what about you?’ I asked her during a break between sets.  ‘How come you started working for Bandwidth?’
‘Oh I’m sleeping with Will now,’ she said.  After all the lovely stuff I said about him!  Oh well, I suppose some things never change, so I never did get my closure and I’ll probably just stay hopelessly in love.  In the absence of closure, though, childish satisfaction will do, and as you may have noticed, Will ran my article and not hers.  Either I’m a better writer, or she’s not a very good lay.  Whichever it is, it’s good enough for me.

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