The Constantines
The Local Tent, End Of The Road Festival, Dorset
You believed that rock music was dead, right ? Reduced to a damp, flaccid future of style over substance from bands your dad plays in the S.U.V. on the way to the office, right ? Evanascence, Nickelback and The fucking Stereophonics, right ? Me, too. Then I saw The Constantines. The Constantines are Canada’s finest export, come to burn and piss on the bloated, hoary corpse of corporate, sanitised ‘Rock’ music. Five of the most unassuming guys in the world, you could meet a Constantine in the street and you wouldn’t notice, but put them together on a stage and I dare you to look away. They are a turbulent ball of energy and righteous indignation, mocking those who believe rock music has to be glamorously vulgar or clichéd. It doesn’t. And it doesn’t have to sell sofas either. Language seems futile in this instance. Description can never equal experience, so I am urging local promoters to book The Constantines, NOW !!! Transport them to your establishments in luxurious chariots filled with finest brandies and long-legged women, so that the worthless might remove the veils from their eyes and cast all charlatans aside, forever marveling at their fortitude and brilliance… and buy their t-shirts and stuff. The Constantines were the only band in the whole festival afforded an encore, and they repaid it with a sublime cover of ‘Thunderstruck’. If you are ever lucky enough to see The Constantines live in Ireland, come up and say hello. I’ll be in the front row, naked and weeping with joy. Again. Kenny Murdock
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