Odd Box Promotions present Happy Coloured Marbles
The Owl Sanctuary was as eclectic as its clientele. On one wall was spray-painted a hawk, its talons grasping the rim of a speaker. It was unclear whether the bird was stealing said speaker or making passionate love to it. An ‘Antifascistische Aktion’ banner hung from the wall. There was a small stormtrooper mounted on a light bracket. Over all this a ska song played … then a death metal track … then something by Vampire Weekend … then a Years and Years cover. As a first-timer, the venue seemed like a sweet shop of weirdness or, given Norwich’s eccentric bar scene, perhaps just above normal. Either way, all the ingredients seemed to work together in their strange sort of way.
Then I met a man who, for the sake of privacy, I shall name Dave. He was a corduroy-jacketed, denim-trousered, bearded man with a waterfall of black hair sprouting from beneath a baby blue flat cap. He sat beside me and launched into a monologue about punk bands and vegan restaurants. I interjected his spiel with nods and talked briefly about myself so as not to seem rude, whilst trying to give him as little material to go on as possible. I humoured him for half an hour then made my excuses and left. Little did I know that Dave would become the centre piece for the entire evening.
Whilst Fever Machine were setting up, I spotted him again. As they begin their first song, Dave leant against the set, can of Fosters in hand and started making wild animal yelps and howls. It sounded like a strangled ostrich and at first I wasn’t sure if he was attempting a mating call or a heckle or perhaps he was having a seizure and calling for help. But then he grinned, cupped his hands around his mouth and repeated the noise, louder this time, in case it wasn’t annoying or intrusive enough the first time.
Meanwhile, the band were in full swing. Fever Machine were cool and slick, stylish with outfits to match (the lead sported a white jacket, black flares and snakeskin heels). Unlike the following two bands, they let the voice of the lead vocalist feature prominently and the interplay between the instruments was controlled and unique.
Throughout all this, Dave sidled up to some innocent bystanders and began to rather aggressively befriending them. Before long, he was gesticulating violently with all the grace and co-ordination of a possessed scarecrow. Apparently bored, he crouched down and shook his head about. Amidst a blur of flailing hair, his blue flat cap resembled a propeller. We half expected him to take flight.
Tundra had the best stage presence by far, prancing up and down the stage, the bassist, sporting an ‘It’s Always Sunny’ t-shirt and a red bass with the word ‘TURD’ taped onto it. At one point he knelt and played the bass between his legs for the more challenging riffs. Rarely do bassists get the limelight, but if anyone deserved to break the mould it was him - making bends and slides appear as easy as if on an electric guitar. Afterwards, he announced “I’m 65% certain that I’ve broken my thumb, no wait, it’s fine!”
Dave made his presence known again. Having acquired a Budweiser, he reclined on a speaker within reaching distance of the bassist. And no one was stopping him – perversely we were willing him on, each of us wondering how far he was prepared to go. He was doing his mating call again and his Bud was tipped dangerously, its hoppy amber contents about 25° from pouring over the live electricals. At this point, a member of staff (to the relief of band and audience alike) persuaded him that it might in fact be better if he relocated himself and his attitude someplace else.
Next came the Happy Coloured Marbles. They were the most technically accomplished and experienced of the three, but stood as still as statues and made it clear with their rooted composures and serious facial hair that they meant business. Given their bouncy, cheerful band name they brought a surprising lack of fun and joviality to the performance. They were also in dire need of a drummer and their pre-recorded backing track and loop pedal failed to make up for the absence.
We thought we’d seen the last of Dave, but he returned mid-way through the performance, far drunker than before. He marched to the front of the crowd and promptly shoved people around, setting one person’s glasses askew, knocking someone else’s cider to the floor. Upon realising that he couldn’t start a mosh pit in a crowd of thirty people, he started grinding on his reluctant friends and careened about, thrashing hands and hair like a deranged mop.
Before long, it was the end of the set, the end of the night and somewhere in the middle of it all, Dave had disappeared.
I haven’t seen him since.
Dave seems like the kind of person who drifts from place to place like mist, solidifying then evaporating again and moving on. He seems more like an idea than an actual person. I’ve even considered the possibility that I made him up - but sometimes reality is just stranger than fiction. Either way, it was a great night with an interesting venue, welcoming atmosphere, diverse acts, but the headline of the evening was and always will be the bizarre and mysterious Dave.
