So I’ve reviewed last night’s Ham Sandwich gig on ZME if you want to direct your peepers that-a-way. It contains words like these:
One of the most striking things about Ham Sandwich is that there’s never any doubt where your attention should be be directed: if Niamh’s and Podge’s singing doesn’t draw your focus, their choice of attire will fix that oversight. (Even moreso last night, since energetic bassist/songwriter Johnny Moore has lately taken his leave of the group, replaced by the quietly stationary David McEnroe.) Last night’s outlandish garb included a dress made of shininess (that was Niamh, natch), and a colourful suit reminiscent of that worn by Rupert The Bear (Podge (the Rupert The Bear likeness was something of a running joke throughout the night. Ham Sandwich: the kind of band who have a running joke throughout a gig. Excellent.))
What I didn’t mention in the review were the memorably awful support band, Kid Karate, who shoutingly failed to be interesting in anything but the most grimly fascinating of ways (and yet still managed to be slimly preferable to previous support band, the possibly secretly ironic tuneless grief-makers, The Funeral Suits). Kid Karate’s singer seemed to blow out both of his own lungs in the process of attempting to sing, before closing their set with the damningly mutual epithet “I don’t give a (furtive look – Ed) about you!” Their set was not a pleasant experience, and I’m in the process of attempting to expunge the memory through a combination of wilfull repression and heroic rum consumption.