Trademark: Pet Shop Boys meet the Blue Man Group
Not Everest, true, but it's a start, eschewing the internet for a Tuesday night adventure in Shoreditch, a part of the city I have not ventured into since... (Since what!?! The suspense!)
Once I arrive at Catch-22, a bar named after the Joseph Heller novel and completely free of ironic paradox but jam-packed with post-ironic hairdos, it becomes clear that the "electro night" is in fact a bunch of bands playing in a tiny room upstairs. We've (I've) missed most of them: all that is left is a band called Trademark.
Dressed in matching pinstripe suits with different-coloured pastel T-shirts underneath, Trademark are a synthpop group who will make you think you're "back in 1981, when scarily coiffed futurists roamed the streets and the icy plink-plonk of Messrs Yamaha and Casio ruled the waves." That's me quoting from Paul Lester's article about Trademark, which, I realised about halfway through the set, I edited about a month ago. Look at me, knowing stuff about things. (Their album Raise the Stakes is released on April 23 on iTunes, so maybe I saw them the last time they'll play for 25 or so people. Cachet!)
For me, a theatre-minded fellow rather than a music-minded one (which is to say I think about theatre, but just enjoy music without, you know, thinking), what struck me about Trademark was their performance-art, er, performance. Most of the music is pre-recorded and there were just a few knobs to twiddle, vocals to sing and keyboard chords to depress during their hour-long-ish set, so the boys went about striking poses and moving around wires that affected nothing, playing tape recorders that played nothing, and clicking IKEA desk lamps on and off to create atmosphere. It was, in a word, awestastic. I imagine this is what Berlin will be like next weekend: part Blue Man Group, part Pet Shop Boys.
The music is, well, why not listen to it at their MySpace page? Decent enough if you like the style, which I do, but, unfortunately, they played Dead or Alive's You Spin Me Round right after the show ended, so that's what I have in my head. Well-spent £3 though.
And that, bar the tube ride home with a tipsy flatmate, was my evening.
The last thing I feel I should say is, if you haven't watched Alanis Morissette's video/cover of My Humps yet, you have not lived a meaningful (memeingful?) life. (So NOW she learns what irony is.)