Faith Is Restored.

Yesterday the biggest event in Brixton, and I dare say, the whole of London was undoubtedly the Faith No More reunion gig at Brixton Academy. They hadn’t played together since 1998 and the excitement prior to the show last night was overwhelming. A grown man next to me in the crowd was actually crying like an 11 year old girl at a Take That gig.

We headed down to the gig at around 6pm and as per usual the centre of Brixton, like a rock ‘n’ roll chameleon, had morphed to match the events of the Academy. Swarms of long-haired, tattooed 90s rockers were everywhere, queuing at cash machines, picking up snacks in Sainsbury’s and unsurprisingly, getting pre-gig drinks in at Ivan’s Retreat. Turning the corner we were confronted with this:

A crazy but not unexpected queue. ‘The Front of the Queue’ crew as I like to call them were on good form. The couple sitting down had been there so long, they couldn’t count the hours. The man on the right had been there since 11am, the cute girl in the middle since 2pm. I hope they were wearing some Tena maxi pads for some easy bladder relief. But despite the queue, my sister [gig companion for the night and driving force behind the whole experience] and I made it quite near the front. 

Beer in hand, we were treated to the delights of Selfish C*nt, the support act of the evening. I had to squeeze the name of the band out of two Brazilian boys behind me who were reluctant to swear in the presence of a lady but that was before I announced that I thought SC were f**king awesome. Talk about minority opinion – every one of their songs was applauded with boos, bottles and beer sprays. Ok so frontman Martin Tomlinson is like the Beyonce of rock, waist-winding and with more head whiplash than a dancehall queen but what is at first odd becomes decidedly genius after a while. At least I can say I’ve never seen anything like it and I admired his ‘two finger salute to the crowd’ attitude. The more boos, the more over the top the performance.

By the time SC ended we were on first name basis with everyone around us. Brazilian boys, crying Argentinean man who’s booked to see FNM seven times this summer, the girl who crawled through his legs to get closer to the front but left her boyfriend behind in the process [ditching your man for Mike Patton - that is cold], the lad beside me who was definitely not going to mosh because he hadn’t worn his mosh-friendly spectacles and the cheeky guy who used Jedi mind tricks to get in front of me [ok, he just asked...]. A chorus of ‘You Fat Bastards’ and the show everyone had been waiting for was imminent. When it finally started, with a tongue in cheek rendition of Peaches and Herb’s Reunited and some brilliant crooner suits [Mike in coral, Roddy in pink etc...] it was like an explosion of man-love from the crowd:

After Reunited they launched straight in to The Real Thing and my petite sister and I were no match for the force of sweat and muscle around us. We lasted all of three songs before we had to be lifted out by security, my sister losing her shoe to the pit in the process [yeah rock 'n' roll]. And from then on we watched the show from any angle we could get to:

And thus it ended. Jokes were made by Mike himself about the ‘fat bastards’ taunt finally being true, I’ve never seen anyone rock that hard in shirt and trousers, Technotronic may or may not have been covered and Easy was, of course, a super sing-a-long tune. For the full set list check here.

My sister and I returned to the pit to find a sweaty Brazilian still holding the sacrificial shoe proving that befriending the crowd pays [shout out to Marcio and Claudio for that one].  And all I can say is that  it was a hot hot hot night.