The Courteneers. Not Fleet Foxes. I mixed them up. Expected a mellow band with beards. Thought the Rickenbacker bass was a little out of place. Out came a tall band from Manchester. These are the things that happen when you don't use your brain.
As it turned out I knew the Courteneers. They had been played on repeat as the car drove West. It was probably only a two listen album. I had at least three, maybe four.
The Academy was itself. I strolled through, using the device to extinguish the screens. I had walked from work, decorating town as I strolled. It rained softly, eventually I put my hat on. The place was quarter full, people mostly hanging around the back. We stood second row. A good view. It filled slowly, girls danced on drugs, jailbait, locals from Emma's old haunt, tall boys, short girls.
The stage guys messed around. Eventually the band came out. Despite stupid bass prior to the band's appearance, the PA did a good job. It was loud, but the plugs made it good. They began to play their songs. A tall Manchester man in charge, a quiet guitarist, a mellow bassist, a great drummer with fan blown curls. There were teles and a nice old-looking Epi. They kicked in. I recognised who they were. A huge penny fell slowly within my dust-ridden skull.
They played all their songs. Mostly fast and loud. Some slow and thumbed by Liam(o), the Epi barely releasing its strings for him. It was hot, it smelled a little, everyone jumped around. Some people managed crowd surfing, despite an audience not thick enough to support them. Security were nice. Just the right amount of abandonment was let free. The camera was borrowed from the crowd and the crowd filmed with the borrowed camera. There was messing, there was talk.
They skipped the encore. That was fine. Saved the awkward pretend and left on a high note. Liam gave the bait his list. The others dissipated fast. The lights came on. We went home. Took a drink of whiskey on the way. Decorated the route till there was nothing left to decorate with.