You can put your arms around a memory
Years ago, sat in the Continental Divide bar in New York, local scenester Brother Mike Cohen told me of how a not-long-for-this-world Johnny Thunders had been barred for a stolen frozen turkey that turned up under his coat. Relevant? Perhaps not. Perhaps I just wanted the words ‘Johnny Thunders’, and ‘stolen’ in the same sentence. The B Movie here might be about Thunders’ ghost (‘Hey Johnny’ is possibly an overt panegyric). The Pitts, to their credit, make no bones about this: a New York Dolls/Stooges/Ramones mash-up is what they do, take it or get out.
Opening blast ‘BDO Brigade’ broadcasts their cri de coeur: “Does anybody want to get drunk with me, does anybody want to get high?” They go in for a lot of this class of recreation: ‘Curveball’ sees them “stumble in from another party”, the young one in ‘Runaway Girl’ “likes to party all night”. Later, they go ‘Into The City’ to “find an easy way out” by, you guessed it, getting high. Ive’s street walking cheetah guitar is the star, and Ado has always been a handy bass-player (although he could be turned up a bit), while Tony’s drumming makes Meg White sound like Bernard Purdie.
Any Irish act not currently toting beards and acoustic guitars are to be applauded. Good on them.