Sum 41

“Sum 41? Another boy-band with tattoos. Fuck ‘em.” So spat Damon Albarn recently when elicited on his opinion of the Canadian punk quartet. And whatever the musical differences between the Sums and the Louis Walsh brigade, the age profile of their audience is surprisingly similar.
Sure, the indie kids are jammed into the mosh-pit down the front, but up on the balconies it’s interesting to note the number of deeply sceptical looking parents trailing behind their excited offspring. So, enough with the demographics, what about the music? As John Travolta said in Pulp Fiction, it breaks down like this - Sum 41 energetically tear through their resolutely one paced (ie. extremely fast) back catalogue for just over an hour, without a single concession to either varying the dynamics or just simple good taste.
Lead singer Deryk Whibley is without doubt the single most irritating frontman in contemporary rock (no mean feat), and he seems to revel in his own stupidity. At one point, a woman escapes from the crowd, runs on stage, and - with a level of incongruity that is frankly spectacular - dramatically yells into the mic, “NO WAR IN IRAQ!” The mood now suitably sombre, Whibley rises to the occasion: “That stupid bitch ruined the fuckin’ song,” he hisses.
Mind you, none of this seems to bother the crowd, who bounce up and down with unyielding enthusiasm throughout. Overall, it was difficult to react to this gig with anything other than indifference, but I was most definitely in the minority. Surprise, surprise…