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A Brit group lead by some homo named Brian Moolk. This act is your typical gay boy David Bowie wannabe. They play whiney, androgynous guitar rock that was popular in Moscow circa 1997 and in the rest of the world a couple decades ago. Music for those among us who enjoy bands that sing about wanting to kill themselves only because they think it makes them look cool. Maybe someday Brian actually will do the deed, in which case we’d consider reviewing our opinion of him. But, until that day comes, Placebo will always be just a bunch of slack-jawed faggots.
It doesn’t even really matter that they’re actually a good group. Even if they weren’t the exception that proves that all acid jazz bands should be banished to the confines of Nevada’s three mile deep cave that is soon to be America’s first nuclear waste dump, we would expect you to go to this. They’re called Red Snapper, for God’s sake. Red Snapper! We’ve been known to go out for sushi even when we didn’t want it, just to get a glimpse of those two little words. Just for that brief giggle that always accompanies the ordering of red snapper. And now those words are printed on every billboard in the city. Everybody’s talking about red snapper. The taboo has vanished, you can shout it in the streets. Go on, say it. Red snapper. Red snapper. You like it, don’t you? Now, stand on your chair. Don’t be embarrassed, those days are over! Shout it out, there’s no reason to be afraid anymore! They’ve liberated us. Say it out loud. Red snapper, red snapper, red snapper!
This week’s semi-suicidal gay British invasion continues. Thunder Sticks are a Nick Cave-ish group that would probably be happier looking down the barrel of a shotgun than playing in Moscow. But even junkies gotta eat. They boast a psuedo-jazz aesthetic and bitchy, depressive lyrics. They aren’t even very popular in London. You could even say they’re underground. In Moscow, maybe three people including the show’s promoter have ever heard of them, and not one of them could name you a single Tinder Sticks song. They were destined to obscurity ever since the naming of the band. Now, if they were called Boom Stick, we might have some sympathy.
For all you folks who want to show off those sweet Turkish jeans you found at a Vietnamese rynok last week, this party is for you. You know they make you look exactly like those chicks in that Diesel ad. Now it’s time to show the world. All those hours pushing your way though stalls, watching gooks sucking up noodles with those damn chop sticks—why the hell can’t they eat with forks like normal people—feeling the grease from the fried foods cling to your sweaty forehead… and now its payback time. Now you’ve got those jeans, you’ve suffered though the crowds and the rank bargain hunters and the pickpockets and the haggling with yellow monkeys and now you got them. And Champion is throwing a party for you. Nominally, this party is celebrating a new Levi’s collection but, since there is no cover, all sorts of bargain hunters ought to show up. Gosti iz Budushchevo is headlining and there should be more red snapper than at Tochka on the following night. Jeans are the only recommended dress code and if you wear them Kube will even give you some super secret bonus action. Go get ‘em, tiger!