Elvis f**king Presley. Perhaps your mother might have mentioned him. He invented all things musical and then ate himself silly and ended up face down on his own sh**house floor exactly 23 years ago tonight.
It's somehow appropriate then that some big-boned adolescent is trying to plough his way through a large carrier bag full of cold kebabs for the promise of a brand new $100 bill, whilst egged on to the strains of 'you fat bastard'. Yep, The Bloodhound Gang are back and as they themselves say, 'you don't get this at a Travis gig'….
What you get though is a thoroughly entertaining hour or so of complete f**king bedlam; crowd-surfing races, piss-poor yet very funny Oasis impressions, mid-song transatlantic phone-calls to their 'mommy' and a giant drug-dealing Pac Man that they all joyfully beat the sh**t out of.
Oh yeah, and for an encore they throw up all over each other. The music is a good-time mish-mash of 'Licensed to Ill' era Beastie Boys and weird nods towards the like of early Depeche Mode but like you care. This is no more a rock concert than William Hague's a real live dipso.
Any mention of The Stooges tonight and it's more likely that it'd be Curly, Larry and Mo rather than Iggy's bunch of bozos you'd be referring to. What The Bloodhound Gang are is Freddie Star running riot through every PC-endorsed taboo out there and with such an easy comic grace that the like of Blink 182 and Slipknot are shown up to be the tedious clumsy oafs that they are.
Give these boys their own sitcom NOW! Every generation gets the Monkees that it deserves so the fact that we've ended up with this puerile skiddie of a showband should worry us but what the f**k. The Bloodhound Gang are window-licking, lobotomised FUN. And I just got me an excuse to quit shaving my knuckles.
