Wheatus supported by New Road.
Wednesday 3rd June 2003, Bedford Esquires.

It’s not everyday that a band with a number one single plays at Esquires. Arriving at the venue, these days it’s becoming an increasingly regular occurrence seeing a huge tour bus outside. It is, however, a minor cosmic event when purveyors of said number one single are standing outside, mingling, at pains, with the unusually preteen presence outside the venue. And it’s also not everyday that not only does everyone you talk to ‘know’ the band you’re going to see at Esquires, but many actively ‘hate’ them. Roll up, roll up, kids, it’s time for Wheatus.

Entering the venue on a not uncommonly hot summer’s night, the first thing you realise is the audience. It’s strange. It’s different. It’s not natural. It’s almost divided straight down the middle; those who ordinarily are too young for Esquires, or those who are too old. The kids are let off, despite smelling terrible and having foul taste and evidently too much money; they’re too young to know better.

The oldies then can be split up into two categories. All over thirty, all desperately trying to look like they’re not, with ill-fitting (always the wrong way) t-shirts and jeans and for the most part supping excitedly on Coco Cola, a small percentage of these have nothing to be ashamed of, with the exception of the stated obvious, as parents for the under 14s presence. The rest, on the other hand, have absolutely no excuse ‘other than actually liking Wheatus!’ But I thought we’d gotten rid of their lot back in Nam.

Anyways, back on track. Entering the venue with my intrepid explorers, I had come for one thing and one thing only… NEW ROAD. And the Flitwick boys were certainly on-form, with the classics initially rolling out like a proverbial river, tracks off the EP, new songs, old songs, some as big as your head. I learnt from an onlooker that what they were playing was something called ‘punk rock’, and originated from America in the late 1960s, but New Road’s talent is surely all home grown! A rather odd looking fellow came onstage towards the end, making strange little jokes, and performing a monologue about seamonkeys… how very queer, I thought to myself, but I was certainly enjoying their music, despite the seeming lack of any crowd interest whatsoever! Aside from a few New Road advocates in the middle, nobody seemed remarkably affected by the music, even the front row, crushed against the bar from the word go, but talking amongst themselves in a manner more befitting of a bingo hall. I was in two minds as whether or not to extend my Wolverine claws, but the bouncer presence, though more relaxed than usual was out in force. By the end of the New Road set, I was thoroughly rocked, and didn’t even notice when lead singer Johnny’s guitar went astray, clamouring for more after their short set.

After they’d finished, the room seemed to fill up. And double in size. To almost stadium capacity. At least you’d be forgiven for thinking that if you saw the WHEATUS bassist in action. Looking none-more-rock, initially tight t-shirt removed to reveal weedy chest, he appeared to be playing a different gig all together to the rest of the band, clapping, singing, engaging the crowd in chants and posing like a rock god. Pity that there weren’t even 250 people there; those antics deserved stadia! A worthy mention also goes to the soundman on stage right, dancing like a true parent, take note wannabe youngsters.

I, in fact, didn’t even feel like I was in a stadium. Or Esquires. I was at Bedford Corn Exchange, watching an ‘all original line-up!’ band who were big, and great, in the seventies, who nobody could really remember first time round. Everyone goes, buys a few drinks, takes some friends, and enjoys themselves all the same. But they don’t! All they truly enjoy are the singles, the big hits that everyone knows. Normally, said Corn Exchange bands will have six or seven of these, some better known than others. The set list, commonly overly long, will have around 10 songs on it, with the addition of any singles. During those 10 songs, more often than not even spaced throughout the set (big single first and last, others dotted throughout, the mega hit is ‘always’ the encore), everyone talks, goes for a beer or just to engage themselves, normally unsuccessfully…But a good time is had, during the singles, which make up a third of the set.

Wheatus only have two big singles, though, and one far bigger than the other. They play around 15 songs, and save the only two anyone is remotely interested in for last. This again is a cunning ploy, everyone comes out on a high saying things like “Jolly good gig, what, especially the two singles!”, blinded by the brilliance of those two, and forgetting the rest. Not so. Teenage Dirtbag is brilliant. A Little Respect is brilliant. The rest is shit. Forgettable punk pop tripe of which only single distinguishing feature is that it’s played on a bloody acoustic guitar. And an acoustic? Wow, what a way to make a punk statement. Play with that bloody awful instrument, ordinarily associated with indie bands soggier than tea bags, or God fearing crusties. Good plan, ‘mate’. And having a single called An American In Amsterdam? Possibly the worst title for a single ever, but still the only bloody name of any song I can remember! Yes they’re tight. Yes the singer is off the telly. Yes they have no amps onstage and the drummer is a soundproof cage so the sound is bloody amazing. But it’s just not enough.

Hence we leave Esquires on a high. Although only a short lived one. The singer’s still outside talking to ‘his fans’. The adults who, a minute ago, were bouncing around like stupid 6 year olds will return home to bed and wake up next day and go back to their day jobs. The kids will grow soon and discover genuinely great music. And the world goes on.
Because, at the end of the day, Wheatus don’t change lives.



Review by Dick Turtle. Bedford Metal.