The Approach, humiliated, succumb to glassing a woman
Just back from a mad gig at The Verge in Camden. A friend’s band—Groop—were playing, and they really rocked. They’ve done a few twists and turns with their sound over the last couple of years, but their current fusion of electro, garage, punk, metal and chakra-piercing walls of feedback is a real storm of psychedelic fury.
Lee Moonus reached a near-possession state as he screamed "Do what you will!" at the mostly dull, sparse crowd. Then, as the feedback symphony rose higher and higher at their climax, he came to the front and stared straight at everyone in the crowd in turn. Obviously seething with energy, and I guess frustrated at the unconnecting audience, he went into some purposefully strange arm and leg flailing. The were a couple of guys from a support band, The Approach, down near the front. I’d been pretty into the band, a driving, pounding take on the Zeppelin sound along the lines of Soundgarden. They obviously had no space in their no-nonsense Manc heads for Groop’s esoteric disrespect for the rock norm, though, and started aping Lee’s waving about in a kind of mock T’ai Ch’i. Lee played along, and, looking around for the next move, climbed the amps, up onto the bar. He squatted. What now? Yes, he’s reaching for his belt… and before you know it, his kecks are down and he’s acting like he’s about to shit (he didn’t).
The Approach’s next move? A pint’s thrown over Lee. Boring and unoriginal, sure—but par for the course, I reckon, when you’ve whipped your nether region out in public. Jen, a friend who manages Groop, felt a bit more protective of her act, and poured the rest of her beer over the guy’s head. Again, why not? The guy turned round, and you could see that look in his eyes: "I’m a bloke, surrounded by my mates, everyone staring at me, humiliated by a woman. I’ve not a fucking clue how to handle this." You could see he wanted to throw something at her, but before he could throw his drink, he drank it down in a try-to-look-cool reflex.
But—"Shit! I’m still stood here, humiliated." The male cannot swallow his fucking pride, so, yeah, he throws his glass in her face. It bounces off her nose without breaking, thankfully, but shit really hits the fan and suddenly each opponent’s mates are holding them back from some real savagery. It’s back and forth with verbal violence for a bit, then Jen goes off, disappears, comes back, and lobs a plastic ashtray in the guy’s face, apparently cutting his eyebrow. Obviously he’s just raring to bottle her by now… can’t swallow his pride.
The rest of the night was farcical. The guy’s hysterical mate tried to defend the glass in Jen’s face as "accidental! He was throwing beer at the guy on the bar!" Well, I won’t bother drawing a diagram—I’ll just observe that this comrade-in-pride was obviously no physics major. Jen called the cops, who showed up in numbers that could only be a result of a really slow night in Camden. And then the Two Camps coalesce, each believing radically different versions of what just happened according to whose mate they were. Fair enough, Jen’s my mate, but I trust myself on this. Some people were saying Jen never threw the ashtray… some people were saying the guy did nothing wrong…
Look, people, I’ve no desire to storm in with a "protection of women" thing that implies women are incapable of standing their ground. Jen stood hers, and to be honest I’m glad the guy got the ashtray square in the face. I just can’t help feeling, with every cell and fibre, you shouldn’t glass a woman for some beer in your hair. Swallow your fucking pride, man.
A confession: my dreams recently have been plagued by humiliation from lovers that elicits a really quite volcanic murderous urge deep in the pit of my belly. I’m pitching my all into an attempt to see what’s at the bottom of this distasteful pit that surges with power and fear. I’m feeling a difficult blend of rage and a righteous intolerance of those who seem too lazy to deal with theirs. Tonight was, I saw all along, one of those little outer-reflections that spill into your life as you do intensive inner work. I need to swallow my pride, too. But glassing a woman over it? Fuck any pop-psychology—that guy’s my nomination for The Man Most Deserving The Hatred Of Thousands this week. Feel free to cast your vote.
