(4/5)
Son Of Dave is sat on stage dressed like a less-malevolent version of Judge Doom from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. He’s been rambling for a minute or so about being lonely, before gesturing at the perplexed audience and drawling, ’Weeelll, we’ve got a little party going on here, don’t we?’.
A party, perhaps, but a party in which all the guests turn up at once to discover the host already deep into a bottle of vodka and a little too drunk for company.
However, SOD (AKA Benjamin Darvill) somehow still manages to put on a fucking good show (and he’s not that drunk, really). A one-man-blues-beat-box of soulful and rousing proportions, with a fantastic talent for a witty anecdote (or twenty), Darvill is exceptionally charismatic, displaying a personality which is worth the 10 quid entry fee alone.
Beset by ongoing technical problems, the set is anything but smooth-sailing, with Darvill constantly having to re-adjust the levels of his equipment and jostling the sound engineer for not ‘getting it’. However, this is all remedied mid-set, with Darvill proudly displaying the power of his human-beat-box bass - ‘BOOOOMMF‘, it thunders down the micophone, ’That sound should make you want to shit yourself!’, he chuckles wryly to himself before launching into an excitable version of ‘Nike Town’.
The gig builds to a satisfyingly rewarding climax, performing an emphatic rendition of ‘Hellhound’, ‘ripping off James Brown’ mid-song, and performing what is undoubtedly the best cover of ‘Low Rider’ I’ve ever heard.
“You’d better clap this next one” he mumbles despairingly, “otherwise I’ll go back to my dressing room and hang myself whilst masturbating”. The crowd howls with laughter, and luckily for him go bat-shit crazy with adoring applause.
Courtesy of The-fly.co.uk
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