This is, I believe, the third year that the International Pop Overthrow Festival has graced half a dozen or so clubs and pubs in Liverpool’s famous Mathew Street, one of which is of course, home of the ‘fab four’, The Cavern Club.
So it will come as no surprise to you to hear that other pubs and bars in this sticky spider’s web of tourism have names such as ‘The Lennon Bar’, ‘The Cavern Pub’, ‘The Revolution’ and ‘The Rubber Soul’. Perhaps it also won’t surprise you to hear that this area is mostly a tacky mock-up (the original Cavern Club was demolished many years ago to make way for a car park!) attempting to sate the hunger for nostalgia while emptying your pockets of hard earned cash at a frighteningly quick pace?
Generally more popular with tourists and weekend revellers than the City’s more discerning musicians and music fans, it was with some trepidation that I entered the ‘cavernous’ (sorry!) Rubber Soul to the strains of beat music emerging from somewhere inside its echoing bowels.
Tucked away at the very far side of the bar, on a small mirrored dance floor I found The Len Price 3, already cocking a snook to the unpleasant acoustics. Dressed in identical ‘Breton Fisherman’s’ hooped t-shirts the three (obviously!) band members (none of whom are called Len Price – obviously!!) were grooving their way through a sharp and snappy 3-chord riffarama that immediately set my toes-a-tappin’ and head-a-bobbin’. Their impact really is that immediate, the riffs familiar – like meeting a long lost friend, their onstage moves cheesily pleasing and their enthusiasm infectious.
Singer and guitarist Glenn Page, like some overwound, bug-eyed speed-freak has all the presence and charisma of Wilko Johnson when he lead the line with Dr. Feelgood, throwing poses and gurning malevolently at the inept sound engineer. Now, it must be said that it would be virtually impossible to get a great sound in here but, continuously moving the PA speakers a couple of inches is not a technique I’d recommend as all its really likely to do is make you look a dick.
Glenn voices his own disbelief between songs, commenting on the “Chad Valley- My First PA System” which merely invokes a further shift two inches to the right. And the band’s frustration is understandable, it is actually hard to really decipher their sound in this setting, there are ace garage/punk riffs that here lack some of the power and drive you feel they should have, there are Rickenbacker guitars that fail to chime in the way that you know they should, there are great pop hooks that are weighed down by muffled, muddy sound and vocals that from time to time are lost when you just know they are blessed with charm and humour.
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This latter at least comes through between songs when introducing tunes like ‘Lai Ha Lam’ (a song of teenage fascination with south-east Asian girls) and ‘The Last Hotel’ (a somewhat poignant commentary on old-folks homes).
Despite all the problems with the sound however they are very enjoyable, hints of the songwriting sensibilities of The Jam and The Kinks floating around amidst their garage bluster and I find myself off on a flight of fancy imagining how great they would be up working a proper stage, showing off their moves to a rabid mob of fans and those lovely guitars cracking the air with their riffs. They end their set with the title song off their current album, ‘Chinese Burn’ and for a few moments all the problems are forgotten and the place rocks.
By the end they have managed to draw a small but respectable crowd in from the street, no doubt intrigued by the sounds drifting out into the warm Sunday afternoon. Coaxed by the organisers to “do one more”, they slip their tongues into their cheeks and storm into a pretty authentic and spirited version of ‘She Loves You’ – and I bet the heart of this street beat a little faster as long dormant memories of how it used to be were briefly stirred.
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