Manchester, The Rev and me

Manchester and the Reverend Horton Heat in concert turned out to be a great trip for the wrong reasons.

The Rev sucked. I’ve never been so disappointed in a gig in my life. After a solid start, the psychobilly kings decided to do a “journey through the history of music” playing covers by Black Sabbath and, at one point, a fecking version of fecking Greensleeves!

After waiting 15 years to see the band some have tagged the best live rock n rollers of them all, I ended up leaving before the end, bitter tears rolling down my Sub-Pop t-shirt.

But all was not lost, I’d had a great afternoon drinking  in the Manc, taking Mrs SD to Kro 2, a modern, glasshouse bar that’s busy, loud and has a wonderful beer garden. Here I treated myself to a plate of Danish herrings and enjoyed a couple of well-kept pints of Landlord. 

Then came the find of the year, a narrow bar on Oxford Road near to the Manchester Academy called Big Hands. Here was a selection of good American whiskies and continental beers, great decor, great sounds and filled with the sort of women your mother wouldn’t approve of.

I’ll be back, despite the sky high prices, which seems to be the way all of Manchester is going. From there I tried a couple of studenty places, one of which wanted £4.80 for  a small bottle of water and plastic pint of San Miguel.

Finally there was the Rev, preaching a gospel of mediocrity and dashing my dreams of pyschobilly freakouts and Texas tea. £4.50 for a Jager and Red Bull just added to the bother.