Clay Statues last ever gig

My ringing ears are a sure sign that the gig last night was well worth going to. As Geeky from the Nukes announced to us all “Clay Statues is the loudest gig I’ve been to, and I’ve seen Motor head twice”
Now I have never been one to measure just how loud a gig is, but suffice to say it was loud, really, really loud.
We were dropped off in Cardiff town and had to walk the dreaded walk down St. Marys street, past all the skimpy clad women and the aggressive Fred Perry wearing meandertal males who gave the impression that they just wanted to mount the scaffolding of innocent building, strip away their overpriced yet fashionless clothes and throw their own shit at each other.
We entered the door to Submission, which until that night I had only known as ‘the club next to Jason’s house’. We were greeted by the merry no-necked, curly haired Swedish DJ and directed downstairs.
It was quite a shock to transfer from the howling filth of night-life street culture, into the ambient, darkened basement club that was Submission. The black stoned walls felt warm, the candles and innocence were welcoming. The cow skulls wrapped delicately in barbed wire symbolised a place of friendliness and safety, to the well-dressed cultured society of Cardiff’s underground music movement.
We placed our coats in a darkened corner near the bar and slouched down with lagers on immaculate Edwardian couches. As people packed in we found ourselves forever greeting friends and members of the tribe.
Dorian and his unusually small drummer Mavis had brought a fine crowd of large, well dressed, loud voiced men from the valleys. No matter where you stood, you could see and hear large groups of them, howling comical, non-offensive banter at one another.
The crowd were excited, but unlike the rabble that tormented the streets above us, the crowd were controlled and collective.
The first band took to the stage, well...the drummer took to the stage, but the guitarist took to the area just offset the stage to accommodate his wide array of foot-pedals and other contraptions. Aulos from Hereford, a two-part group consisting of one of the most talented drummers I had ever seen and one of the most mental guitarists to be viewed through my eyes. As Harvey white abused his kit with laser sharp precision, Oli Montez casually with his back to the audience fingered his fret board like it was a beautiful woman and slammed at various devices on the floor to make the whole experience louder. Their last track made me very happy indeed, although I had heard of this being done..I’d never seen it live before me... the live, on stage sampling of an original Nintendo Game boy. Fuck did it add to the music, it was awesome!
As a beginner drummer I spent a lot of my time staring at White, trying to absorb his talent through osmosis, instead he dropped one of his sticks, but Montez kindly through it at him, this made me laugh.
Next up, The Nukes. Fair play, I had never seen a band take so long trying to warm up, it felt like hours. Just as you had thought that they were starting, they would stop and abuse the sound guy some more.
An interesting group of dudes who reminded me of a lot of things in a short space of time, Half Man Half Biscuit, Toy Dolls, Misfits, all these things sprung to mind as their beefy vocalist pelted roaring welsh lyrics down the microphone. Phat bass riffs, tidy drumming and a nice sprinkling of moogy-synth goodness provided a platter of moderately aggressive punky deliciousness...sorry my friend is cooking and I’m getting a bit distracted. I’m fairly sure that for the most of it though, their synth player thought he was in Kraftwerk or Trio or something of that nature, dressed all in black, with black nail varnish and a shiny-domed head, nonetheless it was a wonderful sound that isn’t used often enough these days.
Now there was only one band left to play, a band which I had not seen enough of. These dudes were going to do some damage, we all felt it.
If you were an innocent member of the crowd who had never seen them before, you would never in a million years have guessed which duo in the club was actually this band. Dorian always comes across as an all round top dude, nicely spoken, gentle voice, and friendly face. So to see him on stage abusing the shit out of a bass guitar is something else. As for Mavis, well Mavis is just Mavis, wherever he is!
So this was it, a feeling of excitement, passion and sadness hit us all... knowing that the experience we were about to live through would be our last of this kind. I braced myself against a pillar, knowing that at some point it was all going to kick off.
The entirety of everyone squished down around the stage, none of us wanted to miss this. Even Reverend Dread with his old age pains managed to get around and snap some amazing shots throughout the night. (I’ve not seen them yet, but if he took them, they’re amazing)
And so it began, the Clay Statues tore up the place for the first and last time. Dorian’s face was a blend of all things evil, Mavis’ was buried behind a balaclava for some reason (maybe it wasn’t him) Dorian fucked the bass guitar with his mega-hands and churned out some roaring lyrics for us to stomp to. We knew the words but it was always better coming from him, that didn’t prevent him from giving us a chant though.
There was a combination of buzzing energy, happiness and melancholy embraced the crowd as we sang to the Statues.
Between each track or so, Dorian would thank all the fans and supporters they had had over the years, before ripping into another fine track. Each track was amazing, but I for one was waiting for a certain track, and I think everyone else was too...
...then it came, the thick and fast bass rift, the mentalist that is Mavis attacking the drums like an epileptic, the references towards the hounds of knuckle dragging mainstream monsters that loomed the streets above us and Star Wars... you all know it...

DROIDS!
I was cast into a washing machine drum of moshing, throwing myself around, bumping into Filthy, Flappy, Doghouse and the mysterious punk guy who looks like Tyres from Spaced. I took extra care into making sure I elbowed Filthy the most because he’s a bit of a knob (I love you really). When it got a bit much, I took a step back and rested against my pillar, still throwing the occasional elbow into a passing array of unprotected ribs.
And so the night continued much like this, for a brief moment I had to pop outside to make a phone call, and as I returned the Statues were performing their beautiful cover of Mama Mia by Abba. Better than the original I think!
I can’t remember what the last track was, but it was epic, particularly as it resorted in Dorian invading the audience, all of the drummers drumming at once, and a number of the other band members singing into microphones. To mark the absolute end of the Statues, Mavis exploded from behind his drum kit and sent his snare hurtling across the stage. It was collected by Dorian who then proceeded to separate the audience to allow him to bowling ball the snare down the centre of the club. It was then stomped on by a number of helpful crowd members before being returned to the stage. As awesome as I thought this was, a part of me was thinking “I bet that snare was expensive, it would have been nice on my kit” never mind eh?
So there we have it, one of the longest reviews I have ever done. God I loved the Clay Statues, despite the fact Dorian never did play my favourite song (you bastard) it was nice to hear them when I did. Being 21 there are so many bands I here that I would have loved to have seen, but never got the chance... but to have seen these guys feels just as rewarding as when I saw The Cardiacs.
Farewell to you both Dorian and Mavis, the best rhythm / lead setup crammed into one, small setup of a band. There will never be any duo that could possibly replace you (no offence Aulos).
The last thing I would like to add is, shame on anyone who didn’t go to this gig... you missed the loudest, most amazing, painful, ear popping, feedback screaming, bass crunching, valley roaring, rib jabbing, drum smashing, heart breaking experience of all time.

JOWELL