“Spinspin the dog? Being the pervayer of high culcher that I am I can onlistly say iv neaver seen anything so GOD FUCKING AWFULLY SHIT in my HOLELIFE! ..and iv seen the fucking Marzvolta! oh but ther just so weard and creative!”
“spin spin the dogs are WANK. the only reason i wasn’t there last night was cos of my exam but any other day and i would have slapped the singer quite happily”
“Why are people making such a big deal over that piece of shit band (Spinspin the fucking cunt dog)? They are fucking gay and thats that!!!!!!”
“Id forgotten about Spin Spin The Dogs. I fucking hate the drummers smug gitface of “we’re making music you couldnt possibly contemplate, understand orappreciate.”
“Maybe Im not quite advanced enough to understand it. To me it came across like an excuse for not having any SONGS!!!!”
“FUCK OFF.”
“Got there to see Spin Spin the dog(s) to see if they really were that bad… I wasn’t disappointed. They truly are the biggest pile of try to hard to be weird turd I’ve ever seen. How about learning to sing and/or actually writing some music. Why did I let curiosity get the better of me…..? Everyone deserves a chance I suppose. except them”
“FUCKING ARTY TWAT SMUG SHIT! YOU’RE NOT FUCKING FUNNY! ARRRRRRRRGHH! PLEASE SAVE YOUR BEEFHART IMPRESSIONS FOR YOUR LITTLE BROTHER. YOU MIGHT FEEL IMPERIOUS THEN BUT EVERYONE ELSE THINKS YOUR A TWAT. YOU TWAT.”
“I don’t even CARE about what music SSTDs play. I don’t care how groundbreaking or original they are. I just think they are RUDE“
“kill kill the twats”

Over time, SSTD have earned a coveted title: The Most Hated Band In Derby.
No mean feat considering they come from Nottingham. The folk at the other end of the A52 can’t deal with the Dogs at all. (See the thoughtful internet comments above that were so good at the time I had to find an excuse to include them: spelling and grammar author’s own).

The main criticisms I can decipher among the death threats are: they can’t play and they are some sort of art prank. The first point is not up for debate. SSTD can play. John might look as comfortable with a guitar as the Queen holding a 15-inch hard-on but he can play the arse off anyone. Someone should change his name to John ‘Fingers’ Wilson.
In fact, I just did.
He seems supernaturally linked to bassist Dean like some governing hand is controlling them both simultaneously. Drummer James provides the perfect foil in a way, in that his drumming means it’s never powerhouse but more like The Fall in that it’s always urgent and never brawny.
What makes people think they can’t play is that no amount of precision and sixth sense can counter singist Vincent’s desire to reek havoc wherever he goes like a child smearing poo on the bathroom walls.
Which brings us onto the art prank accusation: if it were an adult smearing poo anywhere it’d be an art statement. Everyone would look for the meaning:

“Perhaps the poo is a METARFUR for his inner feelings that he is unashamedly revealing?” “Maybe the poo is a SIMBOLLIC protest at life?” etc.

I could be wrong but I think with this band (like a child): a shit’s a shit. And if it’s funny to smear it then it’ll get smeared. They’re not an art happening because there’s no underlying pre-decided message. It doesn’t mean they’re vacuous, it means they’re of the moment and not contrived. Most importantly, they’re all willing to make an ass of themselves to express the moment – a long forgotten virtue if you ask me.
Too many people aren’t willing to compromise themselves for what they believe in because all they’re really doing it for is to establish and emphasise their own ‘cool’. You go see screaming hardcore bands and its bullshit, they stick to a plan, they mock-confront, they throw themselves into the crowd in a manner that is contrived and it just perpetuates this crappy act of theatre that people have seen for so long they think it’s real. Vincent’s willingness to make an ass of himself, the thing that so annoys people, just shows how desperately hard he wants to break that state. One of my fondest gig memories is Vincent stepping on a milk crate onstage in Newcastle and then hobbling around for the rest of the gig with it stuck solid on his foot as though it wasn’t a problem at all.
Tonight it takes him about 40 seconds to clamber into a small space between a shelf and the air conditioning unit. A female punter yells “You’re shit!”which is met with the retort “SEXY!” from Vincent. Later on the woman seems to think it’s her mission to get things sensible when everyone else just wants to go crazy. She keeps shouting, headmistress-style, “GET DOWN FROM THERE!” and “STOP BEING SILLY!” to Vincent, who has decided he likes the ledge/air conditioner position so much he’ll spend the gig there. “SEXY!” he replies.
They seem to delight in the chaos of it all, John seems especially animated, whacking his guitar into the cymbals and when he swaps with James they both seem to relish getting to attack an instrument that doesn’t belong to them.
Much as I am sure they would recoil at the word, SSTD really rock. They always have done. Not to be confused with some sort of macho swagger, which they definitely don’t have. It’s no sausage party. It’s like ‘Container Drivers’ by The Fall with every other note being one you don’t expect. The Jesus Lizard and Scratch Acid minus the pelvic swing. It’s twitchy and insect-like. Spiny.
Having said that I was pretty leathered by this point so my memories are blurred. I don’t add that as a kind of Lester Bangs / Hunter S Thompson gonzo-journalist comment but more as a resigned admission that I can’t booze properly anymore and I am essentially a 2 pint screamer.

Which is pretty irresponsible seeing I am supposed to be telling you what the gig was like.

But that’s OK, I can do that – the gig was brilliant.

If this really was their last gig I’m going to miss them.

Posted: 02|14|06 at 8:53 am. Filed under: live reviews.
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