Live Review: Two Wounded Birds in Margate

Two Wounded Birds, The Lighthouse Bar, Margate Harbour Arm
Saturday, April 16, 2011

From now on every gig should be played in a hastily-erected marquee at the end of a pier, on a day when a seen-better-days seaside town experienced a cultural rebirth.
That's what Kent surf punk foursome Two Wounded Birds serve up when fizz through a 40-minute set just a stones throw away from the new £17 million Turner Contemporary gallery, built to inject some more life into what the foursome themselves call their "rundown Victorian paradise."
Tonight they are second fiddle to the day's events, as the tourist invasion will grab the headlines, but it may not be like that again.
For here we have a quartet who have a shot at some kind of big time.
As the only band from the area for some time to court serious media attention, the hype is bubbling up nicely, and deservedly so.
It all starts rather hastily, as people are still looking for their ideal spot to watch, and immediately you get the feeling it's a big night for the band - who are probably just as keen to see their home back on its feet as the punters.
The rag-tag bunch who've gathered to see what the fuss is about, toe-tap and dance like excited teenagers in the front rows, as the Birds slap their way through their songs with a candyfloss-covered hand.
The tone settles somewhere between dreamy, brash and hopeful, and singles Keep Dreaming Baby and Lonesome Me showcase their spirited surf stylings.
Pinball-addicted west coast American meets east Kent teenager with a Blizkreig Bop fascination is the name of this particular game, Daddy-O.
The vocals are possibly lower in the mix than they should be but reverb holds hands with a warm scuzzy guitar drawl as it bounds off into cool beach night with its bottom smacked and tummy tickled by frontman Johhny Danger and co.
Variation is not TWB's strong point yet, but what they do hammer out is done with the endearing precision and heart to carry it off, despite sound problems that come with short notice performances.
It's over all too quickly but it's been free and there are few complaints.
Even in this fruit-machine-laden town, no one feels short-changed.
As the mob hopefully shout for more, axe-man Tommy Akers wanders back into the crowd from whence he came apologetically admiting "we 'aint got any more!".
It's a sentiment that may not last long.
These birds can already fly, but this local expects they may yet soar.