In my wasted youth at University of Hull, I penned the odd review for Hullfire, the student newspaper. For the sake of completeness and comedy value, I'm adding them to this blog. Here's a strangely beard-fixated Gorky's gig review from 1997 from which my main recollection these days is terrible indigestion.
The beard has gone! Whether by accident or design, Richard James, guitarist in the worst-named band in rock... EVER, has finally done us a favour and picked up a razor. Thankfully, the rest of their appeal remains unchanged; their elegant newly-shorn pyschedelic pop is still hurled in unpredictable glam, lo-fi and punk directions, with added folk flavour courtesy of violinist Megan Childs.
Similarly, Gorky's bilingual (Welsh and English) lyrics retain a healthy preoccupation with the surreal, populating their corner of Wales with sleeping giants, jealous violin teachers, fiery patios and seaside voyeurs. While their set consequently teeters on the edge of 'Still we are young / We like elves / Have Lord Of The Rings / On our shelves' cliche, they are far too good to simply recycle Uncle Syd Barrett ad nauseum.
If pop logic ran in straight lines, then Kula Shaker, who plunder the same period and emerge sounding like The Charlatans, would be the best band on the planet. Thank goodness for a band who, facial hair or no facial hair, think in curves.