Mr Pasty
Live at St Bartholomew's Centre on Saturday, 18th July 2009
A night of surprises in the shadow of that clumpy pointed church you can see from everywhere. LMS/LeedsGigs listed a venue unknown to me within a mile of where I've lived for years. The advertised act was Ryan Spendlove, formerly of The Blueskins, and due for some up-to-date attention so that's how I came to be at St Bartholomew's Hall Armley. Grievous to relate, the concert had been running since 5pm as part of Armley Music Feast's all-dayer, so not only had Ryan played (pretty damn well according to MC and performer Mark Lunn) and gone, but anyone who knew about the afternoon's free entertainment found Chunky Butt Funky's Cleve Freckleton on the bill for one of his delightful and instructive music workshops.
Stuff was still zooming along though, and door money (supporting learning disability projects) was transfigured by the value handed out by Mr Pasty, the band on stage at that moment. They're four versatile musicians: strong-voiced David Hedley Moorhouse; nice Telecaster work on lead guitar from Tim Roisin ; skill, power and sensitivity by Ben-Jammin Burnett on drums, and gliding throbbing bass in the hands of T Ramsden. Rhythm guitar (and sometimes acoustic) were also in the control of singer Moorhouse, who as the set moved into the band's new material brought an impressive maturer sound to his vocal delivery.
And, behold - their show had an instant afterlife when at the end listeners were invited to grab a give-away seven-track EP 'Only On The Weekend'. From its insert we learn that "Mr Pasty is a non profitable band. We are doing it for fun, not for fame." Intriguing Myspace info reveals Mr Pasty is an escape mechanism for jaded musicians because "we're all in a metal band and have been for 12 years, we even have 2 albums completed, but we found it hard as hell to get gigs..."
OK Mr Pasty, enjoy it while you can : your audiences are certainly going to. Those days of just-for-fun could be numbered as the monster Fame's twitching snout catches your scent and stalks you down the paths of innocence. Twelve months of what you're doing now may bring just what 12 years of your alter ego hasn't conjured up.
