I’ve never been to Dublin, but I imagine there’s probably a Wetherspoons pub there, and, if we may jump back a couple of years, I’d like to think that this’d be the place to find Michael Pyro. He’d be sitting in the darkest corner, drunk on Jameson and banging his forehead against a wall as he sings about forming a band of fellow musical superheroes to save the world from reality popstars. However, they don’t allow music in Wetherspoons, so Michael is evicted and promptly sets about his quest. He finds a bass player and a drummer lurking in the bus station, his brother is on a wall smoking a spliff and two urchins are kicking a ball about in the street; it all fits: the supergroup is complete.
So now it’s 2004. The Republic of Loose have released a particularly well received debut, ‘This is the Tomb of the Juice’, and tonight they play ULU to a reasonably sized audience, largely formed of students supping free pints of Carling. I double-take as Pyro walks on stage (seeing Jim Morrison); then his bass player appears at his side and the image is shattered (he’s actually more of a ‘worse for wear Russell Crowe’) - the bass man, Benjamin Loose, is big, bald, bearded and wearing a powder blue tracksuit that would put all 37 members of Goldie Lookin’ Chain to shame. The band as a whole are a bit of an odd bunch; they look like all the friends you had at school but lost touch with, knowing they’d turn out bad.
And so to the music... it’s tough to describe, but interesting; captivating. As Pyro shrieks like Michael Jackson and beats himself with the mic, the others start to blend a funky brew of blues, gospel soul and disco beats. I have to admit, I’d only heard one song from ‘This is the Tomb...’ - the moody disco gesticulation known as ‘Girl, I’m Gonna Fuck You Up’ – but overall I like what I hear. Bass and drums provide a framework for some grooving guitar and keyboard riffs that bounce off each other satisfyingly and the band quickly work through a set that seems to pick off inert onlookers one by one, making them move. Someone break-dances down the front. Pyro starts to shout like a tourettes inflicted wino. He dances like the Cat in Red Dwarf, then he bangs himself on the head once more and slips into Bono mode; he’ll start rapping soon too.
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The show closes when the band start harmonising, layering vocals like a gospel choir from the church of the criminally insane; Pyro preaches with passion and zeal. He sounds like Har Mar Superstar’s world-weary older brother. He wants me to ‘give him a little love’; then he looks like he’s about to cry and I feel slightly scared. The Loose take one last toke on the funk before disappearing. There’s no encore, but I leave with a chuckle; contented, glad I’m not insane, and with some previously unknown-to-me songs merrily slopping about in my head.
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