Post Description

Including covers.

1 Fireball
2 Proud Mary
3 Evil
4 Mighty Quinn (Quinn the Eskimo)
5 Here Comes the Night
6 Knockin' on Heaven's Door
7 Have You Ever Seen the Rain?
8 Amsterdam Dog
9 Jumpin' in the Fire
10 Run Rudolph Run
11 Teenage Head
12 Coast to Coast
13 Route 66
14 Little Queenie
15 Brown Sugar
16 Midnight Rambler
17 Going Down the Road

    * Martin Stone    * ?
    * Brinsley Schwarz    * Guitar, Vocals
    * Billy Rankin    * Drums
    * Sean Tyla    * Guitar, Vocals, Keyboards, Composer
    * Bob Andrews    * Keyboards, Vocals
    * Martin Belmont    * Guitar
    * Bert Berns    * Composer
    * Lee Brilleaux    * Vocals
    * Mick Groom    * Bass
    * Nick Lowe    * Guitar

If you are one of those people who still appreciate rock ‘n' roll as sleazy, loud, drunken orgies of music, then you'd better mourn the passing of this lot of arrogant punks. Ducks played - live and on vinyl - some of the raunchiest, sweatiest licks this side of Muhammad Ali's pits after going fifteen rounds with Frazier.

Their final gig as a band at the 100 club in London (normally a jazz spot, except for Tuesday, when they spotlight blues or rock) embodied the spirit of what rock was meant to be - alcohol, unbearably loud music, a sweaty smoky room the size of a small garage, and a rowdy bunch of slobbering rock ‘n' roll addicts.

And although truly speaking this wasn't the real Ducks, it mattered not a twit, ‘cause the line-up was formidable nonetheless. Sean Tyla, punk supreme, Nick Garvey and Martin Belmont were the true Ducks represented, and filling in were Billy Rankin (on drums for Tim Roper) and Brinsley Schwarz on guitar and occasional sax (both incidentally from another fine band who has recently gone down due to neglect, Brinsley Schwarz).

Before a note was struck, the tone of the evening was set when Tyla, upon mounting the stage, grabbed a mike and in his best punk attitude, harangued the crowd with "Ya don't fuckin' deserve this!" and zapped in to their Lou Reed/Velvet Underground tribute "Fireball" with Tyla virtually spitting out his words and Garvey hopping about the stage, flailing his bass like some misbegotten elf. Rankin worked his ass off and was solid to the nth degree, and the combined effect of three guitars was overwhelming. Belmont and Tyla pounded out buzz saw chords and Brinsley slipped in a terse, tasty lead and...ROCK ‘N' ROLL! Ummm good.

They pounded out another blast furnace raver and then Belmont sang a smart version of "Quinn the Eskimo". Another Dylan number, "Knockin' on Heaven's Door", done in a ragged, loud, obnoxious style, turned out to be the pleasant surprise of the night (Clapton shoulda heard it).

Brinsley exercised his vocal chords on "Run Rudolph Run" and threw in another tasty lead for good measure. That sparked the ravers in the crowd to action - tables were overturned, glasses hit the floor and bedlam reigned (nothing like a Chuck Berry tune to inspire true rock ‘n' roll idiots).

Tyla's guitar sounded progressively more like a chain saw as the night rolled on, and he really buzzed on "Coast to Coast". Belmont got a chance to show off his axe prowess here and ripped off a lead that woulda made Jeff Beck envious and yearn for his "good" days as a Yardbird.

Berry's "Carol" done at breakneck speed closed things, but not for long. The loonies woulda torn the place apart, brick by limey brick, if the Ducks hadn't returned. Tyla walked back out and announced "We need a lead singer, so here's Lee Brilleaux of Dr. Feelgood!" which incited the ravers to another round of bottle breaking - which didn't abate ‘til the evening's music stopped for good. Brilleaux jerked and spat his way through a ten minute "Route 66", chugging along on pure rhythm and noise.

The stage was deserted once again with the crowd even more insistent for an encore this time, so back trooped the six, this time augmented by Martin Stone (of the late Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers) on guitar and Nick Lowe, another Brinsley Schwarz alumnus, who joined Brilleaux for vocals. Brinsley switched to sax and just as the conglomerate broke into "Brown Sugar" up popped Bob Andrews, yet another Brinsley Schwarz member, who threw in his two bits on vocals. It was a cacophony with a rudimentary beat, but nonetheless enjoyable. Finally, it was over and the crowd staggered out into the chilly London night, dazed and satiated with rock ‘n' roll and alcohol.