Remember watching Motorhead

in Bingley Hall in Stafford?

The time that fella's ears bled?

Lemmy's warts,

the wall of sound,

and Philthy going mad?

 

Remember where we stood that night?

And how that fella, six foot three,

came and stood in front of me,

so we just moved a step along

and simply carried on?

 

At every single gig for years

a giant stood in front of me.

And usually, he'd introduce

the contents of his arse to me,

silently.

Fifteen pints of Guinness and a king prawn biryani.

 

And then of course I'd always stand

in pre-ordained desire paths,

where every single punter would have to walk right into me

on their way to have a piss or get another pint.

It didn't matter where I stood,

I was always in that line.

 

But the last gig that I went to,

there's a fella stood in front of me,

he wasn't very tall at all,

he was only five foot three

but in his tiny fist he clutched

a Samsung fucking Galaxy - S9.

 

He held it high, he held it long,

his phone recorded every song.

He didn't watch the gig with eyes,

his lust for life was minimised.

He didn't mosh, he didn't dance,

he didn't even sing.

And now at every single gig

there's hundreds of them just like him,

obliterating lines of sight with smart-arsing technology.

 

When they wend their way back home

and watch a live gig on their phone,

and wonder why it sounds so shit,

I hope they will remember the advice I gave for free:

 

PUT YOUR FUCKING PHONE AWAY MATE

PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET

PUT YOUR FUCKING PHONE AWAY

BEFORE I FUCKING BREAK IT

PUT YOUR FUCKING PHONE AWAY MATE

PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET

KEEP IT SAFE WITHIN YOUR KECKS

BEFORE I FUCKING LOB IT