I Studied Abroad In London and Accidentally Saw The Vaccines 10 Times

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5. The Rugby Tavern, London, 09.04.15

Turns out a friend of mine managed to snag me two delicious copies of ShortList Magazine from Euston, and there the Vaccines are, adorning the front cover with the words ‘THIS IS YOUR FREE TICKET’ splattered across the page. There’s a whole feature on the band inside the magazine, too, as well as a few details of the actual gig, to take place at the Rugby Tavern pub in Bloomsbury at approximately 5:30pm on April 9th. By now you’ll be thinking, “How many times can you possibly see The Vaccines???” But I say again, I never planned on seeing them many times! I treat every gig that arises as if it is my last from the band, and who am I to turn down something that is absolutely free? It is also important, in my defence, to remember that the Electric Brixton gig was their only “normal” headline show I attended that didn’t require any sort of ticket ballot entry, or was part of any festival. I don’t think you can ever reach a point where you’ll have seen one of your favourite bands play “too many times”; each gig is a special adventure, a spectacle. Also, the weirder the concerts, like this one, THE BETTER. “Get there early,” the magazine warns, “as spaces fill up fast.”

Turns out the place fills out very, very fast. We arrive at the Rugby Tavern on the brink of 3pm – I make two U-turns heading to the location as I can make out the vague figures of Pete and Arni hanging outside having a smoke, and I’m nowhere near inebriated enough to talk to them – and we see that there is already a line of roughly thirty fans already outside of the pub. The line which fills up gradually within the next hour, and as we’re sat on the ground we can hear the band soundcheck ‘Dream Lover’ from the second storey of the pub. Bliss. The event organiser steps out and informs us that only a select few will actually be able to get into the pub as they can’t exceed capacity, and the rest of the fans will have to sit outside; but not to worry, she says, as we will be able to hear everything anyway. I panic, thinking I might not be able to get in, but thankfully I am amongst the lucky fans to be ushered inside and given an exclusive wristband. We are herded up the stairs and into a carpeted, tiny area not much bigger than my living room at home. There is no stage, let alone a barrier, just the band’s equipment set up against the far end of the wall. Well, I think, if I am to die, it might as well be at a Vaccines concert.

“Well this is a bit weird, isn’t it,” Justin remarks as he grins all of us at eye-level. It’s hot, it’s crowded, bodies are pressed up against each other already, and from the first notes of ‘Bad Mood’, the whole room is instantly sent into a chaotic frenzy, all of us melding together to squish into a giant singular-blob mosh pit. Within five seconds I feel as if I’ve had two concussions and have passed out standing up. During the slightly more relaxed, slow balladry of ‘Wetsuit’, Justin wanders along lazily with his microphone to the window, opens it, climbs halfway out so that he is partially sitting on the windowsill (with half of his body practically hanging in mid-air), and begins to serenade the fans sitting outside of the pub.

When introducing ‘Post Break-Up Sex’, Justin says with a sly wink, “I know you’ll know this next one, because I’ve seen some of you before…” as they launch into a psychotic performance of the song (and I can’t help feeling paranoid that he recognises me from last night’s show). Classic set-closer, ‘Norgaard’, is a deranged, rabid, chaotic, pop-paradise thriller, the security guard barrier finally breaking down and the entire crowd surging forward straight into all four of the Vaccines. Justin is immediately drowned by a sea of flailing arms, Freddie is engulfed by a raging whirlpool of heads and limbs, Arni is dangerously missing, and I myself practically crash and barrel into Pete’s drum set. When I talk to Pete and the rest of the band again later in the pub and apologise for nearly destroying his drum set, Pete waves my apology away and goes, “Oh, nah, don’t worry about it. If it wasn’t you, it was bound to be somebody else!”

It is a catastrophic mess of the most fanatical and wonderful, a rare and refined “guerrilla gig” of modern times. There is no stage, the sound quality is a disaster, and I feared for all of the band members’ lives at one point, but it is well, and quite truly, rock and roll like I’ve never seen it before.

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