‘I know what she’s going to write,’ Lach drawled in my general direction from the corner of his mouth, ‘it was all going well until the vagina bit.’ I wouldn’t be so sure. We had reached a juncture in Lach’s show, Anticdotes, where he was asking the audience for words to sing songs about. Having already heard a number about the ghost of a dodo, we were now in the aftermath of a Belgian’s request for ‘vaginas!’ What followed was a masterfully conjured song about, as far as I could tell, a prostitute’s relationship with Christianity. It was my favourite part of the show, which also featured songs such as ‘Drinking Beer with Mum’ and ‘Teenage Alcoholic.’
Musically, Anticdotes was not remarkable. Lach is a very capable musician, even with a sizable hole in his guitar and a broken distortion pedal, but riffs were second to witticisms and he was not prepared to let a melody get in the way of a story. He certainly had plenty to say. Lamenting the fact that rock music’s old guard still dominate the industry, he made a comparison with God putting Thor on the front page of a magazine the same week that Jesus gave his sermon on the mount. I thought this was funny and pretty astute, but considering the rest of the show was reliant on us giving two hoots about Lach’s tales of encounters with Depeche Mode, Squeeze and Joey Ramone, I was uncertain where he expected us to stand when it comes to the rock n rollers of yesteryear.
There were some great lyrics to be heard in the song ‘Stunned’ and ‘The Ballad of the Fringe’, including ‘if laughter is a currency, she’ll never make a wage’. There weren’t many great lyrics to be heard in a cover of the Spiderman theme tune, embellished with a verse sung in the voice of Bob Dylan and redeemed by a verse from The Simpson’s Movie’s ‘Spiderpig.’
‘I just do whatever comes up my spinal cord and says it’s next, so this is next.’ Lach explained after something of a lull. I can’t help but feel we needed a bit more than that. The flyer is made up of a wealth of claims to fame, gems from the songwriter’s past; however, a present, indeed a show, is unfortunately a bit lacking. The anecdotal atmosphere I expected was also nowhere to be seen. The closest I got to a conversation with Lach was the chastisement he gave me for note-taking. To mix my metaphors, I could have done with a spoonful of sugar with this antidote and the kick in the teeth I received in its stead left a bit to be desired.
