Attila the Stockbroker review 2004
The Stockbroker Belt
Attila the Stockbroker
Cabaret marquee
Friday
Or is it MC Attila these days? One loses track. Anyway, Glastonbury without Attila would be unthinkable, even though his brand of fire-brand left-wing fast-firing poetry leaves the odd festival-goer unimpressed.
Stripped of his current band Barnstormer, this is Attila doing what he’s been doing for twenty years with the same blood and sweat (no tears) as ever. Watching him these days is a curious experience, as “the Dean of the Social Surrealist University” will occasionally confound your expectations.
He opens with the Daily Mail-bashing asylum daleks, humming with pure gems of lines, puns, riffs and refrains. But then he’ll recount a night spent in an outback Australian pub, “The Duck’s Nuts” watching a Green Day cover band in the company of 20 drunk pensioners. It’s at these points, such as when he takes aim at Eminem or Roman Abramovich (albeit with grace, wit and charisma), that he starts sounding like your slightly embarrassing dad.
Nonetheless, younger punks should take heed: Attila’s the king of the “hell, yeah” end line and he can carry a room effortlessly wherever he wants to take it. His passion is undimmed. He’s not taken in by corporate ruses. And he’s one of the few people who can get away with lines like “Aneurin Bevan, your party’s dead … New Labour just f*** off and die.”
Peter Allen
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