Philadelphian punks Beach Slang’s previous Glasgow show was memorable to all who attended it except their frontman, James Alex. “I remember fragments, I was so fucking loaded,” he concedes as he sips an orange juice. Dressed in velvet jacket, ruffled shirt and oversized bow tie, straggly curls matted with sweat to his forehead after leaping around windmilling his guitar during Noisy Heaven, he looks a bit like how Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka might have looked if his factory had brewed booze.
A disastrous Salt Lake City show last April at the end of a long, messy tour sparked rumours of the band’s impending demise. Instead, drummer JP Flexner and guitarist Ruben Gallego have since been replaced by Cully Symington and Aurore Ounjian, respectively, and Beach Slang have powered on through to the release of their second album A Loud Bash of Teenage Feelings. A curious title, perhaps, coming from a fortysomething songwriter, but for such a miscreant romantic as Alex – mission statement: “We’re here to punch you right in the heart” – rock’n’roll is the eternal elixir of youth.
It’s not always easy to distinguish between the rousing melodies and fuzz-max riffs of, say, Wasted Daze of Youth and the rousing melodies and fuzz-max riffs of, say, Bad Art & Weirdo Ideas, but they all deliver fist-pumping life affirmation. Other highlights of a sprawling, feelgood set include unlikely back-to-back covers of the Replacements and Phil Collins, and a random audience member being invited to sing the Cure’s Boys Don’t Cry. “That was the best moment of my life,” he’s heard to proclaim after jumping off stage, and Beach Slang’s continued reason for being is captured at a stroke.
