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Friday 23rd August 2002 - The Foresters Arms, Forest Row, East Sussex.
Picture a man entering a pub where a gig should be... In the stage area, a pool table, the frame still in progress and a queue of eager coin holders waiting impatiently for their turn. In the bar area, big screen footie entertainment (Manchester United vs Chelsea, 2-2 in case you were wondering), about to kick off before a sea of expectant uplifted faces marveling at the images presented to them on high. The man approaches the bar for a drink. "Got a gig on tonight", he says, matter of factly. "Yeah, Badgered - they were good last time", replies the swarthy barman. "Thanks. And the cheese and onion crisps?", enquires the man upon receipt of his pint. "Sorry mate, there you go", responds said bar staffer, apologetically. The man retires to the garden area of the establishment whereupon he stands, eyes fixed on the distant parking area, and waits. Who can say how long he will wait, or what it is he is waiting for? But there he stands, waiting, occasionally sipping the rich ale and nodding appreciatively. His mind wanders as it is wont to do when a sense of anticipation electrifies ones every thought. Suddenly he starts, his attention drawn to some commotion in the car park. A small gathering has formed around a cluster of well packed vehicles. Could this be his cue? He abandons his pint and potato crisps haphazardly on a nearby table and walks briskly across the expanse of tarmac that lays between himself and the gathering. Greetings and conversation can be heard indistinctly and then the party set to, unloading all manner of strange boxes and electronica from inside the various motor vehicles. A system, somewhat similar to a fire fighting line, is swiftly formed leading from the parking lot to the back door of the pub and item after item is passed along its length into the dark recesses of the humble venue, some large, some small, some roughly box shaped, some curved and gloriously moulded. All black save for the occasional, tasteful metal detail. Time passes and the contents of the party's transport are finally emptied. One by one, the motley crew make their way inside and begin to unpack and set up the bizarre contraptions. By now, the purposeful barman has seen off the pool players, cast aside the table and magicked up a matching pair of stacked speakers and a mysterious mixing desk. Little by little a collection of instruments and amplifications is constructed, clustered about a shimmering array of drums in all shapes and sizes topped off by a cascade of glittering cymbals. Almost without effort, the stage is set. Distant memories of disastrous PA setups are quite forgotten as the system roars into life at the first stroke of its smoothly damped faders. And scarcely pausing for breath, the assembled music-men prepare to launch forth. "GOOD EVENING, WE'RE BADGERED!" And so it began... Battering the fascinated football fans and the peeved pool players into submission with first the crunchily dangerous "Turn Around" and then the onslaught of mega-riff laden "They Don't Know You", the Badgered massive rocked and ripped their way into the first set. During the quieter interlude of "Roll, Roll, Roll", the thought was perhaps entertained that maybe more attention could be gained if the telly were switched off? No matter, the broadcasts' volume was down and the Badgered boys were well and truly up for it. Thoughts of score lines were beginning to be forgotten by the time the chicken-pickin' rhythms of "Lay Down Sally" were over, and Becks and co. were definitely onto a loser by the conclusion of "Why Should He". As the massive, creamy solo to "Dancin' In The Moonlight (It's Caught Me In Its Spotlight)" (delivered, as always, with note perfect elegance) purged all memory of premiership relegation and iffy ref'ing, the renegade badgers had well and truly warmed up and won over their audience! And not a moment too soon, as at that very moment, the finale of the first set launched forth: "Crossroads", performed with an energy and aggression that stopped barely short of ripping the heads off the assembled throng and screaming down their gaping necks, "WE ARE BADGERED, FEEL US RROOCCKK!!!!!" Clashing, frenzied guitar solos, blistering vocals, thunderous bass and a psychotic drum barrage pummeled and battered the defenceless crowd, as with a final frenzied million-miles-an-hour raking, bombing, plunging, wailing and crashing, screeching-feedback riddled, monstrously cacophonous crescendo, the first set ended. As the somewhat dazed clientele paused a moment to come to terms with what had just been experienced, the band lingered momentarily, then departed the stage to tumultuous appreciation, their triumphant progress through the bar area interrupted only by the bar and the five pints stood thereupon. Idle chat with admiring groupies. Vigorous laughter. Manly swaggering. Oliver Reed style drinking. This sums up the Badgered interval experience. But all too soon it had to end as the impatient crowd began to chant, softly at first rising gradually until the chant was embedded into the very brains of those present; "more, more, more, More, More, More, MORE, MORE, MORE!!!!!". And so, the symphonic gladiators took the stage once more. Teasing with the quietly cunning opening of "Used To Be (Free)", the relaxing intro had barely begun to lull the rapt onlookers into coddled restfulness when the ripe funk of the full on rhythms jolted them into the groove. Bringing a tear to the eye of the more sensitive audience members "3AM" continued apace with the superhuman sumptuousness of the vocal delivery exceptional as ever. Jives were jived to "Brown Eyed Girl" with full on audience "La-ing" at the appropriate time as relentlessly the entertainers marched on into "Slowly Going Crazy", still onwards into the tidily executed comedy trip, false start, "Johnny B. Goode" and ever on through into the bulging swing of "When My Baby She Left Me". No chair was left unturned as the charmed audience leapt to their feet and moshed under the hypnotic rocking influence of the Badgered gospel. "Sixteen Days" and "Black Magic Woman" riveted the writhing revelers, rapt in awe of the sonic masterpieces splashing playfully over their ears. And then silence, pierced by the barely audible whistle of building feedback, growing and pulsing inexorably louder; sustaining, reverberating and reflecting off every surface in the arena until at the point at which it could almost be borne no more, "Real" spewed forth, dirtying the air with its gloriously filthy ragged-riffed intro. Battered, bruised and bloody by the end of the brutal onslaught of sheer rock majesty, the breathless, masochistic crowd demanded MORE! MORE! MORE! And so, the boys obliged, not once, not twice but three times, masterfully entwining repeat performances of earlier numbers requested by screaming fans from the deep recesses of the bar area with rocked up classic of the likes of "Hard Day's Night", "All The Day and All of the Night", "Can't Stand the Rain" and "Twist and Shout". Sweating and exhausted but desperate for more of the same divine punishment, the crowd had to be disappointed as powerhouse amps were finally and reluctantly shut down and faithful instruments laid to rest, ready to rock again another day. No one was left in any doubt... LOVE ROCK? GET BADGERED!
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