Peter And The Test Tube Babies | Gig Review | Brighton 1982

Published in Sounds, 21st August 1982

Peter And The Test Tube Babies/Intensive Care/The Drill Brighton | ON THURSDAY nights, the New Regent Hotel by Brighton seafront becomes Xtreems and often puts on worthwhile bands. Tonight belongs to the Test Tubes; a rare home town gig for them and a return to my roots for me with no hassle, a great atmosphere and the Drill.

Its great to see local punk bands surfacing in Brighton again. For a very long time, the Testies (as they are so delicately called) seemed to this observer to be an isolated force in a seaside town seemingly devoid of everything apart from Italian students.

As yet, the Drill aren’t anything special but they haven’t been going long and there’s still hope. Afterwards the singer told me that he thinks song lyrics are very important and he puts a lot of thought into them. In that case, the audience need to be able to hear what he’s getting at.

Intensive Care are from Scotland — Edinburgh, I think — and they made a very favourable impression on these ears for the simple reason that they reminded me of Blitz. The lack of audience response irritated them, and it’s true they deserved better. Theirs was the fate of many good support bands. Still, full marks to Intensive Care for coming down South and hassling for gigs; they obviously mean business, and I wish them well.

Peter And The Test Tube Babies | Gig Review | Brighton 1982

The opening chords of ‘Moped Lads’ sent everyone who could still stand charging to the front and the Testies were well away, in every sense. Peter, as usual drunk to the point of collapse, clutched unsteadily the inevitable bottle of Merrydown Dry Cider and dished out the classics in a liquid roar:

‘Banned From The Pubs’, ‘Elvis Is Dead’, the sheer intellectual subtlety of ‘Up Yer Bum’ Run Like Hell’ and the terminally libelous ‘Blowjobs’ (the full title of which I shall not reveal to save Peter from the wrath of Commander Trestrail!).

As yet another pint went over my jeans due to the high pogo-rate, we were treated to ‘Keep Britain Untidy’ and the dubious ‘Transvestite’.

One great number after another; a laugh a minute, a drink ever two, a puke ever ten. (Brilliant! — Ed) The Merrydown disappeared rapidly down Peter’s all-consuming, all-purpose gullet (more about this glorious alliance in a soon-come Sounds feature) and when the punters in closest proximity to him attempted to relieve him of the bottle, he declined to release it with a defiant shout of ‘Up yer bum!’

Indeed, that hallowed phrase was never far from his lips during the course of the evening. ‘Maniac’ and the anti-disco encore ‘Disco’ finished off a great Testies set — and there was still two hours drinking time to go (unbelievably for Brighton, this place closed at two am).

Soon everyone who was anyone was outside being sick while in the dressing room Peter was just starting another bottle of Merrydown. . . (John Opposition)