Vibrators

Organised at a very affordable price and backed by the tempting alcohol deal "Drink more – pay less", this gig brings the legendary London outfit back to Rome roughly a year after their last visit. We're at Sinister Noise, a pub near the Piramide train station, the perfect setting for an evening of punk and roll with a band like The Vibrators. Anyone who happens to be in Rome should drop by at least once: the music selection here is a treat for the ears, and the freak-artsy vibe makes it one of the most inviting and enjoyable venues in the capital.

As soon as we walk in, we run into singer and bassist Pete Honkamaki – mocking gaze, black leather waistcoat with a conspicuously hand-sewn Social Distortion patch, and an unintentional (?) yet embarrassing resemblance to a young Joe Strummer – sipping red wine by the entrance, so we stop for a chat with him. His is the classic attitude of someone who's long since stopped kidding himself and playing rockstar. He's calm and friendly in his answers, as if we'd known each other for a lifetime, perhaps because underlying our back-and-forth is that disenchanted awareness of someone who knows he only appeals to a niche audience, yet is also aware that that small handful of "his" Vibrators (in quotes, since the only original member left is drummer John "Eddie" Edwards) know life, death, and even miracles inside out. Like the miracle of having survived more than thirty-five years of music history, for instance. Like still being here to prove that it's entirely possible to make good rock music without aspiring in the slightest to some vague notion of success, whether personal or commercial.

We're talking punk, obviously. He tells us the Rome scene is among the best he's come across in Italy, that he can't quite gauge how big or small it is, but that he's seen a lot of young people inside the venue tonight. He tells us about a conversation with a girl, somewhere between eighteen and twenty, about bands like The Undertones, The Adverts, 999 and The Dickies, and that playing in front of an audience like this can only make him feel euphoric. We point out that maybe the internet hasn't done only damage after all, since back in our day you had to buy way too many records and magazines before you could get to this kind of listening. He smiles and nods, going off on a tangent about the importance, in that sense, of good old fanzines.

"Worst case scenario, tonight you could just play 'Rock The Kids' as a cheat sheet," we joke. He takes another sip of wine and shakes his head, telling us they're not here to lecture anyone, just to have a bit of a party – otherwise they'd never play songs like "Yeah Yeah Yeah" (naturally on tonight's setlist). We'd already guessed as much, but it didn't seem worth pointing out.

We let him head back in and go downstairs with him, where opening act Poker are already playing. We'd never want to be the cause of a band's line-up troubles, but singer Giulia struck us as green enough that we much preferred the beefier vocal contributions (with a thinly veiled Oi! flavour) from guitarist Molla. Maybe there were some nerves, maybe we just caught them on an off night: we'll surely get the chance to see them again. Meanwhile guitarist Mark Duncan walks past us, and he's pure '77 punk iconography. He shuffles along almost dragging his feet, a bandana on his head like a shipwreck survivor, and a black-and-white horizontal-striped shirt in case the picture wasn't already clear; in short, a fair idea of what Keith Richards might look like in twenty years – should he even make it that far. He calmly heads upstairs and comes back down with two small glasses full of clear liquid (Vodka, Gin, Grappa, plain mineral water? We'll never know...) and sets them down next to his amp. He wanders back up and comes down again with two more glasses of the same mysterious stuff (the mystery only deepens). Unlike Pete, he doesn't laugh at all and seems to have a grudge against the whole world.

Some start fearing the worst for the actual show, but, as often happens in these cases, once he picks up his guitar, Duncan proves to everyone that he might have serious issues with walking, style, and (possibly) sobriety, but with his six-string in hand he's smooth as silk. Mark doesn't play punk, Mark is punk.

So the band makes their way onto the stage, surrounded by a warm and devoted crowd that today also includes a few familiar faces from Rome's apocalyptic-folk scene. The Vibrators' songs bounce back and forth between Pete and Eddie, punctuated for a good half hour only by the famous "one, two, three, four" count-ins straight out of the Ramones playbook. They're a distillation of almost forty years of punk schooling, and you really can't ask for more. From the "positive" side of Buzzcocks, to the social commitment à la Stiff Little Fingers, passing through the concrete toughness of Exploited and the street-smart swagger of New York Dolls, everything tied together by the most visceral seed of rock and roll.

Pete is the star of the show. He plays, dances and flirts with the whole crowd from front row to back, and seems to hate only the sound engineer, who can't get enough of his voice into the monitor. Eddie is a pure institution, and while for a split second you might picture him just as easily behind the counter of a Garbatella butcher shop cutting you a kilo of rib steak, he proves to be the driving force behind a stripped-back, no-frills drum kit. Stripped-back, indeed. Which brings us back to Mark, who by now has barely managed three steps forward and two back, but starts smiling contentedly at yet another round of applause to take to his grave. A terrific show to watch in one breath, between old hits and solid new tracks, the kind we hadn't seen in a while. Maybe not since The Urges' last tour, also (perhaps not by chance) right here at Sinister Noise in Rome.

Photo by Massimo Monacelli

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