Sunday 31st July 06 - Benefit Gig at Staks Bar (1/8) By Joe Hakim Photos By Roland Standaert Give Something Back

(1/8), (2/8), (3/8), (4/8), (5/8), (6/8), (7/8), (8/8).

Photograph Gallery   Gallery 1,    Gallery 2,    Gallery 3.

It's an early start, three in the afternoon, but it's for a good cause. Sundays, and the weekend in general, tend to be meaningless when you're unemployed, yet you always feel obligated to spend as much time in bed and do as little as possible in between bouts of napping. A lot of this is due to the fact that there's fuck all on TV on a Sunday. There's hardly anything good on TV during the week, but Sundays are particularly grim.

So when I found out that there happened to be a Killer Bill of bands at Staks, I knew I had to go. It promised to be more than a gig; it was gonna be a huge statement of intent, a showcase of the best and brightest that Hull has to offer. No fuckin' contest, in other words.

On my way down, I think about the bill again. The Applewhites, 59 Violets, The Landaus, The Favours and The Dirty Dreamers... Jeezus. It's already quite full when I get there. Baggot from Turismo flit about, checking amps, making sure everything on the door is sorted. It's the walk of an expectant Dad waiting to see if the birth goes well. I go up to the bar and get my first drink. It's shaping up to be a long day, and I know that I know that I've gotta be careful - if I sit drinking from start until finish, the latter half of the gig will descend into a drunken haze, and there' s too much going on for me to miss out on.

Everyone pays their three pounds at the door - there's no ligging, not even from me, because it's all for a good a cause y'see; it's a gig organised to raise funds for a local football team, the Beverley Beavers.

Members of various different bands are sat around, mixed in with family and friends, curious people in off the street and a group of really old people. The last group makes me pause and ponder: Are they someone' relatives, have they wandered in by accident or are they some hitherto undiscovered group of OAP rockers? I find a place in the corner so I can sit and scribble on a pad. It's something that I still don't like doing in public. Producing a pad at a gig and taking notes could give the impression that I'm some sort of journalist, and everyone knows that's shorthand for wanker.

It suddenly occurs to me that I'm always placing myself in jobs or occupations that tend to be the channel for everyone else's bile, venom and bad feelings about the world. I've gone from being a fish-factory worker to a student, a bum, a housing officer, bum again, a poker dealer and writer...so what's next? Traffic Warden? Teacher? Accident solicitor? I suppose that's why there are so many photographers; they just show what's going on by clicking a camera and recording the images. They just show what's happening and capture it as it happens. Writing about stuff opens up all kinds of ambiguities and perceptions.

It's a totally subjective medium - I don't give a fuck what anyone else says - and your own personal tastes and opinions are infringing upon your judgment from the minute you walk into a place whether you accept it or not. You try may your best but you can't help it.

Continued..... Next Page (2/8)

Check the thisisUll.com Gallery Photographs courtesy and Copyright ©  Roland Standaert 2005

Photograph Gallery   Gallery 1,    Gallery 2,    Gallery 3.

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