'Caligula's orgies had nothing on this. There's a kid clawing at the ceiling tiles, his hair wet with sweat, his face stretched by a grin. I speak to him later and discover we've known each through the messageboard for months. At the front, a bouncing battalion of kids mouth each and every word. Turns out I know some of those as well. At the back, a group of impossibly beautiful girls are dancing like there's no tomorrow. What do you know? I don't know a single one of them.
Half Pistols gig on the Thames, half boat trip in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, finding yourself at a Little Ze gig is like stumbling into an explosion in an asylum. These aren't events for the chin-strokers, the too-cool-for-schoolers, those people at the back who think the width of the knot on their skinny tie is more important than the band they're watching. To see Little Ze live is about being taken somewhere else, somewhere away from the nine-to-five, the daily grind, the useless pricks that surround us all. This is music to surrender to. At least until the lights go up and some cunt in a tux decides it's time to go.
The singer bobs around stage like a monkey on a string. He tears along bass lines that make you want to shit. Each song punches you with a smile… but I digress. I could go on, tell you more about their sound, but it's pointless to list influences here. Only an idiot would scrub away a painting just to see the dots that link the lines. You're listening to the music now. Make up your own mind…
And when you do, go and tell everyone that Ze is now in charge.'..
