CKY

My cousin Galia made a strategic stopover in London on her way from Tel Aviv to New York to catch alt-metallers CKY. Her favourite bands tend not to visit the holy land too often, so for her it would always be a night to cherish. As if that wasn't enough excitement for one evening, I got to play Jim'll Fix It – but more of that later.

CKY are, as they announced to the house from ‘Phil-a-fuckin-delphia'. They've been together for seven years and claimed their big break through the drummers sibling association with skateboard and Jackass star, Bam Margera. His own top TV show Viva La Bam allowed them enough MTV exposure to build a solid fan base. If practitioners of nepotism can't help their families, then who can?

It didn't take long for guitarist and most animated, Chad I Ginsburg to volley his acid tongue at the crowd. Barely had a bar thundered out of his instrument before a beer can flashed past his head – ‘fuck yourself ' was his reply. A mass outbreak of jumping and slamming broke out, (all good natured) and the excitable skate-metal kids reminded the more mature members of the audience how liberating it is to be young (even if they universally take it for granted). Ginsburg ordered them ‘do not shut up' as he cajoled the house to keep up the noise and chants of C-K-Y. Their brand of metal begged more from the crowd which, despite the enthusiastic response, seemed not to be enough. The band yearned for more. Lead singer Deron Miller begged the audience to be ‘be more like Americans - be fuckin assholes' – the youngsters responded with bare chests and harder slamming while I ordered a mini pizza. Between the thundering bass riffs, double-kick drum chops, trad-metal licks and screaming melody vocals, Mr Miller inquired if the punters were ‘at a library or a fuckin rock show' – and new bass man, Matt Deiss informed us that ‘we're not a bunch of pussy's like My Chemical Romance.' While Mr Ginsburg instructed us not to ‘throw stuff on stage or I'll stab your ass'. I stabbed the fork in my last piece of pizza and headed for the upper tier.

In my role as a younger, darker haired, (and hopefully better looking) version of Jimmy Saville (minus the yellow shell suit), I'd earlier surprised my cousin with a photographers pass and access to the privileged front of the house. I looked down from the gods (who were clearly smiling on her) and saw her, camera in hand, within touching distance of her heroes. It wasn't particularly a night for my musical taste buds to savour, but the look on Galia's face made it one to remember. As Jess Margera and the rest of Camp Kill Yourself will further testify, ain't nuttin wrong with a bit of nepotism to help dreams come true.

Rob Barnett, Music News