Writer David Keenan on the gig that changed his world: “It was like taking my first steps on the moon”

In this adapted extract from his new collection of music writing, Volcanic Tongue, celebrated music journalist and cult novelist David Keenan takes us back to the moment that ushered him into a world of underground weirdo music.

I had never been to a gig before and had no friends who were into weirdo music when I heard that The Pastels and The Vaselines were playing at Fury Murry’s in Glasgow, in April of 1987. I was 16 years old. I had picked up on the amazing DIY scene that was happening in Glasgow, thanks to trawling the racks in Virgin on Union Street for music fanzines, which I had graduated to from collecting sci-fi zines. 

I asked my dad what happened at gigs and what you should wear; my dad, whose last gig was Perry Como at the Kelvin Hall. He told me that it would mostly be couples sitting at tables and that everyone would be wearing a suit. He said I could wear one of his – a dark green dogtooth suit he had treated himself to after he got his first job at a shoe shop after moving to Glasgow from Belfast. I paired it with some grey side-lacing shoes and I combed my hair back. 

My dad drove me to the gig and made sure I got in OK. When I descended into the basement, I realised my dad had made a terrible mistake. Everyone looked like The Ramones, with tight leather jackets and Adidas T-shirts and long, grown-out bowl cuts. It was like taking my first steps on the moon. Then my dad appeared at my shoulder. He had been worried about me and so had blagged his way in. After buying me a Coke, he took a seat at the side of the stage and started a conversation with the bouncer. Then The Pastels came on. 

I never knew gigs could be so loud, so raucous, so chaotically beautiful. I knew right then that my life would never be the same. That I would dedicate myself to underground music forever. Volcanic Tongue, a collection of my music writing, is the result of that epiphany. I drove home with my dad that night, with all of this secret knowledge buzzing inside of me. I stood in front of the mirror and messed up my hair. I knew I’d never comb it again. But I still wear that suit jacket to gigs.