Van Der Graf

I have just this minute returned from a concert. Wait I'll need to start with something else, my head is swimming with thoughts because of something I've just witnessed. A musical car crash springs to mind. But wait, an overview first.
San Sebastian is in the throes of a Jazz festival, world famous apparently, and it happens every year. I will go into more detail after this weekend, a few friends are coming up from Madrid and all should be sweet, free concerts on the beach, some well known acts playing around town. Stop. I need to get back to what just occurred. Has anybody heard of Van Der Graf?
You see, the name rang a bell, somewhere in the back of my mind it struck a note (probably off key), and there should have been fucking alarm bells ringing. You know the beginning of Back to the Future when Marty goes to the Doc's house and a hundred alarms start ringing....well that warning would've been appreciated. At this point I would like to inform you all that the tickets were free, and I went along to an absolute cracker of a venue with a Spanish friend of mine, who I might add has an eclectic taste in music.
I've digressed.
Van Der Graf.
A poor man's Pink Floyd? Let say they are. Then this poor man has been broke even before he could walk, this poor man has come from a long line of beggars, Tiny Tim's family don't even have a look in.
I'm taking that back, Pink Floyd shouldn't be compared to these amateurs. Amateur Night, but for €53.
We get into the venue, get our seats, have a look around, lovely surroundings. The lights dim, three older chaps come onto the stage, applause. Then they start tuning their instruments, this goes on for about eight minutes. Applause.
It was a fucking song.
Oh come on Octavius, take into account these three things:
1. It's a jazz festival.
2. Some jazz is experimental.
3. Expanding your musical knowledge is a good thing.
This wasn't jazz, experimental or a good thing. I sat there going through countless emotions, mainly confusion. I also felt ill at certain points, there was also moments when I had to control laughter, which I don't do very often but I was in the eye of the needle here people, surrounded by fans. No, fanatics. There is no other word for them, unless they were in my boat and whose captain had veered dangerously off course.
I lasted fifty minutes, which is a hell of a long time to sit listening to something that you are not enjoying, I wasn't sure what to do because I have never walked out during a concert before. After the first two songs I started looking around. First at my fellow concert goers, then towards the salir signs.
Halfway through a compendium of notes (I refuse to call them songs) I decided to make a break for it and head to the bar, and being the polite, well brought up chap that I am, I thought it would be best to wait until the end of the song.
What a fucking mistake that turned out to be. Fifteen minutes, could've been ten, but my brain had packed in by that stage.
Managed to escape at the tail end of a barrage of wailing from the vocalist.
Van Der Graf. A bunch of self indulgent art students from the 60's gone horribly wrong. Noise with no meaning, rhythm with no beat. A man made disaster unleashed upon the ears.
Listen lads do us all a favour and stay in yer bedroom or garage or wherever the fuck it is that you conjure up this piss poor attempt at music.
I'm all for eclectic musical styles, anyone that knows me, can vouch for me, but this was beyond the realms of enjoyment.
A thought continues to flash before my mind.
These cunts get paid.