Palms sweaty lyricsx series#

It's nice to be playing shows where you're not expecting us four to do the same thing, every time.” Against the alpha-maleĪ Sweaty Palms song starts when Ronan hands a list of possible song titles to Robbie, who writes lyrics to fit. But I'm not worried at all – as has been put to me – about the name 'not fitting the sound' five years from now. So the name kind of fitted the bill then.

“Most of our songs, at the start, were to do with drug-fuelled anxiety. “Promoters were getting pissed off because they thought they were booking two separate bands, and that was getting us extra gigs,” adds Ronan. We were in between the two names until last week or something, until we were forced to choose.” “I wrote a song called Sweaty Palms, but we were known as The Sweats first. I've got sweaty palms right now,” confides Robbie. “It's probably because we're all very anxious people. Introductions complete, let's talk about that name. Its stand-out track, Captain of the Rugby Team, a howl of rage against sexism and alpha-lad culture – more of which later. Glasgow's Fuzzkill Records gave them a helping hand last October by releasing Hollywood Wax, a cassette-only EP which offered a beguiling snapshot of a band clearly bursting with ideas. Sweaty Palms play a frantic, thrilling brand of garage rock laced with acerbic commentary. More from Music: Remembering The Lapelles' Gary Watson TeenCanteen video premiere: How We Met “We all came together with a mutual interest in inciting anger, fear and any other complex emotions in a nation of empty vessels, staring into an endless void on their iPhones,” states Ronan, who just laughs when asked if he's prepared any of his answers.

Palms sweaty lyricsx series#

Ronan came on board soon after and the proto-Sweats went through a series of drummers before meeting present sticksman Tom. Shaun met Robbie, from Kinning Park, 'through a friend of a friend' and the pair were jamming together by 2014. Ronan and bass player Shaun Montgomery hail from Knightswood and have known each other since school. We're here to look back at what has been an action-packed six months for the band. Empty Buckfast bottles double as candle holders an alternate career as interior designers surely beckons. A few chairs are squeezed between amplifiers, a Keith Moon-sized drum kit (“It's not ours, it belongs to And Yet It Moves”) and various paraphernalia – including a Rolf Harris cartoon pinned to the wall, which the band swear is an original. The four-piece rent a tiny shed at the rear of an office block as a permanent rehearsal space and general headquarters. The Skinny has been invited to a vast industrial estate in the southwest of Glasgow to meet Sweaty Palms. So it's good to get out.”Īn unusually humid evening in late July is an appropriate time to meet a band named after uncontrolled perspiration. The more gigs you play in Glasgow, the smaller the city becomes. That's why we played at T in the Park and are booked for Electric Fields. It's through his management we now have something to promote. “We were going to record regardless,” Ronan insists, “but Gerry offered to help us. Meanwhile, Barclay invited them to support his new band, And Yet It Moves, on a short UK summer tour. The end result was that Blythe arranged for the band to release their first 7' single last month – a 'double B-side' featuring Love Me and Pretty Poor For A Posh Boy, two songs they taped at Green Door. The duo were suitably impressed with the Sweats and eager to work with them in the future.

Post-gig, they were introduced to Dale Barclay, former frontman of The Amazing Snakeheads, and Gerry Blythe, one of the best-connected promoters in the city. This unintended piece of performance art could prove to be the making of Sweaty Palms. It's good to get out: Touring and recording I think they just wanted to see a bit of drama,” adds Robbie. “A lot of people came up and shook our hands afterwards. I cowered behind my broken amp and got off scot-free.” and the sound engineer battered through the crowd and tried to square up to Robbie. But it couldn't have happened in a more uncouth way the symbols toppled over, the kick drum went on its head, Robbie landed on our drummer.

Robbie was stood singing on the drumkit, and I might have encouraged him to come off it. “I took Robbie's guitar and we carried on – but we got told it was our last song,” continues Ronan. “You had a bitch fit,” grins vocalist and fellow guitar player Robbie Houston.