Live Review: Martin Atkins, Black Breaks

As The Factory's courtyard filled up with those seeking the salsa show upstairs, dreary looking Martin Atkins enthusiasts sat in confusion. Martin Atkins, a legendary musician best known for his work with Public Image Ltd alongside Sex Pistols' Johnny Rotten and author of his touring almanac Tour: Smart would be talking, who knows what about, but the people there didn't mind. It had this Internet enthusiast vibe where these people have met in chat rooms and exchanged mix tapes for the last ten years.

The doors finally opened and support act Black Breaks took the stage and played a set of ruthless punk songs with very well mannered subject matter, like the one about men talking to women badly in the Western suburbs of Sydney called Feminist Loud, Feminist Proud, to a room of about eight. It was a peculiar sight – five Martin Atkins enthusiasts watching a band around tables with the man himself sitting in a darkened corner up the back. The songs were tight, but lacked drive as the drummer used a metronome that distracted him from the atmosphere of the room and the flow of the band.

Once the band had unloaded, Martin Atkins nonchalantly set up his laptop playing a PowerPoint listing his credentials, as he taunted the young sound guy in front of the small gathering of his best followers for playing blues music and having the lights low. While the crowd engaged in informal conversation with Atkins, he announced that he bought a case of beer for everyone to share and gave everyone a free album. He gave a lecture on the socio-economic backdrop of punk, talking a lot about taking speed with Johnny Rotten and the crew and with members from Blondie. But he had a very interesting insight into how exactly the punk ethos came about, drawing from first-hand experiences in his past as a world changer and music shaper; from declining dinner at Pete Townsend's mum's house, dead grandpa in his attic, shitty bread and how The Saints started punk. This wasn't a formal occasion – it was more like a conversation at the pub, except one guy had a microphone.