Friday, February 05, 2010
Step Back In Time - part 4 of nearly there now
My pre-Christmas exploits headed some way north of home, firstly to the shiny new Birmingham Academy where The Wonder Stuff's second (and weakest of the first four*) album, Hup!, was perfromed in its entirety.
* complaints to the usual address!
Taking over all three stages in the venue meant for high scores of the value-for-money-ometer, and a bit of a festival vibe in the moving from one stage to another to see a bit of everything. Timothy Parkes still doesn't get me hugely excited but his song Looks Like Rain is definitely growing on me. Then it's off upstairs to catch a bit of Dirty Ray, and his song The Rain Song is also a highlight, in fact he makes a far better impression on me from the stage than he does on the Shared album, which is nice. Anyone spotting a weather theme coming through?
I hadn't seen Dave Sharp since he scuttled off with his hood up, the only member of The Alarm not signing autographs for the people who'd stood around waiting for them after the show on a frozen Jaunary night. On this equally snowy of nights, Dave is busier telling stories than getting on with playing songs and it doesn't feel like a shame when I'm heading off for the main stage.
Main support The Twang caused a bit of dissent when they were announced as the main support band, but bringing through representatives of a new generation to introduce them to tired old hasbeens like me is no bad thing. I was pretty impressed, and writing this up has reminded me that I've still to get their album despite making plans to do so when I was watching them.
A quick trip back upstairs to see Jim Bob's solo acoustic renderings of Carter USM hits and his own Touchy Feely was well worth hanging around in a draughty doorway for, the room being rammed. Great stuff, but no surprises there.
And so to the main event. The album Hup! is played through in a dfifferent order to its vinyl incarnation, with some explanation from Miles about how they got the running order wrong back in the day. Because the high tech venue refurbs mean it's pretty well aircon-cooled where I'm stood, I never really get warmed up and the fact the whole thing is going down on six or eight cameras for a later DVD release means it's a bit more of a performance than the slightly more appealing shambles it can sometimes be. The post-Hup! section of the gig goes on for some time, and while it's fantastic to hear Unfaithful and 30 Years In The Bathroom and Them Big Oak Trees again, there's a couple of songs I could happily never hear again.
Whatever the moans, it was a worthy occasion and a better way to do a gig with all the other acts than the lesser event it would almost certainly have been otherwise. And having a room in the hotel at only a stone's throw away from the venue was definitely a big plus on a snowy night.
* complaints to the usual address!
Taking over all three stages in the venue meant for high scores of the value-for-money-ometer, and a bit of a festival vibe in the moving from one stage to another to see a bit of everything. Timothy Parkes still doesn't get me hugely excited but his song Looks Like Rain is definitely growing on me. Then it's off upstairs to catch a bit of Dirty Ray, and his song The Rain Song is also a highlight, in fact he makes a far better impression on me from the stage than he does on the Shared album, which is nice. Anyone spotting a weather theme coming through?
I hadn't seen Dave Sharp since he scuttled off with his hood up, the only member of The Alarm not signing autographs for the people who'd stood around waiting for them after the show on a frozen Jaunary night. On this equally snowy of nights, Dave is busier telling stories than getting on with playing songs and it doesn't feel like a shame when I'm heading off for the main stage.
Main support The Twang caused a bit of dissent when they were announced as the main support band, but bringing through representatives of a new generation to introduce them to tired old hasbeens like me is no bad thing. I was pretty impressed, and writing this up has reminded me that I've still to get their album despite making plans to do so when I was watching them.
A quick trip back upstairs to see Jim Bob's solo acoustic renderings of Carter USM hits and his own Touchy Feely was well worth hanging around in a draughty doorway for, the room being rammed. Great stuff, but no surprises there.
And so to the main event. The album Hup! is played through in a dfifferent order to its vinyl incarnation, with some explanation from Miles about how they got the running order wrong back in the day. Because the high tech venue refurbs mean it's pretty well aircon-cooled where I'm stood, I never really get warmed up and the fact the whole thing is going down on six or eight cameras for a later DVD release means it's a bit more of a performance than the slightly more appealing shambles it can sometimes be. The post-Hup! section of the gig goes on for some time, and while it's fantastic to hear Unfaithful and 30 Years In The Bathroom and Them Big Oak Trees again, there's a couple of songs I could happily never hear again.
Whatever the moans, it was a worthy occasion and a better way to do a gig with all the other acts than the lesser event it would almost certainly have been otherwise. And having a room in the hotel at only a stone's throw away from the venue was definitely a big plus on a snowy night.
Labels: gigs, Jim Bob, The Twang, The Wonder Stuff
One Step At A Time
So, the long story of no job and no immediate prospect of one takes an upwards turn this week, with a couple of interviews of varying levels of amusement, comfort and hope. Can't say I'm especially bothered about the not going to work every day bit, but definitely do say I'm gradually running out of patience with the many hoops I'm jumping through in order to secure access to the limited state support to which I'm fully entitled. To say more than that risks being tactically naive, but having had enough time since the whole messy, drawn out episode of the redundancy going through, I'm pretty comfortable with it when I say I'm ready for a new start.
No doubt one'll turn up before too long.
No doubt one'll turn up before too long.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Step Back In Time - part 3 of a few
A couple of years ago I was on about the delights of seeing Wolfsbane again after all these years and what's more Christmas-like than getting that same gift you wanted all over again? It certainly felt like a seasonal gift when the tour was announced back in the summer.
The first show of the tour supporting the Quireboys was the one most conveniently close, and it was fantastic to be stood close to the stage in a t-shirt that's closing on 22 years old, watching the four of them rip through some of the stupidest metal songs ever written, with a tongue in both cheeks.
Where the shows with the Wildhearts had had slightly truncated sets of barely 45 minutes, the Quireboys graciously gave them a full hour so we got a few treats that weren't aired last time around. Nobody ever gets exactly the set they want, but what I'd have picked for myself would have been pretty close to this little lot.
Steel/You Load Me Down/Loco/Totally Nude/Money To Burn/Ezy/Kathy Wilson/I Like It Hot/Temple Of Rock/Manhunt/Paint The Town Red
The pop-metal hit single that never was, I Like It Hot, is preceded by a rant about the Copenhagen climate summit being entirely Wolfsbane's doing due to their liking it hot and responsibility for global warming, which gives you something of a feel for the spectacle of fantastic nonsense that Blaze dishes out. I had a brief chat with Nico from the Blaze Bayley band while waiting for a chance to chat with the guys and buy 'the new Wolfsbane album made out of bits of old Wolfsbane albums', and just for a few minutes it was like 1989 all over again.
"I saw Wolfsbane all over again, and I liked it."
Two days later it was up the M5 for more of the same, and rather closer to their Midlands origins. This was a splendid show, and one of the highlights was Jase ushering his daughter to the side of the stage to watch the Quireboys and seeing the delights of rock n roll clearly passed on to the next generation. With the added bonus of Shakin' sneaking into the set, I think this was the best gig I caught out of this particular return of Wolfsbane's shows.
The first show of the tour supporting the Quireboys was the one most conveniently close, and it was fantastic to be stood close to the stage in a t-shirt that's closing on 22 years old, watching the four of them rip through some of the stupidest metal songs ever written, with a tongue in both cheeks.
Where the shows with the Wildhearts had had slightly truncated sets of barely 45 minutes, the Quireboys graciously gave them a full hour so we got a few treats that weren't aired last time around. Nobody ever gets exactly the set they want, but what I'd have picked for myself would have been pretty close to this little lot.
Steel/You Load Me Down/Loco/Totally Nude/Money To Burn/Ezy/Kathy Wilson/I Like It Hot/Temple Of Rock/Manhunt/Paint The Town Red
The pop-metal hit single that never was, I Like It Hot, is preceded by a rant about the Copenhagen climate summit being entirely Wolfsbane's doing due to their liking it hot and responsibility for global warming, which gives you something of a feel for the spectacle of fantastic nonsense that Blaze dishes out. I had a brief chat with Nico from the Blaze Bayley band while waiting for a chance to chat with the guys and buy 'the new Wolfsbane album made out of bits of old Wolfsbane albums', and just for a few minutes it was like 1989 all over again.
"I saw Wolfsbane all over again, and I liked it."
Two days later it was up the M5 for more of the same, and rather closer to their Midlands origins. This was a splendid show, and one of the highlights was Jase ushering his daughter to the side of the stage to watch the Quireboys and seeing the delights of rock n roll clearly passed on to the next generation. With the added bonus of Shakin' sneaking into the set, I think this was the best gig I caught out of this particular return of Wolfsbane's shows.
Labels: Blaze Bayley, gigs, Jase Edwards, Jase the Ace, Jeff Hateley, Steve Danger, Wolfsbane
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Rites Of Passage
Now, I need to type this now before my typing gets all wine-enhanced and unreliable.
It would be unrealistic to say I missed out on everything people tend to take for granted in adolescence and early adulthood, and especially from my position of comfortable middle age, but I imagine there are things like a first pint or a first bra and stuff like that that some people see as landmarks. Everyone has different standards and expectations, I'm sure, but I expect it's not so hard to relate to the idea of doing something for the first time and it meaning something.
In the modern world where everything is under CCTV surveillance, I'm absolutely paranoid about leaving the house or indeed being out in public anywhere in a dress. But there are ways of dealing with this, by picking the timing carefully, and of course dependent on the season and the conditions. So a rainy early evening rush hour, a late shop opening thursday evening and somehow as if by magic, I found myself on a main city centre street I've walked thousands of times.
But I'd never have dreamed I'd walk it in heels, though being able to hide my face under an umbrella works wonders for a nervous girl's confidence. And rather than turn back and go home, it was that much easier to keep on going to where I'd planned to head. So now I can legitimately say that in seasonally sensible knee high boots, a borderline smart skirt and a weather appropriate short mac, I bought myself another pair of very pretty shoes in the same model I bought before xmas just in a different colour.
And then, and for the first time in decades of never imagining I'd ever be in the right place and have the right attitude at the same time, I sat down in front of a very well lit mirror and had someone work on my make up, to match a shade against my skin tone and offer me the benefit of her wisdom. So yeah, I've spent a few quid today on make up and shoes, but you couldn't buy how good it feels to have bought them as my marginally more glamorous self. And getting flattering compliments on my choice of lipstick, and of another brand to the shop I was in no less, was an unexpected bonus.
Ninety minutes after starting typing and only four glasses in, this appears to still be vaguely literate. Don't believe it!
It would be unrealistic to say I missed out on everything people tend to take for granted in adolescence and early adulthood, and especially from my position of comfortable middle age, but I imagine there are things like a first pint or a first bra and stuff like that that some people see as landmarks. Everyone has different standards and expectations, I'm sure, but I expect it's not so hard to relate to the idea of doing something for the first time and it meaning something.
In the modern world where everything is under CCTV surveillance, I'm absolutely paranoid about leaving the house or indeed being out in public anywhere in a dress. But there are ways of dealing with this, by picking the timing carefully, and of course dependent on the season and the conditions. So a rainy early evening rush hour, a late shop opening thursday evening and somehow as if by magic, I found myself on a main city centre street I've walked thousands of times.
But I'd never have dreamed I'd walk it in heels, though being able to hide my face under an umbrella works wonders for a nervous girl's confidence. And rather than turn back and go home, it was that much easier to keep on going to where I'd planned to head. So now I can legitimately say that in seasonally sensible knee high boots, a borderline smart skirt and a weather appropriate short mac, I bought myself another pair of very pretty shoes in the same model I bought before xmas just in a different colour.
And then, and for the first time in decades of never imagining I'd ever be in the right place and have the right attitude at the same time, I sat down in front of a very well lit mirror and had someone work on my make up, to match a shade against my skin tone and offer me the benefit of her wisdom. So yeah, I've spent a few quid today on make up and shoes, but you couldn't buy how good it feels to have bought them as my marginally more glamorous self. And getting flattering compliments on my choice of lipstick, and of another brand to the shop I was in no less, was an unexpected bonus.
Ninety minutes after starting typing and only four glasses in, this appears to still be vaguely literate. Don't believe it!
Labels: make up
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Step Back In Time – part two of a few
"Mersey lights shine, bright in the distance
Same as they did for us then"
'Spirit Of 76', The Alarm
Having missed two reunion shows in the early summer when I was out of the UK, a final opportunity to make the third and final ever (so they say) reunion show of a band I loved was not to be missed. And especially when it came with the sort of crazy return to a past life aspect that was unavoidable. I used to live somewhere that the Mersey lights were visible from my window on a clear night, as it happens.
After a number of happy hours on the M6 in the rain, around half past six found me in the monster T*sco that I used to frequent but haven’t been inside in the better part of twenty years. Getting into its car park took me past a hockey pitch I’d played on twenty-one years previously, and my route into the city centre was interrupted by the aftermath of a rear end shunt: with the police brushing broken glass out of the road and the ambulance still on the scene, I did a u-turn and followed a distant auto-pilot on my improvised diversion. A series of "So this should bring me out at... yes, then this right should take me to..." and so on left me parking up on the edge of the city centre, and perfectly placed for a minor detour past a building I first visited twenty-two years ago, the square where I used to sit on the bench reading letters and so on. You get the idea.
Retracing long-forgotten steps into the heart of the city, past one of my favourite old venues which seems now to have shifted purely into drama theatre mode, and a quick loop around pedestrian shopping streets where I once saw Little Angels open a computer game shop followed before heading to the venue itself.
"A sign stands over the door
It says 'four lads who shook the world'"
'Spirit Of 76', The Alarm
Living in a proper northern city back in the day was a remarkable change to my childhood in a provincial southern town, and changed my life in many ways. Stood once again on Mathew Street and going to a gig in the modern Cavern (a venue I haven’t blah blah etc) in the midst of the sort of saturday night on the town finery that I don’t usually see much of these days, the previous hour or two was in parts breath-takingly bizarre, in parts a sort of homecoming, in parts a totally mindblowing experience. And by the time I’d had a quick look around the corner to see the Eleanor Rigby statue was till there, I’d soaked up enough of that familiar local accent to start to settle in, it was time to get down those steps.
And find the non-venue bar part of the venue full of what I think was largely a Spanish party having a whale of a time to the Beatles song singer on the stage. This sort of tourist trap honeypot has rather more in common with my seaside provenance than the rest of the locality, just to add further spice to my already frazzled state of mind.
In short, if you’d asked me a few years ago whether I expected to see not just one but two of my favourite yet long defunct bands in the space of a week when I was in my forties, I’d have said you were out of your mind. Nevertheless, it happened.
Playing to someone else’s crowd isn’t easy, playing to a third of that and having another third come in while you are playing is something else. Richard O’Flynn does a great job of keeping his delicate Ken Stringfellow gone folk lilt going throughout without being distracted. That sort of higher register, plenty of capo thing was a great start to the evening. I must hear more!
Colin Clarke’s illustrious past in Rain passed me by entirely, and this set comes across as either a little nervy or perhaps a tiny bit ill-prepared, but listening to his few tracks on myspace sounds more promising.
And so to the big event, Pele. I saw Pele half a dozen times in the early to mid 90s, stalkers might have found me as one of singer/songwriter Ian Prowse’s many friends on facebook for some time now, and his subsequent band Amsterdam have played an awful lot of Pele songs along the way, so it’s not like they completely disappeared. All the same, to get a specifically Pele gig at the start of the second decade (depending to mathematical taste!) of the new millennium was a special treat.
The non-appearance of Nico on fiddle meant Amsterdam fiddle-player Anna Jenkins stepped in at a late stage, so it wasn’t the authentic classic line-up, but to be honest it was just great to hear those songs being battered through one after another in a sweaty underground bunker with too many people too close to my personal space. With Ian forgetting the words halfway through Oh Lord, this was not the sort of polished nonsense with split second timing you’d find at a big name stadium gig,
but it was exactly the sort of raucous party that Pele gigs always used to be, and all the better for that.
I could have hung around to say hello to the band afterwards, but with hours of driving in front of me it just wasn’t necessary. But if anyone wonders where the AFCB RED ARMY graffito on the backdrop comes from, that’s a question I can answer! So that was Pele, that was Liverpool, that was me and that was finding out I can do a 200 mile drive home in one hit, getting in not long after 3am.
Setlist
---
Don’t Worship Me
Monkey Scream
Hey America
Fireworks
Swinging From A Tree
Megalomania
A King’s Ransom
Oh Lord
Policemen
Land Of The Free
Understanding Sadness
It’s A War Of Nerve
Name And Number
Fair Blows the Wind For France
Raid The Palace
---
Fat Black Heart
Hot Housed
Pain Of A Drinking Song
Same as they did for us then"
'Spirit Of 76', The Alarm
Having missed two reunion shows in the early summer when I was out of the UK, a final opportunity to make the third and final ever (so they say) reunion show of a band I loved was not to be missed. And especially when it came with the sort of crazy return to a past life aspect that was unavoidable. I used to live somewhere that the Mersey lights were visible from my window on a clear night, as it happens.
After a number of happy hours on the M6 in the rain, around half past six found me in the monster T*sco that I used to frequent but haven’t been inside in the better part of twenty years. Getting into its car park took me past a hockey pitch I’d played on twenty-one years previously, and my route into the city centre was interrupted by the aftermath of a rear end shunt: with the police brushing broken glass out of the road and the ambulance still on the scene, I did a u-turn and followed a distant auto-pilot on my improvised diversion. A series of "So this should bring me out at... yes, then this right should take me to..." and so on left me parking up on the edge of the city centre, and perfectly placed for a minor detour past a building I first visited twenty-two years ago, the square where I used to sit on the bench reading letters and so on. You get the idea.
Retracing long-forgotten steps into the heart of the city, past one of my favourite old venues which seems now to have shifted purely into drama theatre mode, and a quick loop around pedestrian shopping streets where I once saw Little Angels open a computer game shop followed before heading to the venue itself.
"A sign stands over the door
It says 'four lads who shook the world'"
'Spirit Of 76', The Alarm
Living in a proper northern city back in the day was a remarkable change to my childhood in a provincial southern town, and changed my life in many ways. Stood once again on Mathew Street and going to a gig in the modern Cavern (a venue I haven’t blah blah etc) in the midst of the sort of saturday night on the town finery that I don’t usually see much of these days, the previous hour or two was in parts breath-takingly bizarre, in parts a sort of homecoming, in parts a totally mindblowing experience. And by the time I’d had a quick look around the corner to see the Eleanor Rigby statue was till there, I’d soaked up enough of that familiar local accent to start to settle in, it was time to get down those steps.
And find the non-venue bar part of the venue full of what I think was largely a Spanish party having a whale of a time to the Beatles song singer on the stage. This sort of tourist trap honeypot has rather more in common with my seaside provenance than the rest of the locality, just to add further spice to my already frazzled state of mind.
In short, if you’d asked me a few years ago whether I expected to see not just one but two of my favourite yet long defunct bands in the space of a week when I was in my forties, I’d have said you were out of your mind. Nevertheless, it happened.
Playing to someone else’s crowd isn’t easy, playing to a third of that and having another third come in while you are playing is something else. Richard O’Flynn does a great job of keeping his delicate Ken Stringfellow gone folk lilt going throughout without being distracted. That sort of higher register, plenty of capo thing was a great start to the evening. I must hear more!
Colin Clarke’s illustrious past in Rain passed me by entirely, and this set comes across as either a little nervy or perhaps a tiny bit ill-prepared, but listening to his few tracks on myspace sounds more promising.
And so to the big event, Pele. I saw Pele half a dozen times in the early to mid 90s, stalkers might have found me as one of singer/songwriter Ian Prowse’s many friends on facebook for some time now, and his subsequent band Amsterdam have played an awful lot of Pele songs along the way, so it’s not like they completely disappeared. All the same, to get a specifically Pele gig at the start of the second decade (depending to mathematical taste!) of the new millennium was a special treat.
The non-appearance of Nico on fiddle meant Amsterdam fiddle-player Anna Jenkins stepped in at a late stage, so it wasn’t the authentic classic line-up, but to be honest it was just great to hear those songs being battered through one after another in a sweaty underground bunker with too many people too close to my personal space. With Ian forgetting the words halfway through Oh Lord, this was not the sort of polished nonsense with split second timing you’d find at a big name stadium gig,
but it was exactly the sort of raucous party that Pele gigs always used to be, and all the better for that.
I could have hung around to say hello to the band afterwards, but with hours of driving in front of me it just wasn’t necessary. But if anyone wonders where the AFCB RED ARMY graffito on the backdrop comes from, that’s a question I can answer! So that was Pele, that was Liverpool, that was me and that was finding out I can do a 200 mile drive home in one hit, getting in not long after 3am.
Setlist
---
Don’t Worship Me
Monkey Scream
Hey America
Fireworks
Swinging From A Tree
Megalomania
A King’s Ransom
Oh Lord
Policemen
Land Of The Free
Understanding Sadness
It’s A War Of Nerve
Name And Number
Fair Blows the Wind For France
Raid The Palace
---
Fat Black Heart
Hot Housed
Pain Of A Drinking Song
Monday, January 18, 2010
Step Back In Time – part one of a few
When is a free gig not a free gig? When it’s a free gig that costs the better part of twenty quid in transport costs, perhaps. I’m always a tiny bit on edge when I need to find my way to a new venue I’ve never been to before, and the free gig bit meant nobody was rushing to go overboard on the publicity end.
Nevertheless I was in a back street pub in time to listen to The School (yep, them again) running through a couple of tunes in their soundcheck, and relax a little. I say relax, but with four bands for no ticket price, there was plenty to keep watching. The first band said they were losing half their line-up after this gig, and if they gave their name I didn’t catch it, but I’m not sure I’m missing much anyway.
Next up were Little My. Yep, terrible name for a band, but kinda suitable. Suitable in the sense there’s nothing little about a band with eight people in, suitable that it appears to be a symptom of a collective hallucination based on one bear-man’s vision of pop idiocy. Whatever, the quirky novelty pop of Little My will definitely leave an impression on you if you happen to see them. And you really should make the effort to see them given the chance, comedy headgear and costumery notwithstanding.
The third band was The Welcome Committee, a drums and acoustic guitar/vocals combo which suffered from technical difficulties throughout but seemed to have the right idea. Maybe the front guy could get away without the drummer, maybe there are more players in the band that were absent that night, I’ve no idea, but there was more than a hint of Jim Bob (a good thing) about the guitarist-vocalist. Thumbs up here too.
Having considered whether I would leave this gig early for another one across town which I might have made had The School been on earlier, I’m happy to have stayed throughout. No, it’s no secret that I love The School and have posted on here to that effect before. The set was more or less the same as the one a few weeks prior, but this was the expanded seven piece line-up with the extra ooh-ooh backing vocals and the slightly warmer instrumentation with the addition of the fiddle, keyboards, brass etc. Harri didn’t show much sign of his bear-suit antics in Little My having dehydrated him, and the inevitable late start meant the set got cut a little short, but I got a ton of pictures and this time some video too. For handheld above my head, it’s relatively steady and it sounds ok too. This is but one reason why you should love The School or get your pop tastebuds booked in for a service pronto:
The debut album by The School, Loveless Unbeliever, is out on Elefant records in a few weeks time. Yippee!
Nevertheless I was in a back street pub in time to listen to The School (yep, them again) running through a couple of tunes in their soundcheck, and relax a little. I say relax, but with four bands for no ticket price, there was plenty to keep watching. The first band said they were losing half their line-up after this gig, and if they gave their name I didn’t catch it, but I’m not sure I’m missing much anyway.
Next up were Little My. Yep, terrible name for a band, but kinda suitable. Suitable in the sense there’s nothing little about a band with eight people in, suitable that it appears to be a symptom of a collective hallucination based on one bear-man’s vision of pop idiocy. Whatever, the quirky novelty pop of Little My will definitely leave an impression on you if you happen to see them. And you really should make the effort to see them given the chance, comedy headgear and costumery notwithstanding.
The third band was The Welcome Committee, a drums and acoustic guitar/vocals combo which suffered from technical difficulties throughout but seemed to have the right idea. Maybe the front guy could get away without the drummer, maybe there are more players in the band that were absent that night, I’ve no idea, but there was more than a hint of Jim Bob (a good thing) about the guitarist-vocalist. Thumbs up here too.
Having considered whether I would leave this gig early for another one across town which I might have made had The School been on earlier, I’m happy to have stayed throughout. No, it’s no secret that I love The School and have posted on here to that effect before. The set was more or less the same as the one a few weeks prior, but this was the expanded seven piece line-up with the extra ooh-ooh backing vocals and the slightly warmer instrumentation with the addition of the fiddle, keyboards, brass etc. Harri didn’t show much sign of his bear-suit antics in Little My having dehydrated him, and the inevitable late start meant the set got cut a little short, but I got a ton of pictures and this time some video too. For handheld above my head, it’s relatively steady and it sounds ok too. This is but one reason why you should love The School or get your pop tastebuds booked in for a service pronto:
The debut album by The School, Loveless Unbeliever, is out on Elefant records in a few weeks time. Yippee!
Labels: gigs, Little My, The School, The Welcome Committee
Monday, January 04, 2010
Fighting My Way Back
So, it's the anniversary of Phil Lynott's death, a mere twenty four years ago, and the title link is the suitably topical song of that name. I know this has been a bit sparse in the updating of late, and I'm half a dozen gigs behind but you can't do it all. I'm also aware that it's an observable phenomenon that when there's not so much good news to share, it becomes easier not to bother, but it's also the case that I've been concentrating on doing the good stuff.
With the new year starting, I've started on a 365 project on flickr - one picture taken every day, even if I won't be able to upload them all on the day - and I have many reasons to be cheerful. I plan to catch up on a few of those gigs in the next day or two, and in the meantime there's plenty of Thin Lizzy to listen to, today of all days!
With the new year starting, I've started on a 365 project on flickr - one picture taken every day, even if I won't be able to upload them all on the day - and I have many reasons to be cheerful. I plan to catch up on a few of those gigs in the next day or two, and in the meantime there's plenty of Thin Lizzy to listen to, today of all days!
Friday, November 20, 2009
Rock Of Ages
I'll happily own up to being more interested in numbers than is healthy but then that sort of thing has kept me in a decent living for the last dozen years or so, so this shouldn't sound like I'm
complaining. It's now a matter of record that in the meantime I've seen Magnum once again, pulling off a performance that belies their combined 270-odd years of age. Still on excellent form, and the new album sounds even better in a live environment.
_
complaining. It's now a matter of record that in the meantime I've seen Magnum once again, pulling off a performance that belies their combined 270-odd years of age. Still on excellent form, and the new album sounds even better in a live environment.
On that same note, it's another vintage line-up that leads to one of those great little venue incongruities. When you're in a council-run venue where getting into the gig means passing within sight of the bathers in the swimming pool, it doesn't quite seem especially rock n roll at its clichéd, dramatic worst, but at least we are spared the vision of Lemmy in Speedos. Once upon a time all gigs were like this; a decent raised stage and a line of big black boxes called things like Marshall, Peavey and so on. Add a stack of lights and a bunch of sweaty people in denim and t-shirts, and you're about there.
The guitar intro to Demolition rings out for some time before Girlschool come into view, closely followed by a broad grin that I can't shake for a day or two afterwards. By the time we get into Screaming Blue Murder, there's a tear in my eye and I'd have felt £25 was worth it for those three and a bit minutes on their own, because it's perfect popmetal guitar, and because of where in my life it takes me back to. In fact it turns out it's twenty years since I last saw Girlschool, and on this showing I really shouldn't let that happen again.
Kim cheers-you-lot McAuliffe seems ageless, Jackie Chambers plays a big white Flying V with a great big grin, Denise Dufort drives it along while doing a decent Chris Griffin impression, but the revelation for me is Enid, rocking singing and playing like there's no tomorrow. Setlist goes something like Demolition, Hit And Run, I Spy, Screaming Blue Murder, Race With The Devil, Emergency - I may have missed one, and I'd have loved Nothing To Lose to have been in there, but that is just nit-picking and they were the highlight of my night by some distance.
I like The Damned, and the last (and only) time I saw them was an absolute cracker. And again it's the pop sensibilities (pun intended) behind the franticness that does it for me. "Hello, I'm Captain Sensible and you might have seen me on Top Of The Pops…" remains a fantastic intro, before New Rose rattles the building, the crowd and half the town into submission. Dave Vanian demonstrates that it is possible to make the inappropriate indoors shades thing look cool, when you're not a professional Oirish tax exile lecturing people on their spending priorities. Also included between the less familiar to me material are Neat Neat Neat, Eloise, and a closing run through Smash It Up before the Captain's brief closing burst of Happy Talk sees them off the stage. Excellent fun, and no less relevant than they ever have been.
A long time ago we went to see AC/DC because the Wildhearts were supporting, and expected to stay for just a few songs of the headliners but ended up staying right to the end. This was much the same thing. I can't say I'm a fan of Motörhead, and on the only other time I saw them they didn't leave a lasting impression. But a decent vantage point means I get a really good view of Mikkey Dee and Phil Campbell doing their stuff, and tremendously gifted they both are. Ace Of Spades is a design classic, and something everyone should see live at some point – I probably won't be rushing for a third go, but they were very good.
Girlschool though. Fantastic.
Labels: gigs, Girlschool, Magnum, Motörhead, The Damned
