overlap

That was fun then. There's a distance threshold that governs what I consider practical travel, and whether time off work is required. Getting to the end of the year and having annual leave to use up or lose makes this sort of thing a bit easier, and leaves room to be a bit more ambitious too. * Monday - work, and up the road to Wolverhampton to see Damone (too much 'we are Damone from the United States, let me hear you say 'yeah'', not enough of the serious business of writing songs) opening the Wildhearts pre-Christmas tour. Further to the one-off excitement in September, Wolfsbane got signed up to do five shows with The Wildhearts, and while some people missed September's show, this one was a) the first since then and b) the closest to a local show, so Wolverhampton was sold out and rammed with excitable people in fifteen year old Wolfsbane t-shirts. They were as good as they ever were back in the day, and internet consensus seems to be that they were even better than The Wildhearts, who I'd agree didn't have the best show of all time. Nice. Motorway roadworks and other shenanigans meant I got home about half past two. Not so nice. * Tuesday - work, and a relatively late trip to Bristol, and back to the same venue I'd been less than a week before with my nearly matching pink jeans and handbag. I saw support band New Generation Superstars at that show in Tamworth in September,and while they have a name that ups the ante somewhat, they are not quite there yet. Like a junior version of The Almighty, but just missing that little bit of memorableness in their songwriting, I like them and I'd happily watch them again but they've got nothing I'd rush to track down to listen to repeatedly just yet. Headline band Love/Hate I also saw a long time ago, but this is the third time in the last couple of years I've seen a different reformed line-up, with three of the original four members making this the most genuine version. Skid twitches like his bass guitar lead is a high pressure firehose that he's struggling to keep under control, and spends most of the show with a bleeding forehead from headbutting the mike. Joey is solid as ever on the drums. And Jizzy is the same wired frontman of legend, with the sort of brooding presence that lesser singers (and I'm looking directly at you, Hutchence and Gahan) couldn't hope to match in their wildest dreams. Great stuff and a relatively pleasant 'early' night. * Wednesday - no work, but a fun afternoon heading north, and east. Checked in at the hotel in downtown Stockport in time to make it to the venue just before doors. Hotels, and even the b&b type of accommodation, are an exotic novelty to me, and the sort of thing that elevates this above and beyond the norm. I wouldn't have made this trip without the lure of Wolfsbane, that's absolutely certain. Damone are largely as before, but with the sound not quite as good. Wolfsbane were even better than monday and I once again found myself a couple of people from the front, though I got bounced out of there within a couple of songs of The Wildhearts' set. I don't know if it's coincidence, but I'm struggling to recall seeing any gigs which weren't in some way troubled in Manchester. There's an inevitability of jumping up and down at this sort of thing, but all the same there are a couple of over-exuberant and over-lubricated kids that contribute to several different confrontational flare-ups that could have got nasty, and having seen the mighty Wolfsbane I left before the Wildhearts' encore and was back in the hotel in time to catch up a little on my sleep backlog. * Thursday - having removed the ice from the car, I took my time crossing the south-eastern edge of Cheshire and back down the M6, and still made the consumer paradise that is Merry Hill just after lunch time. And spent five hours enjoying the sport of shopping, coming away with a dress I'd liked the look of last time but which was now even further reduced, a pair of shoes, jeans, a couple of tops and few seasonal gifts that weren't for me too. Down the road to Stourbridge, where the venue is just around the corner from a Domino's so I pushed the boat out and had pizza in my car before going in to a venue that was borderline empty, and the first venue I have ever seen using a gas-fired space heater to try to warm the place up. Wouldn't have made the journey on its own for this either, but it made the hotel seem worthwhile and gave me something to do with the time other than just go home and watch Eastenders or something similarly educational! Support act Timothy Parkes is an interesting if slightly intense character, and his songs are perhaps a little rambling for my taste, but his guitar playing is very intricate and tight. Miles Hunt and Erica Nockalls close their half-year of touring with a decent set that is happily based around more solo stuff than Stuff stuff, home for about one thirty I think this time. * Friday - off to London, on what is forecast to be the most challenging traffic day of the season, but which turns out to be nothing like as much trouble as it might have done. There's a queue up the side of the Astoria, where I first saw The Wildhearts suporting Wolfsbane a full seventeen years (and a few days) ago, and my partner-in-metal for this show turns up in good time. Damone, well, you know. Someone's been up in the loft, or busy rooting thorugh a lock-up garage somewhere, as the stage is crowned with a Wolfsbane banner of a certain vintage. This is perhaps the best of the three, no doubt partly due to the fact that nobody knows if this will be the last ever set they play, and while I've got a number of stills and some video from the other gigs, mostly I'm stood watching and enjoying and soaking it all up this time. It speaks for itself that Wolfsbane, who've only done six shows in the last thirteen years, still rank as fourth in the bands I've seen most stakes, and indeed some people might think that putting another thousand miles on the car for a total of less than two hours of Wolfsbane would be something they might not go for themselves. And from my perspective it was well worth it. We watched The Wildhearts from the balcony, where I've never been before, and the end of tour spirit and their very short new xmas song lifts this one to the best of my week too, probably. Out into the fog, and home for about 3.30 - 'tis the season to be having a rest now!

Labels: gigs, Love/Hate, Miles Hunt, shopping, The Wildhearts, Wolfsbane

What do Wolverhampton, Bristol, Manchester, Stourbridge and tomorrow London have in common? Answer: my carbon footprint this week. Friday will be my ninth gig in thirteen days, and I've been having a great time. I'll catch up with this week in due course, but I can say that I enjoyed the novelty of waking up in a 'hotel' in Stockport before driving across Cheshire in the fog and frost to spend a very long afternoon in a midlands consumer paradise - just don't ask how much I spent on one dress, a pair of jeans, two tops, shoes and even some stuff that wasn't for me. I'll be glad to sleep through most of saturday, but hell it's been fun!

Labels: gigs, shopping

Keeping up to date everywhere isn't something I've managed, and flickr is a bit ahead of this, so that'll tell you more about where I've been. Just about to head out the door for two of the last three gigs, and then I'll be home to hibernate through the rubbish telly season. The next one I've not got to yet has a complicated tale of shifting travel arrangements, which got changed for the final time just before I left. Having reason to go to TCR to pick up another ticket for next April and so avoid yet more outrageous "booking fees", I treated myself to a walk along Oxford Street for the full seasonal shopping nightmare experience. I made a brief stop to take a quick tour of Selfridges acreage of cosmetics counters, somewhere I've never been before and blow me if that wasn't an eye-opener of the kid being given the keys to the sweets warehouse experience. Then I did what anyone sensible would do in the circumstances, and walked out to Shepherds Bush. It amused me greatly to walk in to find the fantastic Duke Special album being played, and Jake came on and did a few acoustic numbers - Butterfly Wings is just beautiful, and some of the other stuff lends itself to that stripped back style really well. I ran into someone I e-know just before My Life Story came on, to comedic non-recognising effect, and then we watched another storming set of fabulous shiny pop music, with strings and brass and all manner of wonders. Especially Jake's shiny silver suit, and his high kicks. On the offchance a certain someone who was on the left side of the balcony reads this, I have two words - 'sports bra'. My Life Story provide the sort of uplifitng pop experience that should be on the national curriculum, or available on the national health or something, and the only down side for me was not being able to be there with the friend in whose company I've seen them previously. I guess it's true what they say, you can't uneat the apple, but I still want to say thank you. And thanks to Jake and band for another great show. Jake and stool.

Labels: gigs, Jake Shillingford, My Life Story

I'm not about to start typing it up right now, but this evening I got in before midnight. Last week I got to my mate's house in outer London similarly before midnight, and what do both of these have in common? That it seems incredibly early for everything to be quiet and dark. Mind you, last night it was gone 2.30 when I got in, and while work on four hours sleep wasn't exactly tons of fun today, it's a good guide to how skewed my clock is right now! Saying that, I have just booked a room for tonight, which will reduce my further early hours driving scenarios this week, even if it won't eliminate them. Still, this is what the season of good tidings and self indulgence is all about.

Labels: Amsterdam, gigs, Icicle Works

From most of two thousand people listening and two thousand empty seats to a packed, sold out venue holding two hundred at the most in a matter of days. Then again, yesterday was Wembley so Duke Special (yep, them again!) must know their way around a variety of venues by now. And as I hoped, it also turned out to be a great opportunity to break Trinny and Susannah's preference for not combining black and colour, finally taking the jeans out though the weather meant that tights and boots was a far better plan than the shoes, even if they do go better. However, even the best laid plans, and so on... The previous night's gig saw me turning up fifteen minutes after doors, and still missing some of the first set. Tonight I made it for doors plus nearly an hour, to find that the venue still wasn't open, and that I had another hour and a half before DS were due on stage. In the circumstances, it has been known for me to not hang around - the walk round to this venue isn't a long one, but it's not without a little stress in the walking. After way too long spent aiming for Britney dressed as Whitney, it's probably true that I was marginally over-dressed, but it's a tricky thing to make work in these conditions, to be warm enough outside without melting inside. Lucky my improvised shawl/wrap made out of splitting a seam on last year's poncho was just the job. After killing some time listening to the radio in the car and giving my nails a second coat, I went back round in plenty of time to get the predictable reaction on the door, and at the bar. Nothing happened, the world didn't end. Lurking in the dark was comfortable enough, and eventually Pete came on to a rapturous reception. Only one of the first eight or so songs was included in the Crowded House set, and for all the delay and technical difficulties causing it, when we finally got going it was superb. Last gig I went to that got this delayed was in the same city, and produced the sort of debacle that means I'm not prepared to see that particular artist again, so I was wary how this might turn out. Again, I needn't have worried. For the next two hours we got what sometimes follows technical difficulties, and what comes at the end of a tour - more great songs than you could shake a whisk at, and a cosy atmosphere of celebration and enjoyment. Of course I had an extra angle for my own personal enjoyment of the night out, and by this point my typing skills are deserting me so I'll leave it at saying that this sort of venue is a great place to see Duke Special, though the chance is now gone while they are off the road for a bit, hopefully working on a new album. Particular highlights were the version of Chaka Khan's I Feel For You and the boys and girls split crowd work on I'm Gonna Love You Till You Love Me Back. Having now seen DS five times in the last fifteen months, there's no doubt I'll still be waiting for them when they come back.

Labels: Duke Special, gigs, make up

The Seers are a band I did see a very long time ago. In fact they were the first band I ever saw at a festival, just before The Wonder Stuff came on and changed my life. I remember The Seers as being perhaps not best suited to an afternoon outdoor slot, and they didn't really grab me. This time around, it's a one-off reform job, which Danny later says was Chris' condition for this gig happening, that he'd only do it if The Seers played. Spider tells us they did an hour and half of rehearsal the day before, and for that they turn in a remarkably tight set. If anything, they remind me of early Eat, and with the stage all his own Spider is rather an engaging frontman, even if the peroxide job makes him look rather like an albino Mick McCarthy.

As a wise man once said, if you've got the songs, then you've got the songs, and you can't argue with that. And while Wiz may be gone, his songs will always live on.

Labels: gigs, Mega City Four, Midway Still, The Seers

Some gigs stand out a mile off, and this was one. As long ago as late June it was first announced that there were some dates scheduled for later in the year, and I was excited to get my hands on a ticket almost as soon as they went on sale. But that wasn't the only thing that caught my imagination. It's been on my mind for a while that it might turn out to be a decent first opportunity to wear my pink jeans until a better opportunity turned up later, but it was still interesting to see how it would have been. My feeling was right on the minimal door attention, and the handbag search ritual would have been a formality. Turning up not long after doors I had plenty of time to consider this further, as well as count up the number of seats with the venue set up that way. Around four thousand people would be interesting territory, but hiding in plain sight in a big crowd is a decent tactic, and in a crowd composed largely of parents with a few kids, there's a reasonable expectation of sensible behaviour, in a way there might not be among a more extremely focused crowd. For openers, Duke Special were their usual selves but a tiny bit lost on a half-audience mostly unfamiliar with their stuff, and constrained by circumstances to an abbreviated set to get out of the headline act's way. Their difficulties mirrored what mine might have been, as I was joined by the blokes seated next to me. At least two of whom spent way too long moaning about the band when they'd have been better staying in the bar if they were determined not to enjoy themselves. And the sort of behaviour they might have put my way in other circumstances is predictably the sort of thing I'm keen to avoid. No big deal, but being right about seated venues having their own hazards is reassuring too. Pete Wilson of Duke Special - best seen in smaller venues, while you still can. Fifteen or so years ago I had the pleasure of seeing headline act Crowded House three times. Once supported by the fabulous Voice of the Beehive, once closing a huge outdoor festival, and once at the absolute height of their fame, which ranks in my top ten gigs ever. With the sad death of Paul Hester, I wasn't sure what to expect this time around. Hester was a great drummer, but also a great character, and a reliable source of japes and gags, the sort of chemistry thing you don't easily replace even with a superior musician. New drummer Matt Sherrod is a good solid drummer, and does nothing out of place. Neil and Nick turn out a load of the sort of ad lib nonsense that I remember Hester for, and rather than a strictly choreographed script, it's a very organic feeling performance. One of the disadvantages of the more sedate audience I mentioned earlier is that characteristic combination of not-yet-Alzheimers, in which the first bars of most tracks produce the unfathomable reaction that goes "Oooh, I recognise this one, so I'm going to ruin the first thirty seconds of it by clapping to show everyone that I recognise it." Fussy complaints aside, they were excellent, especially Mark Hart's electric twelve string guitar playing, and his vocal harmonies with Neil. A two hour set meant there was plenty of value for money, and pretty much everyone should have gone happy.

Labels: Crowded House, Duke Special, gigs

One year on, but not forgotten. Cheers, Wiz.

Labels: Darren Brown, Mega City Four, Wiz

When is a band not a band? Good question. To take a currently on tour case in point, for starters we have Diamond Head. Now, Brian Tatler formed the band, co-wrote almost all the famous early material with Sean Harris, and has been in the band for the entire length it has existed, so I'm comfortable with whatever band Tatler is playing Diamond Head songs with, and indeed recording new material with, being called Diamond Head. That makes its own sense. On the other hand you have Scott Gorham, John Sykes and assorted hired hands playing material largely written by, and originally sung by someone who has now been dead for almost twenty two years. And much as I love the material, nobody's going to convince me that that is really Thin Lizzy. Diamond Head blast into It's Electric, with Nick Tart jumping about like a very junior Bruce Dickinson and a theatre audience relaxed in their comfy velvet effect chairs gradually stir into life. Commenting that 'It's like the cinema in here', Tart has a point, and as last minute replacements on the tour for Queensryche you might expect Diamond Head to be a little off the pace or slow to get going. Not a bit of it, for the first couple of tracks Tatler wields a Flying V with extreme prejudice, and what follows for the next forty-odd minutes is classic trad Midlands metal. Drummer Karl Wilcox does a great line in looking rather like a weightlifter version of Ozzy circa 1985, but exhibits far greater motor control and co-ordination as he batters his kit like there's no tomorrow, Tatler hits solo after solo and it's all too soon into Helpless and Am I Evil to close. Nice. Disappointment not to get to see Queensryche again, who'd been a major reason in deciding to go in the first place, turns into satisfaction at seeing a still evolving act with new material and a vibrancy that belies their vintage. The prospect of sitting through a faithful re-creation of Live And Dangerous, as I had been led to believe was on the cards, wasn't so exciting. As it turns out, that's not what we got at all. Having made a particular effort to get a ticket for a seat that would put me close in front of Scott Gorham, I was both amused and impressed at the will-they-won't-they efforts the security people made to get people to stay sat in their seats instead of all moving to stand at the front, and at his reactions. One bloke stood in front of Gorham for all of about five seconds before being led away by his arm and pointed back to his seat, which had Gorham pursing his lips in disbelief like he'd just watched someone try to pick up a running chainsaw blade first, and responded by coming back to stand even closer to the front edge of the stage when not at his microphone. After four or five songs, two guys who'd already been warned for enjoying themselves too much made a break for the stagefront area, followed by a critical mass of a three dozen people, and more as it became clear that six security were never going to keep sixty people in their seats. This seemed to amuse Gorham and Sykes greatly, and made for a great atmosphere. I stayed where I was, and the movement of people away from being stood right in front of me meant that I had a better shot at getting some half-reasonable pictures of Gorham and the other person I was especially keen to photograph... Tommy Aldridge is 57, and takes to the stage already bare chested. When I first saw him when they opened for Styx and Deep Purple earlier this year, I was mesmerised by his drumming, and while I have no real understanding of the craft, I can almost believe Sykes when he later introduces Aldridge to the audience as 'the best drummer in the world'. It's certainly true he pioneered double bass drums in rock, and how he manages to hit that many skins and cymbals in time while doing helicopters above his head with the drum stick in his left hand is beyond me. I've always been impressed by capability, and Aldridge has it in abundance. And in Ronnie Dio's rock world of demons, dragons and mysterious evil strangers, you have to love the way Tommy's drum solo moves through chucking his sticks out into the crowd, to playing with his hands for a couple of minutes, to picking up another pair of sticks and holding them in the sign of the cross to finish with. If it's his faith that keeps him drumming like that, then it obviously works for him, and I'm not going to knock it. What could have been unspectacular turned out to be a cracking gig, and the rhythmically complex Black Rose gives TA a chance to stick an extra few beats into every bar in between Gorham and Sykes both taking lead guitar solos, and everyone leaves happy. Much as it isn't quite the real thing, you'll struggle to find a tribute band that can rock that hard and have so much fun in Lynott's memory, and a smoother operator you will never see. * the best five Aldridge pics have been on flickr for a few days, this is my favourite of them

Labels: Diamond Head, gigs, rock, Thin Lizzy

I have a passing familiarity with the name since the start of the 90s and Sean Worrall's Organ fanzine, but apart from one support slot in 1995 somehow I've never been in the right place to see any more of Tim Smith's Cardiacs. To tell the truth, I only decided to go this time to see the support band featuring Tamworth's finest guitarist, Jase Edwards, and by a combination of idleness and not getting on with it I missed them anyway. Tim Smith looks a little like an older version of Randy from My Name Is Earl, but he cuts a fine figure as a frontman who knows his audience as well as he knows his craft. Musically you could say it echos the technical intricacy of some of Zappa's stuff, though there's a hint of Half Man Half Biscuit in places too, but it's all served up with a healthy side order of cheery lunacy, challenging the unfamiliar listener to try to make sense of something that very much has its own particular vibe. This is a good thing, though ninety minutes was just a tiny bit more than I needed. Turning to leave the venue, who should I find standing behind me but Jase. So we chatted for a couple of minutes about the Tamworth show and the forthcoming ones, and I left reminded that not leaving before the end sometimes comes with its own rewards. Nice.

Labels: gigs, rock