overlap

Further after the event, I'm stunned to find that Arnel Pineda is older than me, and that he is less than two years younger than JSS. So now I'm also impressed with how young he appears, and wondering precisely what the verdict on the summer US tour with Heart is going to be. But I love the comment from the guy in the Manchester Evening News who made the comparison with a certain lager maker's adverts, and the idea that if they don't make karaoke bars but if they did... That setlist in full, I think in the right order but if not then it's pretty close. Never Walk Away Separate Ways Only The Young Stone In Love Ask The Lonely Keep On Running (Deen) Whos Crying Now Lights After All These Years Mother Father (Deen) Open Arms Wheel In The Sky Edge Of The Blade Faithfully Dont Stop Believing Escape Any Way You Want It

Labels: gigs, Journey

It's a funny thing, time. After a couple of decades hoping, I finally got to see the Augeri version of Journey in 2006, as documented here and elsewhere. In 2007, times and places worked out ok for me to get to two gigs with JSS, who I'd failed to find especially great with Soul SirkUS. In two shows he won me over, and not just with the impromptu Brad Delp tribute. So a third different singer in not much over two years had me putting off making a decision. As the second act this week to keep me waiting for news of who their support band would be until inside a week, I wondered if this was a bad omen, or just poor planning. The gamble on the album was cheaper than the gamble on the ticket ($75US) and since I like John Parr anyway and the new album was decent enough after a couple of listens, I took a late flyer on the ticket. I have a number of John Parr singles, but he's a long way off my radar these days. Now, I'm sure it's nobody's fault but mine, but somehow I think of him as a singer and not a guitar player. I guess I assumed the stars and stripes guitar in the Rock N Roll Mercenaries video was more a visual prop, but not a bit of it, as JP came on and hit us with two minutes of widdly guitar screech before being joined onstage by the rest of his band, and a drum solo. Well, it's one way to start a set. Naughty Naughty, something else, “The Best That I Can Get” (as seen on a certain razor commercial) led us to Under A Raging Moon, but I think my living with Daltrey's version for twenty something years now meant it didn't quite compare. “The Natural Thing”, then a double extended ramble through Oh Well wasted time that could have been much better spent doing Two Hearts, to name but one example, and then we had the Rick Hansen story that I'd never heard before as the intro to and explanation of St Elmo's Fire. Forty five minutes that was pretty good, but would have been better without Oh Well. Twenty minutes later we're racing into Never Walk Away to start an almost identical set to that played at Hammersmith (see Dave Ling's website if you want the list). NWA sounds like the middle ground between the Raised On Radio and Frontiers albums to me, and it's a good example of how the newer material makes it easier to get on with Arnel, just because it isn't begging for comparison. There's a bigger/smaller plus to Arnel now that Neal Schon is not the shortest person on the stage, and he bounces around like a puppy who's just been let out into the garden. It's virtually impossible to dislike Pineda, his enthusiasm and smile ensure that, but the years of stagecraft that see JSS prowling the stage like it's his own front room are not so much in evidence. And that's partly a good thing too, he's a long way short of learning all the set piece choreography to be in KISS, but I can't help thinking he just seems a tiny bit out of place at times. Maybe I'd get more used to it if I saw another show, that's perfectly possible. Jonathan Cain spends a lot of time playing rhythm guitar, and if there's someone who looks more comfortable behind a keyboard than handling six or twelve strings, it's Bryan Adams' squarer brother. Neal's effortlessly fluid guitar lines are as blissful as ever, Ross Valory looks equal parts polished pro and like a kid messing around, and it's notable tonight that everybody does look like they are having a ball on stage. As for the older stuff, well if a new singer does something different they'll be criticised for not sticking to the familiar, and if they just imitate then that won't be right either, so doing the right thing is always going to be hard. At the end of Stone In Love, there's a little bit of vocal improvisation that makes me wonder where we are going, but it mostly sounds fine. And then Deen drives us through Keep On Running in about two minutes flat, with a combination of drumming and lead vocal that can't help but take a little something away from Arnel's performance. Then again, Arnel absolutely nails Lights and Wheel In The Sky, and Ask The Lonely sounds incredible with five sets of vocals. The new one After All These Years works very well too. Now, I find Melisma Carey's butchery of Open Arms absolutely destroys it for me, so I was particularly interested to hear what would happen there. And sure, I'm being critical and I reckon that it's only natural at this point in the Journey story – the re-recorded stuff has a bit of Oper Narms and Who Scrying Now sliding consonants that bugs me on the CD, but it's much less noticeable live. Edge Of The Blade seems more suited to the Pineda voice, but only after Deen has stormed his way through Mother, Father and we run through to the end of an hour forty five with Faithfully, Don't Stop Believing, Escape and Any Way You Want It. Having gone without a great degree of hope in a change for the better, I have to say Arnel is a thoroughly engaging frontman and with another hundred shows he should be flying. Best of luck to him, although with Deen singing in the background even I would sound half-decent and I can't sing for nuts. With a stage full of people having fun, the true proof of this line-up will come in seeing where the next set of new material takes them, and I think they have a more than decent vocal replacement for Steve Perry. I'm just not absolutely convinced it isn't the one behind the drums. More pictures already on flickr, but here's a relative height scale! Jon, Ross, Deen, Arnel, Neal (L-R) * Who's Crying Now is a fine Journey song, that might possibly be rejigged given the high recent turnover of lead singers

Labels: gigs, John Parr, Journey

After some giving it serious consideration last time I saw them, and after a more recent abortive trip to another gig in roughly the same place, Crowded House in the outdoors seemed like a fine opportunity to get properly dressed up for a saturday night out. I had been planning to wear my new white jeans, but with the recent weather's unseasonal performance, I was holding off buying the wedges and anything else I'd need to go with them until the last minute. Which was just as well, as this longest day was blessed with the sort of showers that make April and November look like desert months. And so it was I ended up with the dark blue jeans and the knee high boots rather than the white jeans. I'm happy aiming for ever so slightly over-dressed, that suits me, and the conditions required my brand new mac-style jacket and my even newer big grey handbag. With several fields full of cars and people everywhere in all kinds of rainwear, the waterproof cape was pressed into action, and I made it inside the arena to catch the last couple of songs by The Delays, having been listening to them and watching them over the fence on my way in. They seemed entertaining enough, good bouncy, poppy fun and lively enough to make the rain seem less oppressive. From my distant vantage point on my new camping chair, I got a decent view of the light show, even if the darkness didn't descend upon us until very late on in the set. I was not absolutely surprised, having seen pictures from previous gigs there, when Neil announced that capacity is 5,000 - a lot of people for me to hide among. There were a number of new songs, some of the familiar banter, and the weather just about held off until they finished. I thought about making an early break for the car, but ended up staying longer - having previously mentioned the way the situation lends itself to paranoia, you may imagine my state of mind when I realised two of Her Majesty's finest were stood behind and to either side of me. At that sort of event, stewards, security personnel, the police and all manner of hi-vis jacketed authority figures abound, though until that point I'd only been aware of them circulating around the arena. I guessed I may as well stay till the end of the encore whether or not they had any intention towards me, and picked up my handbag and chair with some trepidation. The fact I'm home already tells you nothing actually happened, and that they had simply picked that spot to watch the last few songs, but it was with some relief I headed to the car. With 5,000 people to clear the site, you may imagine there are other priorities than harassing someone who is doing no particular harm. Taking fifty minutes to move half a mile to get out of the car park was no fun, especially with the rain coming down very heavily and impatient people jumping around and even pushing the sides of my car. I should say that as well as my fine choice of new jacket and handbag, Diorshow is fabulous mascara for a more dramatic effect. And that I had a fabulous time. * is the first line of the Crowded House song Don't Stop Now

Labels: Crowded House, gigs, make up, shopping, The Delays

I'll come back to Springsteen, there's plenty to say. Newly added to the thin list of bands I've seen in three consecutive calendar decades are the Quireboys, making up for the show that got last minute cancelled a couple of weeks ago when they missed a ferry. Support bands have a tricky job at the best of times, but when you've saddled yourself with an atrocious name like The Jan Watkins Band have, you obviously like a challenge. The noise welcoming me into the venue tells me I've missed the very start, but what I do see is nearly half an hour of very interesting stuff. More than anything they remind me of Eat, which is definitely a compliment. The singer in particular is remarkably focused and just sings the songs, no melisma, no unnecessary anything but hitting the notes. Great. The guitarist plays mostly flurries of notes rather than the single chord shape held and strummed rythmically that appears way too popular currently. The bubbling bass sound you can hear on myspace is less evident in a live environment, and as I assume that's the source of some of the Stone Roses comparisons, I'm pleased enough with that too. So with some neat and fluid guitar lines and decent vocals I'm definitely impressed. Despite the bloody awful name. Spike of the Quireboys is another who first crossed my path more than twenty years ago, and these days the only person who's been around the band that long is guitarist Guy Griffin. Griff looks like the missing older Supergrass brother, plenty younger than he could. The other guitarist Paul Guerin looks like John Sykes without the stupid leather trousers, and bassist Jimi Jimmy looks for all the world like Rio Ferdinand in fancy dress as Snoop Dogg's Huggy Bear. Seriously. And Spike, well he just looks like Spike - his bandana and the proliferation of hats in the band could be warning signs, but there's little to worry about. He remains an utterly engaging frontman, and there's absolutely no chance he's busy thinking about his laundry or what needs doing in the garden as what you get on stage is 100% committed performance. Complete with double guitar solos that blow up for ten or twenty seconds and then burst back into the song. I've rarely seen this venue that packed, especially for an act that hasn't troubled the charts since before this summer's new university students were born. The second track is Misled, and the roof practically comes off the place. The proportion of people singing along is impressive, and what follows is an hour and a bit of fabulous high octane bar-room rock n roll. I wasn't expecting to get my fantasy setlist, but they came surprisingly close. Sweet Mary Ann is still a singalong smash, Roses And Rings is the greatest hit single Rod Stewart never had in the Maggie May era, There She Goes Again still holds its own more than adequately, and Sex Party remains equal parts the dumbest song ever written and utter genius. In four days I've seen a very important songwriter, an icon, and a bunch of no good ruffians with dodgy taste in headgear. Of the three, only one has had me leaving the venue with an unqualified beaming grin on my face, and if you'd told me a month ago the Quireboys would be this popular or relevant in 2008 I'd have laughed you out of town. But it's true - cheers Spike and co, that was superb. * title and major chorus line of a Quireboys song called This Is Rock N Roll, surprisingly!

Labels: gigs, Quireboys, The Jan Watkins Band

Ten days out is nothing over twenty years, I reckon, and that's how long it is since a much younger incarnation of me headed off to the big city. First ever trip to London completely on my own, having caught the train to Wembley once with a school friend of mine, and been driven once to Hammersmith - see the recent Magnum post. I hadn't particularly planned to go, but I knew someone that knew someone who was one of a bunch of people who had bought tickets together, one of whom couldn't go. So I was invited to take up the spare ticket at a bargain price so the non-attender didn't lose out, and having nothing else to do that weekend, it seemed like something to take a chance on. With everything I've seen since, it's fair to say I don't remember an awful lot about it, and while I could dig out my diary and see what it says, I'm happy remembering having a great time just enjoying the show. With nobody else to worry about, no separation anxiety at finding each other again after hour long trips to the toilet in the middle of 70,000 people and so on, it was a fabulously liberating experience. I particularly remember an already sweaty Bruce leaning over to wipe his face, and a great spray of sweat and water flicking off his hair as he stood up again - the sort of iconic image that lingers long in the mind. My subsequent memories are coloured by the fact BBC Radio1 broadcast the Stockholm show from that tour, and over repeated listening to the tape of that - which I have on once again as I type - that has probably overwritten most of Wembley beyond that one flinging sweaty hair moment. But then I was young enough not to really have much of an idea what sort of figure Bruce Springsteen is in the world of music, and I didn't really care, I was just taking a chance and seeing what he was like. I saw him again just a handful of years ago, again in London, but with a lot more living under my belt, and plenty on my mind at that time, and by a combination of factors ended up getting there late enough that most of what I recall was seen on a screen, standing on tiptoes, so it's fair to say it wasn't really enjoyed at its greatest. Face value for the Wembley ticket was £17.50 and I paid £12. And about to go in my pocket and take me somewhere towards the front of the crowd to see Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band once again, is another ticket rather like it. This one cost £55 plus about a tenner in spurious parasite fees, but at least it's a little closer to home this time. He may have been born in the USA, but here he comes again, rocking all over the world!

Labels: Bruce Springsteen, gigs, Wembley

Some gigs come with a certain amount of expectation, but now and then I find myself going to see someone new to me with only a limited amount of prior knowledge. This is the case with Steve Earle, who I know more by reputation than anything else. I know that I know Copperhead Road and Devil's Right Hand, and it turns out that I recognise a couple of more recent songs from a session I caught him doing on the radio for Johnny Walker last september. And of course I recognise Guitar Town, and Galway Girl as currently seen on that advert for whatever the advert's for. So far, so predictable. I'm now wondering if it's the venue itself, or the combination of circumstances and influences. I've checked, I've been to seven gigs there now, and of those maybe two were unqualified successes. And it's a great venue, an old school theatre for performers, but it may be there that the problem lies. Steve's audience is perhaps unlikely to be overrun with hip teenagers, but the evening is punctuated by the tiresome 'Ooh, I recognise this one!' clapping over the start of every other song that seems to be a feature of the more mature crowd, and a substantial overdose of 'whoo!' and 'yeah!', often at staggeringly inappropriate parts of the set. Add in a couple of equally unnecessary hecklers demanding he play their choice of song next and some incessant burbling about who the guy swapping guitar for banjo for guitar for mandolin for guitar between songs is, and it's a recipe for irritation at best. The evening started with the current Mrs Earle, Allison Moorer, running through a bunch of covers – Dancing Barefoot, Clouds and ending with A Change Is Gonna Come being notable highlights. The venue's fine acoustics suit her voice, and she sounds great. Steve's set is characterised by change – the endless parade of instruments, the "DJ" repeatedly walking on and off to do some computerised scratching, or hit a button to run a computerised backing track and stand there "grooving" along for the next four minutes, Allison comes back on for a couple of songs, and it all seems quite a bit more disjointed than it needs to be. I like Steve Earle and everything he stands for, but it's only when he starts talking about politics and war, and when he talks about his family, and particularly when he duets with Allison to powerful effect that he seems to become especially engaged in the show. I'm impressed with the Steve Earle story, and with everything he's lived through it's a near miracle he's still out there playing music, but as a whole this gig was just curiously unsatisfactory. Then again, the whole question of family is very much on my mind at the moment, and coincidentally or not that venue is also where I've seen, on different occasions, Loudon Wainwright do a great show and son Rufus do one of the worst gigs I've ever seen, Natalie Merchant spend a significant proportion of her set talking about her daughter, and I've seen a Richard Thompson show featuring son Teddy. I'm pleased to say the current family crisis that affects me shows signs of being sorted out, but it has inevitably stirred up the odd thing that's usually better left alone. Meanwhile, this gig will be worked out of my system soon enough, with an audience with true greatness just around the corner at a meeting back across the river.

Labels: Allison Moorer, gigs, Steve Earle

I haven't posted here on the outside of more than a bottle of wine for a litrtle whle. Until now. Aftyer a pretty rough week, it seems that a tiny amount of progress may be possible. Not my problem, but still something I have an interest in seeing work out as well as possible. Here's to painless resolution!

I'm a little behind on these, but I don't want to omit this one. A new venue in what turns out to be more genteel cafe than sticky-floored nite-club had me heading up the road to a town where it turns out I haven't been to a gig since 1995. Finding the place was simple enough and I settled down to wait for the gig. Liam Dullaghan is someone I've seen before with his band The Have-Nots but on his own he's even more engaging, possibly because he has to talk directly to the crowd rather than Have-Nots co-conspirator Sophie. He has the air of Evan Dando at his most confused and vulnerable, singing like a Harvest-era Neil Young. In short it's something that seems to bring out a little of the mothering instinct in some of this crowd, along with a tiny taste of confusion at the rambling, sometimes shambling intros to the songs. Good fun, and great watching. Headliner Chris Mills is someone I first encountered nearly eight years ago. He brought me to Hawksley Workman who supported him back then, he brought me to Robbie Fulks by covering a song he'd encountered when Robbie covered it one night when they were on the same bill, and he brought me to the solo work of Jon Langford of Mekons fame, among others. All the same it's strange to go to a gig by someone who lives on another continent and who recognises you when he sees you! Mixing tracks from the new album with songs from the half dozen previous albums means that for every unfamiliar song there'll be one you do know along in a minute, but the handful of new songs I've been listening to on myspace are familiar enough too. There's a couple of stories in between songs that get cleaned up a little for the benefit of the table full of mid-teenagers with assorted parents (I assume), and the show is entirely suited to the venue, whose trade is more in decent food than rocked out hedonism. Where Liam gently floats his songs around the room, Chris fires them out with a rasp. I've seen rougher nights than this when his voice has been scratchy close to breaking, but on this occasion we stay just on the right side of gruff and croaky. And that's one of the things I like, the mixture of tender in the content of the songs and the occasional harshness in their delivery. While there's no particularly close comparison, Tom Waits seems to have done ok without what you'd call a naturally sweet voice, and in a world of autotuned identivoices, Chris is distinctive enough to stand out. I Wish I Was A Bomb closes the set neatly, and a quick chat over buying the new album and the tour ep later, I was back out on the road, to take twice as long getting home from a great little show as I took to get there in the first place, but that's another story! More pictures are on flickr, but here's Chris. "Golden throated shadows" is a line from Chris' song "Fall".

Labels: Chris Mills, gigs, Liam Dullaghan, The Havenots

I'm a little behind on these, but I don't want to omit this one. A new
venue in what turns out to be more genteel cafe than sticky-floored
nite-club had me heading up the road to a town where it turns out I
haven't been to a gig since 1995. Finding the place was simple enough
and I settled down to wait for the gig.

Liam Dullaghan is someone I've seen before with his band The Have-Nots
but on his own he's even more engaging, possibly because he has to
talk directly to the crowd rather than Have-Nots co-conspirator
Sophie. He has the air of Evan Dando at his most confused and
vulnerable, singing like a Harvest-era Neil Young. In short it's
something that seems to bring out a little of the mothering instinct
in some of this crowd, along with a tiny taste of confusion at the
rambling, sometimes shambling intros to the songs. Good fun, and great
watching.

Headliner Chris Mills is someone I first enocuntered nearly eight
years ago. He brought me to Hawksley Workman who supported him back
then, he brought me to Robbie Fulks by covering a song he'd
encountered when Robbie covered it one night when they were on the
same bill, and he brought me to the solo work of Jon Langford of
Mekons fame, among others. All the same it's strange to go to a gig by
someone who lives on another continent and who recognises you when he
sees you!

Mixing tracks from the new album with songs from the half dozen
previous albums means that for every unfamiliar song there'll be one
you do know along in a minute, but the handful of new songs I've been
listening to on myspace are familiar enough too. There's a couple of
stories in between songs that get cleaned up a little for the benefit
of the table full of mid-teenagers with assorted parents (I assume),
and the show is entirely suited to the venue, whose trade is more in
decent food than rocked out hedonism.

Where Liam gently floats his songs around the room, Chris fires them
out with a rasp. I've seen rougher nights than this when his voice has
been scratchy close to breaking, but on this occasion we stay just on
the right side of gruff and croaky. And that's one of the things I
like, the mixture of tender in the content of the songs and the
occasional harshness in their delivery. While there's no particularly
close comparison, Tom Waits seems to have done ok without what you'd
call a naturally sweet voice, and in a world of autotuned
identivoices, Chris is distinctive enough to stand out.

I Wish I Was A Bomb closes the set neatly, and a quick chat over
buying the new album and the tour ep later, I was back out on the
road, to take twice as long getting home from a great little show as I
took to get there in the first place, but that's another story!

<pictures already on flickr, one or two to follow here>

"Golden throated shadows" is a line from Chris' song "Fall".

Funny how those little things come back to bite you from time to time.

I'm on notice that I'm expecting to have a conversation in the next 24
hours or so about something or other that's most unlikely to be good
news all round. And because of where whatever it is is coming from, it
almost inevitably opens up a whole can of worms that I'm perfectly
happy leaving canned. Speculating about exactly what's coming is
tempting though, as there's a rather limited number of possibilities.

Part of me is mildly amused to find that that little vulnerability is
still there, and part of me is responding to the advance warning with
an increased readiness for conflict with everyone around me, so I'll
be happy when I can get on with dealing with whatever the news turns
out to be.

Of course, it may all be about someone else and not about me at all,
but it's healthy enough to be prepared, just in case it is.