overlap

Ok, I'm so I'm a little over-interested in the names people pick for their musical projects. But when it's just an individual, and not one using it as an umbrella term for him/her and whoever they are collaborating with this time, it's begging to be asked why you would bother. Enter Martin Lucas, or "The Celturian", or "Martin Celturian" as he was introduced this time around. He plays solo acoustic guitar instrumentals, in a variety of styles from straight blues to Scots reels and all manner of traditions in between, and you can easily imagine his music providing a soundtrack for whatever goes on at Blackmore's Night Towers. You can see for yourself below his stunt of playing with three capos, and while he's undoubtedly staggeringly proficient technically, er, so's Malmsteen. It's all very interesting, once, but for someone whose major interest in music is having something to sing along with, I'll leave it to you to complete this sentence on your own. Next up were Gone Til Winter. Another non-fantastic name, and after a quick run through the few tunes they have on myspace and I'm not really moved from my initial comparison with Within Temptation. There's a certain polished dynamic about the four guys getting thirty seconds into the first tune before the female singer Talena joins them on the stage, and she certainly has a presence. There's a trace of Cher's back-of-the-throatiness at times, likewise Ann Wilson's raspiness and all layered over some rather robust prog metal. They strike a visually incongruous note, bass player with hair down to his waist, guitarist and keyboard players looking fresh out of accountancy school, and goth-lite frontwoman with a bright pink fringe in the otherwise none more black hair. If you ever wonder whether you are in muso trouble, one way of telling is if your eye is drawn to the guitar neck, wondering if it looks a bit wide, until you realise it's a seven string. And that possibly sums them up, there's just a bit too much much really. The music is polished and proficient, but where WT have a bit of space in the vocal and keyboard melodies, GTW seem just to power through it all. There's a sense in which Talena reminds me of Sporty Spice, and much as La Chisholm is my favourite Spice Girl on account of being the only one who appears to love music for the music rather than as a means to an end, I think she's suffered at times from her choice of material. I dare say she'll lose no sleep over my opinion there, and nor should Gone Til Winter. After a very challenging six months which have seen him lose his wife after months of illness, Blaze Bayley could be forgiven for wanting to give up. I'll be honest, but for those events, I'd have been far less likely to go to this gig, but in the circumstances showing a bit of support for the frontman of the best British metal band of all time (flame me now!) is the least I can do. When I first saw Wolfsbane over twenty years ago, it was obvious Blaze was a man who lived for being on stage, and that hasn't changed. This must be third different incarnation of the Blaze Bayley band that I have seen, and it wipes the floor with the others. In Dave Bermudez' gurning and fist-pumping there's a frustrated frontman waiting to burst out if he ever tires of the bass. In Jay Walsh and Nico Bermudez there's a pair of guitar players who combine twin riffing with fluid solos, ably backed up by Larry's blockbuster drumming. They've been playing together for a while now, and it shows. The setlist includes eight songs off current album The Man Who Would Not Die, the title track of which is a perfect way to launch into two hours of fist-pumping, headbanging, floor-shaking rocking. I don't believe I've ever hear Blaze's voice sounding this consistently good, and while he's always looked perfectly at home on stage, with this line-up he has every reason to be supremely confident that they all deliver, every time. There's a touching tribute to late wife (and band manager) Debbie before the first encore track, While You Were Gone, and anyone who hadn't seen the tributes on the website would still be left in no doubt about the man behind the metal. For all it was written well before Debbie became ill, the amount of death references on the new album seems strangely anticipatory, and even if he isn't always smiling back at death, on this form Blaze and band should survive, and thrive. * Smile Back At Death is the third track on the album The Man Who Would Not Die

Labels: Blaze Bayley, gigs, Gone Til Winter, metal

One of the frequent reactions to loss or change, and I guess change is only the loss of the status quo in any case, is generally a heightened sense of carpe diem. Or in this case, carpe handbag. I haven't checked exactly what I posted last November, but I know that my reaction on leaving Brixton Academy was mostly that I was glad I'd been there but I wouldn't rush to go a long way to repeat the experience. Partly because it reminded me a lot of 1993, when the gig was largely ruined for me by an excess of testosterone and lager, and a distinct lack of consideration for anyone else. All the same, this one was announced a long time ago, and falls into the category of gigs where I bought the ticket at the time, but having only had the option to buy it on the day, I might have not bothered. With my first what next application taking up rather more of this morning than I might have hoped, I was still lamenting my perfume going off and doing my make-up some time after I'd intended to leave. With roadworks and more roadworks, and the onset of rush hour getting in my way, I knew I was going to miss the first support band before I even left the house. No matter, I've seen them before and great as they are, I never have moments of thinking I must listen to them immediately. Despite having grasped the concept of where I intended to park, I still got it wrong again, and that delay probably cost me seeing anything of the second support band. All the same, it was an interesting twenty-something minutes finding my way across town to the venue, though that bit worked pretty well. Something I sometimes find mildly frustrating is having a wardrobe full of clothes that I've never worn out. In a month where I've bought a new cardigan and a new pair of boots, and reacted to bad news by battering my credit card with a new pair of shoes and something best described as an item from the M&S partywear collection - oh yes, I am a cliche! - it seems almost a waste to not go out. And for a gig of a band I'd be seeing for the tenth time, well even if I didn't make it there are other criteria for a good night. Hat from H&M, halter neck top from M&S, cardigan from French Connection, jacket from TKMaxx, jeans from Next, new boots from George at ASDA, and Fiorelli handbag by way of Debenhams meant I had half the high street covered when I enjoyed the ritual handbag search on entry, before hiding in the darkness. Met by a wall of heat coming off the people who had made it in on time, I'd only been inside for a couple of minutes before Jim and Les hit the stage. After a brief trip to the bar, served by a very sweet girl working the bar, and though she was fine, the brighter bar area lighting reminded me how I'm used to being looked at funny whether I'm carrying a handbag or not, so I slunk off into the darkness to watch the stage from a distance. I'm going to be short on detail, as the getting there and being there is rather more important to me than exactly what it was like. Highlights were hearing Lets Get Tattoos, This Is How It Feels, A Sheltered Life and particularly Rent again - you dress me up indeed! - the setlist will no doubt be online elsewhere by now, and it may be almost as much a surprise to me. It's funny that I appear more approachable this way - ordinarily I wouldn't expect to speak to anyone, but this evening I had some guy pass the time of day with me in the heat of the bar, and some woman chatted with me just as the Carter set was coming to a close, though I'm not quite sure where the guy who used 'excuse me, you look like a junkie' as an opening line thought it was going to get him. That was on the street, not in the gig, so gawd only knows, but I put it down to a backhanded compliment that my size 14 hips in my skinny fit jeans make me look a little top-heavy, which is not really news. While the carpe handbag feeling is hot, I should try to get out closer to home, but one thing is sure - life is short. Carter though? Yes, very good.

Labels: Carter USM, gigs

Never been made redundant before, but life has a funny way of keeping folk on their toes. Worse things happen.

An hour’s drive plus the potential for troubled traffic situation(s) plus early doors and no support band added up to nipping out of work early in the hope of hitting the road slightly earlier. The not entirely unforeseen traffic snarl-up meant I made it inside the venue forty five minutes after doors, but fifteen minutes before they came on stage. In the circumstances that counts as a thoroughly efficient day. The first time I saw Marillion, it was as the final act at the Cumbria rock festival in 1991, when I left home about ten on the friday night to catch a coach out of Victoria at 6am, so by the time Marillion came on I was riding a wave of sleep deprivation that didn’t quite translate into hallucinations, though I was certainly asleep on my feet during The Almighty’s set that preceded them - sorry Ricky! Accordingly my memory is a little hazy, but I do remember Steve ‘H’ Hogarth prancing around like a hyperactive pixie such that it was hard to watch anything else, and a splendid light show. The last (and only other) time I saw them was on the same day I foolishly gave blood in the afternoon, passed out in the blood wagon, endured an hour of somebody frantically ringing round to try and shift our tickets and eventually protested hard enough that just to shut me up we went anyway - I was hardly likely to be moshing or crowd surfing in any case, but in their case particularly so. Like I said, nothing more than forty five minutes delay is a resounding success! You can figure out from the above that I am not especially a fan, though I retained the memory of them being good live, it’s just there’s always priorities, and the last time they were within striking distance I already had a ticket for another gig that night. This one had been on my maybe list for a while. It’s to their credit they’ve been able to find ways to keep going on their own terms, and one of the benefits of no support band is having the stage properly set up for their own requirements in terms of lighting and the projection screen behind them. For possibly my first ever downstairs standing gig at that particular venue, I’m surprised how small it looks in that configuration, but that makes it all the more cosy and intimate. The lights go down, and the band take the stage separately, milking the build-up. Finally Steve Hogarth emerges in a floor length white or cream jacket, plentifully decorated in golden embroidery, and for the next thirty minutes I’m really struggling to work out who he reminds me of. I can’t really approach anything with a blank slate these days, and there’s a lot of reference points to wade through by now. The unfamiliar material, of which there is much, is delivered perfectly by Hogarth’s delicate voice and theatrical mannerisms, indeed it’s H as A Performer that would threaten to dominate things if the material wasn’t as good. I’m not especially a fan of Steve Rothery’s Gilmour type mood guitaring, but the Marillion sound is a very moody one which it suits perfectly. Mark Kelly’s keyboards provide a musical depth for Rothery to work around, and the rhythm section do exactly what they are required to do. Maybe it’s something to do with drummers called Ian, as the fluid economy of Ian Mosley is as unobtrusive as that of Deep Purple’s Ian Paice - there’s no danger of a ten minute drum and gong solo here, just drumming that provides the perfect backbone to the songs it underpins. Perhaps the surprise for me was bassman Pete Trewavas and the banter between him and H, although Pete can hardly blame H for pointing out how his cheeky chappy haircut makes him look a little like David Essex. I think the only tracks I really recognise are Beautiful, which really is, and Afraid Of Sunlight, though there may have been a couple more in there, I’m not sure. Hogarth is a consummate frontman rather than strictly a vocalist, and there’s no doubt he truly inhabits the things he’s singing. Just as per my distant recollections, it is a very visual show, and the films behind the band help to set the mood. Again, technology moves forward and the screen also carries moments from the show as it happens, with minicams picking out Kelly’s keyboards, Rothery’s guitar-playing, and at times there are two different views picking out H from below his chin. Somewhere in the middle of this, it comes to me. There’s a slight rounding to the features, naturally enough, but more than anything H reminds me of a younger Alice Cooper - it’s all in the facial expressions, and there’s no doubt he’s wrapped up in the song, singing right in the moment. As proven when he says ‘thanks for a great night, Liverpool’ before walking off at the end of the main set. Come on, I defy you not to see Alice Cooper here! He corrects himself when he returns for the encore, pointing out that Liverpool isn’t even on this tour, and it’s a great indication of the feelgood vibe of the show that it’s nothing other than funny. Strapping on a beautiful mottled pink guitar that looks like it should be on Jon Auer, the rest of the band join in as he runs through a rudimentary version of The Kinks’ You Really Got Me, before it all falls apart in shambolic yet thoroughly entertaining fashion. I haven’t even moaned about the dullards with inflatable objects, that’s how good it was, and dullards aside I managed to get a few decent pictures which will be on flickr soon enough when they weren’t waving them around and obstructing people’s view. I’m pleased to have a decent pictorial record of a show that needs to be watched as much as listened to, and though I’m not about to go following them on tours, I hope it’s not another thirteen years till I see Marillion again. * I Thank God You're So Fabulously Odd is from Whatever Is Wrong With You from Marillion's new album Happiness Is The Road

Labels: gigs, Marillion

Anyone who sees my facebook updates would see that a while back I "love surprise support bands" - I ended up not posting anything about seeing Camera Obscura again because I figured I'd said everything I had to say about them back in July. What I was really excited about though was finding out a couple of days beforehand was that they were being supported by Glasgow's fabulous Attic Lights. Having bought the album on the monday, and had a number of singles and other tracks before that, I was pretty clear on what I was expecting but they blew me away with their harmony vocal goodness. At that point I had already paid out for another ticket on the basis they were the first supporting band, so I was pleased to get the chance to see them a second time. Logistical/organisational complications on the venue's part meant that my ticket didn't turn up in the post, which prevented me going in my rather more glamorous guise, but for the record I was absolutely spot on that it was the perfect gig for that. Or would have been. I walked in and was stood in front of the stage for less than sixty seconds when Attic Lights walked out on to the stage. Kev's voice sounded a little rough to start with, but they dropped into the well oiled machine routine quickly enough, and Send Your Dark Eyes This Way and Walkie Talkie in particular sounded fantastic. Next up was former Catatonia frontwoman Cerys Matthews. I saw Catatonia once, and they were great, but Cerys' history when they split up was somewhat troubled. These days she looks fabulously happy and healthy, and I have half a feeling she is headed for the same sort of National Treasure status as Joanna Lumley or Marianne Faithfull. We get a stripped back version of Love Me Tender, Catatonia's Strange Glue is the only other thing I really know, but there are a couple of other things that are familiar, and more than anything I'm pleased to see she looks like she is having a good time, and is at a point in her life where everything seems to be working out. Headliner Paul Heaton is someone I saw a couple of times with the Beautiful South, and I really liked them even if I still don't think he's ever bettered The Housemartins' Build. The three piece bass/guitar/drums outfit backing him hits more of a mod-soul vibe, something like if Weller had had The Jam playing the Style Council material, though of course Heaton's voice remains distinctive as ever. It's all pleasant enough. but not the highlight gig of the year for me, and I'm left to go home wishing I'd had the ticket in time to see how well the pink jeans work with the new cardigan, and especially pleased to have seen the harmony pop loveliness of Attic Lights again. * Friday Night Lights is the title of the Attic Lights album, and it's great!

Labels: Attic Lights, Cerys Matthews, gigs, Paul Heaton

Since the rise of the Don’t Look Back series of shows featuring people doing so-called classic albums in their entirety, the idea seems to have expanded a little. Playing all the album’s songs live is one thing but re-recording the album and associated tracks twenty years down the line is quite another, and my initial reaction to the idea was hardly one of embracing the idea. I really wasn’t expecting a new version could add much to the original, which just goes to show how wrong you can be. The Eight Legged Groove Machine is a pivotal album in my life, I remember very well the circumstances in which I came to buy my first copy on its original release, on the day I banked a grant cheque. I’m not sure whether buying it on cassette or with a grant dates it more, but there has been an awful lot of water under a lot of bridges in the meantime. Fast forward to years later, and a couple of gigs to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the album. Following a remarkably cold night, the requirement to move the car revealed that the overnight temperatures have finished off an aged battery, though luckily I found that out a little before I was due to leave. A telephone conversation with my car mechanic produces the remote diagnosis that the battery had had it, and that I shouldn’t go anywhere without getting a new battery put in. So what else was I going to do but stick the battery charger on for an hour, and go to the gig anyway? With a couple of hours driving to top the battery up, I parked on a slight slope to give me an extra chance of getting going again after the gig, and headed off to the venue via an unintentional wander around the city. I think I’ve got it now, but I still find it a horrible city to drive in. Support band Jesus Jones took the stage in uniform white shirts, as per It Bites, and from the opening words of Who? Where? Why? through to the final blast of Info Freako, it was guitar and sample excitement all the way. Talking with someone else about the shared experience of not expecting to know much of their set and then turning out to know seven out of nine songs, it’s a good sign of how much familiar material Jesus Jones have, and even if I don’t listen to them much I have grown to really enjoy them over half a dozen support slots. I listened to the original ELGM in its original order a couple of times before the gig, and the advent of mp3s and random play functions has pretty much brought an end to that as usual practice too. There is little on the album that has never been done live, and yet somehow the running order isn’t so firmly ingrained in my mind as it once was, so among the live favourites of yore it turns out quite refreshing to hear, in particular, Like A Merry Go Round and The Animals And Me again. With an album that doesn’t make forty minutes, there is plenty of room for what could turn out to be padding, but hearing Goodbye Fatman (I think the first time it’s been played since Martin Gilks died), Ooh She Said, Astley In the Noose and Song Without An End makes for a thoroughly worthy endeavour. A further mini set, consisting predominantly of other early tracks as well as Here Comes Everyone, Mission Drive and On The Ropes drags us through to a thunderous Ten Trenches Deep to round off a great show. So much so that I bought the 2008 Legged Groove Machine anyway, and after a few words with people I hadn’t seen for a while I headed for the car. Which happily started first time, and I got home around 2.30. It should surprise nobody that the car battery didn't get replaced till I'd repeated the exercise to get to the London gig the following day!

Labels: gigs, Jesus Jones, The Wonder Stuff