overlap

A Gig Very Much Of Two Halves

2012-02-09T08:25:00.000Z

Going to see someone lardely on the basis of one song you love is always an interesting proposition. Paul Kelly's "Every Fucking City" is one such song, even if I have an album from around that period and I saw him the thick end of a decade ago too. I've been sat on this ticket for over three months, and given that the one previous sighting was in a park with tens of thousands of people, a night in a local club playing to tens of people looks a slightly different kind of spectacle.

Emily Barker is the second support - I missed the first due to momentary difficulties reconciling a building I last went in when it was an Italian restaurant with a venue that doesn't push the boat out when it comes to self-labelling or signwriting. It takes something special for someone to open with a song which includes enough fading vocal moments to suggests the song is coming to an end and then building it all up again despite the plausible unfamiliarity of the crowd with the turn. Emily's voice has the clarity of Kate Wolf, and alternately sounds like Julianne Regan singing Dolly Parton and someone impossible to compare to anyone else. It's fair to say I'm impressed.

Two acoustic songs in, one of which I'm very familiar with, and nephew Dan Kelly steps up to add some electric guitar over Paul's acoustic. What should be an awkward mix of electric and acoustic sounds turns out magnificently as Dan sprinkles shimmering flurries of notes over Midnight Rain, mimicking the album tones and never succumbing to the temptation to rock out except when the song requires. There's a healthy family vibe on the stage, and a crowd lapping up Paul's occasional stories and additional explanatory notes about where certain songs come from.

And the songs are often story songs, Mick Thomas or Richard Thompson universal humanity story songs where the detail never clutters the picture but puts the emotions in a concrete context, with a side order of humour and pathos. It's a beautiful introduction to some songs that might be with me for some time.

And then it happens. Gigs where acoustic artists don't blow the speakers with feedback and volume for its own sake are not infrequently blighted by people who'd rather make their own noise than listen to what's coming from the people everyone else wants to listen to. But this one is extra special.

The general vibe shifts as people move away from our shouty friend, and nobody looks impressed. Then the repeated 'I love you Paul' shouts turn into a move towards the middle of the crowd, quickly followed by him telling someone to fuck off. I'm not afraid of a bit of language, I love 'Every Fucking City' after all, but things begin to look as ugly as our shouty friend, and he carries on in much the same vein.

And then it really happens, as the frustration gets to someone else who dumps most of a pint down the neck of you-know-who. There's a bit of shouting, he pushes her and half a dozen people step forward and eventually he calms down enough to walk off, but not before making threats that 'I'll see you outside and stab you in the throat' and declaring 'I'm Australian, who the fuck are you?' as if shared passports with the turn entitles him to act the clown with impunity. I don't know whether this is an export version of the Bogan kind or just an evening ruined by some tool who lacks the self-awareness to understand that his floor show isn't what everyone else came for. Either way, I'm biting my tongue, because I've talked myself around the edge of trouble enough times before without trying too hard and I don't really want to start anything else with this drunken shouty oaf - it's one of the risks of getting involved with arguing with idiots that you get brought down to their level and the casual onlooker can't tell which is which.

Paul Kelly was tremendous, the expat clown who feels so attached to his genius is rather less so, so take this as a warning and hope that it's only Paul, Dan and co that turn up in your town and that this imbecile is somewhere further down the road.

It Won't Be Long 'Til Summer Comes

2012-02-05T16:11:00.000Z

Yeah, it's been a while.

Caught between being busy with the stuff of life and seeing people I'm highly familiar with, there's been a bit too much doing going on and therefore a bit less writing about it, but better that way round.

A mere seven weeks since my last gig, I'm expecting to buy a ticket on the door but greeted by ticket office staff ensuring I'm only collecting a prepaid ticket before referring me to a guy with a couple of spares to shift. Outbreaks of humanity in the ticket office are to be recognised and applauded!

Handing over a trifle under face value, there's a search for a seat somewhere I'd no particular plan to be. So I'm up in the roof, with only two rows behind me. Proper up in the roof, at the level of the lighting frame, the one bolted to the ceiling that the lighting rig itself hangs off. At something like seventy foot above the stage, it's a view I don't often have.

I didn't get there in time for the first support, but I'm in my seat to sit through Clutch. Imagine Reef doing Helter Skelter if Gary Stringer's dad was Brian Blessed and you're pretty much there. Nice chunky bluesy guitar sound, but the most exciting bit is when someone taps me on the shoulder to wake me up when he could have just walked past me; there's a lot more legroom up there to accommodate the rake of the balcony sections.

With John Sykes busy with the perming solution, Scott Gorham has hauled in Brian Downey and Darren Wharton, a prospect that clinches my decision to go. Dare were a great band, but it's Downey that legitimises this line up for me. No, it's not Thin Lizzy, whatever it says on the ticket, but it's the most authentic tribute act I'm ever going to see.

The Almighty are a band of my generation, one I never quite got on with over a number of gigs over the years. Ricky Warwick's solo act I enjoyed rather more, and his stepping into Lynott's shoes works better than might be expected. Downey's easy shuffle drumming is bulked out by Marco Mendoza's robust bass-playing, and the unexpected highlight is Damon Johnson's guitar work.

Starting off on the big white guitar he sounded a little bit off, but once he switched to something closer to the to the classically styled Les Paul it sounded a lot more right. Still not sure why Gorham wasn't doing more of the solo work - allowing the younger man the spotlight or having some kind of trouble or somewhere in between, it's unclear, but in any case Scott still nails the diddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-diddle solo in Waiting For An Alibi.

So, I can now include Brian Downey in musicians I never thought I'd get to see, and for that alone it was worth it. And yes, I probably will track down the re-re-remastered versions of the albums which have been available in the last couple of years but am I rushing out to get a ticket for the next clutch of dates? Not right now, no.

Are You Ready
Jailbreak
Bad Reputation
Don't Believe A Word
Killer On The Loose
Dancing In The Moonlight
Massacre
Angel Of Death
Still In Love With You - Wharton\Warwick mixed vocals
guitar solo into
Whisky In the Jar
Sha La La
drum solo into
Suicide
Waiting For An Alibi
Cowboy Song
The Boys Are Back In Town
-----
Emerald
Rosalie
Roisin Dubh (Black Rose)

Bigger Brighter Better

2011-10-28T22:40:00.000+01:00

From one night to the next, it's another act that's been around since quite some time ago, albeit on this occasion playing live with a full band for the first time in many years. Changes to the road layout around the venue make for more difficulty than usual to get the car parked somewhere, but I'm still inside for long enough to have got bored of how full the place is before the support set starts.

James Walbourne plays acoustic blues-folk-rock-pop, with some nice guitar solos and without the anodyne, soporific features of the Jack Johnsons of this world. His brother's supporting guitar and backing/harmony vocal work definitely helps and it's clear this is someone who's been on enough stages to have paid his touring dues. Man.

If I had a criticism, it would only be that the sheer variety of musical styling leads to a slight make-your-mind-up vibe, but I was still considering whether to buy the album as the set finished which means something about the impression made.

Now, there is no need to make any impression for the main act. Six years and one day previously I'd seen an acoustic set of solo material by Roddy Frame. A couple of years ago he did a handful of songs at the first Shared show in Birmingham but this time it's a set long on Aztec Camera material, and it's brilliant. There's something wrong with you if you can't share the inescapable pop joy of Oblivious, or the simple humanity of How Men Are - leaving some of the lines for the crowd to sing, Roddy comments how much he loves hearing blokes sing 'why should it take/the tears of a woman/to see how men are' to general amusement.

There's something a little newer in there too, White Pony is nice enough, but its' the older and older mobile hits jukebox that people seem to prefer. And how can I possibly criticise that? Somewhere in my heart there is a star that shines for bigger brighter better pop music. And then it's back out to the car for the less welcome return to reality and idiots on the car radio lauding the anticipated return of one not very good trick ponies the Stone Roses. If ever you needed an example of why the world needs the uplifting choruses of a Roddy Frame, that'll more than do!

The Crying Scene
Reason For Living
Back To The One
The North Star
Day Of Reckoning
Killermont Street
We Could Send Letters
White Pony
Bigger Brighter Better
Forty Days Of Rain
Sun
Oblivious
Walk Out To Winter
Pillar To Post
--------------
Hymn To Grace
How Men Are
Down The Dip
Birth Of The True
Somewhere In My Heart

Sing Us A Song That We Know To Be True

2011-10-28T22:12:00.000+01:00

There's only so many ways you can have a go at 'I've seen this band I like a few times and now I've seen them once again and I still like them' before even writing it gets boring, so it's good when something reshapes that position ever so slightly. In a brief fit of extravagance I'd bought a few tickets and then had a couple of other gigs come up around the same time and suddenly I'm a bit busy.

With other stuff being fitted in around making it to the gig, at least the electronic communications possibilities of the modern world make it simple to catch up with expected stage times and avoid rushing only to sit around waiting for hours. In an uninteresting coincidence it's seventeen years to the day I first visited this venue, and though a couple of rooms have gone through slight changes of name over that time, and it turns out it's also the single venue I've visited the most (among two hundred and odd).

Something different to challenge my tastes is never a bad thing, and support act Louise Distras provides plenty to challenge me. Just her voice and a guitar make for a powerful combination, but sometimes the power gets in the way of the song; there's no denying the passion but when the voice goes beyond the mighty rasp of Bonnie Tyler at her most momentarily foghornish into a slightly unfocused roar it produces something that I'm not going to buy so I can sing along with it on my own. There's nothing wrong with what she's got to say for herself, it's just my middle-aged ears would prefer a slightly different delivery!

New Model Army fit into a category something like 'bands I know I like but don't rush to buy every single album on release day', and the last time I saw them it was a trifle unsatisfactory, largely due to that particular venue I gather. This is a short flurry of only five gigs, and that alone makes it rather more of a special occasion than just another show in a long tour.

There are songs from the last couple of albums that I don't have, naturally, but there's more than enough familiar material to keep me engaged between the people on the shoulders of the people on the shoulders formation acrobatics displays.

Purity sounds immense, and the encore starting with Get Me out and finally ending with No Rest threatens to take the roof off the place. Today was a good day.

Setlist in full:
Island
No Greater Love
Christian Militia
Rumour & Rapture
See You in Hell
Today Is a Good Day
Disappeared
The Attack
States Radio
Autumn
Orange Tree Roads
Rivers
Knife
Purity
Ballad of Bodmin Pill
Whirlwind
---
Get Me Out
High
No Rest

'Sing Us A Song That We Know To Be True' is a line from Purity.

Alpe d’Huez For Idiots - More Fool On The Hill Than Man On the Silver Mountain

2011-08-11T19:43:00.000+01:00

I belong to what Ned Boulting would recognise as the generation of British cycling fans who think UK television Tour De France coverage belongs on Channel4 , and for me Alpe d’Huez starts with Parra and Herrera, with Rooks and Theunisse. I even tried to make it there in the mid-90s while I was working in the region, purely to be able to see it and drive it, but just ran out of time on the day and had to turn back.

So when one of the people I was about to go on holiday with had it suggested by someone else that the Alpe was not just a possible thing but a must-do, I was delighted to get the email asking if anyone else fancied doing it. With just two weeks notice, any sort of meaningful training was out of the question and I hate climbing anyway, but I did go home from work the hilly way one day, climbing an extra 100m of altitude over the course of about a mile. That’ll be a great help, no worries, almost as much as having been camped at about 1000m of altitude for the week before.

Reasoning that an early start was a very good idea, breakfast before 7am meant we were parked in Bourg d’Oisans before 9, and started rolling up to the foot of the big hill almost on the stroke of 9. Even then there were cyclists on their way down – I can’t imagine why they’d have started that early, if indeed they had already ridden up that morning.

My full of training mate raced after some guy just in front of us, and I was rapidly left on my own, happy to settle into my own rhythm and take my time rather than get involved in some sort of race. My only concern was whether I could actually make it.

Turn 21, and the first sign announcing previous winners of the stage and a road full of paint markings, me and my thoughts and somewhere a kilometre above me was a notional finishing line that I might possibly see at some time rather later. The next couple of turns came in fairly quick succession, and as the clouds started to clear above, the towering nature of the landscape became apparent. A couple of bends further on provides a vantage point to see the road zigging and zagging back and forth across the hillside, just as my bike would later zigzag across the road, only in smaller (and ever more tired) legs.

After the odd numbered turns, the right lane drive meant that I could look down the road just below me and watch for who was catching me up as brief distraction from the shorter radius turn I was making. I watched one or two approaching and tried to guess the point at which they would inevitably pass me with a cheery ‘bonjour!’. We all know the game, show no signs of weakness as you pass with effortless grace, and then soar off into the distance. It’s par for the course when you’re passed by some gnarled road veteran with legs like seasoned oak and knotted cords for tendons, but being passed by what appears to be a twelve year old feels slightly less natural and comfortable for some reason.

On the even numbered turns, bearing back round to my left meant I could hug the very outside of the bend and enjoy the brief respite in the gradient levelling off a fraction, remembering to read the names on the signs and marshalling vague recollections of the rider(s) and rides in question. Every now and then I allowed myself to look right up, and see what I could see; it wasn’t pretty viewing.

The riders’ names painted on the road were already fading, in parts already gone even though the Tour riders had been on that same road only a week before. I smiled at every mention of both Thomases, Geraint and Voeckler, I mostly kept my counsel on Contador and the Schlecks and approved heartily of the Indurainish relentlessness with which Cadel Evans had finally claimed his yellow jersey in Paris.

And in the village of Huez (not to be confused with…) I was momentarily pleased to see the sign before registering what ‘Alpe d’Huez 10km’ really meant. Huez itself is on one of the longer legs between bends, and for the first time I started believing that making the top without stopping might just be possible. There were people there in GB triathlon club branded shirts, cheering on a mate of theirs, and we exchanged friendly words a few times as they drove on past us and stopped, then did the same again. Their mate was the last one of those that passed me, close to the top, and it was definitely a reassuringly early start that meant the number that passed me was only five. In turn I only passed three, numbers that would increase greatly for anyone starting the ride later in the day.

Getting into the single digit bends, the first glimpses of the village were revealed as the sun came out and the legs between bends seemed to be shorter and less steep, as if to encourage standing on the pedals in a final flourish of speed but there’s a definite catch. And as with any place of interest, there’s someone out to make a quid – the photographer on turn 5 being polite enough as I refused the business card to buy a ropey picture of myself suffering from his website, and the photographer on turn 2 being close to getting the rough edge of my tongue by standing right in the flaming way at a point where I was increasingly disinclined to indulge any sort of nonsense. Everyone’s got to make a living somehow, sure, but pissing off your potential clients isn’t a great business tactic, nor is it helpful to someone in the throes of just about keeping moving forwards , to say the least.

By these last couple of turns my legs were feeling the tortoise-like pace, and a number of Voeckler-style deviations into the first couple of metres of the odd driveway and turning meant I could have another brief rest from the gradient proper. Over latter stretches, the signs turn up for the Itineraire Tour de France, counting the visitor down in single kilometres from 5km out. This is a help of sorts, but it’s also a little misleading for anyone rounding turn 1 expecting to find the finish close at hand. Turn 1 is followed by the 2km to go sign, and on a friday this means 2km which include the negotiation of the disrupted road routing by the village street market. Not the sort of confusion my mind needed to guide my struggling legs through by that stage in the proceedings.

The village, while it does go on a bit, also levels out a bit and I even briefly revisited a larger chainring before pulling round the roundabout to the final uphill drag past the road marking declaring SKODA SKODA SKODA to herald the finish line, where a cluster of people waited for their mates or simply enjoyed their legs having a brief rest. I settled for rolling around the car park, a variety of trackstands and freewheeling down the slope, the odd bit of backpedalling and some other stuff just to keep my legs moving. Whatever, it worked as I felt no real after-effects in my muscles.

The 14km of the ascent took me 102 minutes, or about three times what the pros might expect to do it in on an especially good day. My trusty 30*25 gear kept me rolling nicely enough most of the way, barring occasional misguided bursts of optimism, and for all I’d had enough by the time I got towards the top, it wasn’t that horrific an experience for as long as I was happy to keep plodding. Indeed, I rather enjoyed turns 12 to 5 which was when I really started to believe I was going to make it without stopping.

And as to the difference a spring and summer of training makes? My mate beat me by about ten minutes, that’s all, so a five mile each way daily commute on a 40*16 singlespeed and general base fitness appears to be plenty, as long as you have a low enough gear you can keep spinning without actually grinding to a halt.

After a while at the top to rest a little, to nip over to the altiport to watch the helicopters take off over the cloud inversion in the valley below us and take in all the scenic sights, and it was time to go. Due to a combination of incompetence and indifference, I was riding without a computer on the bike, and while watching it struggle to show the high points of 5mph on the way up would have been potentially disheartening, it was undoubtedly good for my health and wellbeing that I was neither distracted by the numbers nor pushing my luck trying to hit an ever higher number on the way back down.

I know I was frequently well into the 30s mph, and I don’t really know I’d trust myself not to have tried to hit whatever I was actually doing plus a few more. I waved a couple of cars by and then chased them, preferring to have them where I could see them than wait for them to gamble on an overtake that might or might not be on. I followed a couple of cyclists round a couple of bends before pulling out to get past them where I felt it was safe to do so, and I made sure I got rid of most of my speed as I went into the bends, sometimes using the full width of the hairpin where it was clear.

And even with a relatively committed approach to the descent, I still took over twenty minutes to make it to the roundabout at the bottom of the hill, passing cyclist after cyclist on their own torturous rides up towards the summit. Twenty minutes of sheer delight, unmitigated pleasure and the joy of feeling the road dropping away under the bike. If a training-free idiot with a moderate sense of adventure and a healthy appreciation of Tour de France history can not just make it up Alpe d’Huez but enjoy the experience then I reckon almost anyone can. As for riding a hundred odd miles before it though, you can keep that, but given the chance I’d ride up it again any time and not just for the joy of the descent.

I really enjoyed the ride, but I’m in awe of people who can race up it, because I’m damn sure I couldn’t.

Heaven Tonight

2011-06-17T08:15:00.000+01:00

Just as with bus services, heavy rock leviathans may be few and far between and then several come along at once. Despite the original hopes of another recently seen band filling the support slot, there's a change of plan somewhere down the line and this is a new one on me.

Plead The Fifth come from LA and play the sort of pop-punk you'd associate with something like Green Day, but with a lead guitarist who looks like Dave Hill by way of Angus Young, a bass player who looks like a very young Tom Robinson by way of Robyn Hitchcock and a singer who seems to know what he's doing I guess they might turn out something remarkable. For me, anything in that area of sub-genre has to compete with the flawless China Drum and they hardly match them yet.

Legend is a word that has been devalued repeatedly in recent years, and yet every now and then something rolls into town that resets the bar at a level most others can only aspire to. The last time something rocked me sideways to this extent might be the first time I saw Y&T, the last time I saw The Posies or the first time I saw Europe - all of them acts of multi-decade longevity, and household names to people who know what they are talking about musicwise. And to that list I now add another band I wasn't a particular fan of and who largely for that reason managed to give me a colossally pleasant suprise of the stunning live music kind.

After the cartoon-based fun of the previous weekend, I'm amused that the intro clips tape includes Homer Simpson saying 'I'd rather listen to Cheap Trick' and then Apu repeating a couple of lines from Dream Police, and then with a voice announcing 'the best fucking band in the world', Cheap Trick take the stage.

Rick Nielsen strides on like an affable uncle who's way old enough to know better, and with his son Daxx on the drums and Tom Petersson on the bass, the line up is complete enough to start playing around the intro to Just Got Back before Robin Zander steps up to the mike just in time for his first vocal line. With the keyboard player slightly hidden, there's nevertheless a mighty depth and serious melodic weight to the live sound. For now, Nielsen is playing a mere six strings, but both zander and Petersson are playing twelve, double string rhythm guitar and treble string bass respectively.

With a glittering brocade embroidered jacket and a sheriff's star leather cap that fools nobody - and hey, my hair's going the same way - Zander looks every inch the Rock Star with a capital \M/ and with that voice it's only right. Tonight Tom Petersson is the coolest man in rock, with a smile wider than the Bristol Channel and a clear delight just at being on that stage.

It's Nielsen's show though, with a range of jerky gestures and mannerisms that kinda bring to mind Suggs' nutty boy antics with a touch more theatrical verve, he prowls and bounces around the stage, throws enough plectrums into the crowd to put local musician's supplies outlets out of business for a couple of years, oh and there's a total mastery of his ever-changing guitar too. Whether it's playing the solo with just his fretting hand or strumming along with a thumb before reaching for yet another from his mike stand of a thousand plectrums, it's pop-rock corker after hard rock smash after powerpop belter that has me bouncing around like I'm seventeen again.

There's a brief break in proceedings as the euro fan club main man gets called up on stage to say a few words, calling some woman up on the stage to join him - Nielsen 'get on your fucking knees, man' and as he goes to say his piece Zander gets involved, re-adjusting the mike stand to the appropriate height. It's not quite the loudest noise of the night as the now bride-to-be says 'yes' and has the proffered ring put on her finger, but it's close.

And then it's back to the business of rocking, caught in between a number of festival appearances across Europe this festival season, this might well turn out to be their most intimate appearance this side of the Atlantic this summer. In equal turns intimate and bombastic, tenderly touching and aggressive, and sonically perfect throughout, this is live music as it's meant to be, committed, complete, perfect.

Ordinarily, the day after the gig, that band's music disappears off my mp3 player to be replaced with the next lot. My small collection of Cheap Trick albums are all still on there.

Don't Stop Believin'?

2011-06-12T18:26:00.000+01:00

With a poorly timed release of the new album at the start of a week with a bank holiday monday with the gig on the sunday, I didn't get to listen to the new album till the wednesday evening and I can't say I'd had long enough with it to know it particularly well. Nevertheless I hit the motorway at exactly the right time to hit the traffic hold-ups at the end of the weekend, and naturally hit my own late arrival tension threshold.

In the venue car park at five minutes past stage time, it took another fifteen minutes to get from the car park to somewhere near my seat, including the enjoyable experience of hearing muffled songs from the stage making it through the venue walls and then walking right out of earshot to get to the front door. Man, I so love industrial concert venues like this.

All the same, I was singing (quietly, to myself) along with Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man) halfway round the car park, and Blue Collar Man which I caught the latter half of with my own eyes. The other couple of times I've seen Styx in recent years, I've been hugely impressed, and it's nice to see my favourite little and large combination since Fletcher and Defoe in the respective forms of JY and Tommy Shaw giving it their all. Miss America rocks hard, and for Come Sail Away the distinctive silhouette of Chuck Pannozzo appears before the lights come up, though I can't possibly go anywhere near Some Sail Away without hearing Cartman's version too. There's a brief pretend departure then an 'encore' of Renegade and while mildly disappointed to have missed part of their set, I'm still pleased to be there at all, and watch them do nothing released any later than 1978!

With a fifteen minute turnaround between bands, there's a brief stroll to see what the venue's actually like - a monster cinema foyer leading towards the arena pretty much sums it up - then it's back to find my right seat, or more or less. I couldn't say I'm a huge fan of Foreigner, and yes, that's partly because opportunities to see them over the years have been limited at best. Of course I've got a copy of 4, there's the vinyl LP of Foreigner Records (the early greatest hits) and that might be it, the fact I'm not even sure tells its own tale. I'm aware that Lou Gramm's health took him out of the picture some time ago, and with his voice being such a major part of the Foreigner sound (and his fantastic Midnight Blue single, something I do know I have), there's another replacement singer in the mix.

I needn't have worried - looking for all the world like Joey AORamone, Kelly Hansen hits all the notes smoothly while giving the full range of method frontman mike stand twirling, posing and even briefly disappearing into the crowd though thankfully without Bono-at-Live-Aid type embarrassments! Again the set is something of a vintage hits job - but then who could argue with this hour?

Double Vision
Head Games
Cold As Ice
Waiting For A Girl Like You
Feels Like The First Time
Urgent
I Want To Know What Love Is
Hot Blooded
Juke Box Hero

So often the gig and my experience of it is based on my relationship with the band, and some of those relationships, like any other, go through rocky patches. On the one hand, there's a part of me that would love to see them in any guise and line-up just to hear Neal Schon's guitar, and there's a part of me that feels somewhat troubled by the recent revolving lead vocalist slot. Equally I've now had the luxury of seeing Schon on guitar seven times, in three different bands and in five different line-ups and I'm pretty confident in what I can expect to see; a few pulled faces at moments of string-bending tension and little in the way of excitement, but then I love the solos in Faithfully to listen to, not because I want to see someone doing star jumps on a tightrope.

As a show, it's AORena rock by numbers and it does seem like just another gig. Four new tracks in 18 is about the right mix, Arnel's song City Of Hope suddenly makes a lot more sense with a background slideshow of his home city where I was on that day two years previously and where even with that passing familiarity I have no doubts how troubled that city is. It's one of the highlights for me in fact, to start to see Arnel in his own right - getting a new haircut helps too - instead of just the latest contestant in the ongoing Perry-oke role.

Deen sings Mother/Father and I'd love to see him sing more. There's a mighty confetti cannon either side of the stage for Any Way You Want It - I'm revisited by Homer Simpson singing along during that one - and the final encore track Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin' sees us running out into acres of car park to take our chances in the queue for the long drive home.

As an experience, I was mildly surprised to see so few eight year olds from the post-Glee generation in attendance though the x chromosome quote of the audience was a bit higher than some gigs I've been to, and yes there was a tiny bit of handbag envy going on. In summary, pretty much as expected but definitely still showing signs of life.

Separate Ways
Only The Young
Edge Of A Moment
Ask The Lonely
Send Her My Love
Resonate
Stone In Love
City Of Hope
Lights
Mother/Father - Deen vocal
Open Arms
Chain Of Love
Wheel In The Sky
Be Good To Yourself
Faithfully
Don't Stop Believin'
Any Way You Want It
------
Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'

Back To The Future

2011-06-12T17:47:00.000+01:00

The advent of modern technology means I can check the venue website before making the trip, and on one recent occasion it's just as well I did. Seeing that evening's gig marked 'postponed', my relief at sparing myself the drive evaporated when I read further and it became clear that it had only been postponed in the sense of moved up the road to another venue. Both venues are close enough I'd have parked in more or less the same place anyway, but all the same it's nice to know beforehand.

Approaching the door, I hear something that sounds rather familiar - somewhere between the rising dynamic of Talk To Me and the tempo of Telephone, both songs by Shy from 1987 - and as it turns out, there's a very good reason why. Despite the keyboard player's unhappiness with the sound, Serpentine sound fantastic with a guitarist playing exactly the sort of lead breaks I love, keyboards filling out the sound and a vest-wearing singer from Barnsley. It turns out that Serpentine had previously boasted lead vocals from Tony Mills, formerly of Shy and a dozen other bands, which kind of figures. For thirty minutes, it was like 1986 never ended, and for me that's about as high as praise gets when it comes to this area of music.

There's something slightly unsatisfactory in buying their first album when only the final track has vocals from the new/current singer, but I'm delighted at the prospect of tracking down their second album in due course as it promises to be an absolute cracker.

There's a rustle of alarm and anticipation in the hedgerows of the crowd for the next band, and for good reason. I only picked up on them from a 'this year's next big thing' list - a self-fulfilling experience, it turns out - in Classic Rock magazine, but once I'd read that article/interview/advertorial piece (deleting according to taste) and checked out a couple of tunes on youtube, I couldn't wait to track down the self-titled debut album by Houston when it was released in the UK.

In classic style, the band start noodling about on their instruments, launch into the first song and the singer arrives on stage a matter of seconds before his first vocal line. Arrives on stage in a boxer style silk dressing gown with his name on the back no less, and hitting the cultural reference to Eye Of The Tiger as he does so, starts singing. I didn't note the set list, I was too busy taking pictures and soaking up the experience of something I'd been waiting for for a couple of months taking place in front of me.

Some bands occasionally look a little bored on stage, or somehow distracted because it's just another gig, but this was A Show at an early enough stage in the career arc that those on the stage seemed to be enjoying it as much as the rest of us. Yes, a guitarist climbing on top of the stage-side amp isn't new, but it is mildly amusing in what amounts to the size of a larger than average sitting room! Among six people on stage, four of them are wearing headbands of dubious fashion-criminality, and apart from the one guitarist's Hendrix fantasies, this would be almost a perfect production line keyboard and vocal heavy AOR band of the sort Derek Oliver couldn't help but approve of.

There's a couple of nice touches afterwards as an eight year old at his first gig gets his picture taken with band members while wearing the singer's boxer robe, and exactly the sort of friendly accessibility that will take a band forwards from this level. Vocal iffyness due to consecutive nights on the road notwithstanding, I wasn't expecting they'd be quite this good.

The final band Crash Diet also come from another place in time - and it's one where they've clearly put the time in planning their show in detail. If Tigertailz had listened to tons of Hüsker Dü, Crash Diet is exactly what you'd get, and it's amusing and entertaining enough but after 40-odd minutes I'm back out and on my way home.

Fragile Thing

2011-04-24T22:27:00.001+01:00

It’s been a very long time since I was reliant purely on public transport to get to the gig, something like fourteen years at a guess, but needs must when nobody drives because the car’s off the road. Had I not already had the ticket on my pinboard, I would have found it very easy indeed not to bother, and I was still not 100% even after the online train ticket booking window had shut.

Dumping the bike outside the station, I just made the earlier train of the two options I had, and arrived at the other end with time to spare. A leisurely stroll across to the venue without looking at the clock meant I had something to go on for gauging what time to leave the show. Knowing that the venue curfew is after my train left is useful information gathering.

At the venue with the doors still shut, which is pretty unusual for me these days, I decided against joining the queue in favour of nipping up the road for chips from the kebab shop. Fine dining on the road!

Getting the rucksack of bike lights, waterproof, tools etc into the gig was fine on the proviso it was going in the cloakroom, and Sam Lloyd was in the middle of her first song by the time I got in front of the stage. Female vocal and acoustic guitar is a combination I like a lot, she’s a decent enough guitar player and her voice is quite strong but I can’t say her material really grabbed me.

Second support Mike Marlin is a five piece band named for the singer, frontman, raconteur, shambling wreck of a showman and a few other things besides. Located between Mark Lanegan’s growl and Guy Garvey’s genial landlord, MM is backed by a band where it varies from song to song whether the lead instrument is the bass, piano or guitar. "Interesting" risks sounding like criticism but it really isn’t meant that way. But doing anything particularly interesting in the modern popular music idiom is fairly remarkable, and I'd like to hear more.

Now, carrying on as a band when the line-up changes in terrible circumstances is a funny one at the best of times. When I saw the three piece version of Big Country a few years ago they were on storming form, so I was really curious about what this version would offer. The addition of Jamie 'Son Of Bruce' Watson on guitar means there’s now two skinny jeaned blokes bouncing around stage right, which adds a little depth to the guitar sound but isn’t a dramatic change.

Bringing in another singer, on the other hand can’t help but be a significant change. Bringing in another singer from more or less your generation is one way to go. Bringing in Mike Peters makes some sort of sense, even if I’m not sure how his distinctive voice will work, but with history in common he talks about Stuart Adamson repeatedly, as you might expect.

I love The Alarm (that’s Peters, Sharp, MacDonald, Twist - accept no substitutes, kids!) and I’ve seen Mike a dozen times in various guises, hell there’s even a tape of a highly personal dedication story and song that may yet emerge in certain company at some point so I don’t especially have an axe to grind. But while it’s noticeable how he takes to the role of frontman, all waving arms and shouting ‘come on!’ and this does get the crowd going, there’s a little bit trying too hard in talking about Stuart Adamson being passed over the heads of the crowd decades ago and then appearing in the pit shortly thereafter. I don’t know, it’s a difficult job and there is no replacing Stuart so maybe adding your own stamp to singing his songs is always going to be difficult. Personally I’d rather just listen to Peters sing, and on songs like Fragile Thing I’m not sure his voice has ever sounded better.

After fourteen songs, and with Tony Butler talking about the current relevance of Where The Rose Is Sown, it’s time to reclaim my rucksack and head for the station. Missing my train would leave me relying on there being one at 01.30 and getting home about 3am, so it’s with good reason I walk out with Wonderland ringing around the venue and delighted I did make the effort to get there. Even if the knock-on effects at a time when I’m already quite remarkably stressed and tired are something I can do without.

Don't Give In, It Will Repeat, It Will

2011-04-13T22:26:00.000+01:00

Over and over and over and over, watching the same band many, many times can pale a little over the years. So it's often the what's new this time angle that is the interesting stuff, and this is no different: with the departure of Andres Karu from drumming duties - and given the transatlantic distance between one band member and the others, it's perfectly understandable that it becomes difficult to combine the rest of your life around that - there's a new face on the drum stool.

First man onto the stage, Fuzz Townsend is not an unfamiliar face to some of us, partially hidden behind shades and under a hat though his face is. As a veteran of Pop Will Eat Itself, Fuzz is rather closer to The Wonder Stuff's history, so it's going to be interesting to see how that changes things. With an hour-long set in the support slot for the tour, the stories are largely cut out as hit follows hit. The story about Kirsty MacColl that introduces Welcome To The Cheap Seats still brings a chill, Mother And I is still a welcome recent return to the set, and Sing The Absurd is dedicated to those of us who've survived all those years is preferable to a number of other possibilities.

Hammered down into the condensed set format, this is verging on a fantastically tight performance, perhaps at the crucial point of just easing into a new routine and before actually hitting cruising level. The little bit of ongoing adjustment of Fuzz to everyone else looks like it'll settle down further as time ticks on, but it's definitely a great time to see The Wonder Stuff all the same.

Celebrating the twentieth anniversary of the Levelling The Land album, headliners The Levellers split the two sides (remember that, kids?) of the album with a handful of associated b-side tracks, and the re-appearance of The Devil Went Down To Georgia is a pleasant surprise among them. With the balcony bouncing alarmingly and the wave of heat rising off a venue I've rarely seen this packed in all my previous visits - and this now my fourth most attended venue, it turns out - it's more a sensory experience than a spectacle to watch, and after Battle Of The Beanfield I made a sharp exit instead of hanging around to see what would happen in the encore, in the faint hope of getting home and not increasing my current sleep deficit by too much.

All that, and posters advertising a couple of gigs that I really want to see in the coming months that will drag me back out onto the motorway with the excitement of finally seeing a couple of acts that have been on my radar for variously a couple of months and a couple of decades. Here we go again.

Traiveller's Joy - End Of An Era

2011-04-13T22:23:00.001+01:00

I know, you won't be the first to point out that postings have been a little bare on here in recent times.

There's a couple of reasons, partly it's down to being busy doing stuff rather than writing about stuff, partly down to the effect that has on the stuff I'm prepared to write about. But the most significant change came in January 2011, the first calendar month in which I've not been to a live gig since about August 2004. And there's been a good few bands broken up, reformed, lost members and been through other dramatic changes since then, so I'm in good company.

Having ended up back in full time employment and at a place where I'm perfectly happy, I'm combining the slow progress of getting my financial stability back, which isn't damaged by the closure of a few of my favourite venues, both locally and further afield. So if I'm being more selective about the tickets I buy and the distances I'll travel to use them, there's a pretty good reason for that.

Gigs in the meantime then; watching Emily Smith do Karine Polwart's Better Things at Richard Thompson's festival of political song last summer, I was delighted a few months ago to find she would be coming to my town, though it's a good job I didn't buy a ticket immediately as it turned out I couldn't make that gig as I was away. On the plus side, I did make the gig in another town even if emerging from Heathrow airport at 5pm on a friday night isn't the calmest planning for a gig that evening.

Making it to my hotel with moments to spare, I arrived at the venue in time to miss just the first song. She's an engaging performer, the inter-play between her and the husband is amusing and there's plenty to be said for someone doing something traditional with a modern twist. That said, I'm not entirely convinced by the material when it sometimes needs the story explaining beforehand and also includes repeated requests to join in on a chorus where the lines to accompany are complicated enough to escape the short-term memory immediately.

The early start with no support meant that by a quarter to ten I was strolling the streets in search of a chip shop, after a week some way further north though that's another story. I returned to my hotel to catch a little sleep, to watch the telly and catch up on some emails.

Phew, rock n roll!

Home Is Where The 404 - Page Not Found Is

2011-02-28T00:56:00.001Z

Like a few hundred other people this weekend, I'm a trifle surprised and somewhat unimpressed by the closure of the Guardian talkboards. It's also true I'm not utterly bereft, partly due to parting with my previous employer (shite be unto them) and now earning a living somewhere that widescale online activity is just not possible and partly due to my natural social behaviours having gradually caught up with my online behaviours, both factors contributing to my ongoing decline in posting. All the same...

Something like nine years ago, I got into the habit of doing the Guardian Quick Crossword in its online incarnation: it would take me five or ten minutes, keep my synapses mobile and give me a brief yet stimulating break from whatever else I was thinking about at work. Then came a decision to charge for access to the crosswords, and being tight enough to at least qualify to visit Yorkshire, I had to cast my net a little wider for distraction.

Finding myself drawn into this thing called The Haven and a variety of offshoots, I also found myself reading things people were saying and thinking 'hmm, that's not quite right!' and so a username was born. And life was never the same again.

If you look at the list of links to the right, you'll find blogs long since left unposted even longer than mine, and some since deleted, but sharing their author being some other GU poster whose path had crossed mine along the way. Between them they changed my life, and while my ability to deal with that has been patchy (and at times questionable), they'll always be special to me.

It was on the internet in their company that I first felt comfortable discussing things I would struggle to mention with people I work(ed) with or have known a long time, and it worked primarily because we were talking more about the subject rather than my iffy qualifications in that area. It was in some of their company that I first introduced my alter-ego to anyone that wasn't a partner of mine, and while I've been told of several occasions where I was literally shaking until the wine kicked in, there is no question that my transvestism would have remained a very closely buried secret without GU Talk and various of its denizens.

And sure, it's no surprise that it is still A Big Deal for me, and my sketchy ability to express that or deal with it had a seriously destabilising effect upon my relationship(s) with various among them. But when I say they changed my life, that's stone cold fact rather than subjective opinion.

I can think of five posters who've died over the period of my posting, and I'm sure there are more - likewise I can point to weddings and offspring which take their genesis from time spent in a shared online space. So I'm sure I'm not the only one who had their life changed by it.

On the plus side, it's testament to the GUT community that multiple splinter alternatives have sprung up over the weekend, and that almost everyone has been able to track down everyone else between them. While I missed the world-changing events of September 11th online, what this weekend has most reminded me of is the 07/07/2005 London bombings, though happily to far less devastating effect. On that day, most of the ongoing arguments were set aside as posters all over the place set about establishing that the many London members of the GUT community were all accounted for safe and well.

Sure, there are things I'd change if I could go back, and nothing is either perfect or forever. But all the same I'm proud to be sat here in a dress that could be described as M&S does middle-aged corporate womenswear circa 2007 after watching an episode or two of Mad Men, and raise a glass of wine to Guardian Talk posters past. To those no longer about to post, I salute you. Cheers!

Old Getting Older

2010-12-14T21:21:00.002Z

There's something about going up to someone in the band at the end of the gig to say hello and having their eyes open wide when they see your t-shirt. That it "goes back a very long way, that goes back a very long way!" is undoubtedly true, but there's nothing wrong with that, and there's an observation about that t-shirt being older than a good number of the people in that crowd just begging to be made.

So, the gig. John Q Public are a mildly amusing punk outfit with a handy feel for the internal song dynamic that makes the likes of Green Day poppishly successful. With an amusing interplay between the bassist and singer, and a guitarist in an ill-advised bandana and more silly faces than Nigel Tufnell, I'm more impressed than I might have been with both the songs and the performance, and the way the singer reminds me of Mark Lyons from Chuck.

Performance is something the main draw for me this evening knows all about. The Grip remain one of the best live bands I've ever seen, and where for some people it's the first time they saw KISS or the first time they heard AC/DC, there's a small number of slightly lesser known bands who first swept me off my feet with the power of rock, and showed me that it was possible to do more than just stand on the stage and reproduce the album. This also has a lot to do with how I grew up to be much more a fan of British bands who I could go and see for myself, with the odd long distance stay-away exception like Journey*!

* next on tour in the UK in June 2011 with the mighty Styx

And it shows how all that stuff has stuck with me, that this revisit to someone I first saw on a stage far longer ago than he'd prefer I say in public is sandwiched between renewing my acquaintance with Chrome Molly earlier this year, and next week's trip to see Wolfsbane yet again. Old rockers never die, they just get a bit less hairy and wear stupid glasses...

The first three tracks are familiar ones - mp3 failure meant I hadn't reminded myself over the course of the day how the first album goes, but I had had it on at home the day before. As with Frobisher's Last Stand, there is more than a hint of Jellyfish's majestic pop-rock genius in some of the newer material. I'll be honest, I was hardly taking pictures at gigs back in the 80s, and with Willie Dowling modelling a fine pair of Elvis-type glasses I was working hard at getting a few decent pictures - I'm happy enough with what I got in the conditions.

Guy James has a remarkably strong voice when he briefly takes the mike on his own, and the rest of the band do a fine job of doing their jobs to allow Willie's star quality and songwriting mastery to come through. I'd have loved it no matter what they played, and I was delighted to visit a new venue and come away with change from £30 having paid to get in and bought the two Jackdaw4 CDs I didn't already have.

Barring THAT single and its lower profile follow up, I don't knowingly know anything by or about headliners Electric Six. But there's no denying a band with a few years under their collective belt in full cry, and the singer does a fantastic job of referring to where we are and confirming that he knows it isn't England. And in between the banter, there's a steely core of musicianship underpinning roughly what you'd get if you stuck the pop sensibilites of Sparks in a blender with the singular madness of Cardiacs and turned it up to eleven. Again I'm impressed beyond expectation, and while I'm not about to run out chasing the entire back catalogue, I'd happily recommend them to anyone who wants a bit of slightly off-kilter rocking excitement.

That said, there's only one highlight of the evening for me and that's chatting to Willie in a t-shirt that I think I'm right in remembering that he went out to the van to get for me on the last occasion I saw The Grip, many many years before. Mark Keen's been dead something like eighteen years now, I think, but I'm not one for forgetting, especially the band in search of whose ep I even made a trip to long gone London record shop Shades.

The Ballad Of Vera Daydream is now back on the mp3 player, and shows little sign of losing its appeal. We may all be old getting older (happily the quotable title of a b-side track from way back when) but the power to rock remains undiminished, if occasionally a little more creaky!

December Boy(s And Girls)

2010-12-14T20:59:00.000Z

A seasonally themed gig is always going to be a bit hit and miss, especially if the timing is just before the whole party season gets into full swing. And so it is that this gig comes with a bunch of balloons, some tinsel and fairy lights.

Having missed the early doors by a combination of travelling back from the snow-laden hills and being in no hurry to see every second of every unfamiliar band, I nevertheless turned up in time to see all of Lucky Delucci. Joseph the singer seems an engagingly affable chap, and overall they come across rather like what you'd find lost in the middle ground between the classy synth pop of Captain and the more rounded prog leanings of Super Furry Animals. I made the effort to download the free track they have available and it's growing on me further by the listen, and definitely one for the don't-miss-their-next-support-slot file. Encouraging.

It's not unusual to find there's something I've come to late, but hooked on current blissful pop single December Boy, I was really looking forward to catching the final local appearance by The Loves. Naturally enough that single is a little out of character for the rest of their material, and the fine array of expletives and guitar riffs take you somewhere else entirely. The natural comparison is Jeffrey Lewis' 12 Crass Songs project, where Alice's counterpoint to Simon's singing takes a part that some might dismiss as the Manda Rin role, but it may be more the local influence of Helen Love that I detect coming through in the artful imperfection that means it sounds rather more raw and natural than the polish of December Boy. Guest roles played by various former Loves makes it a bit more like a final flourish, and that all adds to the one-off feel of the gig.

Headliners (and still my current favourite current pop band) are The School. You can probably judge for yourself how biased I am in their favour when I mention that Liz is doing the door and recognises me as I approach. Clad in Christmas jumpers and reindeer antlers, they run through a mix of festive classics and new tunes from The School's future second album though it's Stop That Boy that stays with me longest after the gig.

Not the best gig ever in the history of the world, but a perfectly decent seasonal antidote to the drama of the Frozen UK, and probably my major concession to the season of mandatory jollity. Hurrah!

What Is My Role?

2010-12-14T20:57:00.000Z

Sometimes a gig is an obligation, and sometimes a gig is a long-awaited pleasure. But it's not so often that a gig is a life-affirming experience at a level above and outside the music. With a number of outstanding obligations out of the way, this was a gig I'd been looking forward to, wondering about and considering my options in equal measure. Having not taken a handbag out somewhere in some time, I'd tried to get some stuff out of the way in plenty of time, and by the time I'd done my make up I was only a bit later in leaving than I ordinarily would be. Cue a couple of laps of the block looking for the odd parking space that hadn't already been taken. Ended up in a space three foot longer than my car, simple enough, even in those heels.

Walked round to the venue to be met by a wall of bodies just inside the door and enough assembled body heat to feel the make up sliding down my face almost immediately. No point fighting my way through this dense a crowd to the bar, and happily it wasn't long before the band took the stage, rolling through some instrumental work while Edwyn Collins was helped onto his stool at centre stage. Listening to a recent radio session means I'm familiar with three of the newer songs, with the understandably recurring themes of losing one's place in the world and losing control of one's circumstances.

The new album Losing Sleep features a number of collaborations from various names you might recognise, and that aspect chimes with the joyous spectacle where everyone in the room wishes Edwyn well, and this is anything but a sympathy gig. While the stroke means guitar playing is no longer much of an option, he still has his voice, in more than one sense. Backed by ex-Pistol Paul Cook on drums, Boz Boorer on bass and the younger pair of guitarists, it's a pretty tight unit that propels the evening musically while Edwyn's clearly in control of his vocal performance, from recent tracks like What Is My Role? (see that theme I mentioned?) all the way back through to Rip It Up and Blue Boy.

I've been in gigs where the atmosphere has been sombre after people close to the band have have died, and where the atmosphere has been taut due to events in the world outside, but the best comparison I have to offer is the time I saw All About Eve and Julianne's voice was going; she was clearly doing her best, all the crowd were clearly aware of how hard she was trying, encouraging her on and on her side, and willing her to pull it off. As it happened, Julianne's voice gave out after half a dozen songs and the rescheduled gig a month later was nowhere near as special even at three or four times the length.

But where that was a one-off, this was more a proper return to the stage doing normal gigs, and as such I think everyone was delighted to see how Edwyn's coming along, to be a part of an event celebrating his ongoing recovery (both medically and of his musical activities) and to enjoy a fine selection of songs new and old, in roughly that order of importance.

All that and home at the sensible hour of not long after 11.30, Springsteen multi-hour sets probably being a bit beyond what anyone wants to see Edwyn put himself through right now. It's more than enough that the gig happened at all, and while Neil Hannon was arguably a better show, this was undoubtedly a better experience of human warmth and supportiveness.

A few days into the new album, I'm really enjoying the different colours that the input of others' brings to it and more than anything it's just refreshing to listen to straightforward pop music with proper guitar solos to the fore - rock on, Edwyn!

Space Age, No Rocket

2010-12-14T20:53:00.000Z

Next up in the line of gigs where the ticket got bought when there was nothing else on around the time and that then changed.

Ok, I'll declare an interest. From my perspective, the only good thing about drum and bass is the Cable t-shirt stating 'DRUM AND BASS [tiny font] guitar and vocals', and I've no idea that drum and bass is even what you'd call this particular nonsense. Given it is music effectively reduced to the bass and a bit of drums, ie with all the interesting bits taken out or turned down far enough to be inaudible, it is an adequate description if not a perfect piece of genre pigeonholing.

On the plus side, I've never seen a drummer start putting his drums in the van while the rest of the band blithely carry on playing, and it is a suitably edifying spectacle to watch someone packing up his Mac laptop and coiling the associated cables while his mate continues apparently 'feeling the groove' or whatever the appropriate term is. In short, utter rubbish.

I had half a plan for things to go slightly differently, but time and weather got in the way so I was really glad I didn't get there any earlier and have to stand there through all of that, and I can understand the appeal of a practically non-existent support when a lot of effort has gone into the stage set.

Emerging from a giant silver funnel in silvery clothes, the band are soon joined by Alison Goldfrapp in a black cape that appears to have the tape from half a dozen VHS cassettes sewn onto it in loops, making her unmistakeably the focal point of the place.

Polite notices on the walls inform the crowd that 'the artist has requested that patrons refrain from all typpes [sic] of photography and video' and surprisingly for such a visual show, people mostly comply, although the security are pretty hot on looking for the electronic glow of LEDs and LCDs being raised in the air and demanding they be put away.

Alison's band are pretty tight, with the smilingest drummer I've seen in a while, and indeed I'd have to think hard to work out who was the last female drummer I saw that wasn't Denise Dufort. You've got to love a clear perspex bass guitar, and who doesn't love seeing one and at times two keytars - that's those keyboards worn on a strap and played like a guitar?

You'll note I still haven't mentioned how the band sound. I liked the idea that the recent album was rather more 80s flavoured, and Alison Goldfrapp is clearly one of those interesting characters that deserve a bit of support just for not belonging to the identikit dance routine and skipload of melisma acts that plague the discerning listener in the modern age. I'm open to something new every now and then, but I'm not rushing out to buy anything and I wouldn't rush to go that far to see this gig again. But there are half a dozen singles and songs I recognise, and for all that most are rather more into it than me, I can see the captivation in a singer who is clearly wrapped up in the performance rather than the act.

In the cold light of day, I'm probably prepared to stick with my initial reaction, that Goldfrapp combines the singular conviction of Kate Bush with an able band made up of the survivors of a fight between Heaven 17 and space-ABBA, beamed straight out of 1986. That it is a spectacle worth seeing is unquestionable, but whether it comes with a set of tunes I'll be singing along with this time next year or even this time next week is rather more in doubt.

Pop Genius, And Then Some

2010-12-14T20:47:00.002Z

The last two years have been noticeably leaner on the gigs front, largely due to changing financial circumstances but also because there just haven’t been that many gigs where I’ve felt I absolutely have to be there, and somewhere along the way I’m noticing that irresistible impulse to get to the gig has been supplanted by some of the other stuff I get up to. If you’d told me a few years ago that having spent the money on the ticket, just not going would ever be an option that appeared in some way reasonable, I’d have laughed.

I booked this ticket in a moment of celebration of returning to full time employment and via a blink and you’ll miss it tip-off on f*ceb**k that an extra handful of tickets had been made available. Which meant that as sober reality has returned and I’ve been weighing up what comes next, I’d even considered that if it were that popular a gig maybe I’d be better off reclaiming the cost of the ticket by flogging it on.

You’ll gather I wasn’t spectacularly keen, then, to see in his own right someone I saw back in the early summer, much as I was impressed with those two songs he did, but I lived to be very glad I made the effort.

Having the missus as your support act is an understandable move - it keeps Steve Earle behaving when he’s on tour, for example - but it’s also an invitation to moans of nepotism and worse. In this case there’s really no reason for any of that. Cathy Davey’s rich creamy voice is pitched somewhere between Cerys Matthews at her most breathy and Katell Keineg, and while it’s a tricky gig to accompany yourself on an electric guitar, it mostly works fairly well. There’s a bit too much voice as instrument stuff for my liking, but what do you expect from a voice sometimes fighting to be heard over an electric guitar? File under ‘I’d happily borrow the album off someone to get a proper listen but I’m not rushing out to spend the money on it myself’, and that’s as much a comment on my ageing and jaded attitude as it is on Cathy.

In bowler hat and suit, pipe in mouth and briefcase in hand, Neil Hannon cuts a striking figure as he strides on to the stage, tips his hat to the crowd and then spends ninety minutes combining piano pop literacy with frequent humorous asides towards a crowd nestled comfortably in the palm of his hand. I saw the amplified Divine Comedy band a while back and that reminded me how many great pop singles I knew, but this is just Neil and understandably it comes over as a far more singular act.

While some of the lines are clearly polished and practised, there’s still plenty of tiny surprises, just as when requests for My Lovely Horse are flatly refused with a repeated point blank ‘No!’, even to the point of protesting too much, as he goes into some other song. And then immediately follows that song with My Lovely Horse. The jaunty brightness of Becoming More Like Alfie is a particular highlight at the up tempo end of the scale, with his vocalising of the guitar solo and especially the hammering on section. Likewise the closest Hannon comes to overtly political in The Complete Banker is part anthem of despair and part call for insurrection.

There are plenty of moments of crowd involvement, with alternating male/female choruses of the Marseillaise fading in and out of The Frog Princess, and at times it’s the first time a gig I’ve been at has turned into something approaching a participatory choral event since whichever is the last I saw out of Chumbawamba, Show Of Hands and the Oysterband.

I’m delighted I overcame my poor excuse-making for an hour and a half of such outstanding entertainment, compelling from start to finish.

Rocking Back The Years

2010-12-14T20:43:00.001Z

You don't need to read too much of what I write on here to understand that as much as I'm looking forwards to the next gig, I'm often looking backwards to it as well; and so it is that a moderate trip across the country and a short leg up the M1 sees me camping at an outdoor musical event for the first time in several years.

Most festivals these days come with three figure ticket prices and a variety of corporate branding operations. So when you turn off the nearest dual carriageway and find a distinct lack of those helpful yellow AA signs for event directions, it might raise the odd question in the mind of anyone who hasn't done their own research to know where they were supposed to be going. Turning off the road up a farm track brings me to a cordon to get my car searched for glass, and then another stop to hand over the cash for my weekend ticket, parking and camping - a bargain at £50 the lot.

A quick wander towards the area with the stages in the rain, and it's back to put up the tent in a brief interlude between small bouts of weather, and then to put the kettle on for a cup of tea - hey, rock n roll!

Perched almost on top of a hill, overlooking the rest of the site means I can hear what's going on on the main stage well enough not to miss anything yet softly enough to be able to ignore it if I want.

Friday's bill had a number of things new to me, and a couple I especially wanted to see again; with Anti-Product not appearing due to the lack of Alex being in the country, it was really only Magnum closing the show had caught my attention and I'd seen them relatively recently anyway. It was the same set as the last tour, and they were perfectly fine, but the best bit was the confirmation the new album is on its way. The Visitation is out in the new year, and tickets for the associated tour in April 2011 are already on sale. From some time after the event, I most remember the Therapy?-esque Trucker Diablo, and Clive The Doctor (of And The Medics fame) as a great value MC throughout.

Waking to the more impressive/familiar/anticipated line-up on the second day, I was pleased to see the rain more or less holding off. Leicester youngsters Arms Of Atlas showed some of the commitment to performance and energy of bands a generation or two older, one of whom was really my main reason for being there. I'll come back to that.

New Generation Superstars still evoke The Almighty in being a band I want to like, and a band I mostly enjoy when our paths cross but who just don't have that little extra something to make me buy their recorded material. Dinnertime takes me away from the next couple of bands, missing not very much, and then I'm back down the front for the mighty noise of Jason and the Scorchers. I love JatS, and I'm delighted to find there's a new album to buy at the gig and get signed by Jason and Warner afterwards. New song Days Of Wine And Roses is a perfect follow-on to Jason and The Wildhearts' One Less Heartache, and on its own it makes the whole travel and expenditure of the weekend worth it.

Jason Ringenberg

Marky Ramone's Blitzkrieg deliver 32 songs packed with Ramone-ness, and the added bonus of a real live Ramone, and what could possibly be wrong with that?

Closing headliner Glenn Hughes has an outstanding voice, but it's the DP track Stormbringer that gets me most excited, and after that the rest of the material just isn't doing it for me.

Nevertheless, I would be going home the following morning anything but disappointed as I'd earlier been treated to my first live onstage sighting of Leicester's finest, metal titans Chrome Molly in closing on twenty-two years, including my first personal dedication of a song in a little while. Not a new experience with this band, mind, frontman Steve Hawkins having done exactly the same back in Ferbruary 1988. When we were all a little younger, a little thinner and a little hairier.

that Chrome Molly set in full
Cut Loose
Steel Against The Sky
Supercharge
Tie Your Mother Down
Shooting Me Down
Stop Love!
Take Me I'm Yours
Panama

Steve Hawkins, 2010 version

Metal On Metal

2010-08-02T22:02:00.002+01:00

With two gigs I wanted to see on the one night, one of which was a band for whom this was the first tour in many years and who I hadn't seen in sixteen years, and one of which was a band I've been trying to see for a little while and who don't pass this way very often, I was left with a tricky decision.

Much as Indiscreet is an almost perfect album of its kind, the new FM album didn't quite jump out of the speakers and grab me, apart from the track that sounds just like Bryan Adams, so I jumped the other way.

A couple of years ago I was on the M4, heading for a gig in London I think, and Simon Mayo on the radio started talking about a band whose name was familiar. 'Oh yeah, that's the band with the guy called Lips in', I thought, remembering all those hours spent poring over articles in a too tiny font size in Kerrang! Mayo went on to chat with Lips and the film-maker who were doing promo work for a film that was shortly to be released in cinemas in the UK.

Despite the suggestions that it was a Spinal Tap type work of fiction, and despite the cringeworthy nature of at least half of Spheeris' 'Decline Of Western Civilisation - The Metal Years', my residual memories meant I knew it was for real, and the brief chat with Lips and Sacha meant I knew this was a film I had to see.

If I make it to the cinema twice a year that's a pretty busy film-going year for me, but I was delighted to see my local arts cinema was showing the film in question, a heady mix of despair and pathos, followed by catastrophe and letdown, with a side order of failure leavened with frustration and an inescapable layer of hope. I don't believe I've ever been to see a film where the end credits are received with a spontaneous round of applause, but that's what sort of film it is. If you have even the slightest appreciation of metal and you haven't already seen it, you should and if you don't enjoy it then I'll refund your cinema ticket myself.

So, decision made, I bought my ticket for what was supposed to be a two band bill in the upstairs baby venue, effectively the upstairs bar which holds 350. With an early start time on the ticket, I didn't want to be too late getting in and yet I still walked in through the front door to hear some rocking already going on. And quickly found myself in front of the main stage, the full venue which holds more like 1200. Ok, so the balcony wasn't open, but it's reassuring to see any band selling out and getting bumped up to the bigger stage, and if you've seen the film you'll know how much.

Despite appearances, four guys all looking a little bit too close to a Rocking R*ss*ll Br*nd for anyone's comfort were doing their thing. Listening to them on myspace as I write this, Dark Horse are roughly what you'd get if Gaz from Supergrass (it's the singer's voice) had a Black Rose-era Thin Lizzy covers band which cut right down on the twin solos. As a fairly local band, they had a small following of mates and hangers-on, and I can see why; I'll be trying to catch them again soon if I get the chance.

When I last wrote that I didn't want to leave it quite so long before the next time I saw Girlschool, I wasn't necessarily expecting it to come round quite so quickly, or in this way. Their appearing on this bill clinched the idea that not seeing FM this time was something I could live with, and I was fairly close to the front. Despite drummer Denise Dufort's brief technical difficulties as we got going, this was a fuller set than last time's half hour, a full fifty-odd minutes. In addition to introducing I Spy (on which he and Iommi collaborated) with a dedication to Ronnie James Dio, they even did Yeah Right, which is an absolute corker of a track and made my night.

And then the headliners, what can you say about Anvil? I have a vague wonder if the crowd might be be this full in a couple of years time when the film's impact has dulled a little, but I'm hardly surprised Lips seemed genuinely moved to see so many people there when they hadn't "played this town since about 1983". So, a guy in his sixth decade playing a Flying V with a vibrator, what's more metal than that? What you see on the film is what you get, Lips is the real deal and Anvil is a band everyone should see once in their lives. If you've seen the film, you'll understand you probably owe him that too!

Nicko McBrain, gurn your heart out!

Political Animals

2010-07-18T15:42:00.004+01:00

Having not been to the big city in a year or so, I was tempted to go to Tom Robinson's 60th birthday gig a few weeks ago, but when I realised I could see him in an abbreviated format as part of Richard Thompson's Meltdown 'An Evening Of Political Song', I was sold. Not least because I could take advantage of a half price concession ticket.

Ok, so I'm no longer signing on, but my new half-job isn't exactly going to keep me in hot and cold running champagne, and though half a job is of course better than no job, and the work part of it is fine so I just need to hold my nerve for a number of months in the hope it will turn into a whole job. At the half-rate it pays significantly less than the Joseph Rowntree Trust reckon you need you live on, so I'm hardly aping the extravagance of MPs' expenses here.

An ever-revolving onstage line-up is always going to be both mildly disjointed as a spectacle and refreshingly varied as a chance to see a lot of people in one place. And as ever, views will differ of what is the best or most interesting bit; Dorian Lynskey's view is here though it's hugely over-enthusiastic about that version of 'Next'. After SAHB, why ever bother?

I'd never seen Martin Carthy or Norma Waterson before, so that was something I was looking forward to, and indeed Norma's solo vocal run through Coal Not Dole had my spine tingling and the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. It doesn't happen all that often these days, but a repeat experience came with Emily Smith's version of Karine Polwart's Better Things in the second half of the show.

To be fair I wasn't expecting that much of Boris Grebenshikov, despite having one of his singles from decades ago but he was much better than I expected. The other highlight for me was being within five metres of Harry Shearer. Maybe for a singer he's a great bass player, but his MC-ing the evening was excellent, and he is the voice of a significant set of characters in The Simpsons, and rather more than that he is the lukewarm water of Derek Smalls.

It's Not Too Late To Start Again*

2010-07-15T17:24:00.000+01:00

If you listed the ingredients of the sort of music I love most, you'd start with harmony vocals and guitar solos. Then you'd probably add singalong tunefulness, and a healthy sense of a band not taking itself too seriously. And if you look at that from a different angle, you'd see I've just described Teenage Fanclub.

With five years gone by since the Man Made album, it's certainly not before time that a new album 'Shadows' and the chance to see them again has had me uncommonly excited for a couple of months. Support band Veronica Falls have the slightly ragged guitar of early Teenage Fanclub, and hints of promising melody are slightly buried in the live mix. Maybe I should have listened to the tracks on their myspace a couple more times, I don't know, but I've stood through plenty worse openers and I'll be happy to see them again if they pass my way. But from the second the headliners launch into Start Again, there's only one band on my mind.

Maybe I've just been unlucky but three of my last four gigs have been blighted by unremitting dullards demanding their choice of song, to the ocasional displeasure of the turn. In this case, Norman's affability in shrugging it off is a change for the better, but I could have done without it all the same. And then Raymond rips into yet another guitar line that's half Neil Young and half purest pop, and the idiots are wiped away again for a bit.

After this much time away, and with a back catalogue that means they could do a four hour set of classic after classic, it would be a fine gig just for them being there. But in Baby Lee, and even in When I Still Have Thee which appears to be highly influenced by Nanci Griffith's 'Don't Forget About Me', they have new songs fully worth their place in the set, as Dave's pedal steel augments the perfect combination of guitars and vocals.

The world's a better place for Teenage Fanclub.

* 'It's too late to start again' is from the song on Teenage Fanclub's Grand Prix album called, surprisingly enough, Start Again. I disagree.

There Must Be More To Life*

2010-05-15T12:44:00.002+01:00

Having blown out two gigs for which I had tickets, one in favour of enjoying the election spectacle unfolding on the telly and one where the cost of transport to use the ticket would still have been more than another ticket for the show added later but closer to home, I'm back in the game with two gigs in three nights.

Sometimes it's the slightly less familiar that makes things a lot more interesting.

Duke Special's latest release is a three album special based around some interesting works of art, variously from the silver screen, the stage and classic literature. With so much new material on show, the only familiar tunes aired are a cover of Elton John's I'm Still Standing and his own Digging An Early Grave. Although I've had the new triple set some weeks, it's fair to say it mostly didn't leap out at me as the most fun I've ever had. Ben SonOfRoy Castle's comedy antics in a pair of glasses that make him look like a young Griff Rhys Jones notwithstanding.

My schedule has for some weeks had marked on it a band I never saw in the olden days, and who I never expected to see live. I've a couple of their singles, but that's it, and they haven't done live shows in twenty years, so I was quite excited to see what the modern rejuvenated version of We've Got a Fuzzbox And We're Gonna Use It might have to offer.

In a venue I haven't visited in a bit over three years, I'm reminded what the alternative to the slick and reliable yet curiously unexciting Academy circuit is, in the shape of a late start by support act Fitness Club Fiasco; a four-piece doing electronic pop somewhere between Blink's synth rhythms and Captain's male-female vocal mix - took a little while to get going but I quite warmed to them in the end.

A no hurry changeover saw the current five woman line-up of Fuzzbox take the stage after a slight delay, and then wait for a few more mintues for Sarah's bass set up to come to life. By which time we'd forgotten the intro tape, Maggie had talked a load of rubbish, and so we started all over again. International Rescue wasn't the liveliest start, but it really got going with Rules And Regulations, though the shambolic intro comedy banter kept going throughout. While it's obvious that Vix is a fantastic performer in her own right, it's when Maggie comes out from behind her keyboard and together they form the most effective front pairing to come out of the Midlands since Clint and Graham from PWEI. See the original vintage video for Love Is The Slug for the half-arsed "choreographed" footwork spectacle we were treated to, and how well Vix and Maggie work together.

<<== Maggie
Jo and Vix ==>>

While the crowd have a whale of a time, it's obvious that from Jo's pink Kramer on one side to Sarah's highly improbable heels on the other, there's just as much fun being had on stage as there is watching. And if a twenty year reunion for the fun of it didn't turn out like this, there would be something wrong, but tonight you can stand down International Rescue as they are doing absolutely fine on their own. Fantastic.

* There Must Be More To Life is part of the hook from Fuzzbox smash Rules And Regulations

Sometimes A Melody Is Louder Than A Shout

2010-03-29T23:23:00.007+01:00

Yeah, I know. But I've got plenty of stuff to be getting on with that's more important to be getting on with than to be writing about. I've been to a number of gigs where I've half-written stuff and not got round to completing it, and I'm not apologising for spending that time on the never-ending search for a job instead. I'm aware that when my late father got made redundant in his early or mid forties, that was the end of something for him that was more than just the end of a job, and I'm fortunate that I have had the option to keep doing the other stuff I've been doing with my life for the last few years without an income, and that state won't last forever. Several months into joblessness, I'm aware that life goes on, and confident that someone will fall for my faultless interview technique (ahem!) sooner or later, but I do need to keep working on that more than on this. Normal service will be resumed sooner than later, I hope, but I'm in no position to make guarantees right now.

Of the few new albums and few gigs I've had this year, every time I've come out of the gig and put one particular album on. It's Chumbawamba's new one, ABCDEFG. On saturday I had the happy convenience of a home game coinciding with the only Chumbawamba gig I could make it to on this tour, albeit a gig that took me a little further from home. Arriving ten minutes after ticket time, I wasn't expecting the old 'wait for a gap in the performance before being allowed into the auditorium' game. Coming in in the dark, it was easier to sit on the stairs than try to find a seat while I couldn't see.

The support was O'Hooley and Tidow, an unwieldy combination of surnames and a twin vocal, one keyboard act sitting somewhere between operatic comedy folk-pop and the Indigo Girls. Going into it without expectations, I was easily won over with their charm, good humour and ability to laugh at themselves, and hope to see them again.

Now, Chumbawamba are an easy target. They are an act with one hit, as they sing themselves in Torturing James Hetfield. But they are also a fine musical act, a fantastic set of songwriting talents, and above all these days they are a combination of minimal instrumental backing and multiple vocals. And here's why I've gone back to ABCDEFG so often; writing an album of songs about music could go wrong in many ways, and it could hardly go this right. And yet The Devil's Interval is a storming attack on superstition couched in pastoral melodies. And yet Singing Out The Days is a poignant expression of anti-war sentiment straight out of the trenches. And yet Ratatatay is a beautiful rendition of a story I first heard years ago, of George Melly getting himself out of a sticky situation by the power of singing the absurd. And yet Wagner At The Opera is a great reminder of how history is a contemporary issue, because there are lessons we should never forget.

And in a nutshell, that's what Chumbawamba is in 2010, a comprehensive resource of melodies informing the lively mind of things it shouldn't have missed along the way. With the clocks going forward for BST, I got home at nearly half past two and I don't regret a second of the disruption.

* 'Sometimes A Melody Is Louder Than A Shout' is a line from Voices That's All, track 2 on ABCDEFG

Better Get Ready For A Fistfight

2010-02-19T18:46:00.006Z

New venues sometimes make me slightly nervous, whether it's a city I'm not familiar with or somewhere new to park the car, there's always the slight possibility of it going wrong. With something over 200 venues under my sizeable belt, I've mostly got used to it and on this occasion it turns out straightforward enough once I've done a lap around the block including a diversion round a building site, and the pleasant guy on the door has told me where it's safe to park. All the same I can read dire warnings of clamping on the wall and it'll be a couple of songs before I relax into forgetting that.

And to be fair, that's probably what I need. I've had a couple of difficult weeks, a couple of job interviews that have meant I've seen a few 3AMs running over interview question and answer cobblers in my head, and despite that and filling in half a printer ink cartridge's worth of forms, nothing came out of it all. So that's plenty of work and not a small amount of lost sleep for nothing, though this week has been a bit brighter, and I've started casting my net a bit wider and throwing my CV at all manner of unsuitable things. If nothing else I have the small consolation of wasting the time of certain recruitment agents as much as they waste mine!

It's only a dozen gigs since I last saw Miles and Erica, supporting The Proclaimers. Last time I saw a setlist from subsequent shows, it promised a rather more varied selection of songs and last night was to be no exception.

The support act sort of passed me by, nothing wrong with it and nothing to identify or commend it much either. Not unusually for an acoustic gig, we were treated to a couple of people who thought going to a loud environment to have a shouted conversation over something everyone else was trying to listen to. More than one person got politely requested by more than one other person to shut the hell up, and it does always put bit of a dampener on a gig, being unavoidably distracted by idiots.

Nevertheless, this was a fantastically well put together set featuring a few songs I've not listened to in ages, and the odd new story as well as some familiar favourites. I'm a little set in my ways these days, and it usually takes something truly outstanding to really affect me; nevertheless there's a shiver up my spine at the newly-bearded Miles telling the meeting Kirsty MacColl story prior to Welcome To The Cheap Seats, even though I've heard it before. And it's not the particular relevance of that song either, nor is it just that Kirsty is someone I had the privilege of seeing perform several times, but it's small consolation she remains unforgotten and rightly so. Unfaithful and Inside You sound great in that stripped down two-piece format, and Cartoon Boyfriend is another unexpected addition to a gig that turned out a hell of a lot better than it threatened to do when the conversation posse first got going. We didn't quite get as far as getting ready for a fistfight, but it's the sort of thing that it would only take a tiny bit more booze and testosterone to turn undesirably unpleasant. Instead it turned into a very good night though!

* Better Get Ready For A Fistfight is a song from The Wonder Stuff's Escape From Rubbish Island album

That setlist in full:
Send Me Onions
Not In My Plans
DWI
Fill Her Up And Foot Down
The Cake
Oars In The Water
The Sum Of Us
The Test
Plans In The Sky
Welcome To The Cheap Seats
Piece Of Sky
Sing The Absurd
Room 512
Unfaithful
Inside You
Circlesquare
Cartoon Boyfriend
Here Comes Everyone

Step Back In Time part whatever

2010-02-13T17:27:00.003Z

So the last part of my pre-xmas activities saw me enjoying the facilities of another Birmingham hotel, but as it was the first day the nation really got going on the snow-chaos nonsense, the streets were fairly treacherous. That and the lack of proper preparation which meant I had neither ticket to go anywhere interesting nor company. So while my catsuit made its first appearance in public, it was all a tiny bit disappointingly uneventful. The following day saw me heading north on the M1, taking four or five hours to cover the hour or so needed to reach Sheffield. Not because the snow was problematic, but simply because I had time to kill. Pulling into Sheffield was both reassuringly familiar and a little strange, because I hadn't been there for some time. The previous night's uneventfulness was more than made up for by having my exhaust drop off, with a recognisable clunk-clunk-clunk audible somewhere under a sound more like a jet engine as I limped the few hundred yards to a sensible parking place. I found my way to the venue in plenty of time, and headed off for a brief wander round the city centre before returning to find I hadn't made it onto the guest list as promised. Yeah, I know, shit happens, but another £17 to get in merely soaked up some of the savings made by my unextravagance the night before. Wolfsbane were on excellent form, we had The Troggs' Wild Thing added to the set and I had a quick chat with Blaze ('did you get in on the guest list ok..?'), Jase and Steve before the Quireboys started up again. The place was rammed, I stole a poster off the wall and after getting on for an hour decided it was time to be heading home again. One of the security staff, all of whom had been pleasant and as helpful as they could about the guest list snafu, asked if I was leaving already, and I couldn't face giving a full explanation of the journey that awaited me. In the bitter cold, and with the remains of the exhaust tethered out of the way with a cable tie, I pulled out of central Sheffield and headed for the motorway south, making only the one stop for petrol when I was about an hour from home. So despite the dire warnings of extreme weather, and with the sensible use of my earplugs almost all the way, I proved that even with the added noise I can still do a 200 mile drive home in one go, petrol stop excluded. Thought I'm glad I started it at 10.30 rather than 11.30pm There aren't many bands I'd contemplate that sort of thing for, and indeed I'd decided against doing the trip to London in the week before, but Wolfsbane will always remain my first love in british metal, and where better than Sheffield for the last show if it turns out there aren't any more. Though given how much fun they appeared to be having, I'm hopeful there will be.

Step Back In Time - part 4 of nearly there now

2010-02-05T17:47:00.004Z

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.

One Step At A Time

2010-02-05T17:38:00.003Z

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.

Step Back In Time - part 3 of a few

2010-01-29T16:33:00.007Z

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.

Rites Of Passage

2010-01-21T20:30:00.006Z

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!

Step Back In Time – part two of a few

2010-01-19T16:58:00.004Z

"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

Step Back In Time – part one of a few

2010-01-18T18:05:00.005Z

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!

Fighting My Way Back

2010-01-04T12:37:00.002Z

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!

Rock Of Ages

2009-11-20T17:58:00.002Z

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.

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.

Loveless Unbeliever, Better Than The Rest*

2009-11-03T20:19:00.000Z

There’s a couple of ways it can go when you put a lot of effort into setting up a venue. You can go down the utilitarian route that means all you need to do is replace lightbulbs and sweep the floor. Or you can go to town and end up with a deliberately decorated art space. While the red neon WHAT THE FUCK’ has gained its own reputation, it’s the sign that says ‘Please don’t talk over the quieter bands’ that catches my eye on the way in. The walls are covered with mostly black and white posters of mostly thirty year old pictures, a mix of the New York of the Ramones, Blondie and Warhol with some rather less interesting pictures of women with minimal clothes from an older era. There’s a string of seven inch vinyl records hanging along the wall, the odd candle burning on a table top and enough colour in the red paint on walls and ceiling for it to be a pretty warm and friendly place. Your average identikit chain venue this isn’t. Going out on your own from a moderately successful, briefly charting band is always going to be easier than leaving a leviathan like U2. I loved the Pipettes’ manufactured indiepop far more than I’ve ever been excited by the choreography-led likes of Beyonce, but on your own any kind of show is going to be tricky. So it’s to Gwenno’s credit that she manages to combine playing her keyboard, using some sort of pedal to vary the sound and sing along with whatever sampled rhythm tracks she’s using, and also, er, pull a few shapes now and then. Where the peroxide crop looks like recovery Kylie, the net effect of the electronic sounds is more Pet Shop Boys, and while I can’t say I’ll be desperate to hear everything Gwenno does next, the overall it's more than pleasant enough. The School, on the other hand, is a band that I have been waiting to see again for more than year. There’s been a couple of gigs on inconvenient days, and one I even had a ticket for, but one way and another it hasn’t worked out. So I’m delighted to get to hear a few new songs as well as those that have become regulars on my mp3 player. This time it’s a five piece line-up on stage, and I can pay a bit more attention to who is who, not that it matters so much. What we get is the familiar sunshine pop tunes, and a few more new ones that are presumably on the forthcoming album, in the following sequence. Double-quotes mean I'm not certain of the title. I Want You Back "Gonna Be A Long Time" Valentine And Suddenly "Is It True?" "I Can’t Understand The Reason Why" "Hoping And Praying" Shoulder All I Wanna Do "Is It True?" includes a moment not unlike the 'she wrote upon it' part of Return to Sender, "Hoping and Praying" might possibly owe a tiny something to Bacharach & David's Wishin' and Hopin', as well as having a fabulous handclaps intro, and the familiarish moments of sweeping big 60s pop make the sound of The School at once retro and modern as the shuffling drums, the subtle guitar lines and the perfectly placed baby glock notes wrap around Liz's voice like a winter blanket. While I gather there's been some mildly critical suggestion that the album title isn't all glossy, shiny and happy, I reckon there's a lot to be said for the bittersweet mix of upbeat melodies and heartbreak songs to give that little bit of balance. And from where I'm sat, the distinct mix of instruments and voice/s is precisely what makes The School sound so special. School's in, as Alice Cooper never said. * Loveless Unbeliever is the title of The School's forthcoming album, available in February on Elefant records, and the title is taken from the lines 'loveless unbeliever/ better than the rest' from the song 'Let It Slip', which coincidentally is a perfect headline for lazy album reviewers everywhere to use when they describe The School's album! I stayed on to watch Lisa Milberg's band, and while it was fine for something totally unfamiliar to me, I'd run out of descriptive powers by this point. But y'know, The School's album - buy it, when it comes out.

Well I Guess I Should Confess That I Am Starting To Get Old...

2009-10-28T16:30:00.004Z

Well, less of the starting and more of the firmly established, I think. In any case that's the first line of Frank Turner's song Photosynthesis, of whom much, much more later. It's been a long time since I had a new back catalogue to go in search of, and after a day of almost constant listening to the limited songs on myspace and the rather more on youtube, I know that waiting for a couple of days before I do so will be a necessary step to avoid becoming rather saturated with those songs before I even get my hands on the CDs. Trusted recommendations are few and far between, and by the time you reach your forties, even if you love your music in many forms as I do, there's just not so much room left to take on new things that either bring something truly new, or do something familiar in an novel and unfamiliar way. Sometimes you just have to take a chance, and the worst that happens is you know not to come back so you've learned something in the process. And while the no job situation remains less than ideal, I can still find eleven quid to take a little chance, and I lived to be glad of having done so. It's October so it's the peak season of touring from now till Christmas. And it's a gig in a student venue by an artist with a sizeable audience among that demographic, so it's hardly a surprise that the gig is sold out and already over half full when I walked in. First act was already on stage, a guy called Jay who goes by the name of 'Beans On Toast' - you can guess what I think of that. He puts out a stream of wordy folk-acoustic ranting that could be improved for my taste by cutting out every other swearword, and for someone like me who has a full and lively vocabulary, that's some criticism. It's when it's in every other line of every song that it starts to come across less as effective self-expression, and more as flailing against the world. Which is something of a shame as he's got a smart tongue and undoubtedly a few things to say about the world which I could largely go along with. Next up are Fake Problems, who have one notable feature you'll either get on with or not, and the rest of it is irrelevant. I like the lead guitar player, especially when he gets to play solos, but the singer's voice strikes me as like a mix of the worst of Tom Waits covering Green Day in a generic corporate punk fashion. There's the odd moment where the tunefulness of Stiff Little Fingers breaks through, but nowhere near enough for my taste. Now, this also being the start of the academic year, give or take, means the venue is full of snappy young hipsters, and the waiting for Frank to come on meant I was indulging in a serious bout of handbag envy when someone walked past me and though surprised immediately addressed me by my first name while it took me a couple of moments to become clear of who it was. You can draw your own conclusions about the timewarp aspect of my hairstyle that I was immediately recognisable to someone I haven't seen in a decade or thereabouts! And to be honest, running into someone I used to get on really well with when we worked together would have made my night even if FT had turned out to be rubbish. We had a little time to catch up on the last decade, and you can also draw your own conclusions about the fact my old mate was still in touch with what everyone else who was in that department back then had been up to since, while I pretty much left, full stop. To a rousing reception, FT took the stage and did getting on for 90 minutes of cracking folk-angst-pop that had me grasping for comparisons. The musical feel is reminiscent of the Levellers when they started hitting the college venues, and a hint of Dexy's Midnight Runners' Kevin Rowland in his voice. The material is rather more the politics of the individual than of dogma and party policy. Looking like mid-70s Springsteen (and Johnny Barlow) from a distance is always going to be a decent move if you can pull it off, and what comes off the stage is a surprising amount of humanity and warmth, as well as a sense of humour and heritage, the latter coming through in a vocal only version of the ancient folk song Barbara Allen. It would be easy to come across as po-faced and preachy when you're doing a song about war, but when it's introduced by saying that you're going to protest via the medium of the guitar solo, well, I'll forgive anything, frankly. There's a lot made of his privileged background, but it seems fair to say he's paid his dues over hundreds of gigs in recent years. But what surprises me is that nobody's drawing the lazy comparison between his background and that of Joe Strummer, who ended up the sort of mythical figure that transcends the music they make. And if you wanted a candidate for a new youth cult leader, FT has the charisma in abundance and appears to be doing all the right things that that could just become a reality. Similarly to how Billy Bragg is cleverly marketed as someone who doesn't like marketing, the FT songs are polished to the point of just enough to remove the rawness but retain some rough edges, and it's a potent mixture. Meanwhile I've another gig to get to tonight, and then I've a new entire back catalogue to buy up. Here's the video for Photosynthesis - and if you can't find something of interest or amusement in it, let me know and I'll pop round and clean your ears out for you!

Ain't It Time You Became The Girl That You Wanted To Be?*

2009-10-25T11:48:00.001Z

*So sings Traceyanne Campbell in Camera Obscura's song Away With Murder, and she has a very good point. Starting getting ready before 4pm is a good guide to a gig being something special, in more than one way. With a long bath, and more than enough make up behind me, my new handbag and I headed off to see Camera Obscura once again. I'm a very visual creature, and one of the things that makes my life easier is being able to rehearse the visualisation of where I am going, and what happens when I get there. With a familiar (and free!) parking spot only a short distance away, it's still something of an ordeal to get to the venue and inside it, a little bottle-related parking and moving on notwithstanding. Despite the getting through the door security gauntlet-running, it's relatively easy to go and stand in the dark, even if I'm a head taller than most of the other women on the premises. In a cramped space, there's more than enough sweat to make even the best Hollywood make up artists' work run, so it's not exactly easy to keep my cool. The bar was rammed when I got in, and while the lots of people coming through the front door makes me one of many rather than an isolated individual, it's still a moment or two of fear mixed with panic mixed with hope. Support act Magic Arm has a lot in common with Rob Jones' Voluntary Butler Scheme, in terms of sampled drum loops and so forth, but where the VBS makes a virtue of things that don't quite work, Magic Arm guy makes it look like technical probnlems rather than intentional vagueness, so it's not 100% convincing. I like the slightly more delicate acoustic guitar bits, I'm just not entirely certain how much is intentional. Camera Obscura, on the other hand, seem to have everything under control, despite Traceyanne's difficulties with the in-ear monitoring. It's great to see a band who make proper pop music for grown-ups, amd middle-aged people like me included. It would be futile to go through the set in detail, but Teenager is fabulous, and the whole set is over bang on 11 pm so I can be home by midnight-ish and take forever to type this out as the wine takes hold of my typing fingers. I'm way beyond a sensible, objective review here, but I had a great time.

Welcome To The Sheep Seats

2009-10-23T16:57:00.003+01:00

One thing you're at the mercy of at a seated gig are the vagaries of who you end up sitting next to, or between. It's a factor that makes a bigger difference to me than it does to many people, particularly in certain circumstances, and one thing that leavens the question somewhat is knowing who your fellow audience may be. In any case I traded the delights of taking my new handbag out for a quick chat with the turn, but it was mildly pleasing to find my judgement turned out spot on. And for future reference, well that's worth knowing. Getting inside the venue and heading up the stairs to hear 'ladies and gentlemen, tonight's performance will start in two minutes, please take your seats' is a slightly more elegant way for the show to start then a roadie shining a torch towards the sound desk and flashing it. And promptly at 7.30, Miles Hunt and Erica Nockalls walked onto the stage to play for what I suspect is a bunch of folk predominantly unfamiliar with them. I gather I'm not the first to observe how grown-up and professional someone is when not swearing once over the forty minute set, and for just an acoustic guitar and a fiddle and mostly one voice, the sounds was flawless. Sat in the front row of a balcony section, I had a great view, and the mix of songs from Catching More Than We Miss and more familiar songs drawn from both Miles' solo work and The Wonder Stuff was pretty much spot on. Erica singing on Plans In The Sky was a particular highlight, and one of the things it brought to mind was whether she might end up also providing the Kirsty MacColl backing vocals on Welcome To The Cheap Seats at some point. Funny that Miles then told a story about his first encountering the sainted Kirsty, and they played Welcome To The Cheap Seats. The final song of the set was, less predictably than you might think, Size Of A Cow. Less predictable because this is the first time I've seen it done in a duo format with Erica's fiddle dualling the keyboard lines and guitar stabs, which is both a refreshing re-invention and set-closing cue for most of the crowd's familiarity reflexes to be touched. Ace! After a quick chat with Miles & Erica, and another venue PA warning to return to one's seats, The Proclaimers took the stage in front of a fairly partisan audience. I'm sure Cap In Hand has a certain resonance when it's played in a country that isn't England, and for me those subtler moments are the finer part of the set. I'm not sure whether the rhythm section were turned up to eleven on purpose, but at times it sounded more like the driving, muscular approach of The Who or Dr Feelgood than the sort of finesse or delicacy I'd rather hear. I'm On My Way could be a rogue Status Quo song that escaped and grew up north of the border, Erica returns to the stage for Sunshine On Leith, and from my vantage point I'm watching the crowd as much as the stage. I mentioned before the familiarity reflexes, and it's true that I'm taking a slightly less partial view than I normally would just because I didn't come for the headliners really. It's more than diverting to watch the security staff trying to get certain people to sit down, and confiscating a bottle that was being passed around, but it's equally observable how 500 Miles in particular has everyone out of their seats clapping slightly out of time and for the most part immediately sitting down again once the one song they really know is over. Interesting! After a brief excursion to play the return for the encore game, and a bit more help from Erica, the lights go up and it's all over bang on ten pm. This is both fitting for a proper theatre venue, and curiously un-rock n roll, but a gig where I could have been home well before half past ten had I not made a slight detour to run an errand on the way is a rare thing indeed! Miles & Erica setlist DWI\Fill Her Up and Foot Down\Corny But True\Circlesquare\The Cake\Stay Scared Stay Tuned\Amongst The Old Reliables\Plans In The Sky\Welcome To The Cheap Seats\Size Of A Cow

Power Of Two*

2009-10-21T15:23:00.004+01:00

It comes to something when the artist has got backstage video footage from the gig already up on facebook and I'm still days behind in catching up! Sometimes you need an understanding of what makes an act special, in more than one sense, if you're not going to be taken by surprise. On the one hand it's hard to avoid pigeonhole limitations by putting a label on something, but on the other hand if you ignore it then you are definitely missing something. But it's natural enough that there are lots of women holding hands with women, in a concentration that's part reassuring that it's obviously a safe atmosphere for that to happen, and part raising the question as to whether such an event is needed for it to happen. Whatever, I'm not qualified to answer the question. Last time I saw the Indigo Girls my brain chemistry was somewhat affected by a combination of alcohol and adrenaline, and despite the undeniable appeal of that option, this time I ended up fully sober and paying attention. Despite which, a couple of days later I'm now a bit short on detail! The full detail of the setlist is irrelevant, but it runs roughly by alternating a couple of new songs with a couple of old ones with a couple of new ones and so on. There's some great banter as Amy takes forever to tune her guitar, Yield and Starkville are highlights, the newer songs come through in the live environment with a bit more flavour as they haven't really leapt off the CD at me. At some points that atmosphere heads almost towards political rally, while Emily is at pains to point out that the songs shouldn't need to be political, but the mix of celebration and serious is unmistakably potent. And then they play Ghost, which is a song of tremendous personal importance and Three Hits is likewise accompanied by the crowd's voices in great number. The gig turns into an immense singalong, uplifting and inspiring in turn, and you can believe it when they comment from the stage that they've had a great time too. There's a general warmth from the gig that keeps us all company till long after we've finally made our way out of the lengthy car park queue, and gone our separate ways. See you next time! * Power Of Two is a song from the Indigo Girls' 1994 album 'Swamp Ophelia', a fine description of how just two voices and two instruments can make for a top night of music, and a couple more relevant things besides.

At The End Of The Tour

2009-10-01T19:25:00.005+01:00

Keeping up my consecutive calendar month gig record was looking doubtful till I made a late decision to head up the M5 to one of my favourite venues, JB's at Dudley. No rush to be on time, but some incentive to make sure my ticket for collection on the door was actually there, and it was. So, what do you expect from an event called Metalfest? Right. I came in while Warpath were on stage, and saw their last couple of songs: I imagine that's what watching Metallica looked like in 1983, but from a position that might turn into some surprise by the time they'd turned into the metal U2. Sure they know what they are doing and good luck to them, but it's not really my style. Not really [someone's] style is also a good fit for Touchstone. I saw them a bit over a year ago, and wasn't quite convinced, and having had greater familiarity with a couple of their myspace tracks in the meantime, I'm still not. I'm not sure if it was the shoes that made singer Kim look more Jessica Rabbit-in-the-Headlights than composed and self-possessed. I wanted to give them another chance, and I like the sound, but maybe I just don't like watching them on stage. Curiously unsatisfying. Next up were Eastern Front. When you've gone to the trouble of setting up a big visual impact to your onstage moments, it sort of blows the fun when you've got band members turning round to shout at the venue lights/sound staff when you are waiting to get going. Now, the visual impact was one thing, but when they start making a noise as well it's nothing if not memorable. I'm still not sure it isn't some kind of abstract art prank by Jaz Coleman to make fun of just what rubbish you'd have got if Venom had seen more of King Diamond and Slayer before they really got started, mind. Full credit for the onstage spotlights to catch the white facepainted faces against the black jumpsuits in the dark. Full credit for the Kerry King wrist spikes and the barbed wire hanging off your mike stand. Well worth seeing once, purely for the mindwarp experience, but utterly unlistenable. Headliners the Blaze Bayley band never disappoint, and this is part celebration, part the end of the touring for the Man Who Would Not Die album, as they go immediately into the studio to start work on the next album. I have to say I wouldn't know Lord Of The Flies from Lord Of The Dance, and as far as I'm concerned, well it's like your first girlfriend goes off, has a kid with someone else and in due course you all get over it but even if you and the ex eventually get on very well you're always going to see something else when you look at that kid. In which case, though I know Blaze isn't going to drop the Maiden stuff and there's no reason why he should just to suit me, I am looking forward to another new album and more new tracks. Which is the important thing. Blaze Bayley 4/5 version in full flight. Dave always gives really good hair onstage.

Walk Out To Winter

2009-09-22T18:58:00.002+01:00

I'm sure I've used this fine Aztec Camera song as a post title before, but it remains a great song and a reasonable description of where we are now. Looking out the window I can see rain and the coming of darkness, and the approach of autumn at least is banging right on the door. Meanwhile I've found a couple of vacancies that look like the right kind of promising, I've done several binbags worth of paper shredding, re-organised my kitchen and made a start on sorting out the clothes mountain. I've even got as far as buying something that counts as suitable interview clothes, which is something that really bugs me to waste money on when I have a ton of stuff I'd rather be wearing. But that's the nature of the game - and it is a game, trying to make the right impression to be more likeable than any other candidate while not being sufficiently honest to scare them off! And as long as I can keep that in mind, that it's a game I've done all right at in the past when circumstances have required, I'm hopeful it'll turn out ok in the end.

Almost Twenty One Again*

2009-09-07T15:00:00.002+01:00

At a point where the details of the redundancy paperwork are still not settled, it will surprise nobody that I have nothing to say on that subject. And indeed, once it's all sealed, and more importantly paid, I'm still not likely to to be discussing it. But the fact this is where we are should be a good guide to why I'm still rather in limbo, albeit now the signing on kind. An awful lot has changed, both in my life and in the associated processes, since I last signed on. The forms are still sometimes an interesting exercise in logic, but the mechanism of making a new claim online definitely didn't exist all those years ago. So what now? Suitable vacancies are not exactly plentiful, but the local training industry appears to have a few options which will improve my certificated employability, so that's what I'm hoping to make the most of next. Of course, there are inevitable bureaucratic hurdles to be passed before I can actually make a start on the training, so in the meantime my house is gradually becoming rather tidier and less cluttered. If nothing else, it needs to be presentable for the stage when I get sufficiently desperate that taking in a lodger becomes less a theoretical possibility and more an urgent need. Last time I had this much time on my hands I was in rather a different position: I'm reliant on imposing a certain self-discipline to get on with doing various jobs around the house, not least because I'd rather not still have this amount of available time six months from now. Keeping some sort of routine is going to be useful, especially if nothing is going to be settled for another week or three, as I'm not expecting anyone to turn up on my doorstep offering me a gold plated job with a six figure salary! It's not as if I have nothing to do, and there's rather more stuff on my list than there was when I was signing on in my twenties, but I'm sure this isn't going to be forever. * Twenty One Again is track 6 on the Mega City Four album Tranzophobia

We Drive By Night And Sleep By Day*

2009-08-23T15:47:00.006+01:00

A certain lack of engagement in sweating my utmost for the company (that still can't decide whether to continue my employment or not, despite the very imminent deadline for a decision) means my conscience is pretty clear as I leave the office after less than a half a working day. Having not been to a gig in London for months, it's something of a refreshing reversion to normality to be on the motorway for half the afternoon, listening to England's first innings in the deciding Ashes Test as the wickets tumble. And a lesser experience that I couldn't face becoming a normality as I'm gradually working my way through the London traffic. 'Hold your nerve and hold your line' appears to be about the best approach, and is a decent line on the approach I'm taking in the face of my employer's unintentional brinksmanship. For a change, and yet not much of a change, I'm pleased to see a bunch of people I haven't seen in a few months, including someone who's taking my spare ticket off my hands. The cash for the spare ticket is quickly exchanged for the Shared album, and it's straight inside to watch one of the artists on it, Timothy Parkes. When I saw him last, I found myself mildly uncertain what to make of him but he's obviously got his own style and the acoustic guitar on his track Looks Like Rain sounds not unlike Fixer or something else by Vent414, so that's always going to be a bonus. Can't say I'm going to rush to travel for hours to see him on his own, but he's another to file under the category of support acts I intend to catch and keep an eye on. This many years on, anything I have to say about the experience of The Wonder Stuff live on stage is hardly objective, and likely to be more about the peripheral aspects of the gig-going experience. Nevertheless it's a solid show in a tiny venue, and with either the live sound mix or my position relative to the speakers making Mark McCarthy's bass sound more like a Ned's Atomic Dustbin style lead instrument than just some background thudding. The recent reinventions of both 'Mother And I' and 'The Animals And Me' sound splendid, and it's a pretty damn good gig that finishes only just after the 11pm curfew. Despite a brief tour of Mortlake as I miss a turning somewhere, the clear motorway sees me home before 2.15, which is also a welcome change. Apart from when I was slowed down by a burst of very heavy rain, this was one of those drives when I almost wish I had a CD player in the car, all the better to listen to the Shared album. The tracks by Wayne Hussey featured at the Shared show in Jaunary, so there's little new there, Timothy Parkes I've already mentioned, and the three new songs by Miles Hunt and Erica Nockalls are up to their normal high standard, and unsurprisingly would easily have fitted on the Catching More Than We Miss album. Dirty Ray is someone I'm not about to rush out in search of as the Tom Waits growl thing leaves me totally cold but you know, Waits has had a good enough career to manage without me and Dirty Ray shouldn't lose any sleep over my taste either. Which leaves the two new artists that impress me most on this album - Matthew Derrick's three tracks sound remarkably like early solo Miles Hunt, and could easily be outtakes from Hairy On The Inside. Better keep my eyes peeled for his name appearing in local listings, as I really want to hear more. Rob Dunsford's 'Millionaire' sounds inordinately like Liam Dullaghan's band The Have-Nots in the bittersweet blend of male and female vocals, but it's the slightly fuller sound of 'Dashboard Therapy', helped immensely by the accordion, which really catches my attention. There's someone else in there who he reminds me of a little, it may well be Rob from The Voluntary Butler Scheme, but that'll come to me in time. It's not as if I won't be listening to these tracks again, as a quick look at last.fm will tell you! So for two brand new artists I'd never encountered before, Shared (the album) represents excellent value. Cheers, Milo! * is a line from Rob Dunsford's magnificent 'Dashboard Therapy'. Setlist ------- Red Berry Joy Town A Wish Away It's Yer Money Here Comes Everyone On The Ropes Caught In My Shadow Circlesquare Mission Drive Size Of A Cow Donation Golden Green Animals And Me Don't Let Me Down, Gently Radio Ass Kiss Give Unbearable Ten Trenches --- Cartoon Boyfriend Mother And I Ruby Horse Poison

Back On My Seat Again

2009-08-16T20:43:00.003+01:00

One of the many benefits of a season ticket is knowing exactly where you're going. Unusually for us, the team shows the odd sign of knowing where it's going too, and from day one. Without a points deduction there's a temptation to start to ignore the lessons of many, many years and just this once to believe in a bright successful future, but one game at a time. The commencement of the fixture list gives my life a little more structure too, and a framework around which to consider my forthcoming gigs. After a brief period in which I've either been out of the country or the summer festival season has meant a certain dearth of accessible and suitably appealing things to go to. Which is perhaps not such a bad thing as it simply isn't possible to do everything, but I'm back on the ticket-buying trail and gradually rebuilding the other stuff which isn't dependent on being in work or not. Having places to go and things to do ain't a bad plan and I need to get out more anyway.

Back On The Streets Again

2009-08-13T23:25:00.004+01:00

After a couple of weeks enjoying the many splendours of the hills of nearby continental europe, I am now back on the streets again, as Saxon would have it. This ought to be approaching the end of six months of several varieties of trouble, and yet even now I'm not absolutely sure of exactly when my job ends, imminent though that is supposed to be. In between the research prior to my various travels and the clearing out the debris on my return, there hasn't really been a lot of time to keep up with the nuts and bolts of life. And while I'm sure I've been doing the right thing to make the most of the fleetingly brief opportunities as they have presented themselves, I'm just about ready for a month of nothing but signing on, cleaning the house and irregular hours of sleep. Just as Saxon bring me back to the most trad of trad metal, there's a warm familiar feeling in some things that have just always been there. On which note I'm saddened that my absence means I've come back to find that Bobby Robson and John Hughes are no longer with us, and just today Les Paul has taken his final bow. Robson's success in the FA and UEFA cups was a major achievement at the time, while Hughes' work on Pretty In Pink and The Breakfast Club in particular evokes another, differently significant time of my life. As for Les Paul, there's a whole musical landscape that might not even exist without his influence. Which brings us right back to the reliance on the familiar, and in the last couple of days I'm delighted to find the recognisable in what is new to me: I've enjoyed a lot of novelty/comedy bands, and while I love Bad News and Hayseed Dixie, the likes of the Ukelele Orchestra Of Great Britain definitely take one joke and spin it out for way too long. Dressing like an Australian rock chick's nightmare and sounding like an unholy mix of Mötley Crüe, Whitesnake, Saxon and Poison, Steel Panther just shouldn't work. And then you listen to the lyrics and its John Hughes' 1986 all over again, just with the comedic profanity of South Park ladled all over it. Just what I needed, to nick yet another song title from somewhere else!

Trust In The Power Of Music

2009-07-14T19:58:00.005+01:00

In the quiet part of the year, when it's mostly big outdoor festival gigs rather than theatres and clubs, it can be easy to get out of the habit. And with office-specific stupidity and tightened belts due to the ongoing redundancy saga - I'm still on a further stay of execution, for now - I'm well out of the habit on my local city centre shopping routine. Which is good because it keeps my postman busy, but it also means I don't get to go in a few places where buying stuff online has a sufficient postal cost overhead that it isn't worth it. Which is how I'm not exactly empty-handed going in to the gig. Somewhere in the global picture dictionary I'm sure that if you look up traditional British folk music you'll see a picture of a bloke who won't see fifty again, probably with a beard and quite possibly with an Aran sweater. So it's good to see a bunch of young shavers taking to the stage, and better still to listen to their particular mix of jigs, reels and so on. It's never as good for me without words, and the mix of the fiddle, the guitar and the flute/whistle taking turns as the lead instrument does tend towards a feel that's slightly too disparate (for my taste) but all the same, if One String Loose are the shape of things to come in traditional music then the future looks bright enough. At the other end of the scale, the Oysterband can hardly be called neophytes, and their status as veteran performers is precisely what seems them on a big theatre stage for this one-off show. With the band dressed uniformly in black, John Jones steps up to the mike and the venue fills with his voice. In some ways the content of the set doesn't really matter, this is timeless stuff that could come from any period. June Tabor comes out to join in with several songs off Freedom And Rain - Mississippi Summer is a particular highlight. Some of the covers - Wheel's On Fire, All Along The Watchtower - could be better replaced with Oysterband originals, and even the haunting Love Will Tear Us Apart as maudlin ballad is a good trick I've seen done enough by now, though the rousing Blood Wedding at the end, and the totally unamplified finale song done right on the edge of the stage are great. Songs I recall by the time of writing which I enjoyed include Native Son, Dark Eyed Sailor and By Northern Light, but the evening's highlight for me is Everywhere I Go, which plays to local sensitivities and turns the crowd into a choir. Having earlier done Bells Of Rhymney, a song which rarely fails to send a shiver up my spine due to my familiarity with the places and the spirit it evokes, this time it's the inclusivity and the joining in which sums up the band. It's the trust in the power of the music as the chorus echoes around the theatre which means for a couple of minutes we are all the Oysterband. The Oysterband is a party where you're always on the guest list, and sure of a good time in good company. And it doesn't get much better than that. John Jones, preaching to the converted. * Trust In The Power Of Music is a line from the Oysterband's 'Dancing As Fast As I Can'

Out Of Season*

2009-07-06T22:56:00.002+01:00

So, fixtures have been out for weeks, the speedway GP has come and gone like a Scott Nicholls punch on the chin of a full-face helmet, my garden's been subject to a bit of hack and slash, and we're nearly back to normal. My diary shows I might possibly have two free weekends between here and October, and the brief pre-season burst of enthusiasm will soon be swept away. Just once I'd like to see us win our first two or three games and top the table, but it'll be a relief just to start the season on zero points. Meanwhile I'm still chasing airline staff to get a definitive view on who is going to own up to losing my luggage so I can get my insurance to do something about paying out for the urgent and ongoing replacement of things I already own but have had lost for me. It would be foolish at best to name any names at this point, but there's one airline whose customer service has been highly impressive even if they can't really help, and one whose efforts I'm rather less impressed by. So for now what should have been a highly memorable, one-off trip is book-ended by bereavement and the inordinate hassle of chasing what ought to be a fairly straightforward process to claim for my lost luggage, and a definite disinclination towards using a certain airline in the future. We'll see what happens, but it's hardly the ideal background to the ongoing redundancy shenanigans, which have already seen my departure delayed for one extension, and further developments of that sort are not out of the question. Not really what you'd called settled conditions! * Out Of Season is a song by REO Speedwagon, and an entirely different one by The Icicle Works - take your pick depending on taste and credibility concerns!

Great Adventure!

2009-07-01T23:12:00.005+01:00

Going to see the same band dozens of times invites questions about why keep on going, and in many cases it's the different songs, different inter-song anecdotes, different venues and different support bands that keep things from becoming routine. In this case it's a trip to the Midlands back to a venue I've been to a few times now, and including a trip to a nearby out of town shopping centre that allows me to make a start on replacing all the stuff lost in an airport somewhere in Asia. It's not just not having the stuff, it's the research it takes to find out what is currently available and what my realistic options are that makes life difficult. Bearing in mind that some of this stuff absolutely has to be replaced before I'm out of the country again inside the the next month, I don't have too much time to spare and getting on with buying replacement items feels rather more like taking some control of the situation than just waiting for an airline and an insurance company to do something. I manage only to buy more or less what I'd planned, and leave without yet another new handbag, so that's progress on two fronts! Unusually there are few people at this gig that I know, and the ones I do know are working, either selling t-shirts and CDs, or on the stage. Which means I'm free to take in the support band with all my attention. The first track is a nice enough piece of brass-flavoured pop, and if that makes you think of the Zutons you are somewhere along the right lines. This is no preparation for the second track, when the seven musicians and singers are joined on stage by a vision in red and grey gloves. Check out the picture! For anyone who, like me, is not aware that there is a significant visual element to Misty's Big Adventure, this is something of a surprise! Not an unwelcome one, but one that threatens to distract from the music, though happily the band are obviously used to this and it rapidly becomes just their kind of normal. There's a risk of accusations of novelty act, of stuntmanship and of cheap attention-seeking but for me it's pretty straightforward that Erotic Volvo (made-up name!) is both an integral part of the MBA performance and something that elevates MBA from being just another band. Their laid-back, jazz-tinged and laconic pop is a welcome tonic in the bland age, and I'm happy to appreciate them for what they are rather than what they're not, and what they are is great fun. It's a refreshing change for The Wonder Stuff set to switch closer to a greatest hits set rather than performing the entire Eight Legged Groove Machine album as we've seen recently, and Radio Ass Kiss and Piece Of Sky dedicated to Swells both hit the spot. I'm hardly in any position to pass unbiased comment, but I had a great time. * Great Adventure is a song by classic Midlands hard rock band Magnum, who have recently released another new album. Misty's Big Adventure are also from the Midlands, and great!

Hey Jack Sarawak*

2009-06-28T00:54:00.001+01:00

I've learned a few things on my recent travels, and there's now two
different flickr streams showing stuff from the two parts of the trip.
One flickr account you may already know, and one I've just set up in
the last few days - ask if you need directions.

One thing I learned was that a better class of accommodation or
transport does not necessarily guarantee a better class of punter -
I'm thinking of the guy flying business class who went a long way out
of his way to complain about his crackers not coming with a postage
stamp sized piece of cheese. To the point of telling the poor air
steward guy he was 'really not happy about this' on his third go.
Blimey but life's too short, and I bet the guy working on the plane
doesn't get paid enough to put up with much of that sort of nonsense
either.

Something else that seems to be inescapable fact is that some people
will never be happy wherever they are. And as with the guy on the
plane, some fabulous surroundings are wasted on some people who are
determined that everything is a problem that requires being
extraordinarily pissy with people.

Another thing I learned is not to be too trusting of people who say
they are going to do something if you can't stand there and watch them
do it. There are gradual signs of progress from my insurer and the
airline on looking for and I hope eventually paying up for the
contents of my lost luggage, but it's certainly not going to get
sorted out overnight, and it's a bit of an inconvenience in the
meantime.

Despite the aggravation, I met some great people too and took a couple
of thousand photos of all sorts of things and places, so on balance I
had a pretty good time. And I'd never seen a tarantula before either!

* Hey Jack Kerouac is a 10,000 Maniacs song. I have just been to Sarawak.

Back In Circulation

2009-06-19T14:44:00.002+01:00

After some time out in the wilderness of no network access, it's good to have been able to have the first bath in maybe a month and slap on a little make up to even out the sun damage on my skin. Still four flights and a few thousand miles between here and home, but I'm already up to date on my email, and making a start on knocking together a few pictures from my trip. By the time I get home and unpacked and so forth, it'll be the middle of the week though, I reckon. In the meantime, here's what sunset over the South China Sea looked like this evening.

An Accordion From Italy That Had Never Played A Tune

2009-06-08T16:05:00.001+01:00

I guess it's no stranger than going for a Chinese or an Indian in
western europe, but coming this far round the globe to end up in a
restaurant called "Italianni's" still feels a little questionable.
Especially to the sound of "buona sera, I'm your waiter and my name is
Ken..."

Then again, I only ended up there on my way back from the local M&S to
see if they had any food, so who is the joke on now? It amused me
greatly to see the minimal amount of stock in M&S includes more than
one pair of pretty shoes that I have back home, and I think they were
made in Vietnam so they have travelled rather less far to get here
than me.

* a line from Mick Thomas' song The Cap Me Granda Wore, a song about
faux "Irish" pubs, and the paraphernalia of Irishry.

Making The Most Of

2009-06-07T15:57:00.001+01:00

One week in, and nearly done with the work stuff, I've had a fairly
productive day. After minimal sleep, I was up through all the early
morning hours, had some laundry done, crucially bought some of the
food items I have really been missing, had a couple of hours sleep and
went on a three hour guided trip to see a whole load of stuff I would
not have seen by myself, nor understood. Here's hoping I can get a
whole night's sleep, because I damn well need it!

Culture Shock

2009-06-04T01:45:00.002+01:00

I know this is a long way from home, but the focus on security arrangements is also something else. You can't go inside anywhere - shops, office building, the hotel - without having your bag searched, which I guess is fair enough. Round every corner is another armed security guard, some with what look like shotguns hanging round their necks but I'm not planning on getting close enough to ask.

There's some sort of incongruity with that against the opulence of the hotel, where there's hot and cold running 'good morning, sir', 'have a great day sir', 'how are you today, sir?' everywhere you go. Just when you think you've run the gauntlet of the lobby staff, it's 'good morning sir' from the security guard in the car park, and then again from the security guard with the very serious dog. And then I end up in the lift with one of our transatlantic cousins who joins in and wishes them 'have a great day' back. This may be a certain kind of normal if you come to this sort of place anywhere, I don't know, but when I'm rather more used to the 'what-choo-lookin'-at' style of address, well it's a very noticeable difference.

Maybe it's a contrast, or maybe they actually belong together and I've just never considered it that way, but among all the security paranoia I can also see signs for Vuitton, Prada, Gucci and Vulgari [sic!] from my hotel window. In any case it doesn't feel like a natural combination to me.

The mix of utterly banjaxed body clock and the incentive to get the work done so I can get off to somewhere rather more interesting instead means I have so far seen very little beyond the hotel and the office, and the ten or thirty minute between the two - the variance is based on prevailing levels of heat and\or rain. I need to try to get a little further away, as time is short.

At the same time as my investment in this netbook is proving a great means of staying in touch, I've been wondering whether the easy online access to familiar places and people means I'm much less likely to be in touch with whatever's going on locally. By this time next week, I'll be in a different country again, with substantially reduced levels of luxury, and that may no longer be an issue as I am not going all the way out into tropical jungle to spend as many hours a day online as I normally do, and I'm not expecting that to be such a ready option there anyway.

Look At Me Here Overseas

2009-06-02T00:42:00.002+01:00

This whole alien culture thing is quite something. My body clock is so far out of whack it's not true, and being in this hotel is a whole other world of bizarre. I'm really not accustomed to an environment where I can get half a dozen goes at 'how are you, have a great day!' in the twenty yards between the lift and the front door. Where a guest with a birthday gets six or eight staff approach their table in the restaurant, rattling a tambourine and singing 'happy birthday', and gets it more than once. Perhaps it's after every course, I don't know.

Leaving aside the obscene way that just four nights here more than covers my mortgage for a month, and the total cost of my trip will equate to eight or nine months' mortgage, and all because getting rid of my job will save a few quid. It does seem rather arse-backwards.

The wall of heat effect is noticeable, and it is easy to understand that the equator is not that far away. I know I live in a place where rain is common, but this is something else. I could see the torrential rain outside from the airport when I landed, but on roads where it seems all bets are off and flashing your headlights at anything and getting within inches of every other vehicle appears to be the norm, whole lanes inches deep in rainwater is beyond my experience!

I guess there's some kind of perverse pleasure in doing work at 5am because I have already been up a couple of hours, but today I am staying up in the hope I will be so knackered by this evening I can't help but sleep. Meanwhile I've established that the plane lost off Brazil is the same model I was flying on the day before. Which is reassuring!

* 'look at me here overseas' is from The Wonder Stuff song 'Ten Trenches Deep'

2009-05-31T23:29:00.001+01:00

It's something like half past six in the morning, I''m halfway round
the world on no more than a dozen hours sleep in three nights, and I
just got the call to say my favourite cat's died. It's fair to say
I've had better days.

I Never Saw My Hometown Till I Went Around The World

2009-05-28T23:22:00.003+01:00

It's a funny feeling, sitting here with one big bag almost fully packed, and my hand luggage around my feet waiting for its final bagging and weighing. Last time I travelled to somewhere more exotic than continental mainland europe, it was all hugely new and exciting. Having never been on an aeroplane before, Heathrow to Boston as the first leg of a series of three out and three back was a good kill or cure approach to finding out whether I had any problems with flying! I have no plans to visit the States again, and it would take a lot to get me out there. It's a big but increasingly small planet, and there are other more interesting places I'd love to see first. This time I'm heading towards the East, and making rather more out of it than just the business trip it is based around. Earlier I was thinking about how the mind-broadening properties of travel sits in my family background. I have no problems with never having flown till my thirties, and I'm fairly sure my parents must have been closer to their fifties. One pair of grandparents visited a number of mediterranean sun resorts, and the other pair may or may not have visited the one of their children that lived abroad, if that. It's not a well travelled or especially broad outlook. My perspective is affected by the way I don't like surprises, in general, and I do like to know where I stand on all sorts of things, so the whole unknown of the business trip aspect is on my mind. It's not just the wine talking when I say that my next few nights in the sort of luxury hotel I would consider extravagant far beyond anything I would ever choose to use myself is not going to sit well with me. Nevertheless, I've always been a pragmatist, and if my soon-to-be-ex employer wants to fly me thousands of miles round the planet for the limited benefit to the business my visit will offer, then of course I'll take it. And when I'm not in the office because I've already headed off to somewhere a hell of a lot more exciting, interesting and rewarding, what are they going to do, sack me? I'm likely to amuse myself by listening to the Icicle Works song 'I never saw my hometown till I went around the world' at some point on my travels, and here's hoping it'll bring me back in one piece and with some slightly more focused thoughts on what I'm going to do with the next phase of my life. But in any case, I am expecting to bring back a few pictures, and some stories.

Over And Over And Over And Over

2009-05-24T21:24:00.006+01:00

I'm sure that I said I had certain misgivings about the recreation of a whole album during the first shows of this type last year. While those misgivings were blown away by the freshness of how it sounded, it's not for no reason that there is the odd song from most albums that gets lost along the way. There's a couple of singles I'd happily add to that category too, though possibly not the ones you might immediately imagine. But it's not every day I get to go out in vintage clothing - see above! Support on this tour is The Men They Couldn't Hang, peddling their new album Devil On The Wind to a bunch of people who possibly aren't so familiar with TMTCH as they have been with previous tour supports. No matter, their folk-rock meets traditional songwriting meets agit-pop approach warms up the crowd a treat as they fill the stage with musicians and tunes. A very good start to any evening. Possibly the pivotal album in my life, The Eight Legged Groove Machine comes from a time when singles existed on vinyl and had PO Box numbers or postal addresses on the back, and came with b-sides and bonus tracks that were often as good or better than stuff on the associated album. It seems a very long time ago from a world where an album is now only a notional concept, but the first songs sound like long lost friends coming back from years out of the picture. If I never hear Like A Merry Go Round live again it'll be a shame, but it's great to be reminded I should listen to it perhaps more frequently than I ordinarily do. The real reward (part one) of making the effort to get to the two more convenient gigs on this tour is the tracks that weren't on the original album. Goodbye Fatman, Astley In The Noose and Song Without An End is a trilogy of stone cold classics, despite what anyone say about the Astley lyrics. There follows a short hits set, lamentably including Golden Green which is a song I could happily never hear again, but all the same it's a cracking show even from a band I've seen more times than I'm tempted to admit. The real reward (part two) in paying the extra few quid for the VIP ticket to the London show is a final short set of the other three tracks from the original Wonderful Day ep, which I am pretty certain I have never heard live before, or if I have it's not in the last twenty years. The thrill of witnessing these few songs is jaw-dropping, and worth the trouble and the travel on its own. If we do go through the same routine for the second album Hup!, I'm already excited about hearing It Was Me live again for the first time in a couple of decades, what a great excuse to Get Together! * 'Over and over and over and over' is from Who Wants To Be The Disco King?, another single from the ELGM time, and for a band who it currently turns out have been at one gig in every nine I've seen over the past twenty-odd years, there's a certain resonance there too!

Ohhhhhhhhh, Let Me Go Hoooooome

2009-05-18T16:00:00.002+01:00

In a world where tickets come with postage fees and handling fees and all manner of administrative charges that appear to have minimal background in people actually doing anything for the money, proper value for money is something you don't see much of at events these days. But you can have too much of a good thing.

I missed the very first band, and of the next two I especially liked the cover of 3 Colours Red's Nerve Gas and a track called 'Sorry Ain't Enough'.

Touring support band Fury UK take to the stage long after I've started getting twitchy about just how late a night this looks like being, nevertheless I'm pleasantly distracted by them. There's only so much you can do with a trio, but they seem to be plentiful enough. Drummer Martin McNee sports a beard that would easily get him past the first audition for ZZ Top, and brothers Luke and Chris Appleton complete the line-up with (respectively bass, and guitar and vocals). There's no shortage of technical skillz on show, and to be honest I'd rather Chris either played and sang another song or that they got off the stage rather than the guitar showboating that closes the set. That's one way to stick in people's minds, that they want you to get off so the next lot can get on, so they can go home before tomorrow, and while it may not be their fault it does demand an extra special show to overcome it. Like 'em, yes. Want to watch *anybody* while every song makes for a further delayed trip home, definitively no. And you might guess what I'm going to say about that name - hilarious logo opportunity though the F UK abbreviation provides, if you really can't come up with a name nobody else has used and have to tag on the UK then it doesn't make me think I should be expecting vast amounts of originality and imagination in your songwriting either.

On the stroke of 23.15, it finally looks like we are ready to get the hell on with it, and with the characteristic intro - My name is Blaze Bayley... This is the Blaze Bayley Band... We. Play. METAL. - the set begins. While stood around waiting, it occurs to me that this is within touching distance of the 21st anniversary of the first time I saw Blaze laying waste to a stage. Blaze can never be accused of not trying, of not putting everything into his show, and there really is nothing quite like standing within touching distance of his intense frame as he reaches out into and around the front row, demanding attention and insisting on more hands in the air. This is British panto metal at its finest and all the more thrilling for the backing of an effortlessly capable line-up of musicians. I finally got a couple of pictures of Larry, and having done my best to get a few pictures from close range I moved backwards out of the immediate front of stage area.

Writing this several days later, I'm no longer sure of exactly which tracks were played, but Kill And Destroy and Ten Seconds were definite highlights. An hour into the set, I found myself increasingly fussy and considering leaving, which is something I've done before the end of few enough gigs that I can still count them all on one hand. As far as I'm concerned, Iron Maiden broke up my favourite band, and though I've long since got over it, listening to Blaze doing Maiden songs isn't something that's going to make me resist further the pull of the road and of my bed. If it had been two hours earlier I'd have stayed. I'm a big fan of Blaze, and I'm not complaining about him doing whatever material he chooses, and I can do nothing but applaud his commitment to metal and to playing music. But I'm also perfectly comfortable with walking out as he introduces The Clansman - some unfamiliar Maiden track that means nothing to me has no appeal. Having seen four bands for under eight quid, there's no shortage of value for money, and once again I'm going home with money in my pocket that I might have spent on merch if I'd felt the show was an absolute killer and I'd still been there at the end.

* 'Oh, let me go home' is a line from Blaze's song 'Smile Back At Death', and in itself should be explanation enough!

Someone That You're Not (part one)

2009-05-14T12:50:00.004+01:00

In recent times I've become a bit less conscientious about catching support bands, which I guess is a function of age as much as anything else. Dropping down the stairs into the venue, I'm accompanied by a burst of harmony vocals that remind me exactly what I love about unfamiliar music, and why support bands are important. Even if I don't catch the full set, I still hate the thought I might miss out on something much, much more than I appreciate the lazy convenience of not getting myself together to get there on time.

Dead Against The Rest are blessed with a frontman who looks like Gaz from Supergrass doing an impression of Jack Black, and a bunch of musicians whose technical mastery of their instruments is more than enough for their purposes. There's a bit of that galloping Maiden rhythm thing, guitar solos that go diddly-diddly-diddly and when the guitarist layers his vocals around the frontguy's vocals they sound especially great. Despite the influences they list on their myspace, this is a band who sound remarkably British to me, with a hint of Steve Hawkins' power in the lead vocal and if anything this is the sound of classic trad Brit pub metal. And that's very much a compliment - I don't often feel compelled to compliment band members handing out flyers, but I really did enjoy Dead Against The Rest for their obvious sense of fun, and the not taking themselves seriously but definitely taking their material seriously, which is the perfect balance.

The last time I watched a band where no member had shorter hair than me is something I am having great trouble guessing but it has certainly been a while. Lethargy are blessed with waist-length hair in abundance, and a similar quantity of crunching riffs and vocals that veer between power metal and Metallica depending on who is singing. To be honest, it's not the sort of thing I'd rush out to listen to, despite my high hopes when the first riff of their first song is virtually identical to the Tygers Of Pan Tang's Love Don't Stay. Saying that, the vocal and widdly guitar solo quality around the riffs is unquestionable, and there's something very right about watching four musicians headbanging their way through their songs. Not for my repeat listening taste in the long term, but I like them and they are definitely doing a lot right.

Back in 2006 I saw Roadstar a couple of times, just after they'd changed their name from Hurricane Party. Another name change later, they are now called Heaven's Basement though by the time you read this they may have changed again - who knows?! My recollection is that I wanted to like Roadstar, but they somehow seemed a couple of songs short of an album. In the meantime I've been reassured from a couple of different sources that their newer material really is the business, and a quick spin through myspace before leaving the house vaguely raises my hopes.

Now, there's something about someone wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt when we are almost on the cusp of the second decade of the new millennium that makes it seem about as rock n roll as wearing the tie of the accountants' union golf club. This is very much not a compliment. The musicians are all competent enough, but it just doesn't quite work for me, and that's a lot to do with a frontman who comes over as Jizzy Pearl by way of Stars In Their Eyes, shorn of the mad-eyed staring and the possessed by rock vibe, and yet trying way too hard. I'm all for giving it some, and the line between enough and too much perspective is sometimes difficult to draw. I wanted to like it, I really did, but I left unsatisfied and without spending any money on the single and ep. Shame.

* Someone That You're Not is part of the chorus of the Heaven's Basement song Mirrors, one of their brighter moments.

Divine Imperfection*

2009-05-02T09:42:00.009+01:00

You know there's something right in the world when even in 2009 you can go to a gig and stand behind someone with a shock of peroxide hair and a Theatre Of Pain era back patch of Mötley Crüe on their denim jacket. At first glance, unknown support band Sharks might seem lost in a timewarp. The guy in front of me says that if we were in 1977 they'd be hailed as the next big thing, and he's got a point. Nevertheless they are an engaging mix of a pocket bass player whose backing vocals definitely add something, even when it's only 'ooooooh', a guitar player who looks like a fifteen year old Bruce Springsteen doing an impression of Pete Townshend and a frontman whose voice might be the only slightly weak point, though that may just be the volume and what you get at third on the bill. Ultimately their secret weapon might just be the drummer whose playing is absolutely immaculate even though you could be forgiven for assuming that he's bunked off his geography homework to make the gig. Either way, I'm showing my age and they aren't, but if they were to launch into SLF's Two Guitars Clash or indeed The Clash's Safe European Home, it wouldn't be remotely surprising. They play with a load of conviction and provide a diverting half hour, but special mention has to go to the spectacle of the guitarist's plectrum slipping out of his fingers and flying out into the crowd as he fires into the start of a song, landing at the feet of a guy in the crowd. Thirty seconds later, he's picked it up, and he's offering it back to the guitarist, who stops playing for a few seconds to take it back. You just haven't made it yet baby, but I wouldn't rule it out as a possibility. Tony Wright shuffles onto the stage like the lost puppy of Brit-metal, and immediately reminds me how he is such an engaging frontman, albeit one from the lost planet of Yorkshire. There's something very authentic and natural about his unaffected accent, and while it might not get him a long way in Hollywood it seems that couldn't be much further from his mind. I'm reminded of another non-giant but airliner-flying frontman in terms of sheer born to be singing songs on a stage in parts. Some of the Laika Dog material is a bit more bluesed out than Terrorvision's uptempo pop-metal, which doesn't do so much for me, but Mad Dog and Piano Song sound great. With a pre-gig email warning that no Wildhearts songs would be aired due to there being enough solo material to learn as it is, anything could happen. I think this is the first time I've seen Ginger solo with a full band since Silver Ginger 5, and to be honest the main attraction in the gig for me is getting to see one of my favourite guitarists, Jase Edwards. The Wildhearts may have better songs, but to me Wolfsbane will always be the better band, and getting to see Jase in the substantial flesh is always a delight. He seems to be having plenty of fun too. Ginger mentions a couple of times that it's the first night of the tour, and there's a bit of the telltale raggedness that shows that, but we wouldn't have it any other way. Highlights of the set are This Is Only A Problem and Girls Are Better Than Boys, and a couple of disarming responses to lame heckles - I especially liked "I'd love to talk to you all night long, but there are some other people... who exist, and we're going to do some more songs for them". Three entertaining acts, and the night is rounded off nicely by Jase spotting my Wolfsbane shirt in the dark and commenting 'nice t-shirt!' on his way out, adding that he too is looking forward to the Quireboys shows. Can't wait! Jase the gentle giant: Ginger: * Divine Imperfection is a song from the Silver Ginger 5 album, Black Leather Mojo

Wound Up... And Wired

2009-04-27T23:04:00.003+01:00

Sometimes a gig feels a bit more like an obligation than a party, and having been sat on the ticket for weeks, it would have been a waste not to go. Eventually getting it together to get on the road at about doors, it wasn't a surprise to turn up and find the place already pretty full, and with a restricted view for all but those at the front or on the benches at the sides, it was more a question of finding suitable elbow room. Bailey & Bowles - I dunno who the Bowles character is, but Chip Bailey is familiar as the sometime percussion loon in Duke Special's band. Cutting an intriguing figure like Baldrick's minstrel brother, there's a reliance on traditional standards in what little of the set I see, and to be honest it would probably work a bit better if you were already five pints in to your night. The cover of Badfinger's No Matter What is a nice touch to end on though. Foreign Slippers is unclear whether it's the name of the duo act, or the frontwoman on her own. Either way, it's one for my questionable act names files. Coming on with a 'hat' made of more foliage than my long-haired cat picks up in a week of running around the hedges, she looks distinctive, and while I'm all for studied differentness, ultimately it's all about the songs. When she opens her mouth, it's something like Bic Runga's smooth power that comes out, but with a hint of Winehouse, and a boatload of excessive melisma. The cover of Tom Petty's I Won't Back Down could work as a stripped back acoustic country ballad, but when it's apparently underpinned by sampled drums it sort of misses the point. And that sums it up, really - it's technical excellence in need of a much more ruthless pruning of the material. Duke Special brings yet another onstage configuration of musicians, and shorn of the distractions of Chip Bailey's hyperactivity and Ben Son-Of-Roy's noodling woodwind interludes, it's a much more rocking line-up. Indeed, guitarist Paul Pilot increasingly sounds like Richard Hawley doing an impression of Neil Young, and that can only be a good thing. A lot of the new album gets aired, and the songs from the Hector Mann film series are a neat novelty, in both senses of the word. Particularly The Jockey Club, which rhymes day-trips with aviatrix, and is another track that I'll be looking forward to hearing again. Over ninety minutes, it's a decent enough selection of material, even if the increasing rock strengths of the band seem a little constrained by a venue that's a bit too intimate, but that's not a problem I expect to last a long time as the demand certainly exists for him and them to move into more suitable, bigger places.

I Have Been There... For A Very Long Ti-i-i-ime

2009-03-31T00:09:00.004+01:00

First gigs in places hitherto unvisited are always a source of a tiny bit of time pressure, directions pressure, parking pressure and the general stuff of unfamiliarity. Even if the venue's own website is somewhat rudimentary and yet the venue is sufficiently distinctive to be visible in the google maps satellite view, it shouldn't be that tricky. In a small town where there may not be hundreds of bars/clubs/pubs/venues and other sources of entertainment for a friday night, any kind of night out may turn out to be more of a night out than just another gig. Which is how I found myself surrounded by pretty young things in their friday best, in a venue that's rather smarter than my manky trainers, tracksters and t-shirt are fit for. Of course I'm not jealous, in any way. First support is Ben Squibbs from the Calling Card - no, me neither. He's pretty chipper for someone who doesn't get everyone's full attention, and seems rather good humoured about it. In his quieter moments he sounds not unlike Dave Gibbs in his Kid Lightning guise, but there's also more than a hint of voice-as-instrument power that leaves me missing the words. I'm sufficiently impressed that I will have another couple of listens to what he's got on myspace, and he's young enough you never know what might yet happen. Second support goes without being named. Partly because I'm not so keen on slating things I don't really enjoy. I'm a big fan of bombast in the right place, and that's in the hands of Clarence Clemons and Roy Bittan, not in an acoustic guitar that's played almost entirely for rhythm, and not in a voice that's got power and urgency by the bucketload but falls short on melody and subtlety. I know, different strokes and all that, and I just don't get the sainted Damo either for the same reason. Making any sensible kind of comment on someone I've seen more times on a stage than anyone else is not easy. To answer the question of what keeps me going back, it's definitely something to do with making the acquaintance of new material that I've not heard done live before or revisiting old tunes that are being partially revised and reinvented. The convenience of relative locality helps, especially when the novelty of a venue new to me like this one is added in. In some ways it's refreshing and in others it's predictable how people who don't go to multiple gigs by the same artist within the same month still seem to have the same predictable expectations. Ok, so nobody should be surprised that a couple of particularly high profile hit singles over fifteen years ago stick in people's minds more than the other twenty-odd singles, or their b-sides or associated album tracks. Sure, there's the odd exception - see the Weddings Parties Anything I saw last year - but I gave up on the fantasy setlist game a long time ago. And that's probably the nature of what you should generally expect to read here, it's as much about my relationship with the material and/or the artist as it is a description of an event, and often more so. And likewise nobody wants to do the same thing at work day after day after day without some kind of variation, so it's only right that those people who do that particular kind of thing for a living must embrace the differentness wherever they see it. As with football matches, there's barely a gig where there isn't something to differentiate it from the one the week before or the year before, or even the decade before. Sometimes it's the travelling to get there, sometimes it's running into people I was or wasn't expecting to see, and every now and then it's a song I haven't heard in ages coming back to say hello in different clothes. In this case it's plenty of the latter, as Miles and Erica have worked out ways to play some things I've not heard them do before as well as adding forthcoming single Stay Scared Stay Tuned from Catching More Than We Miss. That and DWI are the higlights for me from the new stuff, but I'm delighted by Miles doing Can't Shape Up all by himself, and the duo versions of Cartoon Boyfriend and especially this version of The Animals And Me are tremendous. Overall probably not a career-defining highlight gig, or much in the way of a radical departure, but a thoroughly decent gig representing excellent value for money. If only everyone's every gig lived up to that description, but that would only make for more boring predictability! That setlist in full. DWI/Corny But true/Back On the Charm Offensive/Stay Scared Stay Tuned/Rogue's Biography/Fill Her Up And Foot down/Welcome To The Cheap seats/Mission Drive/Circlesquare/Room 512/Can't Shape Up/The Cake/The Animals And Me/Cartoon Boyfriend/Amongst The Old Reliables/Golden Green/Unbearable

Shock To The System

2009-03-15T14:45:00.002Z

I have spent the weekend doing a very intensive training course, and sat a 90 minute exam for the first time in more years than I care to count up. This may lead to a period of reflection on any grand plan to invest redundancy money in training for a bright new future, or indeed to pursue this particular qualification any further either. My exam technique was always pretty good, back in the olden days when dinosaurs still walked the planet, which is part of the reason I never really learned to do much in the way of work or revision. But I have a feeling that exam technique alone is unlikely to be much good for my future, and sooner or sooner I'm going have to do a bit of work.

2009-03-05T21:14:00.002Z

Despite certain reservations when I saw them a few months ago, the Hot Leg album release date was on my calendar, and it remains the only time this year I've rushed out and bought something on the day of release. It partly brings to mind White Sister's Fashion By Passion album from 1985, though where FBP is brutalised by over-production, Red Light Fever doesn't quite go over that edge. All the same, with Roy Thomas Baker even appearing in the thanks list, you know there's going to be at least one kitchen sink on there. Hoping that familiarity with the material would make some difference, I figured turning up to pay £13 on the door was also a good investment in keeping local venues going, in a week where one of my favourite venues has gone into administration. For once I didn't have any tickets for there on my pinboard, though I don't think it's me that's singlehandedly been keeping the place going! Walking up to the venue and hearing noise spill out on to the street isn't always a tremendously musical experience, but it's credit to to the PA and to the support band that it sounded like an album turned right up rather than a messy mix coming off a stage, so that was a good start but also a moment of worrying I'd missed something, then the singer announced they had a couple more songs to do, so I had enough to go on. As band names go, The Crave aren't in danger of topping my league of rubbishness, but it's not exactly terrific, is it? As unknown support bands go, on the other hand, I got as far as checking if I had the cash to pick up their album, so they've got to be doing something right, despite the distraction of a guitarist who looks like a bad Russell Brand, a lead singer and drummer both with dodgy dreads, which is a style crime in itself but in the case of the drummer, the combination of that with a barely there immaculate George Michael tidybeard seems incongruous at best. I like that they have backing vocals aplenty, and the odd moment of striking guitar solo, and that they obviously know their way around a stage. There is no question of whether they mean it, or that they might be filling time before going off to become accountants, and as I type this up I've got their myspace tunes running in search of soundalike comparisons. I guess it's somewhere between the melodic sensibilities of the sublime Little Angels, and the slightly more bluesy angle of Glasgow's Gun. From the extra prominence of the guitar on Right Side Of The Tracks they nearly register as sounding like Gigolo Aunts, which is about as well rated as praise gets in my world, but what you mostly get is the pop end of Terrorvision missing a little of the urgency and bounce factor. That said, High is a classic hit single for summer radio, just needs a bit more guitar solo cutting through the massed vocals, and given the chance I'll be checking them out again for sure. As for Justin's band, they do seem to have grown into their haircuts a bit more, and over eighty minutes they play the whole album, Todd Rundgren's Dust In The Wind and a couple of other tunes and generally do what it says on the tin. I know people are bound to have their own ideas based on Justin's previous band, but how can you seriously doubt a band where the sleeve credits the members as follows: Justin Hawkins: lead singing, lead guitar, lead synthesiser Pete Rinaldi: lead guitar, lead BVs Samuel Stokes: lead bass, lead BVs Darby Todd: lead drums, lead drums I guess that like Hot Leg, you'll either get it or you won't, but where the Storys was a good show, this is a good party, and it's great to see a band who realistically are unlikely ever to scale the heights of popularity that the other lot did, and who seem to be having a perfectly good time just getting on with doing what they are doing. There's a lot to be said for that.

Harmony And Me, We're Pretty Good Company

2009-03-02T23:38:00.007Z

Harmony is an Elton John track from Goodbye Yellow Brick Road which has a specific and lasting sentimental reference value for me, to the point where I've just put it on and found it sufficiently uncomfortable that I've turned it off again. With nearly a year since my last trip westwards for a gig, it was refreshingly straightforward finding a venue I'd never been to, and which was yet another example of local authority design standards being a touch more elaborate than the average sticky beer floored bar venue. I got in just in time to see the first support act saying 'thank you very much, good night!' so I've nothing to tell you there. Second support Eaglesbush comprise the drummer and keyboard player from the headliners, in this instance performing as a guitar duo. To be honest it didn't really work for me - no concrete complaints perhaps beyond a slight over-emphasis on guitar and vocal skills rather than the songs themselves, but I'd try to catch some of them as a support again just to see if it was them or, as is more likely, me. Third support Andy Morse has a voice that switches between a husky roar and something of much greater delicacy. And he really hit the recognition button - halfway through I realised that the comparison I was searching for was Billy Falcon, with a touch less sunshine. Again I wasn't moved to hit the merch stand in search of an album but I enjoyed that rather more. Headline band The Storys are a band I first (and last) saw in the company of My Friend, and as with the nagging sentimentality of this post's title track, that is something that still bothers me. As a one-off hometown show, this was a friends and family plus extravaganza - see three support acts - rather than date x of a y date tour based around flogging the new album, which always has the potential for turning out something special. Over an hour and half, we got 15 or 16 tracks off the two albums, and a handful of new ones. Unless you are Teenage Fanclub with three songwriters who each take lead vocals for exactly a third of the set, spreading it around is always going to be a little tricky. Steve Balsamo may front the Storys, but Rob Thompson plays a mean lead guitar and takes lead vocal a couple of times. Bassman Andy Collins has one of the best haircuts in music and takes lead vocals on a couple of tunes. Newest recruit Rosalie Deighton has a very strong voice and also takes lead vocal on one tune. And of course the drummer and keyboard player have both had their own lead vocal moments earlier, though at many points there are three or more voices harmonising. And overall it adds up to there being no real overall vibe, more a disparate collection of covering more bases than necessary and fails to truly nail any one element. This is a shame, and I love the first album though I can't say I've been taken by the second one. It may well be the case that I thought they were outstanding when I saw them before because they were doing a 45 minute festival set in the sunshine, and didn't have as much scope for variation. All the same, I think The Storys are great and they do make fantastic vocal harmonies and a groovy seventies-flavoured sunshine sound where if you like multi-vocal stylings like CSN playing The Eagles, they've got something for you. Andy Collins, and some serious hair.

2009-02-20T22:52:00.003Z

I know, it's been a while. With a couple of gigs missed, for various sensible practical reasons, and not so much going on at this time of year anyway, there isn't a lot to post about. I can't imagine my ongoing thoughts on my impending redundancy make for exciting reading, but in between the being messed around, the good news is that there are signs that the details will turn out to be ok in the short term. I'm counting my blessings every time I see stories of people being given next to no notice of redundancy, and firms going broke, so whatever my personal situation I am still aware it could certainly be a lot worse. At the moment it looks like I will be able to get in a little bit of exotic distant travel and still not lose the house, so I have plenty to be grateful for. And after all, it is only work. Something will turn up. It has been quite some time, but here's a picture of how much make up it took for me to get out of the front door this evening.

Catching More Than We Miss*

2009-01-31T09:56:00.009Z

And after a short break... I've had a vague but growing feeling something was missing over the last month or so, and so I've just checked. There's only a couple of times in the last five years I've gone more than forty days between gigs, which answers that question! Despite discovering yet another new variant of how to make a mess of finding my way into Brum, I ended up parked with time to spare. There's a good reason why I try to build room for manoeuvre into my travelling plans! The recently re-opened after refurbishment Town Hall is a magnificent building, and a far cry from the sticky beer floored venue across town I was in last time. This is a great example of how local authorities can do venues well, and for future reference it's definitely a big handbag venue for grown-ups rather than a minuscule clubbing purse venue for teenagers, which has its own obvious attractions. In a change from common practice, this was a one-off (for now) event where instead of a support act and a headliner, the idea was to showcase a number of people whose songwriting has influenced the headliner, and a chance to introduce some fans to some other artists who they might be less familiar with. * Katell Keineg (sounds like cuh-TELL cuh-NEGG) opened the evening. I hadn't checked her out on myspace beforehand, partly because I quite like the idea of complete newness, and partly because I am idle. Over the course of a twenty minute set, her nerves settled and she went down very well. Female singer-songwriters, especially of the acoustic kind, are always going to suffer from comparison with Joni Mitchell, Janis Ian et al. Katell reminds me more of the latter, with a hint of what Carina Round could do with a bit more songwriting discipline and a bit less catharsis-screaming. * Roddy Frame shouldn't need much introduction beyond the two words 'Aztec Camera', but his solo stuff is also excellent. I hadn't seen Roddy for a couple of years, but it's great to be reminded of what a stunningly gifted guitar player he is, and I really should make plans to see him again. Setlist(ish): Small World/Black Lucia/Bigger Brighter Better/How Men Are/Down The Dip/Oblivious/Birth Of The True/Reason For Living After a short break, the audience settled into their seats again for the next act. One of the interesting things about this sort of multi-performer show is the variation among the crowd of who is there to see one act in particular, and this was especially apparent if mildly suprising in view of the varied age groups. * for many people Nick Heyward is inseparable from his Haircut100 days as the face of magazine covers, but that was quite some time ago. In recent times, the Now And Then tour has kept him on stages around the country, which sort of explains how people half my age may have encountered him if they've been dragged along by their parents to see Bananarama and Curiosity! He noted that that sort of exposure has its drawbacks, explaining how much he was enjoying playing a few select pieces of new material rather than the N&T hits medley. All the same it takes a certain boldness to do Love Plus One in acoustic guitar and vocal format though I'm sure I'm not the only one who could hear the sax line in their head anyway. Fantastic Day closes, with the help of someone from the crowd that he knows from myspace, and her friend who was delighted to get on stage with a hero, and help him with the odd forgotten line or two! Great fun. * If you'd asked me beforehand, I'd have said I'm really not sure I know anything by The Mission, and certainly have never seen (and have nothing by) either them or the Sisters Of Mercy, which is what Wayne Hussey is probably most famous for. So it's a minor surprise when we start with Wasteland, which I recognise as familiar, and then move into Severina, a song I'm certain I haven't heard in twenty years but which nevertheless dislodges long-dormant memory cells of it being on the telly, presumably on The Tube, though I could be wrong. We also get a cover of Ashes To Ashes, Butterfly On A Wheel and Erica Nockalls joining him on stage to add some fiddle. Then Miles joins the pair of them for a final romp through Tower Of Strength, which rather sounds like Vent414-go-goth. Unlike a certain saving the world type with a mate whose hat is permanently glued to his head, Wayne even makes wearing shades indoors look cool. Nice one. * With the new album Catching More Than We Miss on sale tonight in advance of its proper release in a month or so, Miles and Erica give us the first live sighting of a handful of new tracks, some in collaboration with Erica's Nemesis String Quartet, a quick run through Mission Drive for fans of The Mission, er, no, for fans of The Wonder Stuff, and close with Amongst The Old Reliables which sounds a bit more delicate with strings. As an intro for fans of some but not all of these acts, this was a great opportunity to check out some other people they might not immediately have thought they'd like, and makes a refreshing change. Excellent idea, Miles! Miles & Erica's setlist: D.W.I./Corny But True/Back On The Charm Offensive/The Rogue's Biography/The Test/Fill Her Up And Foot Down/Everything Is Not Okay/Mission Drive/Amongst The Old Reliables

...as you mean to go on

2009-01-10T21:37:00.001Z

This evening should have been the first entry in this year's list of gigs. As it is, an unusual outbreak of sense meant that this afternoon's game was called off as early as yesterday, so my plans were changed for me. Which is much much better than getting most of the way there, and only then finding out the game is off. I placed an order for three different gig tickets a couple of weeks before xmas, and by the time the envelope turned up in the xmas post, the first ticket was already a week late for the event. Today's was the second of those, and given the choice between writing off a ticket with the face value of £4 or spending an extra £20 to get there, I'll settle instead for spending an extra £5 to go and see The Voluntary Butler Scheme when he is rather closer to home in a couple of weeks. Just one of the occasional risks of buying tickets for somewhere I should be passing through on my way home from somewhere else, I guess, and it doesn't happen very often. The third of those tickets is for a gig in april - place your bets now on whether you reckon I will complete the set of three failures to attend!

Happy Birthday To Ya, Happy Bi-irthday

2009-01-03T22:57:00.004Z

This being the 4th birthday of this blog. It's also the birthday of one someone out of many out there, and that's exactly the sort of personal joke that I am sure can make my posts extra impenetrable some of the time. I started this at about the same time a number of other people did, but anyone who bothers to go through all the links will see that many of those have fallen out of use at some point. Ones that haven't have generally switched into some other topic-specific mode, and it's equally true here, that this has turned from strictly personal navel-gazing as an added bonus further to things I was saying online elsewhere, in an attempt to flesh out a picture without diverting the conversation elsewhere. In the last year or two this has rather switched to a record of gigs I've seen, which is useful in its own right just because it enables me to keep track of what various gigs were like. I mean, I know I saw a band called Boy On A Dolphin twenty-odd years ago, but I couldn't tell you a thing about how they sounded. And at least if I go back here I can answer that same question pretty well for Gone Til Winter or Touchstone. This year is undoubtedly going to bring me substantial changes, just due to the redundancy thing, so material for posting is hardly going to dry up overnight, but I am equally aware that it's not desperately exciting to read what new shoes I have just bought, though there's a fair chance my shoe shopping is going to dry up shortly too. So I am happy to take suggestions as to what part of my posting brought you here, and what might bring you back, or what questions you feel like asking. Otherwise, happy new year too you too, and I hope 2009 brings you interesting yet settled times.

Happy Xmas!

2008-12-24T15:57:00.002Z

Just a quick note to say have a good xmas and a new year full of excitement and happiness. If you are one of those people I know, to some limited degree, your visit is appreciated, and if you are here because I mentioned the name of your band, feel free to email me if you disagree with what I said or want me to explain further exactly what I mean. I've no idea what I'll be doing this time next year, but the nature of life is change, and I'm sure that if there's anything of even limited interest happening, it'll turn up here or in my facebook status. Now, fridge, bottle, glass - cheers!

Calendar Girl*

2008-12-16T20:02:00.001Z

Exactly twenty two years ago right now was my first encounter with someone who changed my life in many, many ways. I'm lucky that my memory serves me well, and I don't sit looking at the calendar waiting for dates to come round, but I do have the odd moment of realisation that 'ooh, today is *that* day'. In that same vein, I have previously noted on here such things as paying off my negligible student loan, and the anniversary of last time I signed off. Which is but one reason why I'm a) not a fan of the festive season and all the mandatory fun it brings with it, and b) happy to leaven my minor disappointment at this redundancy thing with the knowledge I have lived through plenty worse. This grasp of historic context also means I'm in a good position to embrace the forthcoming change with a degree of acceptance. I am, and have been for some time, in no doubt that I've been enjoying the fat years. I'm happy that I have seen every band I could ever want to, rock stars dead too early obviously excepted, so I really don't expect to be feeling that I'm missing out when my gig-going inevitably tails off for a bit. I'm also definitely not thinking 'I wish I'd worked a lot harder over the last few years, even though I'd still be getting the boot no matter what I'd done'. You may imagine! The end of the year usually brings lists of the year's best shoes, the year's best dinners, the year's best Chris Hoy, and the year's best, well, everything, so I guess I'm just getting in on the act early. * as well as being descriptive, I've a feeling the Neil Sedaka song of that name would be one of the first examples I heard of a song with overt lyrical dexterity, however laboured you may think the working in the names of all the months is. And it's stuff like that and the Everly Brothers that were among the first things I ever heard and actively listened to, and ultimately responsible for me ending up spending quite as much time and money on music as I have - influences can come from funny places, and not necessarily where you expect.

All The Way From Tuam*

2008-12-12T20:43:00.004Z

Despite having been there on the same day the previous week, it seemed a very long time from my previous visit to that venue, the end of eight days of five gigs, a football match, a fascinating lecture, around a thousand miles of driving and somewhere in the middle of that taking a very heavy flyer on ice and being barely able to walk for a couple of days, so at least not having far to go was a relief. In a break from recent routine, and a concession to pragmatism, I was there sufficently early not to miss a note as I realised I didn't have the cash to pay for the car park, which was the likely consequence of not being on time to get one of the few street parking spaces before what I already knew to be a sold out show. Openers The Noelie McDonnell Band don't have a hard job to warm up the already swelling crowd, and it's a bold move for anyone to expect to come across well over tight electric rhythm section with just a voice and an acoustic guitar. The warmth of McDonnell's voice makes them sound like a stripped down Hothouse Flowers (and that is definitely meant as a compliment by the way!). He's an appealing frontman, gets the crowd to join in with repeat choruses of the word 'happiness', on what I imagine is the song of the same name. You can't ask for much more of a support band, and it's a great way to start the night. Back in the early 90s, I had come across the name The Saw Doctors well before I picked up copies of their first two albums from a chap I was working with in France, and was immediately hooked. After half a dozen shows in the mid-90s, I hadn't seen them in quite a number of years and after charting hits over here, we're now back into venues where the capacity is in hundreds rather than thousands, and I'm well overdue for catching up with them again. A lot of what I said about the Show Of Hands gig applies equally, it's an honest, open and ultimately human experience. But where SoH play with a fire that's underpinned by a more distinctly political element, Leo Moran and Davy Carton's songwriting give this show an undoubted streak of humour. From Tommy K (with its accompanying actions) to Bless Me Father, there's a lot of fun in what turns out to be a big party on a little stage, but for me the real catch is in the unashamed emotional yearning in the likes of You Got Me On The Run and Exhilarating Sadness, which Leo introduces tonight by saying "I recently got asked to add someone as a friend on Facebook, which happens to be someone I wrote this song about twenty years ago, but that's the way it goes sometimes..." Despite the cramped confines of a sold-out gig, some people still reckon their having a good time is far more important than respecting anyone else's personal space, so there are a few tense moments which could have been avoided if people behaved more like grown-ups. With a distinct lack of room to move about, there is pushing and jostling caused by an insistence on conversation in some quarters, and repeat trips to the bar and the toilet, often by the same people who are desperate to tell their mates what a fantastic time they are having, and it gets a bit unnecessary. And yet despite that I'm glad to stay to the end of a full two hours of a set which comes towards a close with a fantastic Red Cortina, including the cunning trick of keeping the vocal refrain going at the end while everyone moves around and plays a different instrument to the one they started on. I could happily have done without the final extended run through Hay Wrap, as its comedy novelty has long since worn off for me, but although I rocked a lot harder for A, I haven't sweated as much as I did at this gig for some time. Special mention for the stellar backing vocals of Antony Thistlethwaite. *The second Saw Doctors album, All The Way From Tuam, has only two tracks I'm not really a fan of, and provides a pretty good five word intro to them!

Never Gonna Do What I'm Told/Even When I'm Forty Years Old

2008-12-09T19:18:00.008Z

If it's a monday night just before xmas, this must be Wolverhampton, with The Wildhearts, some bunch of Americans I'm barely familiar with and, crucially for my bothering to make the effort to get there, a classic Brit metal band getting back on stage for the first time in a while. The torrential rain on the M5 and the associated driving standards meant I didn't catch all of the first bunch, but I'm glad I saw what I did. Tragedy is an appropriate name for a Bee Gees cover band, but it'll be interesting to see where it takes them. From the back of the room I did half wonder if it was AntiProduct's Alex Kane as they have a certain visual similarity from a distance, though vocally they sound rather more like Love/Hate, or Skid Row, or several others of that particular ilk. Hayseed Dixie are a fantastic comedy tribute band, but I'm still not convinced covering just the one act has much longevity to offer. We'll see. Around the end of my regular reading of Kerrang! there was one name that kept coming up. Predictably praised by Ginger, it took a bit of effort to get to see A for the first time but it was worth the trouble. With a name that's great for finding in the record racks but terrible for tracking down in the information age, I watched them grow through several albums as far as hit singles and Top Of The Pops, and enjoyed every bit. Turns out I last saw them in 2002, which wasn't all that long before they sort of ran out of steam and found other things to do with their time. While Dan Carter may be busy with Radio One and other projects, John Mitchell has ably stepped into the breach playing bass. Otherwise we have a full complement of the Perry boys, and Mark Chapman on guitar. The Hi-fi Serious album in particular takes me back to a time in my life when all sorts of things were going on, and it’s especially good to hear Going Down again. Where Old Folks talks of people who are ‘almost thirty now’, for many of those the title of this post is now of greater relevance, coming from a b-side track on the House Under The Ground single called ‘40’, as even Jason complains that being thirty-nine he needs to catch his breath between songs. Of course he could save his breath by talking a bit less nonsense, but that’s all part of the appeal and I’m not sure anyone would have it any other way. Fantastic to see them again after all this time. That setlist in full: Rush Song/ Monkey Kong/Starbucks/Going Down/The Distance/Old Folks/Foghorn/Nothing Jason Perry in 'oh no, I look like a fat Sting!' shocker. It’s often the case that gigs which have some sort of difficulty to overcome attached to them turn out to be that little bit more special than something that’s just another thoroughly competent show. While not quite on the scale of the stunning atmosphere of the All About Eve show where Julianne’s voice was going and she managed just half a dozen songs, this was one such performance as Ginger’s voice was noticeably compromised by the effects of recent touring. It meant we got a lot more of CJ’s vocals turned up in the mix, and a surprisingly chirpy Ginger doing those songs he could manage without further damaging his throat. Someone That Won’t Let Me Go would have been enough for a really good gig, as to be honest I don’t listen to a lot of their back catalogue very often these days. And while there’s always a drawn out Caprice that I could happily live without, there’s also always a Just In Lust or a Red Light Green Light to rip through with plenty of goodwill to see it through rather than have the gig pulled. It was on my mind that I could happily leave after STWLMG, and as it turned up the third song in the set I could have been in for a relatively early night. As it turned out, I stayed right through to the bitter end, so much was I enjoying it. Probably the most enjoyable of the last half dozen or so times I’ve seen them, and definitely heightened by the struggle to keep Ginger’s voice going, and the welcome return of My Baby Is A Headfuck. Surprisingly excellent.

Happy!*

2008-12-08T13:22:00.005Z

Some days are impossible to get through without think 'life doesn't get much better than this!', so I'm glad I've developed the capacity to recognise such things. A slightly earlier than normal start had me on the road in enough time to take care of a couple of errands before getting to the ground. "Big star players" coming to a lower league club to finish their career is not something that always works out for the best, and I'll admit to certain reservations at the time. With a few goals, a load of nice touches and cracking workrate including the odd yellow card for an excess of tackling, I was happy to rapidly be proved wrong. Roy of the Rovers has got nothing on the way Darren Anderton absolutely leathered the ball from the edge of the box to bow out of professional football by scoring the only goal of the game in the 88th minute. From my position behind the post I watched it all the way in, and as it hit the back of the net with a resounding slapping sound, the place erupted and rightly so. Thanks Darren, way to go! Legging it through the post-match euphoria that had people wandering all over the roads, I had a 100 miles to cover to a venue that was opening its doors less than an hour after I got back to my car. Insert your own comment about the inevitability of missing support bands here! I only just missed Vile Evils, but I've seen them before and will hope to catch them again when the album emerges early next year. Even if I hadn't got caught up in traffic on the end of the M4, and in the immobile pedestrian throng blocking Charing Cross Road, I still wouldn't quite have made it so I'm glad I wasn't rushing any harder. I don't know if the closing date is published yet, but if this is to be my last gig at The Astoria, it's a fine way to go out. In a close copy of the previous night, this was the original line-up of Ned's Atomic Dustbin playing together for the first time in rather more than a decade. Dan Dan the fast drumming man does exactly what you'd expect of him, and Alex's bass as lead guitar work is as distinctively melodic as ever. Jonn jumps about a lot, and has a chin. The returning pair have slightly differing approaches, Rat plays his guitar, concentrates on playing his guitar and smiles a bit while playing his guitar. Mat, on the other hand, looks like a man who can't believe all his Christmases have come at once, and over the eighty-odd minutes they play probably says more into either Alex's or Jonn's mike than he did in the whole of his previous tenure in the band! I really doubt there was anyone in the place having as much fun as Mat obviously did. Much as I love the distinctive sound of Alex's bass, Jonn's lyrics can tend towards more sound than text, and for a Ned's jukebox this was pretty much a perfect set, ending early for a club night, as is the way. The early finish meant I was back on the road well before 23.30 and some remarkably clear roads saw me home again, 370 miles later by 2am. And all put together that's a pretty damn good way to spend a day! * Happy was NAD's highest charting single, a UK number 16 in 1991.

Waiting For The Day*

2008-12-08T12:29:00.005Z

Sticking with not making it to see every minute of support bands, this one had me enjoying the deserted shops around the corner to catch up on some seasonal gift shopping and cast envious glances towards the women with seasonal events to go to in their fabulous party frocks before getting inside the venue just in time for the second support band. Olympus Mons (or Mount Olympus to you) is already sufficiently indistinct for them to also be listed as 'Olympus Minds', but you know what I'm going to say about bands and their names. A three piece, the drums and bass are pretty tight but the guitarist-singer is undoubtedly the one who catches the eye. The vocals are not especially distinct, though that's not news in this venue, but he wrings some fabulous chiming tones out of his Telecaster. I won't be rushing to track down an album at the earliest opportunity, but you really can't knock someone who takes off his hat to reveal an afro stretching just as wide as his shoulders. It's one of those quirks of timing, or perhaps not, that when Dodgy were at the height of their chart success it was towards the end of a longstanding government that couldn't get enough of attacking people, from the viciousness of Section 28 to the anti-fun stupidity of the version of the criminal justice act of the time, it was hardly a high point in social inclusiveness. At a time when the economy is circling the plughole and the current government claims ever more powers to barcode, DNA register, database and otherwise track its citizens, regardless of the legality of or justifiable need for such activities, there's a certain parallel in it being time for a change, and a time of hope for something better. So here they are, back this time without a broken arm, and playing within sensible range for the first time since last year's initial reconvening. In the olden days they were a fantastic live band, one of very few where I've paid a tout for a ticket when I hadn't been sufficiently on the ball, but even so I'm mildly surprised how good it is to see them again. Making The Most Of, a song for those and for these times, showcases their perfect marriage of pop harmonies and Andy Miller's guitar solos which do enough but never risk over-doing it in the context of the song. I remembered Math Priest being a great drummer, but seeing how hard he works at the vocal harmonies as well from this close range is a revelation. Nigel Clark always had something to say for himself, but in between a dozen or so songs he also has enough time for his chat to run away with itself into a few different rambling streams of babbling not-quite-nonsense and with the addition of keyboards from their Austin Powers lookalike mate, it all adds up to a glorious up-tempo, high entertainment value pop noise where the chat never detracts from the music. Easily one of my top five gigs of the year, welcome back! Nigel in high grain blur-o-vision: * Waiting For The Day is a song from the second Dodgy album, Homegrown

Innocents' Songs*

2008-12-05T22:45:00.002Z

It probably is a sign of increasing age when catching the whole of an unknown support band is no longer the appealing proposition it might once have been, and finishing the email I was about to send turned out the higher priority. Ruarri Joseph is a cheery folk-acoustic singer, who seems to have enough shows under his belt to know what he's doing on a stage. There's something a tiny bit too polished for me in that, and while I know he's got a new album to promote and all the rest of it, I might have preferred to hear one more song by the time we get to the sixth reminder that the album is on sale at the back. He's got a decent voice, and he's ably assisted by a second guitarist who allows him all the limelight, the songs sound fine so really I'm just nit-picking about the delivery. Every now and then something reaches out and grabs me on first listening, and so it was with Show Of Hands when I heard them in session for Mike Harding a couple of years ago. Opening the show with a version of Martyn Joseph's Cardiff Bay, one of the defining characteristics of Show Of Hands is a local sensibility, which should be understood to be anything but parochial. All manner of traditional folk tunes are instantly accessible to Phil Beer's multi-instrument mastery, Miranda Sykes provides double bass and an extra layer of vocal harmonies and Steve Knightley is a perfect middle ground between the two of them. In Roots they have a song that spoke to me about English national identity in a way that only Billy Bragg's England, Half-English has previously come near. While they are award-winning Devonians, it's hardly a far cry from my own Dorset background, and in Undertow they have a song that speaks eloquently of exactly the sort of nothing going on seaside town I come from, and indeed had to leave behind in search of a more meaningful existence. Fittingly for a gig in a former church, and which retains a full complement of its external church architecture, this is less a performance and more a participation event, and it's almost irresistable to sing along. Cousin Jack deals with the exodus of Cornish Mniners in search of work, and with its uplifting chorus "where there's a mine or a hole in the ground/that's where I'm headed for, that's where I'm bound" has a differently specific local relevance, which sends a shiver up my spine. In between the story-telling of The Dive and the social history/commentary of Country Life, it's precisely this sort of thing that truly defines them as folk music for folk everywhere. Excellent. * Innocents' Song is a haunting ballad about Herod, sung by Phil Beer and based on the words of a poem by Charles Causley - season's greetings to you too!

Smile Back At Death*

2008-11-30T16:10:00.005Z

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

A Less Sheltered Life

2008-11-22T01:37:00.007Z

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.

Life Has Teeth

2008-11-18T19:28:00.001Z

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

I Thank God You're So Fabulously Odd*

2008-11-12T18:46:00.009Z

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

Tuesday Night Lights*

2008-11-06T20:34:00.003Z

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!

The 2008 Legged Groove Machine

2008-11-05T08:38:00.002Z

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!

Small Talk, Big Noise

2008-10-28T18:54:00.004Z

Having a past can make for an almighty albatross, but at the same time it's also the foundation for whatever happens next. Which is how last night saw me watching a packed crowd cramming themselves into any space to get as close to the stage as possible, the first time I've seen that since my last enormo-gig, I think. More on support bands with iffy names - I'm not convinced Saving Aimee is anything like a great name for a band, which is a shame, because they have the makings of of a great band, and the Aerosmith rip-off logo is something that should be easy to improve upon too. I know my future holds ever increasing opportunities for watching bands full of kids young enough to be my own kids, but I'd certainly be proud of what they are turning out if that were the case here. It'll be very interesting to see them in six months or a year once the debut album is complete - the singer has a great voice, they have the right mix of guitar and keyboard melodies that I go for, and they are shaping up as the perfect replacement for the mighty A in the field of boisterous pop-rock. The third song opens up with a load of keyboards and for the first thirty seconds it sounds just like (the song) American Heartbeat. Youthful enthusiasm and great tunes with guitar solos that echo the vocal melody lines - very promising, right up my street, and I want more. You can download Small Talk for free (on supplying an email address) from their website. The last time I saw Justin Hawkins he was on a twelve foot long fibre glass white tiger suspended from the rafters in front of several thousand people. This time it's a crowd of seventy-odd tightly gathered in anticipation such that wearing heels would have been a decent enough idea to get a reasonable view, but then my idea of rock chick chic ultimately lost out to the ageing pragmatism of sitting on the floor waiting for the stage to be occupied. It seems to me that whatever does happen next, he can't really win. If the new outfit turn out to sound like The Darkness he'll be pilloried for having no new ideas, and if they don't he'll be criticised for diverting away from what he became known for. Nevertheless he makes a lot of effort to introduce the other members of the band to avoid the appearance of it being just a single ego-vehicle, and with a distinctive voice like that he's in no danger of suddenly being mistaken for Tom Waits. As to what they sound like, well if you imagine The Darkness doing ZZ Top's Tush, you're in the right area. That is his voice, after all. There's a bit more grooving around the riff, and there's a few choruses currently residing in the where are they now file, but unfamiliar material is always going to come across as a bit uncohesive, especially when it's got to overcome preconceptions. Myspace-familiar tunes Heroes and Trojan Guitar offer exactly the sort of big dumb hairy sweaty rock you'd expect from Lowestoft's answer to Vince Neil, and they're obviously enjoying themselves. I'd rather see Justin happy on stage than in rehab, but I'm hardly rushing to see them support the reformed Extreme in the near future. I’m in no doubt that some people will, but it speaks for itself that with an extra restricted view despite being no more than five metres from the stage, I wasn't having such a fabulous time as not to be on the verge of leaving before they finished until a very eloquent chap’s repeated shouting of ‘Put your effing camera down you tosser!’ finally had said tosser obliging. When the most you can see is the head and shoulders of the band over people’s heads, some tosser endlessly waving a camera around like Tibetan prayer flags in a gale is at best unnecessary, and at worst enough reason to turn tail and go home.

I Can See A Connection With Another Time And Another Place

2008-10-20T20:42:00.005+01:00

Sometimes bands end up worth pursuing purely on a musical basis, and sometimes there's some other kind of appeal that leaves them with a place in my life. In this case, Stiff Little Fingers are a band I was introduced to by a good friend of mine many years ago. By the mighty powers of the internet I managed to track him down a couple of years ago, and he wasn't really desperately overjoyed to be found, but that's the way things go. Whatever, they remain a fine musical force, and Silver Lining is still one of my very favourite songs. From the first song, Wasted Life, which the appropriate title quote is from, and for well over the next hour, it's one classic tune after another. The return of Ali McMordie to the line-up means that there are two founding members of the band on stage, and it's largely based on Jake's voice and guitar, so it's 'authentic' enough if that sort of thing is an issue. Shows how far away another time and another place is that when I checked, it turned out I hadn't seen SLF for eleven years, but I'd recommend the double album singles collection All The Best to anyone as a musically robust document of the times. And saying that, it's not just the final encore song Tin Soldier that is as relevant as it ever was. Double amusement points for support band, Merthyr Tydfil's Foreign Legion. When was the last time you saw a drummer with several inches of bleach blonde mohican trying to keep it upright while belting all manner of musical hell out of the kit? No, me neither. I would have taken a picture had I been close enough, but I knew I was in for a treat from the moment of turning up to find signs up saying 'NO OBJECTS TO BE THROWN AT ARTISTS'! Jake and Ali

Bury-ers, Come Out And Pla-aay!

2008-10-12T20:57:00.004+01:00

When I'd bypassed the door last sunday, I'd rather missed out on the front door experience. This time I joined the queue to find myself lined up waiting to get metal detectored into a gig for only the second time in my life, the first being somewhere altogether more well known for riotous behaviour. I may be living a very sheltered life, but this tickled me immensely and brought to mind the 1979 film The Warriors in which the phrase 'Warriors, come out to pla-aay!' features as an incitement to engage in some serious gang violence. Elbow are from Bury, which should be explanation enough. Support Jesca Hoop was introduced by Guy Garvey, and despite this warm recommendation, a single acoustic guitar and vocal performance was always going to struggle to occupy a crowd waiting for a flavour of the moment, eighteen year overnight success that has the touts outside only asking for people wanting to sell. Jesca's vocal style is somewhere between Julie Fowlis and Carina Round in terms of using the voice as an instrument rather than a mechanism to communicate via the lyrics. Since I particularly go for lyrical content, I can't say I'm a newly converted fan, but she tried hard to overcome the crowd's impatience even if it was really only the duet with Garvey that caught their imagination. Nice enough, but not really my thing. Elbow start with everyone on stage playing trumpets, and with second song Bones Of You they beat the crowd around the head with current single familiarity. It's like your favourite half dozen friends bursting through the door at a party you were concerned might not be the best, and effectively turning down the lights, sticking your favourite records on the stereo and loading in a couple of crates of your tipple of preference. In many ways Guy Garvey resembles less the moment's airbrushed and photoshopped new big thing, and more the landlord of your local where every night is a good night. The booze theme is amply referenced by the fact the merchandise stall is even flogging hip flasks, though after taking a huge slug from a bottle of water between songs, Garvey comments that the stage is a booze-free zone till the gig is done. This is a gig that very much sits in its own moment in time. I'm reminded of seeing The Darkness on the same stage, at a point where they really could do no wrong. Watching Garvey prowl around his mike stand, rocking forwards like a big old pop bear is watching a band who have everything under control and who know exactly what they are doing. It would be unfair to say they are cruising, rather they are performing at a consistently high level and deserve every prize they get. I'm just glad I caught them before a crowd of a thousand and some, big enough to get all the lights out of storage but keep the show feeling intimate rather than the several thousand arena crowds that are surely just around the corner. Nice.

Ain't Faking This*

2008-10-05T22:48:00.006+01:00

Another one from the department of gigs booked some way in advance because there wasn't much else on the calendar for the week, and out of curiosity. As ever I'm amused to find that looking like you belong somewhere and acknowledging security personnel while your body language tells them you are not exactly waiting for their permission to be somewhere can get you into places you are not supposed to be. In this case it unintentionally got me into the gig bypassing the front door, and merely meant I didn't need to pick up the ticket I'd paid for, so it's not like anyone's being put in the poor house, but it still amuses me greatly. Support band Fight Like Apes are a completely new one on me. The name doesn't exactly promise great things, and it takes a couple of songs to make sense of exactly what is going on. Best comparative way to describe it is what you'd get if you put a cement mixer on a turntable spinning at half a revolution per minute in a room where in the four corners you had variously the following: the unlistenable industrial variant of Depeche Mode at any stage after the glorious popness of See You, Avril Lavigne and Alanis Morisette competing in the world championships for the screech-shouting style of vocal, Pop Will Eat Itself at their most sample-frenzied, and your local rock pub's poor Metallica covers band. They seem to be having fun, and some of the crowd seem to like it, but it's really not a good sign when a member of the band disrupts the set for sixty seconds to fetch a pair of glasses that flash in a couple of colours in the dark. The brutal variety of it all makes me wonder if they actually know what they want to be, though I'm sure they'll survive without my fanship, and maybe someone my age not getting it at all is something they'd actually consider a recommendation, I've no idea. It is possible headliners The Ting Tings might turn out to have just the one outstanding song, but I'm happy to take the chance. Before they come on I'm amused to realise that with this being a freshers' week gig, it's genuinely now the case that some of the crowd are literally half my age. Getting out of my familiarity zone is no bad thing, and I have heard good things about them, and I do find That's Not My Name intriguing, but I'm not so keen as to get myself right into the middle of the packed crowd. Watching from the side gives me a different view of the stage, and where FLA suffer for their variety, the consistency of the Ting Tings shows a band that flows naturally. The fact there are only the two of them on stage may help with that, but they make a captivating pair. Obviously there's not so much excitement can be projected from behind a drumkit, and by the time we get to Fruit Machine and Traffic Light, everyone is having a great time. I have enjoyed current single Be The One every time I hear it on the radio, which proves there's more than one song familiar to me, and the set reaches a perfect climax after a little over an hour, with them returning for the inevitable encore run through That's Not My Name. There's a hint of the space in the sparser bits of Toni Basil's Mickey in TNMN, and it is a fine example of the slightly blunt, slightly stupid but thoroughly glorious sound of a great pop single. Which is more than good enough for me, and especially when the fitting brevity of the set means I'm home before the 10.30 news is finished on the radio. One of the more interesting moments in going back to a venue I've not visited for a little while is the high glamour quotient in evidence among the crowd, on which perhaps more later. Here's Katie. See what I mean about taking in the side view. Ain't Faking This is a line from The Ting Tings' song Shut Up And Let Me Go

So Glad I Could Make It*

2008-09-29T12:32:00.003+01:00

Some gigs turn out to feel almost like obligations, having bought a ticket months in advance and then had other stuff turn up around the same time, such that given a full choice it would have been relatively simple to decide which one to miss. And often it turns out that the effort of going anyway is more than repaid, possibly down to the lowered expectations of unfamiliarity. My tardy start means I missed quite a bit of support band Touchstone. The few soundclips on their website had me thinking of Within Temptation, and in person that's not a long way off. Singer Kim has a smoother voice than her from WT, but the band's sound in general lacks their bouncy pop influence in favour of a more extended, epic feel. There's tons of Steve Rothery type heavy sustain below the thirteenth fret, and a wall of keyboards, but the live sound does them no real favours. I don't know whether it's deliberate and intentional, or a side effect of the venue and the not being headliners, but the bass guitar drones too much over the top of what I imagine ought to be rather more tuneful finesse. On that showing I'm not rushing to buy anything, but I'd definitely give them another go somewhere else to find out whether it was just the night, or if that's how they want to sound. Being primarily known for one song can be a tricky thing to get beyond. And just as it is with Size Of A Cow or Where's Me Jumper?, so it is with Calling All The Heroes. Equally, being primarily known for one song on which the vocal element is a very major component must make life difficult when the person whose voice that is in the main has other things to do and a replacement needs recruiting. Or so you would think, but not a bit of it. I was still wondering if it would turn out to be worth my while to turn up, but almost from the second they started that question was answered. Four figures all dressed in white emerged on to the stage, and for someone who has sometimes struggled with aiming a camera at black t-shirted musicians against a black backdrop in low lighting conditions that's a welcome change, and it also makes a refreshing visual impact of its own. As replacement lead vocalist and sole guitar player, John Mitchell might have a hard job of filling Francis Dunnery's shoes, but if you didn't know better you could be forgiven for thinking he'd been singing with It Bites for decades. And what I never realised is just how much vocal Bob Dalton's nifty headset mike supplies while he's drumming, and how much John Beck's voice is also in evidence over his keyboards. Relative new boy bassist Lee Pomeroy adds vocals at some points too, and it sounds rather more like a choral round than I had envisaged. Which also answers questions about how the FD-free It Bites compares, with John B and Bob's vocals doing a remarkable job of rounding out a sound that's based around rather more than just one lead vocal. Three tracks in and All In Red nearly takes the roof off. I should explain my initial curiosity was based on loving the Eat Me In St Louis album and one or two other singles, but basically I'm pretty uninformed beyond that. All In Red is a fantastic song, and a welcome mark of familiarity, but the set goes on to include eight or nine tracks I already know so it's hardly all novelty. I'm bored of picture-taking after a while, and get to take in a bit more of what's going on rather than just take pictures of it. Again this is a band who look like being on stage together is the most natural thing in the world, and they'd rather be there than anywhere else. For some reason I'm reminded of Big Country in the whole 'this is what we were born to do' vibe, and in Mitchell they have an engaging frontman who clearly understands the difference between 'putting on a show' and 'playing some songs with some other people in the room'. As an encore, a mighty romp through Kiss Like Judas rounds off the evening, and another great gig comes to a close. Nice one. John Mitchell in big mouth action! * 'So glad you could make it' is the first line from the fabulous Kiss Like Judas, and one which neatly sums up my thoughts on the night.

Rescue Me!

2008-09-25T00:06:00.006+01:00

Posting in anger is posssibly not always the best idea, but it is the most honest! Before heading out, I'd re-read what I wrote when I saw Y&T just under a year ago: it still rang true, and I was looking forward to celebrating my 600th gig with something special. Support band Glyder come from Ireland, have two guitar players, and a bass playing lead singer. What do you expect them to sound like already? Given there's a picture of them with Philomena Lynott on their website, are you feeling confident about that? You should. I'm in two minds, having listened to what they've got on myspace. Weather The Storm is fantastic, and it sounds a lot like The Sun Goes Down. Pretty Useless People is twin lead boogie out of exactly the same mould as Black Rose. In person the lead singer comes over rather more like what you'd get if you put a hefty proportion of Lynott's voice into Alan Lancaster's body, but there's a bit more to it than that. On balance, I need to listen to more of their stuff, and I expect I will, but I can say I'm hoping to like them. Despite the fact no support band ever needs to waste five minutes of their set with drum solo, no matter how skilled the drummer. One of the great things about watching Y&T is how much every one of them looks like someone having a good time on stage. Dave Meniketti remains a genius guitar player, half the unfamiliar songs (Keep On Believing and Don't Wanna Lose You especially) are still easy to sing along with on first hearing, and a very hot room produces the sort of sweating this summer has sorely lacked. Mean Streak is fantastic, Midnight In Tokyo rumbles along like a rock leviathan, Summertime Girls is equal parts cheesy pop and guitar anthem, and I think I was getting a few decent results out of the camera. Earlier on, Y&T's set was introduced by Kim Hooker, and with the night ticking on, there was plenty enough fooling around between the songs already without it being excessive. Dave called Kim back up to the stage, and over the course of an awful lot of 'I'm gonna tell you something' and Dave talking about what fun they'd had with Tigertailz opening for them last year, we ended up wasting long enough to do a couple more songs before eventually getting the assembled Tigertailz racing their way through a shambolic though eventually entertaining version of Ace Of Spades. The variety of voices suggesting they might want to stop messing about and get on with doing something, anything, before they finally started Ace Of Spades is a reasonable guide to how much what should have been a corking gig was heading towards feeling like intruding on a private party, and with that in mind I stayed for Rescue Me and then walked out. I'm not in the habit of leaving gigs early - I count four, possibly five in six hundred, and I'm still a big fan of Meniketti's songwriting, singing and guitar playing. But I might think a bit harder about exactly where I choose to see them next time around.

Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day

2008-09-11T21:40:00.002+01:00

Lucky Miss Pettigrew! I was planning to go see this remarkably female-oriented film, but circumstances just prevented my making it. No doubt I'll catch up with it somewhere or on DVD, but it has proved that the brown shoes, the white jeans and the brown handbag work very well together, so that's a result in itself.

Little Or Nothing

2008-09-08T22:30:00.003+01:00

I've had nothing to post because I've not been up to much fit for here, mostly down to getting over the excitement (and expense) of replacing the old car. That and hiding from the rain. Proof that the car really did need to get binned? Can you tell the old one from the new one here?

End Of An Era

2008-08-22T23:13:00.002+01:00

Unexciting though it may be for those people who are following the link back here from The School's myspace page (and thanks, it's nice to be quoted), I've just spent more than an hour in my old car. Which tomorrow will make its final journey in my care, on its way to the scrapyard. At a couple of months shy of twenty years old, and with more than 110,000 miles on the clock, it's done its fair share of work over its lifetime, and especially in my charge, which makes for well over a third of those miles. There's a tiny part of me that's aware that the departure of a car my late father once drove is the end of one of the few remaining things that still link us, but that's no good reason to keep a vehicle on the road that is a very long way past its best, and pretty much past its serviceable too. Nevertheless, time moves on, and with a little bit of help from the bank, tomorrow I shall also be heading home in my new car, which is barely half the age of the one that's going. I happily subscribe to the view that it's only a car, but after a couple of years of every time I leave the car being punctuated by removing the right fuse to make sure the battery doesn't get flattened in my absence, moving on to something a tiny bit more modern certainly has its appeal. The nature of life is change, and this is just another step, but it's the sort of change that doesn't come along very often. And for that alone, it's vaguely worth mentioning.

And Suddenly The World Is Full Of Sunshine

2008-08-19T20:14:00.002+01:00

It's been a very long time since I paid only £3 to get in to a gig. Obviously it helps to be watching a band who aren't big news, but if there's any justice in the world, this lot will be soon. At the end of yet another horribly wet day, as has been so typical this summer, I wasn't that desperate to go anywhere, but having missed two gigs the previous nights in favour of making just this one, I forced myself out, and lived to be rather glad I did. Zissou, support band number one, were rather interesting in a not quite fully formed but threatening development way. I'm listening to their myspace now to remind myself what reference points they hit. There's a hint of Jonn Penney's vocal styling, and there was a bit of Half Man, Half Biscuit in the occasional jerkiness of the music and a bit of Jim Noir's pop quirkiness, but whatever comparison they'd like, they impressed me enough that I'd make sure I got there to see them if I heard they were supporting somewhere else. The Ash & The Oak had me stroking my chin in exactly the manner that deserves derision and scorn. Partly because I couldn't work them out, and partly because I couldn't work out whether I was bothered. Rachel, who alternated between bass, melodica, baby glockenspiel and a couple of other things had a marvellous dress, accessorised with red belt and shoes, and was hard not to watch despite being sat down. The electric guitar (and sometimes bass) player was unobtrusive enough, and the drummer did what he needed, but the singer came across as the weak link. In a soundcheck-free, bass-heavy, live performance environment, the lead vocal needs a bit of strength, and delicate, keening vocals just get lost in the sound. Even that you could get away with with a bit of stage presence, or communication with the crowd, but it just wasn't happening for me. See if I'm being overly harsh here. Three bands at a quid a crack is nevertheless great vfm, but The School are more than worth the price of admission on their own, having got me rather excited when I first found their myspace from someone else's guidance on facebook. Despite their relative proximity, I'd never have come across them otherwise. Sure, I'm a sucker for a female vocal (except Sh*rl**n Spit***), and without Liz Hunt's dynamic vocals the band would have no focal point. The occasional clunky keyboard phrase (try the intro to Valentine) adds to the vaguely shambling charm, and All I Wanna Do brings to mind Kirsty MacColl's 'They Don't Know', which is exalted company as far as I'm concerned. In contrast to the preceding band, taking my eyes off Liz is difficult, and when I can it's because I never realised from listening to the myspace tracks how well the fiddle lines fit the songs. Indeed I'd barely recognised the presence of a fiddle, and the combination of two female musicians also brings to mind Aberfeldy, another band making simply beautiful, classically structured, girl meets boy pop music with singalong tunes, and with more to offer than the basic guitar/bass/drums combination. Fabulous. * "And Suddenly The World Is Full Of Sunshine" is the first line of the Left Banke song And Suddenly, as covered by The School, and I can't think of a single sentence that sums up their sound any better than that.

Running Down The Highway, Running Down The Line*

2008-08-11T20:54:00.006+01:00

Nearly missed this one, but a chance check on the website meant I only knew this gig was on just over a week before it happened. New venue to me, apparently been running since around the turn of the year, but I've had no reason to pay attention to it before. So there's a small concern when the venue website specifies that parking is limited, and local knowledge suggests that getting to the recommended road for parking will take some doing, so I allowed plenty of time, and ended up about the seventh person through the door. Eventually Jason turned up, the room got a bit fuller and by the end a good thirty or maybe even forty people were watching. I mentioned seeing Jason and the Scorchers earlier this year, but the intimacy of Jason's solo shows is a level above that. What we got was two hours split by a brief interval for Jason to sell and sign CDs and t-shirts, and take requests for songs to do in the second half of the show. He signed the CD I bought and the sleeve for another that I'd brought with me, and said he thought that particular Scorchers show was as good a show as the Scorchers have ever played. I'm reminded of a conversation I had recently about someone meeting a musician whose work he admired, and finding his liking being somewhat tarnished by the guy in question being at best disinterested. Some people can turn it on because being vaguely friendly is a part of the job, but Jason is not just a true pro, he's also a thoroughly decent, friendly chap who'll chat as long as you want because he likes that rather than because it's part of the job. Jason's diversion into music for children is heavily hinted at by this, his cover of Roger Miller's England Swings, so it's a good guide to what you'll get if you go and see him. Nothing staggeringly new, except this time I got some decent video and will put a couple more tracks on youtube when I get a chance, but full value for money and some good honest Tennessee humour and warmth. And you really can't ask for much more than that. * "Running down the highway, running down the line" is from Farmer Jason's 'Punk Rock Skunk', from his second album for children of all ages!

Raingel Interceptor*

2008-08-05T20:49:00.000+01:00

Free gigs are bit of a lottery at the best of times. Free gigs in the outdoors in a summer characterised by floods and the sort of weekly rainfall to quench entire deserts are even more so. I went off earlyish in the afternon to make sure I caught some of Beth Rowley. A ten minute run through Nobody's Fault But Mine is perhaps not the snappiest way to make plenty of momentum in the early part of a set, but it does showcase her voice well. I stayed through Little Dreamer, and headed off during So Sublime - that's the other thing about city centre free gigs, the draw of the shops! With a shopping bag full of stuff I headed back to dump it in the car and go back over to the gig, but before I got to the car, it started raining again. And rained, and rained some more, so I took the easy option of going home while the next couple of bands were on, to pick up a better coat and some essential supplies... Where the gig and fairground area was enclosed by railings and awash with hi-vis clad stewards, part of their function was to prevent people smuggling in alcohol. Given alcohol of many kinds was on sale, it seemed rather a pointless exercise in any case. I found a suitable spot to stand just before Glasvegas came on, and despite the horrific name they were the one band I'd have gone in to see regardless. Ever since I heard It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry, I've been mesmerised by its rolling dynamism, so I was hoping to be blown away but prepared for disappointment. They only did thirty minutes of a slated fifty minute set, and maybe that one song obliterates everything else, because it ended up being a tiny bit flat when it could have been greater, but I'll try and catch them doing their own show soon. Young Knives are the sort of band I'd be really pleased to find a bullied child of mine grew up to be in. They evoke that kind of classroom outsider image, obviously knowingly, but I particularly like their humour and the fact they seem to be having their own little world of fun on stage where the audience are invited too, as opposed to just beating the audience into submission. Turn Tail is the song that's still in my mind. The rain mostly held off, giving us a light sprinkling for a few minutes now and then, but that brings us back to the particular source of loveliness I'd brought in with me through the hi-vis cordon. Plenty of people were furtively swigging booze from hip flasks and other receptacles, but there's very little better to do in early August than watch a band perform in light rain while pulling your coat a little tighter and sipping hot chocolate from the flask in your pocket. Rock n roll crazee, oh yes! I last saw Ash a few years ago, and I tend to think of them as a great singles band. Burn Baby Burn is a corker, Girl From Mars the crowd-pleaser towards the end of the set, and Oh Yeah, Shining Light, Kung Fu and some other stuff I don't know pop up in between. Worth the seeing, but I'm probably not inclined to travel a long way to see them again soon. My best action picture of Tim Wheeler of Ash - not bad from the distance. More, inevitably... * Angel Interceptor is probably my favourite Ash song, and they didn't play it. Bah!

On The Edge Of A Broken Heart

2008-07-30T20:00:00.003+01:00

"On The Edge Of A Broken Heart" was a late 1987 single by barely forgotten Brit rockers Briar. It's also a decent description of the time, though that's another story. After recent correspondence, I've been racking my brains for what else I can remember about Mr C's. When I first went there I was still under age for being served with alcohol, which was hardly an interest of mine in any case, but the trouble of my mate borrowing his older brother's driving licence, another mate's suggestion that the door stuff ring his mum for confirmation and the will-we-won't-we part of getting in to the place all live on in my mind. Though the golden age of the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal was long gone, there were still a handful of bands of that ilk hanging around. The first gig I saw there was Girlschool, supported by Silent Attack, a local band who I remember being mildly diverting but other than a guitar player with a predominantly red guitar, I don't remember much. Girlschool I remember as being great, even if like virtually everything at that time, I knew by name but couldn't have named a single song. It's hard to believe that without spending a fiver on an album, or borrowing it from someone, it was virtually impossible to know what a band were like. I don't know that we've lost that much in the myspace age where everything is as accessible as you could possibly wish, but it wasn't just me that was a lot more innocent back then. Somewhere in my accumulated life junk lurks Kim McAuliffe's autograph from that night, the first in a very longline of memorabilia/tat (depending on point of view). It was several months later that I made it back to the venue, this time to see the last version of the Tygers of Pan Tang featuring Jon Deverill, one of the most under-rated British rock voices. Within a fortnight I was back again, this time to see Leicester's Chrome Molly, a band who would go on to remember me as the person that undertook a sixty mile round trip by bicycle to get to another gig of theirs. A rather energetic band, CM took onstage activity to new heights, and I even ended up striking an unexpected deal to get both the t-shirt and the cap when I was a quid short for the pair and couldn't decide which I wanted. < twenty minute gap in which I've found Steve's finally built a CM website, and sent him a message on F*cebook - what was I saying about the modern world and accessibility ? > Within the next month I'd also seen The Grip for the first time, Redbeards From Texas (ZZTop-alike blues-rock fun), and caught two support slots by another local band, Rich Bitch. I don't know whether it says more about me or them that I still remember the chorus of their eponymous, set-closing song. For that first show, The Grip were still a trio, but by the time they came back in the November (supported by Silent Attack) they'd expanded to a four piece, the addition of Steve Redvers on bass meaning Willie could do a bit of extra guitar and the odd bit of keyboards. I'd have to check my diary to see which of the two shows Spike from the Quireboys joined Willie for the final song, which was probably Great Balls Of Fire. At the latter of these I chose to invest in the t-shirt on the basis the England You're Dead ep would be more likely to turn up again than the shirt. Less than a month later I was in legendary London metal shop shades, and they'd already sold out of copies. And that was the last I'd see of that ep for some years... The Tygers came back again, a day I remember well for more than just that. There's a signed copy of the Burning In The Shade album here in my shelves, and after my first taste of bitter (from a can, from their rider) and half an hour of backstage starstruck (nothing but good luck) chat, I was retrieving my bike form the bushes round the corner and heading home. The above mentioned Briar turned up, promoting that single with a b-side non-novelty song written by one Jonathan King. not a lot oF call for that sort of thing even then. I saw John Otway for the first time, I saw Tigertailz (and ended up with a "free" t-shirt - don't ask!). I saw the magnificent Truffle again - a band whose material was something like the middle ground between Dio and Magnum, and that's another tape I must dig out again now I think about it. Bands I failed to see there include Deacon Blue (don't ask), and Warfare and Rock Goddess who were allegedly booked but the gig never materialised. And then I saw Wolfsbane, which changed my life all over again. I never really thought about it at the time, but this was rather a formative experience in going to small gigs, probably getting on for three quarters of them on my own. Which never bothered me in the slightest. Like everything else, Mr C's ended, then re-opened named Lator's for a time, though by then I'd moved away. In an unsurprising twist for the twenty first century, Mr C's is now back as a venue, even if it seems to be the lower floor rather than the upstairs area where it used to be. It even has a website - check it out. Given the chance I'll try and stop by when I'm down there next time if there's something on, for a true step back in time experience. Those were the days, my friend!

Fed Up Of Girls In Pretty Dresses*

2008-07-20T22:52:00.005+01:00

Travelling in expectation can be a risky business, and having been sat on a ticket for a month or so, I'd definitely claim to have been excited about seeing Camera Obscura at last. They caught my attention with Lloyd, I Am Ready To Be Heartbroken a couple of years ago, and I've had my eye out for a chance to make a gig ever since. I don't know what they put in the water up there - insert gratuitous Irn Bru/buckie reference here if you feel the need - but the consistent output exemplified by the likes of Teenage Fanclub/BMX Bandits/Eugenius, and my current favourites Aberfeldy, Attic Lights, The Hussy's [sic] and, yes, Camera Obscura, means I have a good feeling in general about a lot of music from Scotland. It also explains why most of these bands aren't exactly playing on my doorstep on a frequent basis, so this time I was taking my car on what is probably its final visit to the Midlands. With a 6.30 start for a 9.30 curfew, this was always going to be a slightly different gig. It was 7.30 by the time I got there, but caught the last five or six songs of support band Kid Captain. You know what I was saying about being haunted by support bands with iffy names? Right. Their major asset is the lead singer's voice, which reminds me of Paddy McAloon's in places, but I'm not expecting to remember them clearly in a couple of years time. Camera Obscura take the stage under mostly blue lighting, and with Traceyanne's blue dress and Kenny and Gavin in blue shirts, there's a whole lot of blue going on. Which makes taking pictures without flash difficult, but on the other hand it's easy to spot Traceyanne shutting her eyes in preparation when she can see the orange beams warning that a preflash is coming, for which I don't blame her. One song is introduced as a new one, but the bulk of the set is recognisable to me, and I'm especially pleased they do Teenager. Having been anxious about time ticking away, I needn't have worried about how they were going to fit a full set in as one delightful three minute pop masterpiece follows another before they re-emerge for a brief encore of Eighties Fan, one of only two things that hadn't already turned up from my fantasy set list. This was not much more half a dozen people just having a lot of fun on stage together, and though the crowd as a whole was a little quiet, it made for a perfect small scale pop party, and this part of the crowd enjoyed it greatly. So I guess I've found another band to be a fan of rather than another band I listen to from time to time. Despite having the option to try and get into a later starting gig just along the road, I preferred to leave it at one great gig for the night, and headed for the car in the hope of an earlyish return home. Traceyanne guitarhero - the keen eye will spot the fluo green venue access pass sticker just peeking out from under her dress on her left leg. Which amuses me greatly. And yes, flickr, you know by now. The video for Eighties Fan. * is the first line from the song Dory Previn from Camera Obscura's fine Let's Get Out Of This country album

Let's Get, Let's Get, Let's Get, Let's Get Rocked!

2008-07-17T21:42:00.005+01:00

Walking through the front door of a venue to see a bigger crowd than expected and a guy with a Flying V guitar jumping up and down to end the first song of the set is always a good sign. It is pretty easy to end up seeing a band enough times to get to know them fairly well, even if you don't especially like them, and Thunder is one such. I have nothing against Thunder, and we're closing in on double figures, so when I see them it can go one of two ways. If it's been a while I tend to think that I'd forgotten how good they can be, and if it hasn't then I'm usually reminded more about why I wouldn't describe myself as a particular fan. I checked, and it has been a couple of years, so I was hoping for good things. Danny Bowes must have the fitness levels of your average fitness instructor the way he bounces around, and you can see that he, Luke and GaryHarry have been working together for a very long time. Love Walked In is great, Low Life In High Places remains a classic lost rock single, and IIIIIIIIIII Love You More Than Rock N Roll is both a fine line and a storming way to end a set. On the other hand, the cover of Gimme Some Lovin' remains ill-advised when there are many better songs of their own they could be doing, and the wisdom of extended bouts of back and forth crowd participation is perhaps questionable in a 45 minute, third on the bill set. Whatever, fine bunch of chaps and I wish them well. Another band I've never been especially close to is Whitesnake. Coverdale is an easy target, but he's got the best perm money can buy and in Reb Beach and Doug Aldrich he has a fine pair of guitar players. Three of the first five songs being off the new album (I think) is pushing anyone's patience, though dedicating Love Ain't No Stranger to the recently deceased Mel Galley is a nice touch. In the latter half of the show he stops using profanity in the sort of industrial quantities I normally do (note to self: every third word being bleepable looks really trying too hard to be down with the kids ridiculous in your average late fifty-something), and the unfamiliar/new songs go away. Ain't No Love Crying In The Heart Of the Shadow Of The Blues In The City, Here I Go In My Leather Strides Again and other well known 'snake classics turn up, but they come with too much raspy squealing and the melody coming from what seems suspiciously like one of the four other vocal mikes on the stage. Sure, he's an engaging frontman and he has a fine pedigree, but I don't feel cheated that I never saw the show before, and I'm not rushing to find out where I can repeat the experience. It's a box ticked, an expression I can imagine Old Cov using himself. Doug and Dave - see flickr for a few more. Def Leppard, on the other hand, is a band I've wished I'd seen some time before. I had a ticket for the Hysteria tour but ended up not able to go, and with the whole saga of Rick's arm, Steve Clark's untimely death and so on, they've been somewhere around my consciousness for a long time. Joe Elliot is perhaps the rock Simon Le Bon these days, but that's really no bad thing, and everything you could want to hear is belted out with gusto. Photograph is a personal highlight, for more than one reason. Viv Campbell and Phil Collen provide an ongoing lowlight, with their bare chested man boob competition, which lasts at least an hour of the set. Really, no thanks. Sav looks like a young Duff McKagan, and seems the least aged of the lot of them, and watching Rick drum every time he is on the video screen is half intriguing, half inspiring. Having spotted the amount of other vocal supporting Coverdale, it strikes me the Def Lep sound is actually not so dissimilar, but their reputation is less built around a single voice. By the end of the show I'm waiting for Let's Get Rocked to finish so I can get home to bed, but three classic rock bands for that price can't be bad. I'm bound to end up running into Thunder again sooner or later, and Def Leppard coming within striking distance would definitely tempt me out again, so not a bad night of rock, all told.

Somewhere Back In Time

2008-07-07T22:55:00.004+01:00

A leisurely start saw me delayed by the roadworks on the M1, but happily not by the expected ranks of fans of the futility circuits at Silverstone. With a small amount of navigational difficulty, I parked up under queenie's castle at Windsor and got on the first train to Twickenham, which gradually filled up with people in leather jackets and Iron Maiden shirts as we got closer. I'm not a huge fan of Maiden, and I guess I think of them as the NWOBHM Beatles, a benchmark for their genre, but my feelings are coloured rather more by them breaking up Wolfsbane when Bruce had a few years off from Maiden. I'd liken it to having your childhood sweetheart run off with some guy that's always in your local pub, a guy whom you can't avoid even though he's not really a mate of yours. Even though last year's handful of gigs were the first Wolfsbane shows in thirteen years, there are still only three or possibly four acts I've seen more times than Wolfsbane. I never listened to Maiden with Blaze singing because I just couldn't face it, and while I last saw Maiden with Bruce back in the fold a few years ago, I suspect that without the recent Wolfsbane shows I might not have bothered with this one. With the benefit of non-wasted years in the meantime, I can understand why it was an opportunity Blaze couldn't turn down, and I don't blame him for it, but all the same it isn't quite water fully under that bridge. Blaze's new album is great, btw! People, people everywhere meant I didn't make it inside the stadium for Lauren Harris' set, but there was a sharp contrast between this and the Springsteen show that I've not got round to coming back to. Where the Springsteen show was characterised by unfriendly and unhelpful stewarding and general stupidity, the Twickenham area police who had closed off the roads, and the staff around the stadium couldn't have been more helpful. Even if the guy who searched my bag on entry wasn't quite sure what to make of my make up bag. Within Temptation bring to mind Julianne Regan fronting Europe around the thunderous Start From The Dark album - great high register female vocals and the sort of muscular euro-rock-with-keyboards that gets my toes tapping. Good start. Avenged Sevenfold benefit from a guitarist looking like Nicky Wire auditioning for Mötley Crüe, but for the most part it's generic shouty plod metal that doesn't get me excited. The singer gains my respect for being sensitive to people having difficulties in the heaving crowd, stopping the song and directing security, but ultimately there's nothing there I'm desperate to listen to again. Policing fifty thousand people is always going to be asking a lot, and the vain attempts of the orange shirted response teams were mildly amusing for all of ten seconds. The amount of plastic bottles in the air around Avenged Sevenfold was visible enough that people were trying to take pictures of it, but people who can afford more than sixty quid including parasite fees are for the most part plenty old enough to know better than to be chucking nearly full bottles of beer over everyone that their pisspoor aim can reach. I was really bored of the spectacle by the time I saw the third person get smacked in the back of the head by a bottle, and while my pictures show you I was close enough to see the stage clearly, I'm old enough to know that what suits me best is maintaining my own personal space and staying away from most of the crowd action as much as I can. Churchill's speech came on the screen, Aces High roared out of the speakers, and the place erupted. Two Minutes To Midnight held the same level of excitement before it dipped for Revelations. First of several costume changes saw Bruce in red waving his flag about for The Trooper, then Wasted Years and Number Of The Beast rounded off the first half dozen songs. Couldn't ask for much more, though Revelations and the full twelve minute Rime Of The Ancient Mariner could perhaps be replaced by five other songs I'd rather hear, and without breaking the momentum of the set. Powerslave sees Bruce in a face mask that looks like an accident in a fascinator factory - check it out on flickr if you don't believe me - Heaven Can Wait and Run to The Hills are majestic in their uptempo galloping Maidenness, before Fear Of The Dark and Iron Maiden bring the main set to a close. Moonchild, The Clairvoyant and a closing Hallowed Be Thy Name mean we've used up a fair few quid's worth of pyro, Eddie's lurched forwards in his bandages, and it's 10.20pm and time to go home. I'm still pleased to have seen a show based around material from that era, and there's no doubt they've put a lot of effort and money into the show. On the way back to the station the police again had everything under control and did a great job. It's interesting to note that the Springsteen show had an awful lot less disruption among the crowd, and even though I rapidly run out of patience with that sort of thing, I still enjoyed the Maiden gig a hell of a lot more. And home just before 2.30am wasn't a bad result either. Here's Steve, but there's plenty more on flickr.

Just Two Legs*

2008-07-06T18:58:00.002+01:00

After the Blissfields Festival got cancelled at a fairly late stage, it was possible that the warm-up gig would have been cancelled, though happily it all went ahead as something else got found to fill in the Blissfields date. There's always something about the first show of more than one, in this case the first of three, though I was only going to make it two. Running into people I've not seen for a while, catching up on what's going on in other people's lives, and getting a decent gig on top is a good way to spend an evening. For non-locals, a gig on a boat is an additional novelty, for a guitarist who has spent some time without picking up a guitar on account of getting on with the more important business of fatherhood, it's a pleasant change even with a troubled hand and with an early start for an early curfew for a club night to follow, there was an outside chance I'd get an earlyish night, but as it happened... In what seems to be an ongoing routine of support bands with questionable names, I sat through The Weary Band because I like support bands, and I don't want to miss something I might like. Starting off like the more bouncy jangly indie of The Candyskins, we sort of lost our way a bit by the end of the set. Nothing outstanding either way, but you never know when a band is going to write the next great song. The Wonder Stuff romped through nearly ninety minutes of a set comprising a predictable selection of songs, all of them hit at full speed, with Donation in particular rocking the boat. The curfew meant that it was a pretty focused set, hit after hit after classic album track, and the set finished a mere twenty five minutes after the arbitrary curfew. Somehow the early night turned into getting home at 1.30 via some late night shopping in the 24 hour supermarket, but then I did have the next day off. Four hours of the afternoon were spent enjoying the motorways between here and the East Midlands, and the rarity value of not driving to and from the gig meant itself somehow combined with half a bottle of wine. For unknown support bands with iffy names, at least The Weary Band is understandable from the stage. But perfect diction and audio clarity (or a glut of flyers!) is required to understand what The Fideal Efect are called. The guitarist looks like Lofty Holloway re-styled by Radiohead, the singer has armfuls of star tattoos and a certain presence but even now while I'm listening to them on myspace, I'm struggling to pin them down. It's a bit like a slowed down Bennet with more of those horrible RadioFerdinandPatrol held down chord shapes strummed relentlessly than any band really needs, ie some, but it'll be interesting to see if they can come up with any more memorable songs from this vaguely promising start. The headline set was marginally less loud but noticeably hotter, and it is a funny little place for a gig. Not quite hitting the previous night's heights, possibly down to needing a little more ventilation or cool air movement, but still a more than proficient way to race through nearly ninety minutes of great songs. Somehow I never tire of Mission Drive, or Disco King, or Blah Blah La di Dah, or On The Ropes for that matter. And even getting back out to the motorway wasn't that tricky, despite the less than circular nature of Derby's ring road! * "I'm just two legs of the groove machine" is from Radio Ass Kiss

Journey's End

2008-07-06T17:55:00.002+01:00

Well, it's very interesting that despite the apparent lack of interest in or widespread knowledge of Journey, without a hit single anywhere near here in quite some time, this blog and the last two posts in particular have produced a lot more traffic than I normally get. On an entirely different journey note, it's sunday evening and I've just had a couple of fried egg sandwiches. By my calculation that's the first hot food I've had since wednesday evening, so the next time I'm complaining about my less than perfect healthy eating habits after I've been to a few gigs close together, it's a matter of record that I really have nobody else to blame. Saying that, after three gigs, two goes of going to bed at gone three, seven hundred odd miles of motorways, and umpteen cups of tea, I do feel pretty good for it. Rock!

Journey (Coda)

2008-06-25T23:12:00.004+01:00

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