overlap

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.

Labels: gigs, Quireboys, Wolfsbane

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

Labels: gigs, Quireboys, The Jan Watkins Band