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

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.

Labels: Blaze Bayley, gigs, Jase Edwards, Jase the Ace, Jeff Hateley, Steve Danger, Wolfsbane

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!

Labels: Blaze Bayley, gigs, metal, Wolfsbane

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

Labels: gigs, Ginger, Jase Edwards, Jase the Ace, Laika Dog, Tony Wright, Wolfsbane

"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!

Labels: Chrome Molly, gigs, The Grip, Wolfsbane

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.

Labels: Blaze Bayley, gigs, Iron Maiden, Wolfsbane

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

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

So, four hours' sleep later and it was up and off to work. Not quite up to the standards of seeing Springsteen at Wembley, getting in at 3.30 and up at 6.30, though I'd barely left school then. And indeed, amusing novelty though these sort of late nights are, I'm not sure that it's a habit I really need to carry into my 40s as they start to loom over the distant horizon. Going back through my records I see that I saw Wolfsbane five times within two hundred yards of Tottenham Court Road tube, and I think that those trips to the Marquee were among my first experiences of travelling for gigs as a matter of course rather than as an occasional novelty, and other than The Grip they were the first band you'd not expect many people to already have heard of that really caught my imagination. Wolfsbane were of a generation that made a virtue of personal accessibility, and though I have more music by other bands, it's possible that their stuff forms my most complete collection of merchandise and memorabilia. I spent some time on saturday night watching the In Bed With Wolfsbane video, and that merely cemented the monster grin on my face that's been there most of the week looking forward to last night. On the back of that, it was a little disconcerting to see Steve Danger with a shiny chrome dome, and Jase must be really bored of the rogue Magic Number comparison too by now. Jeff looks more or less the same – same bass, same bouncy shoes. Eavesdropping on someone else's conversation, the guy said he'd have crawled over broken glass to get there, but at the same time kinda wished it wasn't happening. The suggestion was that it was like running into an ex, nice to be reminded of the good stuff but one of those things that might be better left to fade away rather than confront anew if raking it all up could be avoided. While I can relate to the broken glass, from where I'm standing it's one of those things that really needed a proper send-off, and laying it to rest in the same spirit of celebration and fun that made such an impression all those years ago is really the only fitting way. Of the three complete one-off gigs I've seen this year, I'd gladly have missed seeing that version of the Mega City Four if it meant Wiz were still with us, and the Jel show was beyond all known laws of probability, so this was the one that I'm both absolutely thrilled to have made it to, and had honestly never expected or even felt it realistic to hope to see. Cheers chaps, and if there's the slightest chance of a repeat, I'll see you there. Rock on!

Labels: gigs, rock, Wolfsbane

Just got home from a pilgrimage to the hotspot of metal that is Tamworth. Some other bands, blah blah blah, but at this time of night the only thing that counts is having had my birthday present a few days early, and seen the first performance of Wolfsbane in thirteen or fourteen years. Setlist: Steel, You Load Me Down, Loco, Kathy Wilson, Temple Of Rock, Manhunt, Paint The Town Red, Born To Run (yes, that Born To Run!). If if turns out that that really is that, then this way we all go out with a bang rather than a whimper. They rocked, I rocked, we all rocked. And for half an hour I was in my early twenties again.

Labels: gigs, rock, Wolfsbane

After a short break, posting resumes with the news that I'm pleased to be back home to start another football season consisting of about two weeks of hope, and eight months of desperation. There's something about being back in my own bed that's pretty unbeatable, but there's another thing to look forward to and that's working through the autumn touring schedules. The last few years seem to have proven that barring death, almost every band comes back together sooner or later, and often in addition to or despite members moving on to other, bigger and/or better things. Even Robert Plant was recently seen explaining how Roger Daltrey keeps asking him 'why don't you give them what they want?' so the reunion bug really does get absolutely everywhere. Nevertheless, it's a matter of incredible excitement and glee to find myself looking forward to another unexpected reformation delight, namely that the headline slot of Blaze Bayley at Tamworth Rock Of Ages Festival is to be supplemented by a reunion set by the mighty Wolfsbane. It's not for no reason that my HMS card is one of the few items that remains in my wallet all the time, and it's not like there was much of a chance to say a proper goodbye after somebody legged it to join Maiden either. Even though I've run into Jeff a few times over the years, and heard some work Jase's been part of, there's some unfinished business, and that's without the mouth-watering prospect that they might like each other enough to want to do some more. Never say never. Chances of my limited readership here being familiar with Wolfsbane are on the low side, but I can safely say there is no other band on earth I would rather see reform unless the current rules on death and resurrection are radically changed. And I'm utterly thrilled that once again, we're gonna paint the town red.

Labels: Blaze Bayley, reformations, rock, Wolfsbane