Scribblings on my birthday gig to follow (I'm a bit busy at the mo, plus my son is visiting...) but during the meanwhilst, here's the lists...
Watch this space!
Thursday, 26 June 2025
Wednesday, 25 June 2025
1,392 “FOREVER NOW” FESTIVAL, Milton Keynes Bowl, Sunday 22nd June 2025
This
one took us all by surprise… “Forever Now”, a one day, 80’s post-punk-centric
Festival at Milton Keynes Bowl was announced late last year by the organisers
of the US’ “Cruel World” Festy (the line-ups for which I’d been looking at
longingly for a number of years, hoping the San Andreas Fault would open up and
push California closer to the UK), and it was basically a post-punk fan’s wet
dream, with some massive names from that era featured alongside a couple of
serious curveballs from my musical heritage. I was up for it immediately, the
only issue being that it fell on the 18th birthday of my son and
regular gig buddy Logan. He had a definite idea on how he wanted to spend that
day, involving being in his regular “happy place” of Brixham, rather than in a
Buckinghamshire field. Luckily, though, he was happy for me to dip out, so, after
some family arrangements being made to suit all parties, I booked myself an
early 60th birthday pressy ticket, gathering gig companions along
the way in “Shiiine On” buddy Matt, best mate Rich and, finally, recent gig
buddy Jeremy, who’d grabbed himself a late and much cheaper one!
The other point about this day was that it fell on the 40th Anniversary of my first ever outdoor show, U2’s coronation “Longest Day” event waaaay back in 1985 (gig 29!), affording me a opportunity to repay a debt. R.E.M, later one of my favourite bands, were largely unknown to me at the time of that U2 undercard, when they had the invidious task of not only preceding the headliners, but having to immediately follow The Ramones! That they did so with a seriously dull opener (the dour “Feeling Gravity’s Pull”) put me off realising their brilliance for 2 more years, so, my penance today was to sport a pink “Little America” R.E.M shirt, as the out-of-town boys Matt and Jeremy gathered at mine for an early start. Scooping Rich up on the way, we one-stopped for possible late picnic fixings and hit MK about 11, finding our booked Purple Parking adjacent to the Bowl very easily, albeit seemingly having to drive over a raised pavement to get in! Waited for ½ hour in a small queue for early entry (apart from Jeremy, whose ticket didn’t include that), funnelling into the early booker’s “VIP” area which took up half the front of the main arena stage and finding Jeremy already in situ down the front on the other side of the barrier! So much for our early entry! Sussed out the quiet-early doors scene and location – 2 stages, the other one a shlep to the side and back of the main bowl arena masked by the trees lining the bowl banks. Warm with light cloud cover early doors too, so not the parched heatwave some of us were fearing (not me, I’ll have it as hot as you can give it me!).
A smallish crowd had gathered for mainstage openers UK DECAY at 1 pm. Recently reformed, this raw punk turned macabre proto-goth act were an early discovery for me at 14 years old and featured on a Killing Joke support slot waaay back in 1982 (gig 3 – yes, gig 3!)! Vocalist Steve “Abbo” Abbott quipped, “I think we’re the only local band on!” as they eased into lengthy bass-driven opener “Unexpected Guest”, Abbo’s sonorous vocal tones in the drawn-out verse switching gears to a scalded yelp during the chorus hook. Good – and good sounding! – start, but thereafter the sound (and level of practice?) was a bit variable; whilst the ascending circular hook and sinister plunge of “Stagestruck”, the cold war claustrophobic tension of “Testament” and the militaristic drumbeat menace of a later “Black Cat” impressed, the likes of “Sexual” and “Mayday” were sadly a bit messy and disjointed. However, Abbo’s perma-grin and charisma remained a feature throughout, and the dissonant guitar and tumbling drums of closer “Unwind” rounded off an uneven but entertaining opening set. Good to hear those old songs again after so long, but shame old U18 Brunel floor-packer “Dresden” was omitted from the set…
Nonetheless,
I was happy to grab one of the lists the roadie emerged from the backstage
entrance with, and stay in situ for BERLIN, next up at 5 to 2. My only prior
knowledge of this 80’s lot was their “Top Gun” inspired cheesy power ballad
No.1 “Take My Breath Away”, but they immediately showed there were more bows to
their strings than that, with opener “Masquerade” being a shiny and upbeat slice
of 80’s MTV goth/ synthpop and quite a mood changer from UKDK’s opening set. Thus
followed an energetically delivered set from this band, who seemed to feature
WWE wrestler Goldberg’s twin brother on guitar, and with no-one more energetic
than diminutive black leather clad vocalist Terri Nunn, looking and sounding
astonishingly well-preserved for 65 (!) and impressing particularly with some
operatic vocal lifts. That said, the sound was very tethered (anchored?) to
those MTV video, big-hair, shoulder-pads and leg warmers 80’s times, and put me
in mind to revisit the soundtrack to “Beverley Hills Cop”! I liked the brisk,
synth-propelled Our Daughter’s Wedding clone of “The Metro”, but when “Take My
Breath Away” (preceded by Terri thanking the UK record buyers for giving them
their first number one) kicked in, Matt, Rich and I wandered out, also leaving
them to their cover of AC/DC’s “Highway To Hell”. Timed our exit just right,
then…!
Off for something completely different; a third stage, The Echo Chamber, located around the rear walkway of the Bowl, promised a programme of onstage interviews with luminaries from the 80’s post-punk era. Unfortunately, most clashed with live must-sees, but we were happy to catch some of RICHARD JOBSON, erudite and entertaining Skids mainman, in conversation with 80’s journo, writer and all-round renaissance man John Robb. Some fun stories of London punk rock squat life in those 70s/80s, but having seen Jobbo a multitude of times of late with The Skids, I’d heard most of this before as between-song banter, so after waiting out the tail-end of Berlin’s set, I was back in for the first of my Big Three (in a row) today…
Found Jeremy again in our house (field?) left spot about 10 or so yards back, for “live” favourites of mine, THE CHAMELEONS, slightly late at 5 to 3. “Our friends in Portugal and Spain say hello to you,” announced vocalist Vox by way of introduction, the former Mark Burgess bursting into the fulsome fist-pumping heroic and anthemic soar of “The Fan And The Bellows”. A lower-key, brooding “Perfumed Garden” featured some skittering and resonant guitar work from the splendid Reg Smithies, and the hurtling newie “Saviours Are A Dangerous Thing” featured a subtle but pointed anti-Trump lyric; however the double whammy of a widescreen and sprawling, tumbling drum-dominated “Soul In Isolation” (again featuring lyrical homages to The Doors, Bowie and The Beatles in its’ stretched mid-section, before building to an epic crescendo) and the equally libidinous rhythm yet intricate riffery of a brilliant “Swamp Thing” were my joint highlights. Vox wished us all a great day, before the driving growl of “Don’t Fall”, capped with a “Rebel Rebel” lyrical vignette, rounded off a typically epic if startlingly brief-feeling 6-song set from this oft-overlooked Manc rabble. Only 6 songs, maybe, but I probably reckon “Isolation” and “Swamp Thing” clocked in at the thick end of 20 minutes between ‘em!
A list too, as I squirmed my way to the front and snagged a copy scrunched into a ball by the roadie, unfortunately clocking a woman next to me in the face while I caught it! Profuse apologies later, I met up with the guys; Jeremy elected for some Public Image on the Other Stage at this point, so Rich, Matt and I popped back into the VIP front section, opting for a house right viewing spot for PSYCHEDELIC FURS, next up at close to 4. Old “live” faves of mine of course, this being the 10th time I’d seen them since the first back in 1984 (gig 15!), and they’d often delivered utterly colossal performance down the years. Quite the best-dressed band of the Fest as well, the dapper vocalist Richard Butler sporting a smart bat-wing suit, and his monolithic bass player brother Tim a stately black and red combo. Talking of bass, that underpinning growl was a little discordant during the verse to opener “President Gas”, but the sound was sorted in time for the dramatically tense, moody chorus. “Heaven”, however, sounded tremendous, that delicious descending hook a feature, and “Wrong Train”, next up, was achingly melancholy, Butler’s nasal Bowie vocals soaring and impassioned. “The Ghost In You” needed 2 goes (the first start waaay too fast!) but its chiming keys, courtesy of Andrea Kremer, underpinned quite the most delicate and downright pretty song of the day; “Mr. Jones”’s careering punk rock was a startling change of pace; then, following the inevitable singalong to that quintessential 80’s song “Pretty In Pink”, the extended psych-blues and dramatic layered crescendos of “India” rounded off a marvellous set, delivered with some sashaying style by Butler and co. No “Forever Now”, oddly, and a few numbers missed the strident sax blare of Mars Williams, sadly lost to us 2 years ago, but Psychedelic Furs? Colossal again, all the same…!
I tried for a list, but the stage front was completely rammed with no way through; no surprise, given who was up next… We wandered back to the other side, and I ran into my mate Rog’s wife Kate and goth teen daughter Mattie (Rog himself being in Budapest at the moment!) for a chat, before going back in for JOHNNY MARR. On just after 5 to the coruscating “Fade To Grey”-esque synth refrain opening to “Armatopia”, Marr, stylish in black denim and floppy moptop, was at once both the coolest and most talented bloke in the joint, with a multitude of phones suddenly sprouting up like sunflowers after an intense Summer shower every time Marr launched into one of his typically intricate, undulating and brilliantly mellifluous guitar riffs. Particularly to the Smiths songs in the set…
And oh, those Smiths songs… this was definitely a case of “know your audience” from the boy Johnny this evening, with a higher proliferation of numbers from his former legendary 80’s jangle-indie band than at his own gig at the Bristol O2 last year (gig 1,323), much to the delight of most around me (including a fair few young chaps who nevertheless knew all the words; fair play, boys!). “Panic”’s glam stomp initiated a rousing terrace chant singalong; “This Charming Man” (cheekily introduced by Johnny as, “a new number”) was breathlessly and brilliantly upbeat; and after a hushed, pastoral and reverentially-received “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want”, the quivering and lugubrious “How Soon Is Now” was brilliant, Johnny coaxing ever stranger effects from his guitar pedals and being moved himself to comment, “that was a good one…” at its’ conclusion. But, following a first-pumpingly catchy “Easy Money” and an angular yet merry sway along “Passenger”; the closing “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” (dedicated by Johnny to, “everyone in this field and nobody fucking else!”) was outstanding, as ever heartbreakingly melancholy yet joyous at the same time, eliciting a lengthy and communal singalong outro to the Best Song Of The Day, concluding the Best Set Of The Day for me. The boy Johnny done great!
So, early evening and Jeremy and I took a
wander to the merch stand in the rear walkway for a programme, then took a spot
on the bank for a wider view of BILLY IDOL, next up. I liked his old 70’s
punk-with-a-touch-of-swaggering-glam band Generation X, not so much his solo
material, so vast swathes of his set (especially the slow burn brooding,
pouting MTV 80’s Goth-lite likes of “Flesh For Fantasy” and “Eyes Without A Face”)
were a bit of a slog. However, upbeat, racier newies “77”, “Too Much Fun” and
particularly expansive rocker “Blue Highway” were more impressive, and “Rebel
Yell” was a rousing slice of pure 80’s post-punk cheese, the hook audibly echoed
back by the baying faithful. Idol, clearly having put in an energetic shift,
dispensed his sweaty shirt into the crowd before another jacket change and the
ubiquitous closer “White Wedding”. As I said, a bit cheesy, but fun cheesy
nonetheless…
We then met up with Rich and Matt, wandering over to the Other Stage (first time today for me) whilst commenting on how successful the day had been, what a great vibe, and in particular how smoothly it had seemed to be running. This however proved to be famous last words, as we wandered up the walkway to the house-right side entrance to the Other Stage, noting that THE DAMNED, due off 15 or so minutes earlier at 25 past 7, were still only just kicking into pummelling old punk classic “New Rose”… We arrived to see most of this song; then, the most bizarre sight ensued, as Vanian and Co. seemed to keep playing beyond this number, but with the speakers having been switched off and the onstage monitors therefore the only sound, we couldn’t hear what was being played! It then got weirder, as rap song “99 Problems” then blasted from the speakers, but The Damned just kept playing! Eventually the band seemed to interpret the crowd’s signalling and waving, realised they’d been cut off, and left the stage in a seeming state of confusion.
By this time I’d bumped into Bristol
friend and chanteuse Keeley Moss, introducing her to the boys and
chatting away while roadies soundchecked, re-soundchecked and soundchecked
again, taking an interminable amount of time and at one point causing us to
ponder whether there were insurmountable tech issues, which might force the cancellation
of the final 2 bands due up! Eventually, THE JESUS AND MARY CHAIN rather
grumpily took the stage at 8.30, 40 minutes late and 5 minutes before they were
actually due to go off (!). “JAMCOD” was a tough, bristling and frankly
pissed-off sounding opener, followed by the scuzzy chugging rock’n’roll sleaze
of “April Skies” and the slow-burn surf-pop soda-bar undercurrent and cacophonous
choral build of “Some Candy Talking” The hitherto monosyllabic and taciturn vocalist
Jim Reid then addressed the audience with, “if our set is cut short, it’s fuck
all to do with us… we’ve been told to get the fuck off!”
Luckily, said departure wasn’t immediate; a harsh, growling “Venal Joy” preceded a plaintive “Sometimes Always”, Primal Scream’s Simone Butler joining Reid onstage to sing Hope Sandoval’s female line in this duet; then the languid Velvets-like doo-wop of “Just Like Honey” saw me keep my promise to my gig buddy son, and record it as a birthday greeting! A squalling, savage “Never Understand” was a noise-fest punctuation point on a fiery and tempestuous ½ hour set, Jim’s obvious annoyance actually having added extra vim and venom to the performance, as he led the band off indignantly, no doubt to kick some asses…
This then took us to 9 p.m., and as dusk fell and the Other Stage arena partly emptied, I realised the flooring entirely consisted of very dusty and uneven gravel, rather than the main arena grass, and it had started to play havoc with my knees! Furthermore, another half hour passed with no sign of the appearance of Death Cult, next up… Much as I would have liked to stay to listen to Astbury’s lot (I was particularly looking forward to “Spirit Walker”, excellent at Birmingham Institute in November 2023 (gig 1,303)), my knees were barking away at me and clearly needed a rest, so I reconsidered my plan, and decided to take possibly my last opportunity to see one of the most influential and iconic groups ever in music…
Into the darkening and cooling main
arena, then, and I took a spot on the sloping bank at the back, house right,
all the better for the best possible view of headliners, German Krautrock and
synthesiser veterans and innovators KRAFTWERK. As per my one previous sighting,
at the now-Bristol Beacon back in 2017 (gig 1,042), their performance was a
perfect synthesis of sound and vision, utilising both the stage backdrop and
huge side screens to augment their oft-haunting, oft-playful and quirky, but
always challenging and fascinating stripped-back electronica. “Skylab” featured
a huge spaceship emerge from a backdrop-projected Earth; a lengthy “Autobahn”
(not the 22 ½ minute full-length that has become the traditional soundtrack of
mine and Logan’s motorsport event journeys!) wove a languid, hypnotic spell,
with a VW Beetle projected on the backdrop for accompaniment; and “Radio Activity”
was symphonic, prescient and uncomfortably haunting, names of nuclear incident
locations being projected onto the backdrop and adding to the sense of unease.
The lengthy and clattering “Trans-Europe Express” was stark, elemental and hypnotic, the austere black and white train track projection standing out in the now inky blackness, whilst “The Robots” was a heavily vocodered yet melodic hymn to the march of technology. Then, the sparse, rhythmic and slightly cartoonish “Boing Boom Tschak” segued in and overlaid the robotic chant of “Musik Non Stop”, as the 4 members of the band peeled off, one by one, from behind their onstage plinths, sole original member Ralf Hutter leaving the stage last to cheers, after another quite astonishing multimedia performance.
That took us to 20 to 11 and the
end of the Fest! We all convened at the back of the main arena mixing desk for
a slow wander back to the car, taking a wrong turn on the way but getting back
in short order. Egress seemed straight-forward, so we had our intended
post-Festy picnic before setting off just after 11, driving home through some
unpleasant sheets of rain but getting back to the ‘don just after 12.30.
Dropped Rich off and Jeremy collected his car at ours for a shortish drive
home; Matt stayed over as he had further to go, but left straight for work the
next morning.
So, that was the inaugural “Forever Now”; we all agreed it was quite the excellent day out, all bands showing up and delivering as hoped. Yes, there were teething troubles centring around the Other Stage (comments from certain bands on Facebook the next day illustrating this point), and clearly the audience was nowhere near the hoped level – I’d guessed about 20,000, Matt reckoned a whole lot less – giving rise to very cheap tickets being available during the week leading up to the event. But fingers crossed that these issues will be chalked down to teething troubles, and they’ll give this another go, rather than write it off as a “one and done”. Because it offers something different to the general Festy scene, a celebration of a time in rock’n’roll history whose influence still resonates down the years and has massive impact on a whole slew of “new” bands in the current musical climate. Most of all, it was thoroughly enjoyable and fun. So, promoters, take heed, please please please, let us get want we want… let this event stay “Forever Now”!
Friday, 20 June 2025
1,391 PULP, Birmingham Utilita Arena, Thursday 19th June 2025
February
1986, and I’m visiting my friend Craig Gurney for one of many drunken
post-adolescent weekends at his Sheffield Polytechnic Halls of Residence.
Before we hit the snowy bus stop to get me on my train journey home, he
suggests I listen to a new release from a local band he picked up on; “it’s a
bit Scott Walker-ish, I think you’ll like it…” Sure enough, I was captivated by
the mournful, hushed tones, widescreen orchestral feel and slightly risque
choral lyric, and hunted down my own copy on my return to the ‘don. The track?
“Little Girl (With Blue Eyes)”. That local band? Pulp…
I was a Pulp aficionado then, hooked from there, following them on their musical odyssey from lush Walker-esque 60’s B-Movie soundtrack auteurs, through morose disco-tinged Krautrock/ Moroder acolytes, to “World of Twist-like pop divas with a touch of Oxfam glam kitsch”, as I’d described them when I first saw them, at the Oxford Jericho Tavern pub upstairs room in May 1992 (gig 210). Pulp gigs then were, sadly, few and far between and mainly oop North, that Oxford gig not only being the first time I saw them, but the first time the band had ventured that far down South! However, that tour and the subsequent brilliant, defining triad of singles in “OU”, “Babies” and “Razzmatazz”, heralded the start of a significant upturn in their activities and fortunes, culminating in that legendary 1995 Glasto headlining slot, and the adoption of their irresistible anthem “Common People” as the soundtrack for the thinking man’s version of Britpop, i.e. not the laddish “Loaded” misogynistic one. Blur vs. Oasis… who won? Pulp did…
Their early 2000’s breakup saw them disappear from my “Dance Card” (7 not out – usually fun, and one time, gig 233, where we shared their garlic bread!), subsequent “slight returns” being either too big, too outdoors, too expensive or sold out too quick. However, earlier this year Jarvis Cocker and his charges once again decided to poke their heads above the parapet, not only announcing some arena dates but also a new album in “More”, their first for a near-quarter century. This time the stars aligned, and I got myself and my Pulp fan lady wife tix. So, a shlep up to Birmingham was called for, and we hit the road in what we thought was enough time to hit the City Centre Arena venue in more than good time for Pulp’s unsupported start time of 8 p.m.. Wrong on 2 counts, as not only did ma-hoosive queues and rubber-neckers turn our shlep into an arduous 3-hour stop-start slog, but on arrival at 7.30, we parked up on level 13 of the car park (!) and were then confronted with a similarly ma-hoosive queue going down the road and doubling back before the usual cattle corral into the venue, taking us over half an hour to get in, and from there (after a totally unnecessary double-search and wristband) ushered to the back of the floor before we even could take a viewing spot (in deference to my wife, a less crowded one house centre, a few yards behind the mixing desk)! So my hackles were already raised… Jarvo and co. had better be top-notch after this palaver…
Luckily for us the start was delayed, albeit not by much as the lights dropped at 8.10 and a symphonic synth swell was overlaid with a robotic female announcer, intoning solemnly, “this is an evening you’ll remember for the rest of your lives…” maybe, but for the wrong reasons so far, bucko… However, a blue spotlight picked out the unmistakeable silhouettes of the remaining 4 “Britpop” era Pulp members, Jarvis then leaving the cut-outs of his colleagues to descend the stage centre stairs whilst singing the opening to mid-paced newie “Spike Island”, the sound already pretty good and sorted for such a huge room.
Kudos to Pulp; they well and truly threw the kitchen sink at it tonight. Augmented by what looked like half an orchestra, backing singers and complementary slideshow backdrops, they well and truly delivered the “More” that they felt folk were clamouring for. That said, for me the new album is kitsch Britpop-era Pulp-by-numbers at best, throwaway and rather dull at worst, so for me the first hour-long set, based primarily on these numbers, was ok, nothing more. Sure, we had the Nations 90’s favourite vaguely smutty uncle cum (sic) befuddled Uni lecturer Jarvis in good deadpan form, entertaining more for me with his between song stories of Sheffield Limit club in the 80’s (“you could find your limit – on hygiene in the toilets…”) and feeling old at 33 when he wrote the languid “Help The Aged”(an early feature) than with his oft-murmured conversational vocals and vogue-ish stick insect shape-throwing. We got “Disco 2000” too, the roof-raising singalong my first set-highlight by some considerable distance, but for me that first hour was mostly excellently played versions of quite average material, and I hoped for more (but not more “More”, necessarily…!) after the intermission…
We got it – and how! Hopes were raised with a mid-break audience poll choice of additional track, won convincingly by “Razzmatazz” (yay!), then on resumption, the 4 core Pulp-ers snuck through the curtains, Jarvis relating how they’d rehearsed for this tour in a Peak District living room, then creating that vibe with a lovely, stripped back “Something Changed”. Then following a dark, macabre “The Fear”, a real gem in the tremendous building chorus and dismissive “yeah, yeah yeah yeah-eah”’s of a wonderful set-highlight “OU”, taking me right back to those Jericho days. The underhand perversity and startling chorus of “Razzmatazz” was duly delivered, before the brooding Doors-like keys and twitchy curtain sleaze of “Acrylic Afternoons”, then Rachel’s highlight, a joyously careering “Do You Remember The First Time?” preceded by Jarvis relating his first time in Birmingham; “The Hibernian, 26 May 1992!” Hmm, that Jericho gig, my first time, was 3 days later… The strident 70’s Motown pastiche of “Got To Have Love” (the best track on “More” for me and, conversely, the only newie selected for this stellar second set) was followed by the plaintive and lovely “Babies”, happily completing that Gift recordings triad “live” tonight. But, this being a Pulp gig, things were building up to one inevitable thing…
Yup,
that’s right, an early departure! Rach was understandably feeling the pace of a
big gig and a difficult journey and, cognisant of our car park spot, I’d chatted
up a friendly steward who ushered us through the nearest exit to our car park
on the opening pulsing notes of final set number “Common People”. It’s OK,
heard it about a zillion times, and it was never going to approach “OU” for me,
or “First Time” for Rach… We were out of the venue at 10.30, the car park lickety
split, and on the M5 20 minutes later, home for ¼ past midnight. Even half of “Common
People” and I reckon we’d have been at least an hour later… So, a well played first
set, a quite magnificent second one delving back to the Pulp I love (d), and
overall Jarvo and co. in great form, making up for the journey and venue issues
and living up to that Sheffield Poly discovery legacy. “More” we wanted; and
more we got!
Wednesday, 18 June 2025
1,390 VISION VIDEO, The Pink Diamond Revue, Bristol Louisiana, Monday 16th June 2025
“Impressive
stuff from a band I’d happily pay cash money to see in their own right…” That
was my first-sight summary comment on Athens, GA. goth/ post punkers Vision
Video following their rather impressive turn supporting the Chameleons at a
freezing Bristol Marble Factory last December (gig 1,360). Subsequent to that, their
excellent 2024 “Modern Horror” album (picked up at that gig) not only featured on
heavy rotation in the car, but also in the upper reaches of my Top Ten albums
for 2024. Despite the artwork and lyricism imagery being full-on 80’s
schlock-horror Batcave, their sound on CD is a properly intriguing melting pot
of 80’s influences, with the driving synth influences of New Order and Depeche
Mode, the stately widescreen choral work of The Bunnymen and even the
melancholy craftsmanship of Talk Talk rubbing shoulders with the more obvious
touchstones of early Cure’s breathless gallop and Bauhaus’ art school menace;
but ultimately, similar to loose goth-tinged contemporaries Desperate
Journalist and Ist Ist, Vision Video sound fresh, vital, modern and most like… well,
themselves…
Back in for about ¼ to 9, taking a spot centre stage a couple of rows back, surrounded by a plethora of goth women of all ages. Vision Video’s visual appeal is pretty obvious, it seems… Sure enough, the frankly unfairly handsome Gannon, all done up in white-faced Batcave chic (apparently modelled on 80’s Batcave regulars Specimen’s Olli Wisdom, a point Gannon was happy to concede during a lengthy and entertaining post-gig conversation) led his 3-piece (striking goth keyboardist Angelica and rock-star skinny drummer Ryan completing the line-up) onstage, then ripping into the dark, macabre moody rock of opener “Dead Gods”, praising Bristol at its’ denouement with, “this is one of my favourite cities in the fucking world!”
Maybe
Vision Video should be called “Carpe Diem”, as so much of their performance and
message is about seizing the moment, revelling in the here and now, about community
and inclusiveness, and more importantly taking a stand against the horrors of
the world outside, but for tonight parking them at the door to immerse in the
healing power of goth tinged rock and roll. And in Gannon, they have a man who,
on any other planet, would be the Spokesperson for his Generation. Because the
man talks more sense than any politician, front-person or social commentator I’ve
seen on stage for years. The first of many anti-Trump tirades and spot-on
observations about the parlous state of the world came before second number,
“Sign Of The Times”, then “Normalised” was a careering and thrilling
apocalyptic hell-ride and early highlight. The tense Cure gallop of “Balaclava
Kiss” was preceded by Gannon touching on his old firefighter days (“turns out
being nihilistic is only cool in movies!”); the widescreen and yearning “Stay”
was a hymn to perseverance through life’s difficulties: and after a rather lovely
keyboard-led “queer anthem”, the stripped-back Replacements cover
“Androgynous”, Gannon introduced another cover with, “who here has heard of the
Comsat Angels?” Silly question, my hand went straight up with a, “hell yeah!”,
Gannon replying to me with, “there’s always one middle-aged guy!” before the
poppy late-period CA cover of “You Move Me”.
“Now we’re gonna dance our asses off!” was the demand thereafter, the melancholy dreampop swirl of “Sirens Song” ceding to a propulsive cover of The Cure’s excellent “Just Like Heaven” and an equally breathless “I Love Cats”. But the best was saved for last tonight; eschewing the pantomime of the encore, the voluble Gannon praised our enthusiasm and called for one last singalong to the New Order-esque bass intro and U2-like hurtling Stadium anthem-in-waiting “In My Side”, ending an utterly tremendous set.
Quick
chats with Angelica (who kindly sorted me a list) and Ryan, whose elastic octopus-limbed
performance for me recalled Nada Surf’s extraordinary sticksman Ira Elliott.
High praise indeed! Joined a lengthy queue to chat with Mr. Gannon, holding court
downstairs, and patience was rewarded with a fun and lengthy brain-dump with The
Man, mainly about 80’s music. Hugs and compliments later, I hit the road
buzzing about the evening, back to the ‘don just after midnight. A promise very
easily kept, this, because in Vision Video we have another band I’d be happy to
see again… and again… and again!
Saturday, 14 June 2025
1,389 JIMMY EAT WORLD, Les Shirley, Cardiff University Great Hall, Thursday 12th June 2025
Yup, Rachel… in another throwback moment, another recent absentee from my “Dance Card” made a happy return, this being my dear lady wife’s first non-“Shiiine” gig with me since Pete Wylie last March (gig 1,316), for perfectly understandable reasons. And, with a smattering of others booked up in the near future, hopefully this will be the first of many in 2025… So, after bribing the kids with takeaway pizza, we set off for my first bridge crossing in over a year (another throwback!), getting turned around a little on arrival but parking up close by, about 20 past doors. A helpful steward then ushered me and my stairs-averse wife up a lift to the main hall (nice!), and we grabbed a spot halfway back, house right. I took a wander and bumped into recent (and local to this one!) gig buddy Mel and his lovely partner Tammy, Mel sporting the same Spanish Love Songs tee that I had on! Great minds, and all that… a quick chat then, before openers, Les Shirley, on at 8. An all-girl French Canadian power trio, this lot, (the Les then being a plural “the”!), their second number “Sayonara” was an urgent alarm bell jangle with a yelping choral hook, and a fine later “Motherfucker” (apparently!), featured a Smiths-esque guitar intro before plunging into a driving dual vocal attack. That aside, much of the set was fairly generic frantic yet enthusiastically played new millennial pop-punk, with a nice line in banter from the girls (viz. the guitarist plugging their merch as they needed to recoup an expensive dinner the previous night (!), and later giving us weather tips on when to visit their home town of Montreal…). Overall, a decent opener, despite the Stones “Start Me Up” clone, which didn’t impress…
Rach and I then spent the inter-band gap debating whether the “R” on the “Jimmy Eat World” backdrop was a “P” which had been gaffer-taped (!), before the lights plunged at 9 and the ominous click-clack backing track not only heralded the black-clad band onstage, but could only signify one opener – sure enough, vocalist Jim Adkins greeted us with a quick, “what’s up, y’all?” before solemnly intoning the opening verse of the classic “Pain”, the song then erupting into volcanic, purposeful life at the huge fist-pumping chorus. Fellow “Futures” feature “Just Tonight” followed in brilliantly breathless short order, before the jagged “Sweetness”’ huge “whoah-oh” singalong from this sell-out crowd practically took the roof off. Woah, what an utterly searing start!
An object lesson
in audience engagement for starters then from our visitors “from the desert of
Arizona!”, but although the blistering pace understandably slowed, the sheer
power, emotional intensity and commitment of the performance remained at an absolute
top level throughout, “It’s been way too long! You guys are ready for
this!” exclaimed Jim incredulously before the herky-jerky rhythm and joyfully affirmative
hook of “Big Casino”, an early highlight, the man thereafter advising, “this is
going to be a hot one – please hydrate!” An acoustic and rather lovely “Your
House” led into a slow-burn and darker mood-changing “Cheating Gets It Faster”;
the self-effacing vocalist (“I’m the worst person to give a microphone to!”)
then related a story of a fight breaking out at a Belgium gig to the poignant “23”
– apparently twice! – before a genuinely emotive version, the guy in front of
us hugging his tearful girlfriend throughout; then guitarist Tom Linton took vocal
lead for a fist-pumping singalong “Blister”, for me tonight’s brilliant yet
horribly prescient highlight, given the National Guard’s current presence in LA
– “the West Coast has been traumatized”, indeed…
The elegiac “Hear You Me” was stark and beautiful, before Jim asked, “is everyone rested up now?” the gig thereafter building to an inevitable yet breathtaking triple-whammy; “A Praise Chorus” leading off with its’ undulating thrill-ride, the strident stomp and echoing riff of “Bleed American” following, before “The Middle”’s infectious and inclusive powerpop and twirling middle 8 rounded off the set. Brilliant stuff!
Some sincere words of appreciation from Jim to us loyal long-timers (“and if it’s your first time, I hope we didn’t suck!”) preceded a 2-song encore culminating in a final joyful singalong to “World You Love”. “Don’t it feel like sunshine after all…”, indeed! A brilliant 1½ hour set, then, as good as I’ve seen Jimmy Eat World in ages (if ever…), the only drawback being the Cardiff crowd’s stubborn refusal to form a moshpit. Never mind, I got sweaty enough dancing on my own! Patience and politeness then got me a fortuitous list (yay!), before we bade farewell to Mel and Tammy and headed back to Blighty, home for a shade past midnight. So, a proper throwback, but an utterly stellar one, Jimmy Eat World delivering a vintage performance for what will doubtless feature as one of my top gigs of 2025!
Monday, 2 June 2025
1,388 TONY VISCONTI AND WOODY WOODMANSEY’S HOLY HOLY, Bristol O2 Academy, Friday 30th May 2025
David Bowie’s “Life On Mars” was the first song which made me prick up my ears at age 7, his music subsequently influencing pretty much every musical phase, genre or type I’d been into since. I got to see the Great Man just the once, in 2003 on his final “Reality” tour (gig 617), for one of the best gigs of my life, and I’ve even attended a couple of Bowie tribute gigs down the years (!). This one, however, was no mere “tribute”, at least in the current “pub back room covers band” sense of the word; featuring a duo of former Bowie backing boys in ex-Spiders From Mars drummer Mick “Woody” Woodmansey, and longtime bassist and producer Tony Visconti, Holy Holy are a “supergroup” ensemble cast dedicated to keeping the works of the original musical innovator, re-inventor and chameleonic genius alive onstage. And starring on vocals was none other than Glenn Gregory, 80’s synth survivors Heaven 17’s stylish frontman lending his delicious baritone to the Thin White Duke’s works. A match made in rock heaven, surely? I snapped up tix for me and my gig buddy son (and increasing rock student, if his frequent plays of Jonathan Richman and The Velvet Underground are anything to go by!) Logan pronto, for what promised to be a proper Bowie celebration…
Mindful of last night’s M4 traffic plus plenty else going on near the O2, we headed off early for an easier than anticipated run, joining the O2 priority queue and getting barrier spots, house right on entry, next to chatty and excitable mother and daughter duo Jude and Liv early doors, then my old friend Ben and his lovely wife Brinda later. Much rock chat ensued, the intended 8.30 start passing by, before the lights dimmed, the photo pit boys popped out (affording us a brief conversation with old friend and lensman maestro Martin), and the 8-piece Holy Holy took the stage to the austere synth strains of Bowie’s “Low” period masterpiece “Warszawa”. Gregory, stylish in black and hastily discarded white sports jacket, sashayed onstage last as the band then burst into the tempo-changing and undulating early deep-cut psych-folk collision of “Width Of A Circle”. He was immediately the focal point, a showman, expansive of gesture and deep and authoritative of voice, but he laudably deflected attention to Messrs. Visconti and Woodmansey (“the last Spider From Mars!”), before announcing, “I’m a massive David Bowie fan – as you all are – but I have the privilege of standing up here with this motherfucker [brandishing his mic]!”
T'was a privilege he did not squander; relating the story of his first meeting with Visconti who immediately told him, “There’s quite a bit of David in your voice!”, Gregory was the perfect man for this job, leading this virtuoso band through a set happily drawn primarily from Bowie’s utterly flawless 70’s canon. An early, fulsome and muscular “Ziggy Stardust”, the ultimate glam (goth?) anthem, was followed by Gregory incredulously exclaiming, “I can’t wrap my head around that Woody did that [with Bowie] for real!”; “Time”’s off-kilter claustrophobic 30’s music hall staccato cabaret dance was unsettling and sweeping in equal measure; and “Changes” was a quite magnificent early highlight, blending introspective melancholy and anthemic joy. The slightly frail looking Visconti (no surprise, as he’s topping 81!) then took centre stage, having learned “slap bass” for the skewed Neo-New Romanticisms of “Ashes To Ashes”, then the ebullient doo-wop and soaring chorus of “Drive In Saturday” (a number reminding Gregory of a long hot Summer in Sheffield – “yes there was one!” – with his first girlfriend) was another unexpected highlight, and an earworm which remained with me for days afterwards. A lyric slipup from Gregory during the eerie strum of “Space Oddity” necessitated a restart (“just press erase!” he demanded of the phone recorders in the crowd), the man flicking the “V”s at the cheering punters as he nailed the lyric second time around. But the playful mood switched to sombre reflection as, much like “Dreams Of Leaving” during that brilliant Gregory-led Heaven 17 first 2 Human League albums performance (gig 1,189), the elegiac post-apocalyptic “Ziggy” opener “Five Years” was stunning, a lugubrious and haunting build to a climactic rage against the dying of the light, Gregory delivering his best and most expressive vocal of the night.
The set highlight, however, was reserved for one song and one song only; Gregory shared a painful memory of touring with Holy Holy at the time of Bowie’s death in 2016, Tony Visconti (one of a very small inner circle who knew of the extent of Bowie’s illness) advising that if they carried on, it would be with the Great Man’s blessing; so they did, albeit initially to tearful audiences, particularly for one number… The unmistakeable sole piano note of “Life On Mars” then led into a breathtakingly beautiful version of likely The Greatest Song Ever Written, Woodmansey’s drum build to the skyscraping chorus and that high out-note (nailed perfectly by Gregory) strident and potent, the heartfelt singalong all-inclusive and communal. Wow. You know, just one of those moments when all you can say is… Wow.
The cosmic psych-folk of “Moonage Daydream” rounded off the set proper, Gregory commenting on my “H17 play Reproduction and Travelogue” tee from the aforementioned gig 1,189 as he took the stage for the encore, so I couldn’t resist retorting, “I just love hearing you sing other people’s songs!” The potent backbeat of fist-pumping glam anthem “Rebel Rebel”, featuring a stellar hard-hitting performance from Woodmansey, working over his snare with the vigour of a man a third his 75 years (!), drew the music to a close, although both Visconti and Woodmansey then took centre stage to pay their tributes to their departed friend, and thank we the crowd for keeping his legacy alive. Farewells to our gig companions then, before a friendly roadie sorted me with Gregory’s own list; we then lurked around a brief while in the foyer and were happily rewarded with Mr. Woodmansey himself making an appearance, so we managed a quick word, signature and pics with a true rock’n’roll legend. Result! Late home after midnight with another late kebab tea in tow, but this one was well worth the lost sleep. Bowie’s ground-breaking imprint, influence and sheer force of presence and personality resonates down the years and still permeates through everything that is challenging, innovative and worthwhile in music. And tonight, his old friends and comrades, along with their brilliantly chosen musical companions, did the great man total justice, delivering the ultimate tribute to the ultimate innovator himself; David Bowie!
Sunday, 1 June 2025
1,387 SPORTS TEAM, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Thursday 29th May 2025
So, this gig was again in support of a new release; their 3rd full-length, “Boys These Days” which came out earlier this week. I’d only heard snatches of the new material prior to this gig, particularly leadoff track “I’m In Love (Subaru)” which marks a definite departure from their knockabout Britpop-inflected, slightly trad but catchy upbeat singalong indie, and into a smoother, synth- and saxophone embellished radio-friendly 80’s sound – if I’m feeling kind, I’d say reminiscent of Prefab Sprout or even personal favourites Furniture or Big Dish; if not, Hall And Oates! However, in a current “indie” landscape seemingly smothered by cookie-cutter homogenous shouty and laddish indie landfill bands (Ks, Rosadocs, Lathums, Sherlocks et al), I admire them for trying a different approach, but is this a bit too radical a shift? Would they lose their slightly naughty boy charm in the process? And, most fundamentally of all, would it be any good? Questions, questions…
Logan and I pondered this whilst listening to the new album on the way down, breaking one of my gigging rules in the process, that being… don’t listen to the band you’re going to see on the way there! Still, t’was Logan’s shout, and it was a pretty decent listen, if lower-key than previous releases, and featuring one particularly startling departure from their previous buoyant and boyish oeuvre (more on that later). So, hopes were buoyed as we hit a practically deserted Rough Trade shop at 6.45 – no wonder, everyone was already in the venue! Had a poke around before joining the crowd at 7.15 and squeezing into a viewing spot halfway back, house right against the side curtain, for a hot and uncomfortable wait. I’d noticed that our CDs, collected on entry, were all pre-signed, but a quick chat with ST bassist Oli Dewdney in the RT café after a last-minute loo dash revealed this was just to save time, as one of the band had to catch the last train without fail to get home for their 5 month old baby, but the band were still doing meet and greet afterwards. So!
Anyhoops, back in for Sports Team’s onstage arrival at 20 to 8 to the backing track of Meat Loaf’s “Bat Out Of Hell”! Yipe! Nonetheless, they set to their task with their usual vigour and enthusiasm, ultimately packing 9 songs into a performance clocking in at just over 35 minutes! “Gulp” standout “The Drop” opened, then the Woodentopsy rockabilly Wild West vibe of “Bang Bang Bang” saw vocalist Alex Rice don a cowboy hat to deliver the gabbling, galloping lyric. “Apologies for the voice,” he pleaded, “this is the final one of 23 shows in 6 days!” The Violent Femmes-like descending bass of frantic oldie “Camel Crew” saw a circle pit form to our left, so I rather predictably lost Logan at this point; “Subaru” followed, all louche and Sprout-tastic, yet still possessing a big hook sung back by Logan and his mosh cohorts; and Alex requested one last chart push for the new album (“peel off all the “Brit-nominated” stickers and put them on it!”), bigging up Ron Mael-like pianist Ben Mack before the keys-led and expansive, Blur-like new album title track.
Dynamic and punky oldie “Here’s The Thing” was one final clarion call to arms for the mosh; then Alex thanked the attendees and announced, “one more song”, so I found Logan in the mosh to get him to meet me in the queue, before listening to the closer at the back. Said number, “When I’m 30” was the one I’d alluded to earlier; a real departure, this, all brooding, introspective and moody in both atmosphere and its’ “coming of age” lyricism, building along its early-Pulp-esque length into a symphonic and quite lovely climactic outro. Quite possibly my favourite Sports Team song, then, and a fitting finale to this ST sampler!
I grabbed an early
spot in the queue as my breathless and dishevelled son joined me; a quick chat
and pics with a bullish and chatty band later, we were back in the car before
8.30, and home, late tea kebab wraps in tow, before ¼ to 10! Looking forward to
getting to know “Boys These Days” better now, which promises to be an admirable
new attempt to widen the Sports Team musical brief. Hope it works. Good luck to
them!
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