So
Paul wasn’t just here for The Skids, after all…!
My
old 80’s friend (now a Seattle expat) Paul Crowfoot had startled me with an
unexpected call on the evening of last week’s Buffalo Tom gig (gig 1,115),
proclaiming an imminent visit to Swindon and a (subsequently fulfilled)
intention to join us for The Skids gig at Fiddlers this Sunday past (gig
1,117!). He then mentioned he’d been unsuccessful in getting tix for The
Chameleons’ hometown Christmas gig, so I suggested he join us for this one,
which should prove a damn sight nearer and more available, ticket-wise! So I
suddenly had welcome company in my continuing quest to make up for lost time
with this superb – and oft-overlooked, not only by myself – seminal goth-tinged
post-punk band. After their stellar Shiiine On performance last month, I knew
they were in rare form, so hopes were high for this one!
Picked
Paul up early and, after an unsuccessful diversion on the way, we slowly picked
our way through Oxford city centre, but amazingly found a street parking spot
almost directly opposite the venue. Is this really Oxford in the run-up to
Christmas?? Still, not looking a gift space in the mouth, we dumped the motor
and hit this splendidly scuzzy pub back-room, taking a bar spot for opening
band Siberia, on at 8. I say “band”; it was actually a 2-piece using backing
tapes, and there was my real problem with this lot – not even tape loops (which
I normally bristle at), but actual recordings of the drum and bass patterns for
the songs in question! Sorry boys, I thought I’d booked to see “live” music,
not a Blue Peter “here’s one we made earlier” cheat session. For me, the taped
stuff completely undermined the credibility of the performance, even calling
into question how much the “live” guitarist was contributing. Call me an anally
retentive purist snob if you will (you wouldn’t be the first to do so), but
lads, play “live” or don’t – none of this fucking half-measure stuff, which
just felt like goth karaoke for me. A shame, as the songs themselves were dark,
moody and intriguing in an early Mission style, but the format made me too
annoyed to like them.
Rant
over, I was then looking forward to some proper “live” stuff, from one of the
top half-dozen or so bands I’ve seen in the last couple of years (Skids, Hold Steady,
Nada Surf, Frank Turner, Raze*Rebuild and this lot… put ‘em onstage, and they
tower over the rest by some considerable distance). Grabbed some barrier as the
place filled, and we didn’t have long to wait before the monolithic figure of
Mark Burgess led his Chameleons line-up onstage, avowing his intention to play
the “new” album (only a mere 35 years old!) “Script Of The Bridge” (“available
absolutely fucking nowhere,” as he deadpanned) in its’ entirety. So the
strident, potent power of “Don’t Fall” kicked it off, Mark’s murky and
mysterious bass stylings providing the bedrock for the duelling guitars of
Chris Oliver and Neil Dwerryhouse to weave their plangent and intoxicating
magic on top, as brilliantly as ever.... I dunno, I’ve mentioned before that
had I been aware of this lot back in the 80’s, they’d likely have been serious
challengers to Echo And The Bunnymen for my late-teens favourite band, and
there’s something about the Bunnys in their approach – the other-worldly
sounding guitars, metallic yet chimingly resonant, as if they were being beamed
in from another dimension; the insouciant, almost glacial cool of Mark Burgess’
onstage presence, and the voice – less pure and soaring than Mac’s, but no less
commanding, and even more so with age.
“Monkeyland”
saw Dwerryhouse coaxing eerie guitar effects as the sound creepily built in,
before the strident release of the hook pronounced imperiously by Burgess; “Up
The Down Escalator” was as soaring and balls-out a post-punk rocker as the likes
of “Back Of Love” or “Mr. Jones”; and “Pleasure And Pain” sounded more chiming
and resonant than ever. But it was “A Person Isn’t Safe Here Anymore” that
proved tonight’s highlight; as Burgess was about to dedicate the song to the
memory of Sophie Lancaster, as ever, some wag in the audience (not me, honest!)
shouted out, “Pete Shelley!” which caused the otherwise taciturn vocalist to
remark, “good call!”, gush about how intrinsic Shelley was to his formative
years, then tell us a story of being beaten up by a gang with pickaxe handles
when leaving a Buzzcocks gig… the song itself understandably took on new
meaning, a blistering and venomous rendition, exorcising some ghosts and paying
tribute to others. Astonishing. Some acid comments about Theresa May (“bring
back Guy Fawkes, I say…”) got the audience (even more) onside as well, before a
tense, atmospheric “Paper Tigers” and elegiac conclusion “View From A Hill” to
end another magnificent set.
We then got a 50th birthday shout-out for an audience member (hey, Gavin!), before a savage encore of “In Shreds”, then “Singing Rule Britannia” saw a lyric check for “What Do I Get” thrown in with the usual lines from “White Riot”, “Transmission” and “Rebellious Jukebox”. “Nostalgia” closed out the encore, although somewhat thematically inappropriately – 35 years old these songs may be, and arguably playing the “nostalgia” circuit Burgess and his charges might be, but there’s nothing dated about ChameleonsVox or their material… if anything, with the likes of new bands such as Liines, Wolf Alice and even my favourites Desperate Journalist mining this dark, gothic post-punk sound, they sound positively contemporary!
Caught
up with an equally enthusiastic Rich Craven afterwards before a quick chat and
pic with the main man Burgess and his wingman Dwerryhouse, then Paul and I hit
the kebab shop for eats before a late drive home. As I mentioned, pre-gig hopes
were high, but ChameleonsVox even exceeded them tonight with an utterly stellar
and imperious performance. Glad Paul got to see them in this form. A great
night!
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