Saturday 30 November 2019

1,161 THE 2019 “SHIIINE ON” WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 15th – Sunday 17th November 2019



It’s November, we’ve just got back from sunning ourselves in foreign climes, so it must be time to Shiiine…! Our fourth year in a row down to Minehead’s Butlins holiday camp for the “Shiiine On” Festival, the annual celebration of the primarily UK Indie/ Dance 80’s and 90’s scene – which as ever plants it 50% in my Wheelhouse (I never “got” the concept of “Indie Dance”; gimme Indie Rock and I can dance my knees off to that!). And after a patchy bill in 2018, this year there were delights aplenty scattered liberally throughout this year’s itinerary, including some enticing “Shiiine On” debutants, and one real curveball in the shape of US alt-rock icon Bob Mould! Not so much that he didn’t fit right in – Sugar’s 1992 debut “Copper Blue” is a stone-cold classic of the era – but more so that he was the first original American artist to significantly feature on the “Shiiine On” bill. Who’s next; Superchunk? Buffalo Tom, even??!!


The “Core Four” of myself, Rachel, Rich and Matt booked early as usual, then were joined late on by another “Shiine On” debutant in the form of Ady Bevan, Butlins again being very accommodating in moving us to a 6-berth Silver Apartment at short notice. So Rich already had Ady in tow when he picked us up relatively early doors, a quick drive pitching us up in Minehead’s Tesco just before midday, meeting Matt and buying provisions and breakfast fixings before the traditional seafront fish and chips! One advantage of hitting town early was a very short queue to book in – result! So we squared away and chilled awhile in the chalet before wandering along to the Inn On the Green, where bands were already underway. The Inn itinerary this year featured a number of relatively unknown current bands, whose music thematically referenced the “Shiiine On” style and genres, so for starters we had NARCISSUS, a Mancunian bunch who played some initially decent baggy-influenced indie rock, but then descended into a morass of identikit guitar jangle and forgettable groove. A well-intentioned “leftie libtard disco song” was particularly poor, and we reckoned their presence on the bill was down to being mates of the organisers… Better was to come in ALFA 9, however, who chimed in with a Summery 60’s psychedelia number, their set then navigating between this baroque Byrdsian/ Love/ Buffalo Springfield groove, Kinks-ish knockabout pop and some slightly more countrified material which recalled The Thrills. The main driving feature throughout, however, were some very tight 2-part harmonies which overlaid every number, especially set highlight finale, a fast-slow “Dead Man”. Definitely an early highlight!

Some punter then hopped onstage and went all pseudo John Cooper Clarke on us, ranting about the gentrification of Manchester (or something… I was honestly paying scant attention), before introducing the much-lauded PSYENCE. They played a murkish mess of riff-heavy prog-psych noise, which immediately reminded me of Kasabian or The Music, neither being compliments! Some of their faster, more upbeat material was at best tolerable, but overall they were way too one-dimensional for me, and at worst a noisy old bag of shite! So with not much else of offer on this (admittedly) slow-burner of an opening day, we headed off back to the chalet for a cup of tea, returning about 6.30 for our first visit to the main Skyline arena and catching the last knockings of REVEREND AND THE MAKERS passable but slightly dull Britpoppy noise, with occasional ska inflections. However, they were plying their trade in front of a very large and enthusiastic first-day crowd, so clearly I’m missing something about this lot… One later number featured the Marmite ad jingle (!) which again got the crowd singing along – bizarre!

Anyway, we hung around, Rach and the boys getting the beers in, for CAST at 7.20. John Powers vowed to, “get this fucking place rocking!” and immediately set about it with a surprisingly upbeat “You’ve Got To Fly”, diverting into the slightly baggier Beatles-influenced Britpoppy jangle of “Sandstorm” and “Fine Time”. Much lower on the bill than their Sunday headline slot a couple of years back, I actually felt more kindly disposed to Cast this time, and their set was a vast improvement over that snooze-fest, whilst still featuring swathes of unenticing indie landfill and never approaching a Shed Seven-style revelation. The rockier and 60’s-inflected “Free Me”/ “I’m Alright” segue to close the set was ok, though.


We then stayed put for first-day headliners THE LIGHTNING SEEDS, Scouse legend Ian Broudie’s maverick band of popsters. I’d adored his previous band Care with former Wild Swans frontman Paul Simpson (Care in 1983 producing my Single Of The Year in the majestic “Flaming Sword”), and loved The Lightning Seeds’ debut slab of purest harmonic pop, “Pure” (that one only being beaten to 1989’’s SOTY honours by Pale Saints’ “Sight Of You”), although subsequent releases drifted lazily past in a soporific Summery haze. Still, I was looking forward to their set and wouldn’t have wished the subsequent techy glitches on anyone… opener “Marvellous” sounded anything but, with no guitar in the mix and Broudie getting visibly agitated about it, until the sound got sorted – well, sort of… Broudie did his best to engage the crowd (“are you all in a good mood? Me too!”), but their delicate and clean Britpop was falling flat, due to ongoing problems with the sound, and was often barely heard about the hubbub of a frankly disinterested and diminishing crowd. A more dynamic “Ready Or Not” showed signs of a revival, Broudie finally admitting, “we’ve got a few technical problems up here,” before diverting for an acoustic cover of Wreckless Eric’s “Whole Wide World” (“a song I used to listen to in Erics”). The penultimate “Pure” was nonetheless a moment of genuine pop brilliance, and a cheesy crowdpleasing singalong of “Three Lions” ended the set on a high note, although I guess Broudie (who had made no effort to disguise his frustrations between numbers) was then off to kick some asses…!

That was it for the main arena, and we decanted to Jaks for DEJA VEGA, as, it seemed, did most of the mainstage audience! It. Was. RAMMED!! DV were dark, pounding, fast-paced and aggressive in a bolshy 60’s Modish way (The Who on steroids?), every number ranting past in a superfast pace. I’d probably have enjoyed them under different circumstances, but decided instead to head off to the considerably less populated Centre Stage! SICE (“or, as I’ve acquired a double-barrelled name; Sice – open bracket – Boo Radleys!” quoth the man) joined us onstage for a fine set of acoustic strumalong versions of Boo Radleys classics. The Boos would go down great here but it’ll never happen, if main songwriter Martin Carr’s current stance is anything to go by, so Sice – these days a smiley bald and round chap in an ill-fitting black suit, who looked a top hat short of being The Fat Controller – will have to do. And the man did well, with “Wish I Was Skinny” (“from “Giant Steps”; one of those albums everybody loved but nobody bought!”) an ironic plangent delight, “Barney And Me” groovy, and “Lazarus” (“I don’t do the long intro – this is the 7 inch edit!”) my favourite of this set. The inevitable “Wake Up Boo” closed out a decent and fun set, Sice himself as entertaining as the music (“look how many pedals Swervedriver have got! I’ve got 2!”).

Doleful 90’s Shoegazers SWERVEDRIVER were indeed up next at 11.40; beloved by a number of my Boston rock friends, I’ve never “got” them, finding their stuff indistinct layers of noisy fuzz. The opener was suitably grumbly and growly, with Adam Franklin coming across like the curmudgeonly uncle of Shoegaze. The riff-heavy “Never Lose That Feeling”, next up, was better, but in any case I was only in for a Swervy sampler tonight, slipping back off to the  by-now much less busy Jaks at midnight. THE WOODENTOPS thankfully had a much less fiddly soundcheck than their previous “Shiiine On” appearance, but still kicked off 15 minutes late, the opener “Good Thing” chugging along respectably and building to an unexpectedly noisy climax, which when the chord changed into the denouement was quite splendid actually. The frantically strumalong psychobilly beat of “Love Train” and urgent “Get It On” followed, and initially at least, the ‘Tops, led by trilby wearing, wild eyed, gabbling vocalist Rolo McGinty, were showing signs of the form that made them one of the best “live” acts of that early 80’s era. It couldn’t last, so didn’t, the pace dropping considerably and the set gently clopping along, rather than frantically galloping, a pulsing and pulsating “Everything Breaks” and a lengthy closer “Move Me” notwithstanding. No “Plenty” (the band wanted to close with it in preference to “Move Me”, but Rolo overruled them!), but plenty of reasons to like this set, possibly their best since the reunion.

So I was late back into Centre Stage for my day one final act, THE WEDDING PRESENT (or, “semi legendary Wedding Present,” as vocalist David Gedge referred to them, hopefully ironically!). An early “Everyone Thinks He Looks Daft” sounded pretty good actually, the sound filled out by the chiming strumalong guitars, but then it tailed off considerably, a “You Should Always Keep In Touch With Your Friends” welcome but thin, and a cover of Magazine’s “A Song From Under The Floorboards” lacking all the bite and venomous snarl of the original. That was my problem with the Weddoes; everything seemed polite, understated, dull even, a late “Kennedy” notwithstanding. A band who ironically seem tethered to that mid 80s indie scene, but unlike so many contemporaries on this bill, sound just dated now.


Day 2 was re-designated “Get Rach to the Ping” day! My dear lady wife has, for her previous “Shiiine On”s, taken “Shiiine On” Saturday as an opportunity to really relax and have a complete skinful of booze; however the scheduling of her potential highlight at 1 a.m. tonight meant she had to remain largely compos mentis throughout the day, and I determined to help! A lazy morning and a Rach/ Big Man supplied brekky fry up set us up for the day, Matt and Rach going to the pool party and me and the boys heading off to the early-starting Inn On The Green. CALLOW YOUTH – aptly named as they all looked about 15! – were playing some riff-heavy and nasal grungy noise so we chilled outside in some welcome – albeit chilly – sun. I was up for a potential new band highlight next; a certain Mr. Tom Willecome had posted on the Bob Mould facebook group that any Bob fans at “Shiiine On” might like to check out BEDFORD FALLS, whilst neglecting to mention he was singer/ guitarist in said band! Nonetheless, a couple of tracks piqued my interest, so I was at the front of this sparsely attended venue for their 12.30 set. Opener “Ghost Of You” was a laze rock groove, channelled via Midway Still and Dinosaur Jr., “Congress Of Louts” recalled souped-up “Bandwagonesque”-era Teenage Fanclub, and “Wilmington” had the introspective yet rocky yearnings of a Nyack number! Hitting a lot of references for me then, and with a big chunky popcore sound and a strongarmed and energetic vocalist in Tom, it was also no surprise that this lot reminded me of local favourites Raze*Rebuild! “Nubuck” was a dynamic “Wagon”-like post-grunge gallop and the best thing I’d heard all weekend thus far, and I also liked Tom’s comment of, “I’m probably preaching to the converted, but… Fuck The Tories!” All in all, splendid stuff and a band I’d like to see again… and again…


Grabbed a chat with Tom afterwards, before heading back to the chalet for tea and chill, then back in the Inn for BLACK DOLDRUMS at 3. A bass/ drums 2-piece, their soundcheck sounded like an ocean liner docking (!) and the set was a droney, druggy, effects heavy psych-rock wall of noise. Impressive volume for a 2-piece, I’ll give them that, but the material was regimented and monotonous. Rich and I had a drink in “Hotshots” while the rest of the crew checked out Baby Bird in Centre Stage, and I got complimented for my vintage “Scars” t-shirt by the passing Jasmine Minks, who used to play with them in Scotland back in the early 80’s! Nice guys; shame that a clash with Bob Mould meant I wasn’t able to see their subsequent set… Shuttled between the dub stylings of arena-bound JAH WOBBLE and the trad yet decent Enemy-like indie rock of GAZELLE in the Inn, before heading into the arena again for TURIN BRAKES. A band who pretty much totally passed me by, their early “Lost In the Woods” (which was preceded by a lengthy monologue by the bassist!) was Irish folky-tinged and Waterboys-like, but was the best of an otherwise quiet, introspective and unobtrusive set of pastoral and Americana tinged stuff, with one totally out of place cacophonously noisy ½ number. Then back to the chalet with Rach – who was buoyant but the right side of drunk, plan working so far – then in to catch the last knockings of STEVE MASON’s early evening set in the main arena. His set was waaaay baggier than I expected from the former Beta Band man; his “Hi Fidelity” soundtrack song was the libidinous best of the set, although a high-energy closer, “So Simple”, actually ran it closer than you’d think. A nice message to leave us with as well; “don’t let the bastards grind you down – and fuck Boris Johnson!”


We then stayed arena-bound for one of the potential weekend highlights; IDLEWILD. Expansive and windswept Scottish indie staples and firm favourites in the Rose household and particularly of Rachel, they’d utterly slayed with a superb set earlier this year in Bristol, featuring cuts from almost-return-to-form new album “Interview Music”. T’was one of them that started proceedings tonight, the almost grungy growl of “Dream Variations”, before the lengthy and languid “Roseability” really kicked the set into gear, guitarist Rod Jones dashing around the stage like a demented puppy, whilst his vocalist Roddy Woomble looked casually on from the wings. “You Held The World In Your Arms”, grandiose and gorgeous, was an early highlight before “When I Argue I See Shapes” stunned with a lovely layered acapella mid-song break. The inevitable “American English”, late on, was its’ usual skyscrapingly massive self, prompting an audience singalong, then the hitherto taciturn Roddy introduced a ferocious, amped-up and punk rock “Modern Way” with a heartfelt tribute to Bob Mould, citing Husker Du as having made, “records we listened to as teenagers.” No shit, Sherlock… an initially hushed then crescendo-bound “Remote Part” concluded the best set so far – no doubt, Idlewild smashed it out of the park tonight!



We stayed in for headliners EMBRACE, who opened with easily their best number, the stately anthemic “All You Good Good People”. After that it was always going to go downhill, and for me did so verrrrry quickly, some dreary plodding indie landfill driving me out of the arena and onto a Costa chair at the back, to rest my by-now aching knees for the late evening ahead. Finally it was done, and we convened in the Inn On The Green with a disappointingly small post-arena crowd for a potential highlight at 10.15. Scots power-popsters ASTRID were a late 90’s fave of myself and Rach, their spritely and youthful 60’s influenced guitar-heavy pop tunes recalling not only a slew of Scots contemporaries (early Teenage Fanclub, BMX Bandits, even Swiss Family Orbison!) but also the US alt-pop likes of Velvet Crush and our beloved Gigolo Aunts. “We’re going to party with you like motherfuckers!” announced vocalist Willie Campbell, before launching into the irresistibly harmonic opener “Modes Of Transport”. From the off they were out to prove they’d not missed a beat since those 90’s days, and fired off the kind of upbeat, groovy and harmony-overlaid tuneage that turned us into sweaty dervishes back in the day, and at least got me bopping tonight. Furthermore, they rocked, as promised, like motherfuckers, bouncing kinetically around the small stage and prompting Rach to comment, “I don’t remember them being that rocking!” “High In the Morning” was still as Monkees-esque and catchy as all hell, and “Kitchen TV”, with it’s delicious descending guitar line, was the perfect closer to a cracking little set. Great to have them back!


Grabbed some words, compliments and pics with the boys before heading back in for Matt’s potential highlight THE POPGUNS. Hosts of a pretty good reunion show in London a few years back after a couple of 90’s Swindon Link Centre showings (one good, one less so), they certainly put the likes of last year’s Darling Buds and Primitives to shame with a tight, well played set of their effervescent girly pop fizz. An early “Someone You Love” was a loose-limbed danceathon, and whilst some mid-set numbers sounded a little subdued, polite even, and Wendy looked visibly older than that reunion show, she still could wrap her tonsils around a tune good and proper, some commanding vocal performances powering the later likes of “Bye Bye Baby” and a great “Waiting For The Winter”. A spot-on set, overall. Well done folks!


Time for fanboy Matt to have a pic with Wendy before we dashed off to Centre Stage, for the anticipated entrance of BOB MOULD, a shade before midnight. “How’s your weekend been? Good?” inquired an affable Bob before he kicked into gear with newie “From The War”, immediately cajoling a ferociously loud noise from his trusty electric guitar. Flying solo tonight, he attacked the set with his usual fierce intensity and swathes of guitar effect and noise, prompting Rach to shout in my ear early doors, “is that just Bob making ALL THAT NOISE??” It was, and therein lay the problem. I’ve been to enough Sugar and solo Bob shows to know the old boy always likes it loud, and perhaps in an attempt to make up for the size of this hall (3,000+ capacity in my estimation) he cranked it up even higher than usual. Unfortunately, this made vast tranches of the set a brutal assault, often requiring a verse and chorus to even identify the song, and it felt like we were enduring the set rather than enjoying it. There were highlights, of course – “See A Little Light” was audible and actually superb, “Sinners And Their Repentances” melancholy and doleful, and “If I Can’t Change Your Mind” irresistibly catchy even with the sound on full. But overall this felt like an opportunity missed, a relentless sonic assault at the expense of the songs. Sorry Bob…


However, the headliners were a perfect example of an opportunity grasped with both hands; we’d gotten a merry but coherent Rachel to 1 a.m., for headliners SULTANS OF PING. Early 90’s Fall-esque indie jokesters who morphed into Stooges-lite scuzz rockers (initially dropping their suffix “FC” then the “OF PING” altogether), tonight they were returned to their former flippant pomp, and vocalist Niall was a total star, throwing sneering rock star poses, regularly referring to the venue as, “Thefuckingbutlins,” admonishing the large and enthusiastic crowd to, “cut that shit out!” every time they started a, “Sultans! Sultans!” chant, then later deadpanning, “you know what, do what you like, I’m past caring…”. Still largely tune-free, they nonetheless went down an absolute storm, ramshackle terrace chant rants such as “Give Him A Ball And A Yard Of Grass”, “Stupid Kid” and the inevitable “Where’s My Jumper?” mass singalong and moshpit highlights. The perfect party band to end day 2, although I had one more task to perform… Following the Ping, Radio 6 DJ Steve Lamacq took the decks for a late night DJ set, and I had the opportunity to thank him for inviting myself and my then-11 year old son Logan onto his programme earlier this year for his “Dinosaur To Junior” feature. We’d mentioned Logan’s onstage Bowling For Soup shenanigans, so I was happy to share the pictures with an incredulous Mr. Lamacq, showing that I wasn’t at home to Billy Bullshit! Result! And we got Rach all the way to see The Ping too – double result!



Everyone was late in last night, so unsurprisingly we didn’t greet the final “Shiiine On” Sunday until nearly 11 a.m! Holding more promise for others in our party than myself – apparently the first time ever that the 80’s “Stourbridge Contingent”, namely Pop Will Eat Itself, Ned’s Atomic Dustbin and The Wonder Stuff, had been on the same bill together – today still had potential, all the more so due to it “starting” with a lunchtime carvery at The Old Ship Aground! We were joined by daytripper and old friend James Ward, back in the country from Dubai, and much catching up ensued on our walk over to The Ship (bumping into the Scotland-bound Astrid boys on the way out – safe journey gents!) for a superb – and copious! – meal. We then somehow managed to haul our food-full selves back into the arena, which even 5 minutes before the 3.20 entrance of THOUSAND YARD STARE was pretty much deserted – although that may have been down to the late-running Clone Roses in Centre Stage (Matt checked ‘em out and said they were a rubbish tribute – I mean, the vocalist could sing…). Damn shame! Still, there was a more respectable crowd as the band emerged, vocalist Stephen last, worriedly pacing the stage as if he’d forgotten where his car-keys were. Proponents of an ebullient frantic indie jangle style, often featuring the ubiquitous “funky Drummer” beat but cranked up to 100 mph, they’d impressed with their effervescent love of playing “live” at my first “Shiiine On” and also on a House Of Love support slot last year, and proceeded to do the same with an eye-catching and undulatingly melodic set. An early “Buttermouth” was terrific, bouncing along like a demented Spacehopper, before some considerably tougher and rockier new mid-set numbers, Stephen once again prowling the stage and eating an apple… odd! “Has everyone’s dinner gone down? [not ours yet, mate!] OK let’s start bouncing!” he announced before an almost ska-inflected “What’s Your Level”, then remarking, “we thought someone scored but it’s gone to VAR…” before set highlight “0-0 After Extra Time”. A thank you from Stephen, “for letting us be your amuse bouche!” preceded tumbling and clattering closer “Wideshire”, concluding another fine set. Thousand Yard Who? No longer!



Today was “Arena all the way” for the posse; I stuck around for the first few numbers of JESUS JONES, next up at 4.30. Indie electro-pop dance veterans (hey, they were “fusion” before “fusion” became trendy, this lot!), they were, incredulously, appearing at “Shiiine On” off the back of a tour celebrating the 30th Anniversary of their defining debut “Liquidizer”. I say, “incredulously”, as main-man, the rakish, long-haired and energetic Mike Edwards, barely looked 30 at all! They kicked into a hard-edged “Move Mountains”, the undulating chug of “Never Enough” (my favourite JJ number) following in short order, accompanied by impressively lurid, if a little migraine inducing, day-glo graphics projected onto the back screen. A catchy “Bring It On Down” (thankfully not the recently re-recorded acid house 9 minute version!) was however my last taste of Jesus Jones, as, half an hour into their set, I repaired to Hotshots, finding a single chair in front of a screen and watching the Brazilian Grand Prix! Glad I am that I did; not only was it (by today’s standards) a thoroughly entertaining GP with some completely mad closing lap shenanigans, but it also meant I missed Pop Will Eat Itself! Result!


So, I emerged for NEDS ATOMIC DUSTBIN’s 7.20 set, heralded by the biggest crowd of the weekend to date. “Shiiine On” newcomers, they set about making an impression with an energetic showing of their moshpit-friendly Midlands ramshackle fraggle groove. Never been my cup of tea, the Neds, and I found the material simplistic and repetitive, the sound bass-heavy and the guitar an odd hollow echo in the background of the mix, but the “Shiiine On” massive lapped them up, so what do I know, right? Anyway, I also nipped back to the chalet to take some medication during their set, returning as the terrace chant of “Kill! Your! Television…” resonated not only around the arena, but the whole damn site!


No matter, the main event was to come in the shape of headliners THE WONDER STUFF. A band I’m increasingly enjoying “live”, finding their current iteration possibly the best sounding of all their myriad line-ups, and enjoying the relaxed bonhomie and flippant repartee of the more, erm, mature Miles Hunt, they’d been Top Band of a stellar 2016 “Shiiine On” bill and were only pipped for top honours in 2017 by an astonishing Peter Hook set. Great things expected, then, and from note one we were not to be disappointed; Miles greeted us with a buoyant, “Oi! Oi! Butlins!”, then opener “Mission Drive” snuck in before building to a stellar circular fiddle riff (do they call them “riffs” if they’re played on the violin?) from Erica Nockalls. “We have a new album out – it’s fucking outstanding – but we’re not going to play anything from it!” announced Miles to cheers, “come see us on tour for that!” Will do, Milo!



Clever move that, actually, as the perfect festival headline set ensued, hit after hit from The Wonder Stuff’s stellar 80’s/90’s catalogue raining down on us, songs ingrained in the consciousnesses of all present. “On The Ropes” sounded huge, thankfully bereft of the feedback issues it’s been plagued with here in the past, “Here Comes Everyone” was epic and building to a huge anthemic hook, and the folky fiddle-led “Golden Green” was preceded by Miles asking, “anyone in the mood for a hoe-down? A definite “no” from over there [in the crowd]… off you fuck, pal!” A poignant “Piece Of Sky” was dedicated to the dearly departed, before the set built up a proper head of steam, with “Wish Away”, “Unbearable” and a frankly thunderous “Ten Trenches Deep” tearing the crowd a collective new one. A surprise encore appearance for the flippant “Radio Ass Kiss” preceded the final number, early Stuffies number “A Song Without An End”. “Let this be a festival without an end,” announced Miles, and after this, the Set Of The Weekend by some distance, we all felt that way.

End though it did, and after a quick sojourn into Centre Stage for some bolshy mod posturing from TIME FOR ACTION, it was time for bed… for some of us at least! Matt, Rach and I turned in for just before midnight, an 8.30 start getting us all offsite just after 10 and home for 1, wiped out but happy. Another great “Shiiine On” weekend with excellent bands, fine relaxing atmosphere and great company, the addition of Ady and (for Sunday only) James to our little group adding to the general bonhomie. Four years in a row now, and this looks like being a regular fixture for some time to come. Long may we all “Shiiine On”!

Tuesday 19 November 2019

1,160 ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN, Will Purdue, Southampton Engine Rooms, Wednesday 13th November 2019


And after Adorable, last time out, here’s one of that band’s principal heroes and influences, hopefully returning in a similar triumphant manner… It had been 3 long years since I last caught up with my teenage “home team” and early 80’s sweeping post-punk favourite band Echo And The Bunnymen, ever since that landmark gig 1,000 and a connoisseur’s set at my first “Shiiine On” in November 2016. So I was up for this one, the only “Southern” gig on a mini Autumn tour, even given Bunnymen front-man Ian McCulloch’s propensity for, erm, inconsistent “live” shows and occasional erratic behaviour. Still, he’d not let me down the last couple of times out, so I was cautiously optimistic for this one…

I nearly didn’t go for 2 different reasons, though… firstly I was due for a minor hospital procedure which would have necessitated a day’s recuperation, but which (thankfully for this at least) got postponed; then I developed a horrible headache during the day, which happily abated considerably after my cycle commute home. So I was (mostly) fit for a sodden drive down, through drenched and dark Southampton backstreets to this new quayside venue, located across from a giant car park and (weirdly) in an industrial estate! An awkward shape, similar to the Oxford O2, with bars and loo at the back, it was already rammed on my arrival, support Will Purdue already mostly through his set of hushed and morose acoustic material, delivered in a very gravelly voice. Made no impression on me, though, as I squeezed through to try to get a vantage point, eventually giving up about halfway back, house left. Not a fan of this place!

The predictable pre-Bunny tunes (Velvets, Bowie, Doors) played over the PA as the time ticked past their scheduled 9 pm start time – also predictably! However, they didn’t keep us waiting too long, the doomy Gregorian monk chant piping up just before 10 past. Mac, resplendent in de rigeur rock god shades and leather jacket and looking pretty damn good actually, led the boys on, the mysterious creeping intro to pulsating opener “Going Up” wafting in eerily around him and the venue, creating an immediate mood of haunting melancholy… and great promise for the gig to come…

Let’s face facts, folks; Echo And The Bunnymen “live” performances depend pretty much wholly on whether Mac has got his head in the game. Nuff said. The young band will always provide a solid, functioning base, generally doing musical justice to these classic songs if never approaching the heights of the classic Pattinson/ DeFreitas backline, and sole other “original” member, the monolithic Will Sergeant, will always play a spine-chilling virtuoso lead guitar, coaxing fascinating and unearthly textural noises from his instrument. But if Mac’s not up for it, it all falls apart… thankfully I can report that tonight he was fully engaged in the performance, the voice in fine fettle and soaring almost effortlessly (occasionally a little gravelly and strained on the top notes, but hey, at least he was going there tonight!) from the opening song. This resulted in an excellent Bunnymen show, which was occasionally borderline majestic. “Rescue”/ “Broke My Neck” was languid and luscious, a surprising “Zimbo” was yearning, baroque and imperious, but immediately topped by “Over The Wall”, which built to a thunderous climax through its’ undulating length. “Villier’s Terrace” was irresistibly groovy, Mac deadpanning an ironic line of “I drank some of the medicine and I loooooved the taste…!”, before it switched directions into a “Roadhouse Blues”/ “Jean Genie” medley, and even “Nothing Lasts Forever” was superb, stretched and stately, with snippets of “Walk On The Wild Side” thrown in for good measure. Not perfect by any means – “The Somnambulist” was throwaway, and “Rust” borderline dull – but those hiccups were outdone by moments of plangent brilliance, such as a later “The Killing Moon” and set closer “The Cutter”, Mac’s voice off the shackles, soaring beautifully to close out an hour’s set…

Wait, what, one hour? Yup, a couple of encores, including a hushed “Ocean Rain”, bumping it up to just over 1 hour 15 in total. Short but sweet, then, but I’d actually have a short set with Mac up for it, than a sprawling one with him disinterested. So not too many complaints here, although I can’t really say the same for the venue, which afterwards funnelled everyone out through one narrow exit (rather than through the other door as well, which was open but guarded by a hefty steward). Stupid! Still, overall worth the hassle – and inky blast back home – to see Mac and The Bunnymen on this form!

Thursday 7 November 2019

1,159 ADORABLE, London Shepherd’s Bush Bush Hall, Saturday 2nd November 2019





I never thought I’d get the chance to right this particular ancient gig wrong; let alone do it in such spectacular fashion…!

A recap, first; Adorable burst onto a sullen and moribund grunge/ baggy dominated early 90’s rock scene in a riot of colour, swagger and post-punk influenced crunchy guitar tuneage and soaring choruses. “The House Of Love, only with more wah-wah”, as I described them on first sight supporting Curve in March 1992 (gig 206), they seamlessly made the transition from ultra-promising support act to stellar headliners and festival faves, eliciting a bumpy ride in the music press in the process for refusing to “play the game” and allow themselves to be (incorrectly) pigeonholed in with the nascent shoegaze crowd. Brilliant every time I saw them, apart from the last, infamous sighting at Windsor Old Trout (gig 267), where, in a haze of post-footy Premiership away win celebration, I’d literally drunk myself under the bar, and was waaaay too pissed to remember even seeing their set! No matter, thought I at the time, they’ve just released their second album so should be back for more dates later… unfortunately, there was to be no “later”, as shortly thereafter internal pressures prompted an acrimonious onstage break-up. D’oh!

Former Adorable frontman Pete Fij (now on an excellent acoustic trip, of course, ironically with The House Of Love’s virtuoso guitarist Terry Bickers) had happily cropped up in recent times on my gig itinerary, but his Facebook proclamations underlined his steadfast refusal to revisit the past and get the old band back together. That is, right up until he did…! Scarcely believable news broke that, to commemorate the 25th Anniversary of the breakup, Pete was reforming Adorable for a couple of dates, then splitting up again, this time on more friendly terms. Woah! We snapped up tix immediately for Bush Hall Saturday as they sold out within seconds… clearly we weren’t the only ones anticipating this reunion! Overwhelmed by the wave of affection for the band, Pete added a couple of other dates, but we stuck with this one… an opportunity to see them one last time – and pay attention this time!

So, still getting used to the wet and cold UK after the previous week in Marrakech, I was picked up by Tim, along with Rich, for a sodden drive up, parking just before 6.30 on the Uxbridge Road, a short walk from the venue. Joined the queue and got in at 7 p.m. doors to grab an excellent spot on the corner of the stage, house left, in this old ornate theatre hall. No support; instead a very gloomy black and white French film was projected onto a screen (one of Mr. Fij’s other passions, apparently). Didn’t do much for me, I’m afraid, and I needed a couple of nervous comfort breaks before the band were due on at 8.45. Really rather stupidly looking forward to this one, I’m happy to admit!

The lights smashed to black and a gloomy piano piece heralded the band onto the smoke-swathed stage, with the moody bass intro to “I’ll Be Your Saint” sneaking surreptitiously in, Pete delivering the vocal with the right level of detachment and ennui. Clad all in white, with his trademark beige “Randall And Hopkirk” leather jacket firmly in place and floppy fringe tumbling over his face, he looked like he’d stepped out of a time warp, and the band played like it – like they hadn’t missed a beat since 1994. The 4th of the 5 reunion shows, this one was tight as a gnats chuff, remarkable for a band who (Pete apart) had largely abandoned playing music! The gloriously acerbic chorus to “Vendetta”, one of my favourites, was up next, followed by the careering rollercoaster punk rock riffery of “Favourite Fallen Idol”, guitarist Rob Dillam already shouting, “fucking come on!!!”, exhorting the crowd to be noisier, more passionate, more engaged, just fucking MORE – so I followed suit and went for it!


This was truly one for the ages, a redemption for all (myself included, given my last, drunken Adorable “live” experience first time around). Ignored by the press, tagged as perennial underdogs, then having their image and swagger subsequently co-opted by much more successful but infinitely lesser bands (yup, Oasis, I’m talking about you…), this band should have been utterly massive, but instead engendered a level of cult devotion from the likes of those present tonight, and duly rewarded them with a magnificent performance. “Glorious” lived up to its name, soaring and heavenly, “Sunburnt” was a lovely insular and melancholy wallow, and “Sunshine Smile” with its’ pregnant mid-song pause and speeded-up climax (2 of my favourite song devices) was utterly majestic and enthusiastically received, prompting Pete to comment, “when we got back together we didn’t expect this type of reception!” “Sistine Chapel Ceiling” was similarly soaring and magnificent, with a huge, ball-crunching climax, then before the plaintive, elegiac set finale of “Breathless”, guitarist Rob, clearly moved, crouched down and covered his face, taking a moment (and some words from his wife, watching on from the wings) to compose himself. You know what, I think we all felt a little like that…


“This is not about new beginnings,” announced Pete as part of a carpe-diem infused, redemptive monologue before the encore, “this was an opportunity to rewrite the end”. And hoo boy, did they go out on a high… the growling verse and massive chorus of “Homeboy” ultimately ceded to the most fitting finale, “A To Fade In”; gloriously emotive and emotional, as well as a should’ve-been lighters-aloft stadium anthem, Pete leading the crowd in the “ba ba ba baa’”s before taking in the devoted applause.

Patience was rewarded afterwards, as after a short wait I grabbed pix and setlist signatures from a predictably-besieged band, before we hit the road after Lebanese flatbread takeout. Delicious, but not as much as the performance we’d just seen from Adorable; as I mentioned, this was both a redemption and a celebration of a superb band who fully deserve their place in the annals of rock. Gig of the Year so far? Rather goes without saying…!