1,289 MIDWAY STILL, Falling Stacks, The Setbacks, Bristol The Crown, Wednesday 12th July 2023

“Because Midway Still aren’t coming back…” There’s a Facebook fan site thusly named, celebrating the early 90’s (post-Grunge, pre-Britpop) underground indie scene, when bands such as Mega City Four, Senseless Things and our titular heroes The Still would load up in a van, drive the length and breadth of our green and pleasant land and ply their usually raw, ragged and ramshackle punkish mess in front of any group of long lank-haired, big-shorted indie-kids who’d ‘ave ‘em. For various reasons, sadly, we’re no longer likely to see the Things or the Megas, but it just seems that recently, Midway Still just keep coming back… An utterly incendiary set at Shiiine On 2021, despite initial collywobbles, not only won “Band Of The Weekend” for this returning rabble, but on reflection is currently my favourite Shiiine On set evah! So, two years later, more of the same? Hell fucking yeah!

 

Tim of course is also a Still acolyte, having put them on twice at Swindon’s Vic (May 2010, gig 788 being the most recent time), so he was up for this one too, picking me up at 6.30 for a drive down the M4 to the first of 3 new Bristol venues for me in the next couple of months. This one was a down and dirty tiny beer cellar downstairs room, complete with bitumen-black painted brick curved ceiling, below a ramshackle and sprawling city centre pub. This one might get sweaty…! But first, after checking out opening act The Setbacks (a veteran 5-piece playing basic and formulaic unfocussed poppy punk, all pounding drums, power chords and shouty vocals) and deciding they weren’t for us, Tim and I got a drink and sat in the alley outside the front, catching the last of the evening sun. Good thing we did, in fact, as the good gentlemen of Midway Still sauntered up, greeting us like long-lost comrades, and joined us for a drink and chat! I was happy to share the news of my brother’s full recovery from Covid (he’d just gotten out of ICU when we last spoke, at Shiiine On 2021) and we chewed the Cud (pardon the pun – first time I saw the Still, waaay back in 1991’s gig 196, was supporting The Cud Band!) as other friends and fans wandered by, or joined us briefly. Maybe not the 90 attendees at last night’s Birmingham gig, but still plenty of love in Brizzle tonight for The Still!

 Eventually wandered down for the late-running last knockings of main support Falling Stacks (who were an improvement on the openers, but still just background noise to my and Tim’s bar chat). Took a spot down the front as The Still plugged in, Dec Kelly’s eye-catching kinetic rolling drum style and Russell Lee’s driving bass and Ramones-esque wide stance thereafter underpinning a ragged, powerful opening “Note To Self”, pretty much setting the tone for the set. “I’m 55 – time I sorted my fucking life out,” deadpanned guitarist/ vocalist Paul Thomson before the Lemonheads-like laze rock of “Jamie And Gigi”, then the frantic luge hurtle of “Counting Days” was introduced with a pithy; “this next song is 32 years old; only a little bit younger than me! [Mind you,] Dec’s been in this band since he was 12 – he’s now 70!”

 

The Still were in fine fooling tonight, then, their snarky and sarky comments and self-deprecating humour as much a feature as the rock, which was fast, fierce and elemental, and, with the “Handle With Care” labels long faded, delivered with a raw and ramshackle vigour and enthusiasm belying their “veteran” status. And, belying my own advancing years and dodgy knees, I rocked out down the front as best I could, happily working up a sweat (Full Cleo! Yay!) to The Still. An early string breakage (“that hasn’t happened for fucking years!”) necessitated Paul’s borrowing of the support’s guitar, the man giving us a “Back in Black” riff (“it’s our new single – Back and Shite!”) to tune up. The driving Dinosaur-esque verse and pounding, descending hook of “Me In You” was tremendous; the “juxta-fucking-position” of “Miss You” and the breakneck “Fuck You” a thrilling double-whammy; and whilst “Better Than Before” was looser and relatively sedate, the subsequent “What You Said” brought the heavy riffery roaring back with a vengeance. However, they saved the best for last; after getting the 5-minute time warning, Paul thanked the hardy yet enthusiastic souls (“it’s amazing you’ve all come to see this shambolic fucking wreck of a band!”) before letting loose with a rip-roaringly brilliant “You Made Me Realise”, once again including the whole of “Come Down” in the middle-8 feedback fest before a lengthy thrilling riff-heavy outro. Great stuff!

 Grabbed some air and more chats and compliments with the boys outside afterwards, before bidding farewell and heading off for a drive home punctuated by idiot lorries on the M4. I’ll ache in the morning, but as always, well worth it… If they’re going to deliver such incendiary performances as this, as far as I’m concerned Midway Still can keep coming back… and back… and back!

1,288 CHAMELEONS, Whistleblowers, Holmfirth Picturedrome, Saturday 8th July 2023

 

Another gig centring around renewing acquaintances with an old friend, albeit this one being intentional and pre-arranged… Earlier this year, I’d re-connected on Facebook with my old school friend Jennifer, a lady who was largely responsible for keeping me sane during my difficult 6^th Form schooldays, and with whom I’d kept in touch for a subsequent period in the 80’s, visiting her at Warwick University for gigs by The Fall and the Smiths in late 1983/ early ’84 (gigs 10 and 11!). Life got in the way and we lost touch, but it was great to reconnect, and a plan was hatched to visit her in Holmfirth, where she now resides with husband Paul, when a decent enough band was due to play at fabled local gig venue The Picturedrome. And they don’t get much more “decent” than 80’s anthemic post-punk/ goth heroes The Chameleons!

 So, I hit the road early Saturday oop North, clearing Manchester and heading through impossibly scenic windswept vistas on Saddleworth Moor, and equally impossibly winding and near-vertical single track country lanes up to Jen’s hilltop home. Much catching up ensued, the years falling away, before Jen, Paul and I headed down into Holmfirth (which despite prima facae seeming a dour, grey bricked typically Northern town huddled in the base of a valley around the confluence of 2 rivers, was actually quite a happening place, with lots of interesting craft and boutique pubs and upmarket eateries) for a splendid gourmet burger tea at Lou & Joes, before joining the queue at the venue at 7.30. As the name suggests, The Picturedrome is an evocative old mid-sized (I guessed 800?) picture house venue, exuding faded vintage silver screen glamour, and we took balcony seats overlooking house left. Stayed there for veteran support Whistleblowers, on at 8.30. A local trio from Ashton-Under-Lyme, they were sadly very dull in a very dull way (!), plying some low-key, plodding 60’s folky psych Fillmore East fayre which shudderingly recalled Midlake when they hit the flares and double-denims. Later numbers floated into midnight jazz café territory, before returning to the flimsy hippy stuff. Not well played and somewhat off-key vocal-wise to my ears as well, I’m afraid.

 I took a wander down the front afterwards, still pitching up a couple of rows back, joined briefly by Paul and also chatting to India, a lady who’d posted in the Chameleons Facebook fan page about her journey from paraplegic wheelchair usage, to now just needing one stick. Brilliant job, you go girl! The eerie Cocteaus-ish entrance music heralded the Chameleons’ arrival onstage at 9.30, a false start due to technical issues with Reg’s guitar pick-up (“it’s always the newbies!” quipped granite-hewn vocalist/bassist/main-man Mark Burgess) being eventually sorted before the band plunged into the plangent ringing chimes of opener “Paper Tigers” to rapturous applause from the cultish devotees. “I hope it’s not going to be one of those nights,” warned Burgess before the Sophie Lancaster dedication preceded a chilling “A Person Isn’t Safe Anywhere These Days”, delivered with neck-bulging, scary conviction by the man. Sorry mate, I think it is…!

 

Correct. The Chameleons were on fire from note one tonight, delivering a brilliantly passionate, strident performance of their atmospheric and textural yet huge and anthemic post-punk mood music, often deploying both their usual weapons of slowing down the material “live” to give it extra breathing room and gravitas, and throwing in unexpected lyrical references from the likes of Bowie, The Fall, The Clash, The Smiths and predominantly The Beatles. That said, it took until “Monkeyland”, 5^th number in, for the crowd to respond in kind, the eerie slow build of the first verse suddenly bursting into the roof-raising “trick of the light” hook like a cork from a champagne bottle, precipitating a boisterous yet largely good-natured moshpit which remained throughout, where the main rules of engagement were arms-aloft inclusive raucous singalongs and bearhugs from total strangers. Although we’re not really strangers, We Are All Chameleons, after all…!

 “Looking Inwardly” and “Up The Down Escalator” were two fast-paced, brutal mid-set gut punches, the air becoming a scarce commodity in the kinetic sauna the Picturedrome had suddenly become (I actually turned to a fellow punter and remarked, “I think I can forget about breathing for the next hour or so!”); “Soul In Isolation” was a staggering, swaggering affirmation of life (“I’m alive in here!” again a roof-raising terrace chant hook); and a later “Swamp Thing” an undulating, libidinous thing of joy and wonder, the guitar interplay in the build to the first verse just gorgeous. Yet set closer, “Second Skin” topped the lot; preceded by thanks from a drenched Burgess (who’d given it his all tonight) and a sermon about creating experiences and living in the now, this was a lengthy and magnificent all-inclusive manifesto for The Chameleons “live” experience in particular, and rock’n’roll gigs in general. The stuff dreams are made of, indeed!

 A couple of encores (a roaring, none-more-punk “In Shreds” and a sinister, anthemic “Don’t Fall”) before the boys took well-deserved bows and left us breathless and euphoric after another stellar performance. Grabbed a list and a quick chat with keyboard player Daniel afterwards before meeting Jen and Paul outside. A quick taxi back up the hill, then a much-needed breather and fluid intake before towelling myself down and making use of the spare room for the night. More catching up the next morning over a splendid fry-up brunch, before bidding fond farewells and driving to Manchester, meeting my son Evan for a roast Sunday lunch at Mr. Thomas’ Chop House in the city centre, then hitting the road at 3.30 for a difficult roadworks, traffic and thunderstorm-affected drive down South, home for 7. Just a lovely weekend in excellent company, though, both on and offstage. Thanks Evan, The Chameleons, and mostly Paul and Jennifer… hopefully this won’t be the last time we light up The Picturedrome!

1,287 JIM BOB, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 2nd July 2023

 

A chance tonight to renew acquaintances with an old gig face! I was a big fan of Jim Bob’s mid-80’s jangle pop band Jamie Wednesday, and despite numerous false starts I even managed to see them “live” once, in Bristol in May 1987 supporting The Men They Couldn’t Hang (gig 78!). I’d subsequently turned up to meet Jim and Co. before their next gig, again on the undercard for TMTCH, at The Astoria in August later that year (gig 85), only to be informed by the man that the JDubs (as they were known to both of their fans) had split up earlier that week, but that he and bandmate Les were going to play the gig backed up by a drum machine. Thus it was that I unwittingly attended the first ever Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine gig…! Carter USM took awhile to really inveigle themselves into my consciousness, but I eventually became a fan, watching with a mixture of pride and “I saw them first” smugness as they quickly rose to briefly become 90’s Indie press darlings (Steve Lamacq, my favourite NME hack back then, being particularly fulsome in his praise) and Festival headliners. Since their late 90’s dissolution, I confess I’d not kept up much with Jim’s subsequent solo career; however we’d enjoyed his recent performances at Shiiine On, both solo and with his band The Hoodrats, and tonight, a CD release show at Bristol’s splendid Rough Trade for new album “Thanks For Reaching Out”, represented an opportunity not only to catch up with his current works, but also, perchance, to briefly revisit those JDubs days…

 So I packed up my Gigbook No. 1 (featuring the setlist from said JDubs gig) plus a folder-full of newsletters and correspondence I’d kept from those days, and, with a curious Jami joining me at the last minute (Rach and Logan being away for the weekend), hit a sunny M4 about ¼ to 6, joining a queue to get in on arrival. Got drinks and chatted with a chap about US popsters Cheekface before joining Jami, who’d bagged a front and centre spot. Nice work! Jim Bob joined us at 7.30, accompanied by bandmate and Jack Black lookalike Chris, who acted as MC for an entertaining half hour of chat, highlights being the retelling of the infamous Carter USM HMV Oxford Street instore appearance, when manager Jon “Fat” Beast encouraged the crowd to shoplift, and Jacob Rees-Mogg’s (adverse) reaction to being featured in Jim’s recent video for “Sebastian’s Gone On A Ridealong”! Some Q&A’s too (I asked about his appearances at Shiiine On, and Jami asked about his favourite own compositions), but generally an entertaining and funny half hour of easy bonhomie.

 

Finally Jim dispensed with the banter, bolted on his electric guitar and treated us to a half hour performance of selections from the new album, accompanied by Chris on keys. Opener “Thanks For Reaching Out” was a melancholy yet strangely uplifting ballad, “What Goes Around” had a dark and menacing murder ballad feel reminiscent of Nick Cave, and “Sebastian” itself was a snarky and sarky number about politicians paying lip service to good works. All the new material, however, happily featured the usual Jim Bob lyrical gift for highlighting both the mundane minutiae of humdrum everyday existence and the absurdity of current world events, and subverting them into cynical yet memorable pun-like soundbites. More entertaining banter too; a chat with the crowd about cancel culture, a remark about his glasses slipping leading to a terrible Graham Coxon Blur joke, and a story of how Carter USM and Westlife nearly got into a brawl at a Festival!

“Billionaire In Space” was a highlight, slightly recalling Bowie’s “Space Oddity” for me, and “Befriend The Police” featured the ironic hook, “bring on the dancing nurses”… a Bunnymen reference perhaps? “Prince Of Wales” (about a pub, apparently!) rounded off a fine acoustic rendering of some very melodic new songs; I’m happy copies of the record were included in the ticket price, because I can’t wait to hear them on CD…

 

Joined the queue at the end, along with another father/ daughter couple who intended to pitch the idea for a Carter USM musical to Jim! Our turn eventually came, and I shared my Jamie Wednesday stuff with a softly-spoken but incredulous Jim, who claimed to remember me from those days (aah, that’s nice!) and was amazed that I’d kept all that stuff. A brief chat, congrats from me about Carter’s success down the years, pics and signatures with the man later, we gave way to the “pitch” duo, Jami the musical theatre fan earwigging on their plans, before grabbing some food from the Greek takeaway on the corner and hitting the road, home for 10. Lovely to catch up with Jim Bob after all these years, and great to hear some quality new material from an entirely promising new album, which will certainly ensure I keep a closer eye on his exploits in future!

1,286 B SYDES, Old Man Boom, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 29th June 2023

 

A stellar gig June closes out with a local one! Up The Tupp’ for the first time in awhile (my first this year, in fact, the last being Si and Matt’s gig last July, gig 1,239!) to catch a solo acoustic set from “live” favourite Ben Sydes, this time being the 10^th such occasion! Potential for another, more significant landmark as well, but we’ll get on to that later… B Sydes’ set tonight was billed by the venue as “Contemporary and Authentic Folk Punk delivered with power, personality and purpose”; I certainly wouldn’t argue about the delivery, but for me there’s an edgier, angst-fuelled emo element to Ben’s music which differentiates him from his folky solo acoustic guy contemporaries, so I was happy to finally get the man into double figures in my “gigs seen” account tonight…

 Drove up the hill and hit the bar just after 8 for some entertaining rock chat with local gig entrepreneurs Ed Dyer and Dave Franklin, before taking a seat for support Old Man Boom just before 8.30. Opening with a “love letter” to 70’s cheesy crooner Demis Roussos, his set then centred more on darker subject matter such as witches and serial killers (to be fair, the man pre-warned us with, “if you don’t like dark things… this isn’t the set for you”) played with a stark, deadpan delivery and a battered banjo. Unfortunately, it appeared said instrument wasn’t the only battered thing in his set; a sea-shanty esque “Hail Satan” (his clergy grandma’s least favourite song, unsurprisingly) required a few stops for Mr. Boom to remember lyrics, and it appeared an all-day drinking sesh with Ben earlier was taking its' toll. It reminded me of a similar all-dayer in my beer-soaked 20’s, after which I attempted to play badminton in the evening! I held my own for a couple of sets but by the end was helplessly flailing around, and despite a more coherent closer and much goodwill from the audience, it sadly felt Old Man Boom was doing the same. Hopefully next time I catch him (no worries, there will be a next time), he’ll be a little more together…

 

I grabbed another drink then ran into my old footy buddy John, out on a college “do”, before also catching up with gig friend Joanna and re-taking my house left spot for B Sydes’ headlining set just before 9.30. If Ben was feeling the effects of any earlier imbibing with Old Man Boom, however, it certainly didn’t show at all, as from the off he was relaxed, urbane and at ease, interacting frequently and entertainingly with the full and lively crowd, particularly the front table which included his tour mate (and of course another “live” favourite of mine) Gaz Brookfield, his lady wife Angela and guests. This one was a rescheduled show from last November (“I got the big bad”, according to Ben), and he was in the mood to make up for lost time; openers “5 Minutes” and “Crutches” were both tense and taut, an angular “All At Sea” saw Gaz and mates circle moshing in their seats (!), and “This Was My City Once”, despite Ben being distracted by boy racers outside, was a melancholy and understated singalong, Ben ramping up the passion for a more strident middle 8.

 However, a new number completely stole the show for me; unnamed at present (“B.O.B” on the list – Ben did mention what the initials stood for, but discretion prevents me from telling you), it was a fast paced, sinister and dramatic exposition about the post-Covid reclamation of “live” events, bringing out Ben’s best and most impassioned vocal delivery of the night. Great stuff, a number I’d really love to hear with a full band (hint, hint…). Ben then bolted on the harmonica, snarkily quipping, “first time at a gig is it?” at Gaz, who knocked his mic-stand on his way outside for a smoke (!) before another singalong to “The Desperate Dance”. Then the dissonant and menacingly moody “Still In Saigon” ended the set proper, Ben subsequently returning to big up Mr. Brookfield’s merchandise (Ben having sported a “Land Pirate” cap for this gig instead of his standard woolly tea cosy) prior to an entirely apposite “Good Times”, another rousing singalong closing out a performance full of great tunes and good times.

 

As for the more “significant” landmark, that came afterwards as Ben handed me his set and signed it with a gold sharpie I’d brought along for the occasion – said occasion being my 1,000^th set-list! Ben seemed genuinely pleased that his list achieved this honour, but after his performance tonight it was well deserved. Brief chats with the man, plus Gaz, before I bade farewell to all and sundry before heading off down the hill and home. A damn fine evening up the ‘Tupp, courtesy of B Sydes, to round off a splendid gigging June!