1,371 PERSONAL TRAINER, Westside Cowboy, Bristol Thekla, Monday 24th February 2025

 

I should really take more notice of musical tips from friends called Andy… Both the esteemed Messrs. Fenton and Perfitt have been banging on about Personal Trainer to me for a while now; I’d initially checked them out and liked them fine, but heard nothing new and inspiring to these cynical old ears. However a second check revealed some intriguing upbeat Summery powerpoppy stuff from PT, a loose collective centred around Dutch singer/ songwriter Willem Smit, overlaid with Smit’s own world-weary, laconic vocals, which thankfully stayed the right side of sounding bored a la Wet Leg et al, and actually recalled Jonathan Richman as if he were backed up by, say, The Wannadies, albeit less straight-forward and more eclectic than that sounds. An intriguing combination, then, evidenced on cracking and immediate 2022 debut album “Big Love Blanket” and last years’ denser and more challenging, yet still damn fine “Still Willing”, both of which I hunted down for prep in advance of this “live” date.

Not surprising then that I had an Andy for company for this one! My turn to drive, so a ticketless Beef wandered over and we hit the road, scooping up his friend Jas on the way and parking up in good time for Beef to get sorted (eventually) on the door. Grabbed a spot on the stage underneath the hanging speaker, house right, next to occasional Devizes gig buddy Alfie. Painfully young 4-piece support Westside Cowboy were on in pretty short order at 7.30; after a largely instrumental opener which reminded me of the theme to the James Bond film “You Only Live Twice” (!), their first couple of numbers were riff-heavy grunge-athons, and I was initially fearing, oh no, here’s another support band trying to bury me with an avalanche of noise… However, “Scaring Me Now” changed my tune, being a brooding and introspective slab of 90’s heavier college rock a la Pavement, Buffalo Tom even, and thereafter the song quality improved notably. Subsequent numbers featured some Pixies-esque jagged riff patterns, some overt, almost chanted choral harmonies from the front 3 (all of whom took their turns at lead vocals), and the final couple of numbers even recalled the folky Americana/ Appalachian backwoods murder ballad feel of Cordelia’s Dad or Titus Andronicus, particularly when they performed the set finale acoustically around one mic. Stylistically quite scattergun, then, but nowt wrong with that, and with some intriguing ideas, they might be a name to watch…

Both venue and stage became quite crowded thereafter; a real tight squeeze to get back from a comfort break to my front row spot, plus the 6-piece Personal Trainer setting up a varied collection of instrumentation onstage. Neutral Milk Hotel all over again? Anyhoops, on they came, prompt at 8 to the strains of Beck’s loose-limbed slacker anthem “Loser”, and this initially seemed a touchstone for their performance, opener “I Can Be Your Personal Trainer” being equally louche and languid. “Round” however came across all Boo Radleys with its’ buoyant, almost Britpoppy bounce and ebullient trumpet blare, and early “Intangible” had an almost stripped-back Prince-like funky feel, before once again breaking into a big brass choral blast, courtesy of one of all-action guitarist Leon Harms’ regular forays onto a massive (contrabass?) saxophone. 

So yes, Personal Trainer “live” were as eclectic as anticipated, with ideas tumbling and clashing together, often rerouting songs mid-stream. However, at the heart of the matter, they’re a pop band, pure and simple, with none of the clever-dick eclecticism happening at the expense of the tunes; “People”’s atmospheric pastoral sax intro segued into an ebullient Wannadies singalong chorus, and “Testing The Alarm” featured a naggingly effective repetitive hook build to a speeded up crescendo outro. Also, they’re great “live”; loads of kinetic energy and movement, and in Smit possessing a frontman of wry charm and open-hearted humour.

Oldie “Key Of Ego” was a grungier stream-of-consciousness piece with some Primus-like gabbling vocals from Smit, before the pastoral build of “Upper Ferntree Gully” and plaintive hush of “Still Willing” rounded off an upbeat, effervescent and, yes, rather joyful actually showing. However, the best by some distance was saved for last; despite keyboardist Abel Tuinstra protesting, “we don’t have any more songs!” encore “The Lazer” was a brilliant piece of soaring terrace chant pop, with that laid-back Richman-esque vocal verse delivery, proving the cherry on top of a sparkling showing. Grabbed a list (my 1,100^th!) and grabbed signatures and compliments with 5/6^th of the band, guitarist Franti Maresova sadly eluding me, before a quick blast back got us home just before 11. Colour me old, but I like early curfews, me…! So, great stuff from Personal Trainer and some potential as well from their embryonic support band, and testament to not giving up on a band after first listen. Thank you to Andy and Andy for getting me on board with Personal Trainer!

1,369 and 1,370 FRANK TURNER AND THE SLEEPING SOULS, Jim Lockey and the Solemn Sun, Ben Brown (both 1,369 only), The Lottery Winners, The Meffs (both 1,370 only), Frome Cheese and Grain, London Alexandra Palace, Wednesday 19th and Saturday 22nd February 2025

 

They often come in two’s, do Frank gigs…!

A welcome double-header after a recent more unsuccessful duo, this; I had tickets for 2 gigs last week by promising Scandi indie-poppers Girl Scout, but for various reasons never got to either! Anyhoops, impassioned and inclusive alt-folk-punk orator, and “live” favourite down our way, Mr. Francis Edward Turner, had announced a massive one-off date at North London’s palatial yet out-of-the-way Ally Pally, to celebrate his milestone 3,000^th Show, and immediately this felt like a potential Tribal Gathering, one definitely not to be missed. So as soon as tix went on sale, I booked for myself and Frank acolyte Logan, before they all sold out. In a day. Yup, all 10,000. Wow. Might be right about that Tribal Gathering vibe… Frank then added a couple of warm-up dates on the week leading up to said gig, presumably also to get the gig count right, so we also booked for gig 2,998, at Frome’s splendid Cheese and Grain, which at 800 capacity is roughly 1/12^th of the size of the Pally! So, as far as counts go, Frank’s gigs 2,998 and 3,000 are my own 1,369 and 1,370, also representing my 16^th and 17^th “live” Frank experiences!

Frome first then; the plan was for Rach to join me, but she sensibly blew this one off after her recent hospital stay. However, gig buddy Jeremy, who’d jumped too late for a Frank ticket himself, was happy to take up Rach’s spare, so after a difficult journey down I met the man outside, chatting until Matt and Liz arrived. We then popped into the already-full venue just as early-starting solo acoustic guy Ben Brown was reciting the myriad ways he can be contacted, including his dad’s mobile number (the affable brawny bearded Ben quipping, “ask him to move his car!”). He did play some music too, a pretty wedding song ditty and a tape loop accompanied final number of summery indie pop, during which he also overlaid his own vocal percussion a la Gaz Brookfield! Had a wander around after this decent set, running into “2000 Trees”/ “Shiiine On” buddy Mel and his charming partner Tammy, before meeting up with Jeremy again, halfway back house left, for main support Jim Lockey and the Solemn Sun. I’d anticipated some folky punky shenanigans from this veteran lot, but opener “Conditional Love” was instead an expansive, chunky and emotive rocker with a naggingly familiar big choral hook. This set the tone for their set, with brooding, bass driven verses building to hooky, harmonic terrace chant level choruses, with myriad rock references for me (an early slower number recalled the strum of 80’s faves The Big Dish, one number resembled the bolshy arena rock of “Only Revolutions”-era Biffy Clyro, and “Medicine” for me even had shades of latter-day Mega City Four!). I liked them fine; should have liked them better, but I just found it a bit safe, formulaic I guess, with final number “You And I” even coming across like “Wonderwall”, albeit with a better chorus!

Grabbed some air outside with Matt and Liz, then we rejoined Jeremy in the now-rammed venue just before Frank took the stage, solo and prompt at 9 p.m., leading the raucous singalong of “The Ballad Of Me And My Friends”, the enthusiastic crowd already giving it full beans on the, “definitely going to hell!” line. The Sleeping Souls joined him onstage during the slow build of “Prufrock”, then “I Still Believe” saw Frank asking for a call and response from the crowd, The Man deadpanning at its conclusion, “you know we’ve been building up to one big [gig] number… and this is it! 2,998!” 

A warm-up for the Saturday biggie this might be, but Frank set to his task as usual, laying out the ground rules (and being amused at the audience chanting back Rule 1 – “don’t be a dickhead!”) then attacking the set with his trademark vim, venom and kinetic fervour – this also despite twisting his ankle a couple of days ago! A couple of newer numbers from last year’s “Undefeated” (“we’re technically still touring [it]”, according to Frank) in frantic, first-pumping “No Thank You For The Music” and the more ebullient “Girl From The Record Shop” preceded a quite astonishing early double; firstly came the raw, bilious and still horribly relevant “1933”, then, after Frank introduced home-town drummer, “Make-A-Wish winner, Callum from Frome!” the happily-restored “I Am Disappeared” was my absolute set highlight, haunting and elegiac, with the stark piano accompaniment adding to its grandeur. Heartbreaking and hopeful in equal measure.

The snaking Thin Lizzy dual riffery of “Haven’t Been Doing So Well” was an abrupt mood-changer, then the impassioned “Plain Sailing Weather”, with its full-on angst-ridden emo outro, was utterly tremendous, almost – almost – topping “Disappeared” for me. An acoustic interlude saw Frank comment, “it’s 2025, and the world just keeps getting shitter!” before an exhortation for kindness and decency, underlined by the plaintive “Be More Kind”. As if to illustrate his point, a punter fainted behind us shortly afterwards, immediately being given attention by the quick-acting venue medics (well done folks) and being ushered outside for some air, ironically as an unaware Frank was running through “Recovery”! A circle pit for “Photosynthesis” ended the set proper, after which a widescreen and anthemic “Polaroid Picture” and the full-on-punk thrash of “Four Simple Words” highlighted the encore, following a quite brilliant showing. If this is just the warm-up, then, wow, Saturday’s going to be off the charts…

My companions headed out and I wandered to the front, more in hope than expectation, but promoter Kieran saw me from the wings and sorted out Franks’ own list for me. Chap! Chatted to Ed and Linda outside under the awning, then, as the car park egress was considerably slower than usual, I chanced my arm around backstage, a short wait being rewarded with a bit of face time with Frank himself, my taking the opportunity to show him my epic photo of Logan crowdsurfing during Frank’s “2000 Trees” set last year! A breakneck blast back saw me home at half past midnight, eagerly awaiting The Big One on Saturday…

 And it duly arrived… we set off for the lengthy shlep over to Ally Pally at 3.30 after Logan’s driving lesson, making reasonable time actually, despite a 3-stop strategy (blaming over-hydration in my morning gym sesh for that!), then hiking breathlessly up the hill from the car park to join the queue at 6.15, grabbing some duck wraps for tea on arrival into the large entrance hall. Into the massive Great Hall for 6.55, for openers The Meffs, a primitive punkish 2-piece featuring a female vocalist/ guitarist with an impressive mullet. Beloved of Frank, they sounded to my vintage ears like a lot of those old second division 70’s early punk bands, Model-ling Shapes and Drone-ing on…! An early, bolshy and growling cover of Prodigy’s “Breathe” and their own Ramones-esque “Stand Up Speak Out” were my highlights of an energetic and spirited performance, if one-dimensional musically. 

Ran into old friends Terry and Rich and their respective better halves afterwards – not seen Rich in particular for years! Swapped news before popping back into our spot, house left, for The Lottery Winners. A band I’d been meaning to check out for some time (indeed, a band who I saw waaay back in 2016 on a Wonder Stuff undercard (gig 981), shamefully being too preoccupied with a conversation with Mr. Russ Hunt to pay proper attention), their opener “Worry” was pleasant breezy indie-Britpop, like a moodier Lightning Seeds, and the subsequent “Turn Around” a knockabout bit of audience participation fun, vocalist and hyper-ball of energy Thom Rylance remarking at the end, “that was the best experience I’ve ever had onstage!” However, just as I was close to dismissing them as flimsy throwaway indie chancers, “Letter To Myself” totally put me in my judgemental place; a paean of self-affirmation from the vocalist to his 12-year old former self, this was plaintive and uplifting in equal measure, and featured a superb harmonic hook-laden chorus. Tune! They had me after that; “we love Frank and want to follow his work ethic, [but] this is our 3001^st show so he needs to pull his fucking socks up!” quipped Rylance before the big anthemic hook of “Start Again”, his nervous enthusiasm and onstage banter infectious, then closer “Burning House” was another buoyant and annoyingly catchy piece of Shiiiny happy pop, earning a deserved ovation from Frank’s massive. Great stuff!

I nipped out to get Logan a drink, then lost him to the impending mosh just before the lights dimmed and a 4-digit counter appeared on the backdrop, ticking up to No. 3,000 to huge cheers… predictable, but a nice touch of theatre. Then Frank appeared, solo again… straight into the manifesto-setting and roof-raising “Ballad Of Me And My Friends”, welcoming on the band for the subsequent “Prufrock” and again coaxing a mass singalong from the 10,000 strong Frank Turner All-Inclusive All-Voice Choir for “I Still Believe”, it becoming apparent that we were following a very similar list pattern to Frome’s on Wednesday… 

So it transpired; the set was in fact exactly the same as per Frome, gig no. 2,998 clearly passing muster as prep for the big 3-oh oh oh. The obvious difference was, whereas 800 of us hardy souls were singing back on Wednesday, this time it was the full 10,000, creating a joyous, inclusive and participatory atmosphere, underlined of course by Frank’s own passionate performance, plus his usual gig rules of enjoyment but not at others’ expense, and singing along whenever possible. “I’ve been looking forward to this sentence for a while… welcome to show Three Thousand!” announced the ebullient Frank to a massive ovation, before the frantic hoedown of “Try This At Home” segued seamlessly into the expansive and anthemic “Next Storm”.

That mid-set salvo of “1933”, “Disappeared” (again my set highlight tonight) and “Plain Sailing Weather” were as savage and heartbreaking as last time; then after Frank commented, “I love [Ally Pally]; it’s the only non-Royal Palace in the UK!”, a poignant and emotional (and difficult to sing, according to Frank) “Somewhere In Between” was another brilliant highlight, recalling the widescreen hook of American Hi-Fi’s classic “Wall Of Sound”. The solo interlude showcased a lovely “Be More Kind”, the audience holding phone lights aloft and prompting Frank to comment, “it’s beautiful – and cheaper than how Coldplay do it!”; then my slightly breathless son returned from mosh duty, Logan deciding to take an extreme right barrier spot instead, and I joined him for the set denouement of “Recovery” (again ironic as Logan was still getting his breath back after his mosh outing!) and closer “Photosynthesis”.

“3,000 Shows!” announced Frank again during the encore, “There are people who’ve done more – John Otway, Blue Oyster Cult… [but] we’ll keep coming around if you keep having us!” On this form, Frank… yeah, we will! Final number “Four Simple Words” saw Frank launch into the mosh for one final punk rock celebration and also saw us miss the confetti shower and band pic from the stage, as we headed off halfway through to beat the rush. This nearly backfired as we took the wrong turning out of the venue, but still cleared the car park in short order, onto the North Circular 15 minutes after getting in the motor, home just after 1 am. So, two excellent Frank Turner shows as expected, and I’m glad we were there to Celebrate the Milestone with The Man. That in particular was, as expected, a proper and triumphant Tribal Gathering!

 

 

1,368 BOO RADLEYS, KEELEY, Bristol Exchange, Wednesday 12th February 2025

I have a very fond memory from my 30^th birthday, of hurling myself into a Portuguese villa swimming pool to the stereo accompaniment of the Boo Radleys’ newly-released single “Wake Up Boo!” Ah, that Summer… that track, and the subsequent “Wake Up!” album completed an about-turn for me with the Boos, from a less than favourable first impression, and I subsequently caught them 3 times “live” that year, as the ubiquitous “Wake Up Boo!” became The Tune That Ate Daytime Radio, and a proper millstone around the band’s neck. Nonetheless, “Wake Up!” itself is a clear, varied and melodic collection of 60’s turned 90’s Beatles-esque pop which, despite lacking the widescreen majesty of its’ predecessor “Giant Steps”, still sounds fresh today, unlike a lot of other stuff from that era (the totally wrong Beatles-referencing band went massive in the 90’s, as far as I’m concerned!). So, a tour from the recently ¾-reformed Boos celebrating that, plus the murkier and more difficult psych-pop follow-up “C’mon Kids”? OK then! 

Another reason for coming along was the addition of Bristol-domiciled shoegaze and indie student Keeley and her ubiquitous band to the bill (and indeed the whole tour!), the Keelster making an early bid for my most-seen artist of 2025, with 3 gigs already this nascent gigging year! So, an early departure was called for, following some offspring persuasion with Rach still in hospital (the price of a kebab was all it took!), and I barrelled down the M4, hitting slow traffic on the way into the city but parking opposite the Exchange just after 10 past 7. No need for such an early start, though, as Keeley were still soundchecking! Grabbed a front spot, house left, when doors eventually opened, and greeted Keeley and the boys on their way to the stage for their 7.55 start. Straight into the psych riffery of opener “Last Words” and the tough, plangent intro and intricate fretwork of “Inga Hauser” and it was evident that the extra sound checking was time well spent, as they sounded splendid and easily the best of the recent 3 shows; full, strident and purposeful, with Keeley’s low, resonant vocals again leading the charge. A quartet of new numbers formed the mid-set, “Crossing Lands” possibly my favourite tonight with its pacey, bass-driven gallop, but the thoroughly absorbing metronomic thrill-ride of “Trans Europe 18”, happily restored to the set tonight, was again my highlight. “Who was here for Desperate Journalist?” enquired bassist Lukey, playfully following up with, “what did you think of the first band?” Pretty good, Lukey mate, but much better tonight! 

Chatted with fellow front row punters Gaye and Eddie, Eddie confessing “C’mon Kids” was his favourite Boos album! So, he was buoyed when the set-lists went down onstage, tonight’s entertainment promising a scattergun selection between that and “Wake Up!”, rather than a formal start-to-finish run-through. However, and opposite to Keeley, the Boos initially struggled with the sound mix; very bass and drum dominated from my spot, and needing more of Louis’ guitar and Sice’s pure choirboy vocals, with openers “C’mon Kids” and “It’s Lulu” sadly lacking a bit of punch for me. Didn’t stop me dancing along though, and, happily, the sound improved when Sice resorted to his acoustic guitar for the languid change-of-pace “Melodies For The Deaf”. By then, they’d already dispensed with “Wake Up Boo!” and Sice had again proven an entertaining, laconic frontman, bantering with a couple of (rather annoying actually) Everton fans about tonight’s Mersey derby, and dissing the singing bush on “The Masked Singer” for demolishing the aforementioned “Wake Up Boo!”

Despite my usual preference for more upbeat numbers, The Boo Radleys tonight were better with the sound down, the hushed and plaintive “Reaching Out From Here” a prime example of this, with drummer Rob Ceika applying delicate brush strokes rather than big bashes. Sice observed, ““C’mon Kids” was a great album but a bitch to pick singles from!” before a rather lovely “Everything Is Sorrow”; “Joel” was also a mid-set highlight, its pastoral opening ceding into a libidinous psych-groove; and “Ride The Tiger” an understated delight, with a “Man Who Sold The World” opening riff leading into a loose-limbed, almost tribal vibe. But tonight’s highlight was reserved for last; after the gregarious and personable Sice thanked all and sundry, set closer “Stuck On Amber”, the more melancholic and introspective outlier on the otherwise buoyant “Wake Up!” album, was conversely the best and most euphoric and joyous sounding number of the night, the final crescendo bringing an improving set to a quite excellent conclusion.

An easy list and farewell to Eddie, before a chat with the Keeley folks at the merch stand preceded a difficult run out of Bristol, the bottom half of the M32 shut again. Bah! Still, the kids were fine, kebabs duly despatched, so a successful night all round. Boo Radleys (and Keeley)…C‘mon Up!

1,367 DU BLONDE, BIGFATBIG, Bristol Thekla, Sunday 2nd February 2025

I’ve been waiting awhile for this one… Sunderland indie powerpop duo Bigfatbig announced themselves in a huge way onto my Gig Radar back in November 2022, an utterly stellar and ebullient set on the undercard of fellow North-Easterners Martha signalling their arrival. Since then, I’d been scouring the gig guides (metaphorically speaking these days, of course) for more BFB shows “down South”, but, aside from a brief tour calling in Oxford last Autumn, on a night where I already had a double-gig clash (!), opportunities were scarce, until their announcement as tour support of Du Blonde, the current musical incarnation of multimedia artist Beth Jeans Houghton. I know very little of Mx. Houghton, so this was a case of Du Who? for me… I’m there to support the support, and if the headliner is any good as well, then that’s a bonus!

A swift and easy drive down got me parked and queued up just before 7, in time to ask a passing Robyn, BFB’s charming vocalist, what their stage time was. The reply confused me a little; “about 10 past 8, and then 9!” but all would be revealed… grabbed a spot down the front, house left, and chatted to fellow punters Ian and Hilly, who were as up for the headliners as I was for the support! Recent gig friend Jeremy arrived and joined in the chat, before Robyn, guitarist oppo Katie, and their touring rhythm section hit the stage. And hit it hard! Opener, “ Reason Season Lifetime” from their excellent 2024 “Rippin’ It” EP, set the tone for the set, a soaring and upbeat indie banger with a choral hook big enough to land a whale with, and a mid-song acceleration over a secondary hook, delivered with effervescence, ebullience and charisma to throw away by Robyn, already high kicking and stomping away for all she was worth. The in-your-face punky snark of “Shut Up” followed the gregarious Robyn announcing, “this is the show we were most looking forward to!” also informing us that The Thekla itself was once moored in Sunderland, “so we’ve got a connection!”

Bigfatbig aren’t about reinventing the wheel or pushing the boundaries of rock; it’s standard upbeat buoyant indie-pop fayre with a powerpoppy rush overlaid for good measure, but their 2 key strong differentiating factors are the ridiculously infectious earworm nature of their often huge, repetitive choruses, and without doubt, the sheer gleeful enthusiasm with which they approach their task. Simply put, they’re having an absolute ball onstage, compelling you to do the same thing! “Fine”, my favourite off that “Rippin It” EP, was just brilliant, the slight melancholy air of the verse blown away by the huge dynamism of the choral hook, and “Nothing” (“about not going to work, as it’s just fucking boring!”) preceded Robyn also introducing their touring bassist as a last-minute replacement, the usual twanger not being able to get time off work (“that’s the least punk rock thing ever!” according to Robyn). The dark, frantic, almost emo choral hook of “Inbetween” preceded the band promising to be back very soon, before the huge beetle-crushing grungy stomper of “Don’t Wanna Be Sad” rounded off a breathless and rather superb set. If they’re back soon, then so am I! 

It became a little more crowded down the front, but I held my spot, as the reason for Robyn giving their stage times as “8… and 9!” (and promising to hang out at the merch after Du Blonde’s set) became clear… The Du Blonde “live” line-up were Bigfatbig, plus an additional curly, shock-haired red leathered guitarist who immediately gave me serious Poison Ivy Rorschach (Cramps) vibes, plus of course Du Blonde themselves, who was a pony-tailed, weirdly made-up and strutting figure with a husky, low register vocal and, despite not possessing the sheer unadulterated chutzpah of their support act, still an engaging performer. Opener “Perfect” was a moody, mid-paced Weezeresque emo number, with an early “Dollar Coffee” a more upbeat slab of chunky powerpop and “Solitary Individual” a rather fine and flippant Blondie/ Kim Wilde new wave track. A mid-set acoustic break then featured a rather lovely actually slow-burn break-up song, and a Torres-like parched Americana number with a mid-song hiccup which nonetheless didn’t faze the confident singer. 

The descending guitar line of the punkish “Blame” saw the band return, then “Ducky Daffy” was a snappy “Buddy Holly”-alike, again mining that Weezer seam, before some slower burn numbers to round things off, the plaintive and insular yet anthemic “Metal Detector” a lighters-aloft best-of-set for me. Beth left us with an odd analogy (“this boat is like the Guardians Of The Galaxy; we’re all in it together!”) and a stompy powerpop closer “TV Star”, to end a better-than-expected set from an odd yet intriguing talent. I then grabbed a chat and pic with Robyn and Katie at the merch stand afterwards, before bidding farewell to Jeremy and heading back to the ‘don for 11. Overall, a splendidly fun night from a couple of fine acts, but Bigfatbig won the day for me by some distance. Well worth the wait, and hopefully the first of many!

1,366 MIKI BERENYI TRIO, Shoun Shoun, KEELEY, Bristol Golden Lion, Thursday 30th January 2025

 

A fine double-header for me, this, albeit one which took a late call to get me to… I’d already booked tix for the April CD release show at Rough Trade for “My Shoegaze Queen”, Miki Berenyi, formerly of late 80’s jagged Muses acolytes turned 90’s shimmering pioneers and proponents of the aforementioned genre, Lush, having been intrigued and entertained both by previous sightings of her new Trio, plus the first single from said new CD, the bubbling cauldron of “8^th Deadly Sin”. Plus I’d of course seen striking Irish chanteuse Keeley Moss’ eponymous pretenders to said Shoegaze throne last time out with Desperate Journalist, and will be doing so again next month on the Boo Radleys tour! However, old gig buddy Beef texted me asking if I was up for it, so I thought, slow January, good night out pretty much guaranteed, why the heck not?! 

A slight spanner was thrown in the works with Rachel’s brief hospitalisation to fight a lung infection, however the promise of a Chinese takeaway quelled any objections from my kids, so Beef picked me up at 5.45 for a trip up Bristol’s Gloucester Road for the first time since the 80’s Tropic days (!), to a new (to me) yet old-school pub back-room venue. Compact and bijou, this; no wonder it sold out! Wouldn’t take much! Keeley’s affable bassist Lukey wandered through for a chat, then we grabbed some words with Miki on the merch stand, as well as the Keelster, plus Guy, a fellow punter who claimed to have read a lot of my blog! Nice! Eventually headed into the already well-packed venue, squirming into a spot near the front for Keeley, on at 8.15. Apparently, tech issues had prompted a late rejig to the planned set, and certainly Keeley’s usually rich, strident and determined vocals were lower in the mix than at The Exchange (Keeley asking for more mic reverb), but the sound was generally good for a small, packed and sweaty back room. The dramatic sweep of “Inga Hauser” opened, with newie “Trains And Daydreams” a hazier 60’s jangle and the excellent “Hungry For The Prize” a more overt hooky number with some strident glam guitar. The penultimate “Arrive Alive” was my set highlight, a soaring indie banger with a late 80’s Popguns feel, before the slow burn intro of the rarely played “Echo Everywhere” built to a lugubrious and absorbing reverb/ feedback-drenched outro to close out a brief, slightly different but still intriguing set from Keeley and the boys.

A brief chat with Keeley plus her friend Una, who’d travelled from Cork for the gig. Beats our little shlep down the M4 from the ‘don, hands down! Shoehorned my way back in for Shoun Shoun, next up; I recalled quite enjoying them before (gig 1,205), and initially some eerie, pseudo Gothy stripped back stuff and angular rhythm changes, recalling Siouxsie and Polly Jean’s early works, held my attention. However, a distinct lack of discernible tuneage, some violin-related tech issues, the stuffiness of the venue and the general craziness of my day (I’d had a gym PT session as well as being up the hospital with Rach) saw me head back to the bar for sanctuary. The sound eventually got sorted out for Shoun Shoun, but by then they’d lost their momentum for me, so out I stayed. Not their day today. Overlong, too… 

Beef eventually emerged for a breather, and we then wandered back in for Miki and her troops just after 10, unfortunately having to make do with a spot near the back as the place was so packed. She opened with a tale of woe, their booking agency having gone into liquidation owing them a shedload for gigs, but thanked the crowd, “for coming and buying merch” before fulsome, New Order-esque and drum-machine propelled opener “Hurricane”, followed by the touching gossamer weave of Lush oldie “For Love”, Miki’s high register vocals leading the way over a fine-sounding layered mix. The slower, more elegiac “Vertigo” was an early highlight, and the angular rhythms of newie “Gango” was overlaid with some strident jagged guitar riffs. “8^th Deadly Sin” continued it’s pulsating promise, however by then I was feeling very tired and the new material was weaving a hazy, comforting yet soporific blanket of sound around me, which coupled with the heat in the room and rigours of my day left me feeling a bit faint, so I took refuge in the bar and a chat with/ vent to a sympathetic ear belonging to esteemed Keeley drummer Andrew Paresi. Wandered back in for early Lush classic, the angular and dissonant “Baby Talk”, plus an unplanned and slightly drum-machine submerged yet welcome snarky Britpop-era “Ladykillers”, because, “you’re all fucking great!” according to our Shoegaze Queen. The feeling’ mutual, Miki, shame I couldn’t do the set full justice tonight…

Quick farewells with Keeley and her boys before we hit the road, back just after midnight after an easy run home. A slight trial of endurance for me then, this one, but despite needing to take a couple of breaks, I’m glad I squeezed this one in. Hopefully though, I’ll pay more attention to both Keeley and Miki next time!