1,375 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, Ricky Warwick and the Fighting Hearts, Bristol O2 Academy, Friday 21st March 2025

 

Tale as old as time… or at least one as familiar as old socks! Every year the SLF tour is announced, every year a thought flits through my mind saying, maybe it’s time to pack this in, pop this tradition on the shelf after a couple of decades… yet pretty much every year I find a reason to go. This time it was its’ very familiarity that gave me the impetus; after initially hesitating, I then considered that, given the awful events of late last year with my wife’s cancer diagnosis (which happily seems to be responding to the prescribed treatment), a familiar night out in the company of old friends, singing along raucously to some equally familiar anthemic old school punk, might be just the ticket. So, my Chrimbo list ultimately included one Fingers Brizzle ticket, and “Mad March to Bristol” Take 17 (in 21 years, and 22^nd SLF gig overall) was on…!

As the date arrived, however, I unfortunately wasn’t the only one in need of some familiarity; my long-time best mate and constant “Mad March” gig buddy Rich sadly lost his dad in the preceding week. Gratifyingly, Rich took the same stance that I did after hitting the gig trail a couple of days after my mother’s passing, insofar as doing something that gives life meaning and value, such as “live” music always seems to do for me, is the best way to honour those passed. I therefore picked The Big Man up, also scooping up old school friend and, astonishingly, SLF first timer Keith on the way for a swift drive down before the M4 shut at 7. In the venue, we toasted to the memory of Rich’s dad, before taking our usual house left spot on the fringes of the anticipated mosh area (this becomes a bit more relevant later!) for openers, SLF main man Jake Burns’ old mate Ricky Warwick and his Fighting Hearts. The hard-hitting and hard-rocking opener set the tone, with strong-armed US rock riffery overlaid by Warwick’s Phil Lynott-esque delivery (no surprise, that, given I saw him fronting an ersatz Lizzy line-up at the Meca, many moons ago – gig 819!) and lyrical references to “roads to ragged ruin” and “angels of desolation”. Some musical nods to Thin Lizzy as well, in a later “new” number, and I also liked both the tinges of Gaslight Anthem in the singalong “oh-oh”s of “When Patsy Cline Was Crazy”, albeit shot through an Aerosmith rather than Springsteen filter, and the ragged cover of old US punker Johnny Thunders’ “Born To Lose”. Overall, though, this was earnest music to spit tobacco and ride Harleys to, which whilst palatable, wasn’t my thing.

Took a loo break and bumped into Rach’s old friends and fellow “Shiiiners” Duncan and Rick, also popping their SLF cherries tonight (Duncan exclaiming this as his first “punk rock show!”), before shoehorning my way back to our now very crowded spot. If this wasn’t a sell-out on the night, it was damn close… The Greatest Intro Music in Rock, the pounding drums and soaring “diddly-doo!” singalong of “Go For It” saw the imposing girth of Jake Burns lead the band onstage at 9, greeting us as ever with a cheery “Bristol, how you doing? Y’allright?” then hurtling into opener “Roots Radicals Rockers and Reggae”, the buoyant and engaged crowd lustily chanting back the “Go For It!” hook, the band then segueing seamlessly into the dramatic drumroll opening of “At The Edge”, followed again in equally short order by a venomous “Wasted Life”. Not fucking about tonight, this lot…!

Thankfully, momentum was maintained; despite going off-piste with some mid-set song choices, Stiff Little Fingers delivered one of their better performances of recent times and ended their tour (tomorrow’s London date notwithstanding) on a real high. An excellent “Strummerville” preceded “story time” from Jake, explaining the sleazy slum lord ancestry of “the greatest spoiled brat the world has ever seen!”, i.e. the orange buffoon incumbent of the White House, a pointed newie “Mary’s Boy Child” (no, not that one) hammering the point home that, “Mary’s parenting skills were shite!” An unexpected “Straw Dogs” nearly saw me joining the mosh, but, after an unexpected deep cut of a fine “Piccadilly Circus” and a diatribe about looking out for each other’s mental health prior to “My Dark Places”, I was eventually swept in thanks to a flurry of big blokes piling past me for “Nobody’s Hero”, detaching me from my crew. So, why the fuck not? Thereafter, the rest of the set for me was an object lesson in staying upright in the hectic mosh, grabbing on to folks for dear life (including my old punk buddy Plum!), and blasting out the lyrics of “Hero”, a brilliantly widescreen “Tin Soldiers”, a savage “Suspect Device” and unexpected set closer “Gotta Getaway” into fellow moshers’ faces, and having them shouted back with equal conviction. Nice!

Rakish bassist Ali McMordie then addressed us “old scrots, like us!”, also noting some younger fans amongst the crowd, before the first encore of “Barbed Wire Love” saw me finding Rich for our traditional mid-song doo-wop waltz. “Alternative Ulster” ended a breathless (quite literally from my mosh position!) and redemptive set, the band taking a deserved bow, then a relatively easy setlist and a pause for breath got us back in the car in short order to tackle a less arduous than expected diversion, home just after midnight, late kebab tea in tow. “Thanks, that was just what I needed,” said The Big Man as I dropped him off, although the feeling tonight was entirely mutual. The tale continues…