1,391 PULP, Birmingham Utilita Arena, Thursday 19th June 2025

 

February 1986, and I’m visiting my friend Craig Gurney for one of many drunken post-adolescent weekends at his Sheffield Polytechnic Halls of Residence. Before we hit the snowy bus stop to get me on my train journey home, he suggests I listen to a new release from a local band he picked up on; “it’s a bit Scott Walker-ish, I think you’ll like it…” Sure enough, I was captivated by the mournful, hushed tones, widescreen orchestral feel and slightly risque choral lyric, and hunted down my own copy on my return to the ‘don. The track? “Little Girl (With Blue Eyes)”. That local band? Pulp…

I was a Pulp aficionado then, hooked from there, following them on their musical odyssey from lush Walker-esque 60’s B-Movie soundtrack auteurs, through morose disco-tinged Krautrock/ Moroder acolytes, to “World of Twist-like pop divas with a touch of Oxfam glam kitsch”, as I’d described them when I first saw them, at the Oxford Jericho Tavern pub upstairs room in May 1992 (gig 210). Pulp gigs then were, sadly, few and far between and mainly oop North, that Oxford gig not only being the first time I saw them, but the first time the band had ventured that far down South! However, that tour and the subsequent brilliant, defining triad of singles in “OU”, “Babies” and “Razzmatazz”, heralded the start of a significant upturn in their activities and fortunes, culminating in that legendary 1995 Glasto headlining slot, and the adoption of their irresistible anthem “Common People” as the soundtrack for the thinking man’s version of Britpop, i.e. not the laddish “Loaded” misogynistic one. Blur vs. Oasis… who won? Pulp did…

Their early 2000’s breakup saw them disappear from my “Dance Card” (7 not out – usually fun, and one time, gig 233, where we shared their garlic bread!), subsequent “slight returns” being either too big, too outdoors, too expensive or sold out too quick. However, earlier this year Jarvis Cocker and his charges once again decided to poke their heads above the parapet, not only announcing some arena dates but also a new album in “More”, their first for a near-quarter century. This time the stars aligned, and I got myself and my Pulp fan lady wife tix. So, a shlep up to Birmingham was called for, and we hit the road in what we thought was enough time to hit the City Centre Arena venue in more than good time for Pulp’s unsupported start time of 8 p.m.. Wrong on 2 counts, as not only did ma-hoosive queues and rubber-neckers turn our shlep into an arduous 3-hour stop-start slog, but on arrival at 7.30, we parked up on level 13 of the car park (!) and were then confronted with a similarly ma-hoosive queue going down the road and doubling back before the usual cattle corral into the venue, taking us over half an hour to get in, and from there (after a totally unnecessary double-search and wristband) ushered to the back of the floor before we even could take a viewing spot (in deference to my wife, a less crowded one house centre, a few yards behind the mixing desk)! So my hackles were already raised… Jarvo and co. had better be top-notch after this palaver…

Luckily for us the start was delayed, albeit not by much as the lights dropped at 8.10 and a symphonic synth swell was overlaid with a robotic female announcer, intoning solemnly, “this is an evening you’ll remember for the rest of your lives…” maybe, but for the wrong reasons so far, bucko… However, a blue spotlight picked out the unmistakeable silhouettes of the remaining 4 “Britpop” era Pulp members, Jarvis then leaving the cut-outs of his colleagues to descend the stage centre stairs whilst singing the opening to mid-paced newie “Spike Island”, the sound already pretty good and sorted for such a huge room.

Kudos to Pulp; they well and truly threw the kitchen sink at it tonight. Augmented by what looked like half an orchestra, backing singers and complementary slideshow backdrops, they well and truly delivered the “More” that they felt folk were clamouring for. That said, for me the new album is kitsch Britpop-era Pulp-by-numbers at best, throwaway and rather dull at worst, so for me the first hour-long set, based primarily on these numbers, was ok, nothing more. Sure, we had the Nations 90’s favourite vaguely smutty uncle cum (sic) befuddled Uni lecturer Jarvis in good deadpan form, entertaining more for me with his between song stories of Sheffield Limit club in the 80’s (“you could find your limit – on hygiene in the toilets…”) and feeling old at 33 when he wrote the languid “Help The Aged”(an early feature) than with his oft-murmured conversational vocals and vogue-ish stick insect shape-throwing. We got “Disco 2000” too, the roof-raising singalong my first set-highlight by some considerable distance, but for me that first hour was mostly excellently played versions of quite average material, and I hoped for more (but not more “More”, necessarily…!) after the intermission…

We got it – and how! Hopes were raised with a mid-break audience poll choice of additional track, won convincingly by “Razzmatazz” (yay!), then on resumption, the 4 core Pulp-ers snuck through the curtains, Jarvis relating how they’d rehearsed for this tour in a Peak District living room, then creating that vibe with a lovely, stripped back “Something Changed”. Then following a dark, macabre “The Fear”, a real gem in the tremendous building chorus and dismissive “yeah, yeah yeah yeah-eah”’s of a wonderful set-highlight “OU”, taking me right back to those Jericho days. The underhand perversity and startling chorus of “Razzmatazz” was duly delivered, before the brooding Doors-like keys and twitchy curtain sleaze of “Acrylic Afternoons”, then Rachel’s highlight, a joyously careering “Do You Remember The First Time?” preceded by Jarvis relating his first time in Birmingham; “The Hibernian, 26 May 1992!” Hmm, that Jericho gig, my first time, was 3 days later… The strident 70’s Motown pastiche of “Got To Have Love” (the best track on “More” for me and, conversely, the only newie selected for this stellar second set) was followed by the plaintive and lovely “Babies”, happily completing that Gift recordings triad “live” tonight. But, this being a Pulp gig, things were building up to one inevitable thing… 

Yup, that’s right, an early departure! Rach was understandably feeling the pace of a big gig and a difficult journey and, cognisant of our car park spot, I’d chatted up a friendly steward who ushered us through the nearest exit to our car park on the opening pulsing notes of final set number “Common People”. It’s OK, heard it about a zillion times, and it was never going to approach “OU” for me, or “First Time” for Rach… We were out of the venue at 10.30, the car park lickety split, and on the M5 20 minutes later, home for ¼ past midnight. Even half of “Common People” and I reckon we’d have been at least an hour later… So, a well played first set, a quite magnificent second one delving back to the Pulp I love (d), and overall Jarvo and co. in great form, making up for the journey and venue issues and living up to that Sheffield Poly discovery legacy. “More” we wanted; and more we got!

 

1,390 VISION VIDEO, The Pink Diamond Revue, Bristol Louisiana, Monday 16th June 2025

 

“Impressive stuff from a band I’d happily pay cash money to see in their own right…” That was my first-sight summary comment on Athens, GA. goth/ post punkers Vision Video following their rather impressive turn supporting the Chameleons at a freezing Bristol Marble Factory last December (gig 1,360). Subsequent to that, their excellent 2024 “Modern Horror” album (picked up at that gig) not only featured on heavy rotation in the car, but also in the upper reaches of my Top Ten albums for 2024. Despite the artwork and lyricism imagery being full-on 80’s schlock-horror Batcave, their sound on CD is a properly intriguing melting pot of 80’s influences, with the driving synth influences of New Order and Depeche Mode, the stately widescreen choral work of The Bunnymen and even the melancholy craftsmanship of Talk Talk rubbing shoulders with the more obvious touchstones of early Cure’s breathless gallop and Bauhaus’ art school menace; but ultimately, similar to loose goth-tinged contemporaries Desperate Journalist and Ist Ist, Vision Video sound fresh, vital, modern and most like… well, themselves…

 So yes, I was definitely up for keeping my promise, so when Dusty Gannon, Vision Video lead vocalist/ guitarist and self-styled “Goth Dad” decided to bring his charges over for a small UK club tour, I booked up for this one, intrigued to see how the imposing Gannon would manage to fit his sheer strident force of personality into the tiny confines of the Louie upstairs room! So, a sunny and hot early Summer evening saw me don my “I Melt With You” t-shirt (seemed appropriate; this promised to be a hot one!) and hoy it down the M4, parking up at 7.30, picking up the 2 earlier VV CDs, then joining a milling throng of young goths and older first-time-rounders upstairs. Openers The Pink Diamond Revue were on at 8, kicking off with some migraine-inducing taped sheet metal synth noise, over which a rock veteran resplendent in white jacket and gold trousers overlaid subterranean riffs channelling NYC proto-punk sleaze rockers Suicide. Not for me, though, so after a couple of numbers I hi-tailed it outside to take in some cooling evening air.

Back in for about ¼ to 9, taking a spot centre stage a couple of rows back, surrounded by a plethora of goth women of all ages. Vision Video’s visual appeal is pretty obvious, it seems… Sure enough, the frankly unfairly handsome Gannon, all done up in white-faced Batcave chic (apparently modelled on 80’s Batcave regulars Specimen’s Olli Wisdom, a point Gannon was happy to concede during a lengthy and entertaining post-gig conversation) led his 3-piece (striking goth keyboardist Angelica and rock-star skinny drummer Ryan completing the line-up) onstage, then ripping into the dark, macabre moody rock of opener “Dead Gods”, praising Bristol at its’ denouement with, “this is one of my favourite cities in the fucking world!” 

Maybe Vision Video should be called “Carpe Diem”, as so much of their performance and message is about seizing the moment, revelling in the here and now, about community and inclusiveness, and more importantly taking a stand against the horrors of the world outside, but for tonight parking them at the door to immerse in the healing power of goth tinged rock and roll. And in Gannon, they have a man who, on any other planet, would be the Spokesperson for his Generation. Because the man talks more sense than any politician, front-person or social commentator I’ve seen on stage for years. The first of many anti-Trump tirades and spot-on observations about the parlous state of the world came before second number, “Sign Of The Times”, then “Normalised” was a careering and thrilling apocalyptic hell-ride and early highlight. The tense Cure gallop of “Balaclava Kiss” was preceded by Gannon touching on his old firefighter days (“turns out being nihilistic is only cool in movies!”); the widescreen and yearning “Stay” was a hymn to perseverance through life’s difficulties: and after a rather lovely keyboard-led “queer anthem”, the stripped-back Replacements cover “Androgynous”, Gannon introduced another cover with, “who here has heard of the Comsat Angels?” Silly question, my hand went straight up with a, “hell yeah!”, Gannon replying to me with, “there’s always one middle-aged guy!” before the poppy late-period CA cover of “You Move Me”.

“Now we’re gonna dance our asses off!” was the demand thereafter, the melancholy dreampop swirl of “Sirens Song” ceding to a propulsive cover of The Cure’s excellent “Just Like Heaven” and an equally breathless “I Love Cats”. But the best was saved for last tonight; eschewing the pantomime of the encore, the voluble Gannon praised our enthusiasm and called for one last singalong to the New Order-esque bass intro and U2-like hurtling Stadium anthem-in-waiting “In My Side”, ending an utterly tremendous set. 

Quick chats with Angelica (who kindly sorted me a list) and Ryan, whose elastic octopus-limbed performance for me recalled Nada Surf’s extraordinary sticksman Ira Elliott. High praise indeed! Joined a lengthy queue to chat with Mr. Gannon, holding court downstairs, and patience was rewarded with a fun and lengthy brain-dump with The Man, mainly about 80’s music. Hugs and compliments later, I hit the road buzzing about the evening, back to the ‘don just after midnight. A promise very easily kept, this, because in Vision Video we have another band I’d be happy to see again… and again… and again!

1,389 JIMMY EAT WORLD, Les Shirley, Cardiff University Great Hall, Thursday 12th June 2025

 

Quite a throwback, this; a return to the ol’ “Dance Card” for post-Millennial Emo/ powerpop punk survivors Jimmy Eat World, for me for the 15^th time overall but the first since 2019 (gig 1,158), that time being a short hour-long “outstore” blast at Kingston PRYZM to celebrate their then-current (and still most recent) release in “Surviving”. They’d been over since, but their most recent foray, a big Ally Pally headliner no less, had clashed with that year’s “Shiiine On”, so was a nonstarter for us. With no new releases on the horizon, their absence looked set to continue until this, a one-off UK date and ostensibly a warm-up for their Donington Festy appearance the following day, was announced, so I snapped up tix quickly for me and Rach.

Yup, Rachel… in another throwback moment, another recent absentee from my “Dance Card” made a happy return, this being my dear lady wife’s first non-“Shiiine” gig with me since Pete Wylie last March (gig 1,316), for perfectly understandable reasons. And, with a smattering of others booked up in the near future, hopefully this will be the first of many in 2025… So, after bribing the kids with takeaway pizza, we set off for my first bridge crossing in over a year (another throwback!), getting turned around a little on arrival but parking up close by, about 20 past doors. A helpful steward then ushered me and my stairs-averse wife up a lift to the main hall (nice!), and we grabbed a spot halfway back, house right. I took a wander and bumped into recent (and local to this one!) gig buddy Mel and his lovely partner Tammy, Mel sporting the same Spanish Love Songs tee that I had on! Great minds, and all that… a quick chat then, before openers, Les Shirley, on at 8. An all-girl French Canadian power trio, this lot, (the Les then being a plural “the”!), their second number “Sayonara” was an urgent alarm bell jangle with a yelping choral hook, and a fine later “Motherfucker” (apparently!), featured a Smiths-esque guitar intro before plunging into a driving dual vocal attack. That aside, much of the set was fairly generic frantic yet enthusiastically played new millennial pop-punk, with a nice line in banter from the girls (viz. the guitarist plugging their merch as they needed to recoup an expensive dinner the previous night (!), and later giving us weather tips on when to visit their home town of Montreal…). Overall, a decent opener, despite the Stones “Start Me Up” clone, which didn’t impress…

Rach and I then spent the inter-band gap debating whether the “R” on the “Jimmy Eat World” backdrop was a “P” which had been gaffer-taped (!), before the lights plunged at 9 and the ominous click-clack backing track not only heralded the black-clad band onstage, but could only signify one opener – sure enough, vocalist Jim Adkins greeted us with a quick, “what’s up, y’all?” before solemnly intoning the opening verse of the classic “Pain”, the song then erupting into volcanic, purposeful life at the huge fist-pumping chorus. Fellow “Futures” feature “Just Tonight” followed in brilliantly breathless short order, before the jagged “Sweetness”’ huge “whoah-oh” singalong from this sell-out crowd practically took the roof off. Woah, what an utterly searing start! 

An object lesson in audience engagement for starters then from our visitors “from the desert of Arizona!”, but although the blistering pace understandably slowed, the sheer power, emotional intensity and commitment of the performance remained at an absolute top level throughout, “It’s been way too long! You guys are ready for this!” exclaimed Jim incredulously before the herky-jerky rhythm and joyfully affirmative hook of “Big Casino”, an early highlight, the man thereafter advising, “this is going to be a hot one – please hydrate!” An acoustic and rather lovely “Your House” led into a slow-burn and darker mood-changing “Cheating Gets It Faster”; the self-effacing vocalist (“I’m the worst person to give a microphone to!”) then related a story of a fight breaking out at a Belgium gig to the poignant “23” – apparently twice! – before a genuinely emotive version, the guy in front of us hugging his tearful girlfriend throughout; then guitarist Tom Linton took vocal lead for a fist-pumping singalong “Blister”, for me tonight’s brilliant yet horribly prescient highlight, given the National Guard’s current presence in LA – “the West Coast has been traumatized”, indeed…

The elegiac “Hear You Me” was stark and beautiful, before Jim asked, “is everyone rested up now?” the gig thereafter building to an inevitable yet breathtaking triple-whammy; “A Praise Chorus” leading off with its’ undulating thrill-ride, the strident stomp and echoing riff of “Bleed American” following, before “The Middle”’s infectious and inclusive powerpop and twirling middle 8 rounded off the set. Brilliant stuff!

Some sincere words of appreciation from Jim to us loyal long-timers (“and if it’s your first time, I hope we didn’t suck!”) preceded a 2-song encore culminating in a final joyful singalong to “World You Love”. “Don’t it feel like sunshine after all…”, indeed! A brilliant 1½ hour set, then, as good as I’ve seen Jimmy Eat World in ages (if ever…), the only drawback being the Cardiff crowd’s stubborn refusal to form a moshpit. Never mind, I got sweaty enough dancing on my own! Patience and politeness then got me a fortuitous list (yay!), before we bade farewell to Mel and Tammy and headed back to Blighty, home for a shade past midnight. So, a proper throwback, but an utterly stellar one, Jimmy Eat World delivering a vintage performance for what will doubtless feature as one of my top gigs of 2025!

1,388 TONY VISCONTI AND WOODY WOODMANSEY’S HOLY HOLY, Bristol O2 Academy, Friday 30th May 2025

 

So, once again the age-old question rears its’ head… is it a “tribute” band if there’s still one of the original members still on board? And, in this particular instance, do I give a shit either way?!

David Bowie’s “Life On Mars” was the first song which made me prick up my ears at age 7, his music subsequently influencing pretty much every musical phase, genre or type I’d been into since. I got to see the Great Man just the once, in 2003 on his final “Reality” tour (gig 617), for one of the best gigs of my life, and I’ve even attended a couple of Bowie tribute gigs down the years (!). This one, however, was no mere “tribute”, at least in the current “pub back room covers band” sense of the word; featuring a duo of former Bowie backing boys in ex-Spiders From Mars drummer Mick “Woody” Woodmansey, and longtime bassist and producer Tony Visconti, Holy Holy are a “supergroup” ensemble cast dedicated to keeping the works of the original musical innovator, re-inventor and chameleonic genius alive onstage. And starring on vocals was none other than Glenn Gregory, 80’s synth survivors Heaven 17’s stylish frontman lending his delicious baritone to the Thin White Duke’s works. A match made in rock heaven, surely? I snapped up tix for me and my gig buddy son (and increasing rock student, if his frequent plays of Jonathan Richman and The Velvet Underground are anything to go by!) Logan pronto, for what promised to be a proper Bowie celebration…

Mindful of last night’s M4 traffic plus plenty else going on near the O2, we headed off early for an easier than anticipated run, joining the O2 priority queue and getting barrier spots, house right on entry, next to chatty and excitable mother and daughter duo Jude and Liv early doors, then my old friend Ben and his lovely wife Brinda later. Much rock chat ensued, the intended 8.30 start passing by, before the lights dimmed, the photo pit boys popped out (affording us a brief conversation with old friend and lensman maestro Martin), and the 8-piece Holy Holy took the stage to the austere synth strains of Bowie’s “Low” period masterpiece “Warszawa”. Gregory, stylish in black and hastily discarded white sports jacket, sashayed onstage last as the band then burst into the tempo-changing and undulating early deep-cut psych-folk collision of “Width Of A Circle”. He was immediately the focal point, a showman, expansive of gesture and deep and authoritative of voice, but he laudably deflected attention to Messrs. Visconti and Woodmansey (“the last Spider From Mars!”), before announcing, “I’m a massive David Bowie fan – as you all are – but I have the privilege of standing up here with this motherfucker [brandishing his mic]!” 

T'was a privilege he did not squander; relating the story of his first meeting with Visconti who immediately told him, “There’s quite a bit of David in your voice!”, Gregory was the perfect man for this job, leading this virtuoso band through a set happily drawn primarily from Bowie’s utterly flawless 70’s canon. An early, fulsome and muscular “Ziggy Stardust”, the ultimate glam (goth?) anthem, was followed by Gregory incredulously exclaiming, “I can’t wrap my head around that Woody did that [with Bowie] for real!”; “Time”’s off-kilter claustrophobic 30’s music hall staccato cabaret dance was unsettling and sweeping in equal measure; and “Changes” was a quite magnificent early highlight, blending introspective melancholy and anthemic joy. The slightly frail looking Visconti (no surprise, as he’s topping 81!) then took centre stage, having learned “slap bass” for the skewed Neo-New Romanticisms of “Ashes To Ashes”, then the ebullient doo-wop and soaring chorus of “Drive In Saturday” (a number reminding Gregory of a long hot Summer in Sheffield – “yes there was one!” – with his first girlfriend) was another unexpected highlight, and an earworm which remained with me for days afterwards. A lyric slipup from Gregory during the eerie strum of “Space Oddity” necessitated a restart (“just press erase!” he demanded of the phone recorders in the crowd), the man flicking the “V”s at the cheering punters as he nailed the lyric second time around. But the playful mood switched to sombre reflection as, much like “Dreams Of Leaving” during that brilliant Gregory-led Heaven 17 first 2 Human League albums performance (gig 1,189), the elegiac post-apocalyptic “Ziggy” opener “Five Years” was stunning, a lugubrious and haunting build to a climactic rage against the dying of the light, Gregory delivering his best and most expressive vocal of the night. 

The set highlight, however, was reserved for one song and one song only; Gregory shared a painful memory of touring with Holy Holy at the time of Bowie’s death in 2016, Tony Visconti (one of a very small inner circle who knew of the extent of Bowie’s illness) advising that if they carried on, it would be with the Great Man’s blessing; so they did, albeit initially to tearful audiences, particularly for one number… The unmistakeable sole piano note of “Life On Mars” then led into a breathtakingly beautiful version of likely The Greatest Song Ever Written, Woodmansey’s drum build to the skyscraping chorus and that high out-note (nailed perfectly by Gregory) strident and potent, the heartfelt singalong all-inclusive and communal. Wow. You know, just one of those moments when all you can say is… Wow.

The cosmic psych-folk of “Moonage Daydream” rounded off the set proper, Gregory commenting on my “H17 play Reproduction and Travelogue” tee from the aforementioned gig 1,189 as he took the stage for the encore, so I couldn’t resist retorting, “I just love hearing you sing other people’s songs!” The potent backbeat of fist-pumping glam anthem “Rebel Rebel”, featuring a stellar hard-hitting performance from Woodmansey, working over his snare with the vigour of a man a third his 75 years (!), drew the music to a close, although both Visconti and Woodmansey then took centre stage to pay their tributes to their departed friend, and thank we the crowd for keeping his legacy alive. Farewells to our gig companions then, before a friendly roadie sorted me with Gregory’s own list; we then lurked around a brief while in the foyer and were happily rewarded with Mr. Woodmansey himself making an appearance, so we managed a quick word, signature and pics with a true rock’n’roll legend. Result! Late home after midnight with another late kebab tea in tow, but this one was well worth the lost sleep. Bowie’s ground-breaking imprint, influence and sheer force of presence and personality resonates down the years and still permeates through everything that is challenging, innovative and worthwhile in music. And tonight, his old friends and comrades, along with their brilliantly chosen musical companions, did the great man total justice, delivering the ultimate tribute to the ultimate innovator himself; David Bowie!

1,387 SPORTS TEAM, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Thursday 29th May 2025

 

Another of those entertaining Rough Trade “in-Stores”, this, and this time it’s for one of Logan’s favourites, upbeat and swaggering post-millennial indie roustabouts Sports Team. We’d caught them a couple of times in 2022, firstly at our Victorious Festival day trip (gig 1,240) and a month later at this very venue, pushing their then-current album “Gulp” (gig 1,244) and marking Logan’s first ever participation in a moshpit! Unfortunately, we’d not had the chance to catch them since, but as soon as I heard about this one, I remembered that the last such event here had sold out so booked immediately. Good thing too, as tix for this one flew out too, prompting the band to add a matinee as well! 

So, this gig was again in support of a new release; their 3^rd full-length, “Boys These Days” which came out earlier this week. I’d only heard snatches of the new material prior to this gig, particularly leadoff track “I’m In Love (Subaru)” which marks a definite departure from their knockabout Britpop-inflected, slightly trad but catchy upbeat singalong indie, and into a smoother, synth- and saxophone embellished radio-friendly 80’s sound – if I’m feeling kind, I’d say reminiscent of Prefab Sprout or even personal favourites Furniture or Big Dish; if not, Hall And Oates! However, in a current “indie” landscape seemingly smothered by cookie-cutter homogenous shouty and laddish indie landfill bands (Ks, Rosadocs, Lathums, Sherlocks et al), I admire them for trying a different approach, but is this a bit too radical a shift? Would they lose their slightly naughty boy charm in the process? And, most fundamentally of all, would it be any good? Questions, questions… 

Logan and I pondered this whilst listening to the new album on the way down, breaking one of my gigging rules in the process, that being… don’t listen to the band you’re going to see on the way there! Still, t’was Logan’s shout, and it was a pretty decent listen, if lower-key than previous releases, and featuring one particularly startling departure from their previous buoyant and boyish oeuvre (more on that later). So, hopes were buoyed as we hit a practically deserted Rough Trade shop at 6.45 – no wonder, everyone was already in the venue! Had a poke around before joining the crowd at 7.15 and squeezing into a viewing spot halfway back, house right against the side curtain, for a hot and uncomfortable wait. I’d noticed that our CDs, collected on entry, were all pre-signed, but a quick chat with ST bassist Oli Dewdney in the RT café after a last-minute loo dash revealed this was just to save time, as one of the band had to catch the last train without fail to get home for their 5 month old baby, but the band were still doing meet and greet afterwards. So! 

Anyhoops, back in for Sports Team’s onstage arrival at 20 to 8 to the backing track of Meat Loaf’s “Bat Out Of Hell”! Yipe! Nonetheless, they set to their task with their usual vigour and enthusiasm, ultimately packing 9 songs into a performance clocking in at just over 35 minutes! “Gulp” standout “The Drop” opened, then the Woodentopsy rockabilly Wild West vibe of “Bang Bang Bang” saw vocalist Alex Rice don a cowboy hat to deliver the gabbling, galloping lyric. “Apologies for the voice,” he pleaded, “this is the final one of 23 shows in 6 days!” The Violent Femmes-like descending bass of frantic oldie “Camel Crew” saw a circle pit form to our left, so I rather predictably lost Logan at this point; “Subaru” followed, all louche and Sprout-tastic, yet still possessing a big hook sung back by Logan and his mosh cohorts; and Alex requested one last chart push for the new album (“peel off all the “Brit-nominated” stickers and put them on it!”), bigging up Ron Mael-like pianist Ben Mack before the keys-led and expansive, Blur-like new album title track. 

Dynamic and punky oldie “Here’s The Thing” was one final clarion call to arms for the mosh; then Alex thanked the attendees and announced, “one more song”, so I found Logan in the mosh to get him to meet me in the queue, before listening to the closer at the back. Said number, “When I’m 30” was the one I’d alluded to earlier; a real departure, this, all brooding, introspective and moody in both atmosphere and its’ “coming of age” lyricism, building along its early-Pulp-esque length into a symphonic and quite lovely climactic outro. Quite possibly my favourite Sports Team song, then, and a fitting finale to this ST sampler! 

I grabbed an early spot in the queue as my breathless and dishevelled son joined me; a quick chat and pics with a bullish and chatty band later, we were back in the car before 8.30, and home, late tea kebab wraps in tow, before ¼ to 10! Looking forward to getting to know “Boys These Days” better now, which promises to be an admirable new attempt to widen the Sports Team musical brief. Hope it works. Good luck to them!

1,386 IST IST, Oliver Marson, Southampton Joiner's Arms, Thursday 22nd May 2025

 

Happy World Goth Day! And, after a turbulent day today, I was in need of the healing power of some brooding, Goth-adjacent post-punk rock’n’roll from recent find Ist Ist. I’d picked up on their 4^th album “Light A Bigger Fire” last year and caught a splendid rousing performance at Bristol Exchange last October (gig 1,352), which also included a lengthy post-gig chat with knowledgeable bassist and then-birthday boy Andy Keating. So that was enough in itself to shoehorn them onto my gig radar for future tours, especially if any such tours include a gig at likely my favourite current venue, Southampton’s Joiner’s Arms! 

So,, a solo shlep down the M4/ A34 on this sunny Thursday evening got me road-parked up a stone’s throw from the venue about 20 to 8, and in a slightly different house left spot in this evocative old pub back room. I’d been feeling a little, erm, uncomfortable on the drive down, maybe as a result of the day, so I thought a house left spot in easier reach of the, erm, facilities, would be prudent, and so it transpired… Anyhoops, I was in place for opener Oliver Marson at 8. A solo vocalist/ guitarist with a computer full of backing tracks flashing out a very 80’s radio-friendly AOR synth-poppy sound which, when decent, recalled the likes of Tears For Fears, Talk Talk’s chart singles and, most obviously OMD (his “Past Life” being very “Electricity”), only actually not as good as that sounds. The material itself was a bit dodgy and haphazard – odd chord changes providing a bumpy transition between verses and choruses, for example – which rather wasted a rather decent Glenn Gregory-esque baritone voice and Andy McClusky-like dancing. 

A necessary comfort break still saw me keep my front-row spot, extreme house left, as the place filled to capacity. Quite the sausage-fest too, black-clad balding/greying old muso chaps proliferating… so, my people…! The similarly black-clad Ist Ist were ushered onstage by security, vocalist Adam leading the band into the growling intro and pounding dynamic punk-rock drumbeat of opener “Stamp You Out”, followed by the more metronomic Interpol-esque “Lost My Shadow” and slower, stately and haunting marble statue synth of “Something Else”. The taut low-slung bass-led Joy Division-isms of oldie “Silence” followed, after which the leather jacket and Ray-Ban clad impossibly cool bassist Andy remarked, “there’s fucking loads of you! I’m as hot as I’ve ever been in my life… but as a professional, I’m going to persevere with the leather…!” 

Fair play to him, so he did, the glasses coming off a couple of numbers before the end but the jacket remaining in situ throughout. And this commitment to insouciant rock’n’roll cool was underlined by his and his bandmate’s performance tonight… simply put, Ist Ist were ace! Okay, their dark, dramatic and brooding Goth-tinged post-punk material is slap bang in the middle of my wheelhouse, evoking the 80’s likes of Joy Division, Echo And The Bunnymen and The Chameleons, so would work for me in any format, but “live” it takes on added widescreen power and dynamism and, well, just makes more sense, particularly in a tight, sweaty and evocative venue such as The Joiners. The New Order synth flourish of the tremendous “I Can’t Wait For You” rounded off a brilliant opening 5-spot, but honestly there was no discernible drop-off in either song quality or commitment of delivery thereafter. “Something Has To Give” featured an abrupt gearshift from moody and slow-burn to fast and frantic; newie “Burning” had an almost swampy blues feel in its’ guitar riffery, a slight departure from their usual post-punk template; and “Dreams Aren’t Enough” was proper Bunny-esque in its’ stately sense of space. A robotic “Makes No Difference” was my favourite of the 3 newies on show, Adam thanking us for paying attention to them (“I know they’re often a convenient piss break!”), then “Hope To Love Again” was the poppiest number on show, evoking late period White Lies. Compliments from the band then preceded a final “Slowly We Escape”, the synth-led and elegiac opening bursting into thrilling punk rock life before accelerating to a thunderous finish, rounding off a marvellous set. 

The front row lists went early, of course, and the drummer’s list was handed to a stage-side chap, seemingly destined for someone else, despite my entreatments to said gent. Fair enough, I thought, no harm in asking anyway… However, a couple of days later, the self-same bloke (the Joiners’ manager, as it happens!) posted on the Ist Ist facebook page seeking out “the bloke from Southampton who was desperate for a list!”, so I got in touch and was promised a spare through the post, which I received a week later. As if I needed another reason to love the Joiner’s any more…! So, easily sloughing off the dead skin of a crappy day, Ist Ist were the perfect antidote and excellent hosts for a World Goth Day Celebration!