1,197 BIFFY CLYRO, Bob Vylan, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 4th November 2021

 

Recent “live” favourites, anthemic, angular and acerbic Scots rockers Biffy Clyro announced a “Fingers Crossed” tour last Summer for Spring 2021; “fingers crossed”, because it seemed at that time that the dreaded Covid 19 restrictions were starting to ease slightly, albeit in a phased manner, and that booking a tour in smaller venues (as O2 Academies are, these days, for these by-now seasoned Reading Festival headliners!) might get them out gigging earlier. Good idea in principle, but a second wave of the pandemic put paid to the planned Spring dates, necessitating a further bump back to Autumn! Still, at least these dates could go ahead!

 Go ahead without Rachel, unfortunately; our youngest was sent home sick from school, putting paid to the idea of Grandma babysitting, and Rach, not feeling 100% herself, decided to stay home to look after them. Shame, because historically this lot have been a “Rachel band” rather than a “David band”; I like them, no messin’, but the missus loves herself a bit of “The Biff”! An enthusiastic replacement was however available in son Logan, who unfortunately needed to do homework first (how diligent!), so we set off just before 7, utterly tanking it down the M4 and easily into Trenchard car park before 20 to 8. A massive queue outside initially made me think doors had only just opened, but reality hit me after circumventing said queue and getting in on the O2 Priority entrance… the place was already rammed! Crikey, where are they going to put all these folk queueing up outside? Bob Vylan was already midway through his support set; a bare-chested, dreadlock-waving street poet, he immediately reminded me of a young Don Letts dropping truth bombs about race, equality and the corrupt government, over a primitive Crass/ Titus Andronicus soundtrack provided by a tape machine and his drummer sidekick. It was ace! Putting the likes of Rage Against Your Mom to shame with quickfire political rants delivered to this audience of “students who never left”, he was a confident man on a mission, flippantly announcing, “on our next tour, Biffy Clyro are warming up for us!”, but thanking the headliners, “for giving me the platform to deliver my message”. Well, they may have done that, but you grabbed the opportunity with both hands, young man; a great half-set, with closer “We Live Here” (which reminded me of Benjamin Zephaniah’s 40-years older but still sadly relevant “Fight Dem Not Me”) a dramatic highlight.

 The place got even fuller then, and our postage-stamp sized spot, a couple of rows back, house left, in front of the speakers, seemed to shrink further as the witching hour approached… chants of “Mon The Biff” welcomed the band onstage, under the eerie shimmer of a UV light, opener “Dum Dum” building from a hushed opening with regimental drumbeats, into the trademark huge Biffy hook. Recent single “A Hunger In Your Haunt” followed, an rollicking old school Biff anthem, and by the tremendous singalong of “Tiny Indoor Fireworks”, the boys were away, rocking and riffing for all they’re worth… and then some!

 This is likely the smallest place I’d seen The Biff “live” to date – even vocalist Simon Neil commented on its sideways configuration and overhanging balcony as, “nice and compact!” but tonight they not only made me realise we’d missed a trick by not latching on to them earlier and seeing them in venues this size on their way up, but also demonstrated serious stadium credentials with some massive hook-laden rock anthems, roof-raising singalongs and sheer, ball-crushing guitar riffs. Shorn of the large venue stage-sets, paraphernalia and in front of a single backdrop, this trio demonstrated they’re as good as any rock band around today. Period. Visceral, thrilling and savage, yet undeniably melodic and hook-laden, this was easily the best I’ve seen Biffy Clyro, with new numbers from their current “Myth Of The Happy Ever After” easily standing tall against anything else they’ve ever done. “Errors In The History Of God” was stunning, with almost operatic choral “whoa-oh’s” and a dramatic triple false ending; “Golden Rule” was a savage attack, with Neil hunched over his guitar, sawing away furiously like a young David Line (a massive compliment in my book), and after a titanic singalong “Mountains”, they stripped it right back with a solo acoustic “Machines”, Neil both praising and inviting the rabid crowd to sing along with, “we’ve missed you guys singing our songs – that may be dropping a hint for this next one!”

 A bit of aggro in front of us was dealt with by the stewards, the offending perp being swiftly taken out, allowing us to enjoy Logan’s set favourite, an immense and roaring “Wolves Of Winter” fully. Another later slow interlude for “Re-Arrange” prompted a girl squashed up behind me to reminisce, “this was my wedding dance!” and the quiet/loud Pixies-ish dynamics of newie “Witches Cup” led into a brilliant double-whammy set closing “Bubbles” and the epic, skyscraping lament of “Many Of Horror”.

 

The echoing, slow burn build of “Black Chandelier” and a stretched, haunting “Cop Syrup” closed out a quite brilliant performance, the Biff giving their all, dynamic and energetic as just about anybody I’ve seen of late. “This show was worth the wait, wasn’t it?!” inquired Neil as the band took a deserved bow. Hell yeah! Set-lists went early to the baying moshpit (fair enough really), so we made our unexpectedly easy egress and home for 11.30 (hopefully not too late for a 14 year old rocker on his first school night gig!), reflecting on this excellent and enjoyable, if unexpected, “boys” night out. Everything about the Biff tonight screamed “BIG!”, and I’m sure the next time we see them, it’ll be headlining stadium gigs. Oh and by the way, after this gig, I think The Biff might just be a “David band” now…!

 

1,014 BIFFY CLYRO, Cardiff Motorpoint Arena, Tuesday 6th December 2016

This cough just won’t fuck off… so another attempt to try to rid myself of it via the power of “live” rock’n’roll is called for! And in the recent past they’ve not come much more powerful than Scottish late bloomers Biffy Clyro, a band who skirted around the periphery of my musical consciousness whilst on their way up, but only really asserted themselves for me when their collision of borderline goth/ metallic noise and odd indie time signatures was aligned with some blazingly massive anthemic hooks and stadium friendly rock, said reinvention coinciding with their breakthrough to arena headliner status. And people say I like to follow little bands and lose interest when they get bigger… well, Biffy Clyro followed the opposite route for me! Having said that, their new album “Ellipsis” is taking time to grow on me, my initial investigations concluding that it’s a step back into a harsher, more metallic sound, albeit with a few skyscraping choruses thrown in for good measure. Rachel was still keen to continue her Biff band crush, so tix were duly booked. Maybe it’ll make more sense “live”; it often transpires that way…

Joining us on the trip was increasing gig buddy Stuart and his son Rory, so we picked them up early then faced a frustrating queue (not the first of the night) to get out of Swindon via the Wroughton rat run. That completed, the drive down was pretty plain sailing, even the black hole of Newport proving relatively navigable, and we parked up in the open air car park near the Motorpoint for ¼ to 8. We then faced another annoying queue to get in – tonight’s show was subject to a “ticketless” entry, requiring photo IDs and bank cards. A promising idea, maybe, if it eliminates the touts, but clearly teething problems are still prevalent judging by a 15 minute wait for entry, causing us to completely miss openers Brand New. Not that that was a big deal, but still, I just don’t like queueing, particularly for administrative cock-ups like this…

Nonetheless, we made our way relatively near the front, stage right, after bumping into Troy for a quick chat. Even moments before the band were due on, there was still plenty of comfort space around our spot. “Sold Out” at the Motorpoint doesn’t mean “cram them in like sardines”, like at the Bristol O2 Academy! A squirt of dry ice, then the lights dimmed and a haunting and discordant piano and choral backing track kick-started, and Biffy Clyro joined us onto their elaborate stepped and layered stage set up, all stark white lighting and interconnecting metallic slopes, and a far cry from the “Opposites” Goblin King lair. Then straight into the somewhat overblown opener “Wolves Of Winter” and the staccato riffery of “Living Is A Problem…”, all power and noise. A bit too much noise, in fact… Just prior to their appearance, we’d had a conversation about loudest gigs, and this seemed suddenly prophetic, as the Bunsen Honeydew lab-coated Simon Neil and his bare chested cohorts seemed to be on a mission to fill this large arena with huge swathes of sound, avalanches of almost palpable noise. And for me, at least, the sound seemed distorted and over-layered, and the early songs, the fine and groovy newie “Howl” notwithstanding, suffered in consequence.

A flippant “Bubbles” however marked a sea change in the sound, the taut and racy verse structure ceding to the terrace chant hook, reverberating around the venue. “Black Chandelier”, slightly leaden on record, took flight with another massive hook, “Golden Rule” was dark, dynamic and dramatic as The Biff really hit their stride, and a huge yet brooding “Folding Stars” was for me possibly the highlight of the night, the hook both desolate and uplifting. Excellent lighting and stage projection onto 3 big rear-stage screens complemented but gladly never distracted or detracted from this performance upturn. A bit of light and shade in the set too, as Simon ascended to the top of the stage set-up (“this is the best view”!) for an acoustic “Medicine” before the slow-burn intro to an excellent, jagged “Different People”. A couple of more titanic, almost operatic singalongs in “Mountains” and “Many Of Horror” bumped us, incredibly, up to the 2 hour mark – where did that time go? The Biff finally closed out an uneven yet still dramatic and entertaining set with Simon delivering a solo “Machines”, the “take the pieces and build them skywards” line again a metaphor for their band. A 3 song encore ending in “Stinging Belle” saw a rapturous reception and profuse thanks from the band, as they hurled anything not bolted down into the front rows for souvenirs (including set-lists – bah!).

Easy out of the car park but a pretty crappy drive home, thanks to diversions off the M4 and through Newport, saw a 1am arrival home. Another fine night out from the Mighty Biff – not always at their best tonight, maybe, but still a potent, powerful and remarkably quick performance. As ever… ‘Mon The Biff!

875 BIFFY CLYRO, City And Colour, Cardiff Motorpoint Arena, Friday 22 March 2013

Gig Rush part 2 is a trip to the top of Mount Biffymanjaro… This was how the NME referred to Biffy Clyro’s new double album “Opposites”, the career-defining release that appears to have catapulted this Scots power trio into the ranks of Festival Headliners and “Best UK Band” poll winners, a widescreen and wide-reaching album which draws in bagpipe bursts and Mexican Mariachi marching band refrains, whilst not straying too far from their blend of anthemic, arena friendly hooky power rock, atmospheric mood swings and jagged, abrasive and challenging time signature noise. Making a Foo Fighter/ Seafood collision a mainstream staple; good on ‘em!

So, the supporting tour was a must for Biffyheads Rach and (increasingly) myself. Cardiff was the nearest said tour swept by the ‘don (no Oasis gig this time, lightning doesn’t strike twice that way…), so Rach booked tix straight away, and we ultimately turned it into an overnighter, Rach dropping the kids off for a sleepover at Grandmas before picking me up from work at 5. Slow traffic in South Wales and crappy directions from Google meant we didn't get to the hotel until 7 pm; but hey, at least the snow blanketing Wales didn’t reach as far South as Cardiff! A quick turnaround at the hotel, then a, “where are we? Where are we? Seriously, where the fuck are we? Oh look, there it is...” type of journey to the Motorpoint saw us park in the cavernous St. Davids’ car park opposite, then ask a policemen for directions when said car park elevator pitched us into the middle of a shopping centre! So we got into the former CIA in time to catch the last half-song of City And Colour’s support set, which sounded countrified and pleasant enough.

This place is bloody huge! A lot bigger even than I remembered it from our last trip here (Gig 734, Arcade Fire in October 2007), this is a cavernous aircraft hanger of a venue skirted by executive balconies. Probably 8,000 in tonight for this sell-out; The Biff have joined the Big Leagues, and no mistake...

We took a spot 1/4 way back, stage left and close to a mic set up on a runway jutting out from the main stage. Just after 8.30, the lights went down, the low hum of the opening bars of opener “Different People” opened up, and vocalist Simon Neil, already bare-chested, took to the front of the stage, with the brothers Johnston and their extra tour band members visible through a huge curtain. “Different People” then exploded into life and guitar-fuelled colour, and the curtain drew up to reveal a superb stage set; 2 huge video screens either side of a central 2-way gothic staircase leading to an elaborate twist of tree roots and trunk, resembling the underground lair of a Goblin King! After a jagged “That Golden Rule”, all seething drama and menace, “Sounds Like Balloons” provided the first communal “whoa-oh” singalong of the night, as the stage set morphed into a circulatory system, the trunk becoming a spine and the screens portraying a body’s muscular outline. Fascinating stuff, but never detracting from the real core of the performance; the music. As it should be.

This was indeed a top-notch performance, The Biff now clearly adapting better to the larger stage and arena/stadium dynamics required of them, whilst remaining true to their scuzzy rock’n’roll roots. Oldie “Justboy” underlined this; delivered with as much passion as they could possibly muster, I got the impression that they weren’t playing this for their loyal long-time fans (as most arena-level bands would, when delving into the old back catalogue), but more for themselves! A poppy “Bubbles” was an early highlight, the mountainous chorus resonating around the venue, then another oldie “A Day Of...”, featured a trademark old Biff weird drumbeat, like a backwards tape loop. “Jaggy Snake”, frantic and fast, was a none-more Seafood rampage, the Biff now at ease with the stage dimensions, with Neil and bassist James Johnston scampering along the runways either side of the stage with regularity.

An acoustic “God And Satan”, delivered by Neil from the runway close to us, a single spotlight picking him out in the otherwise inky blackness, heralded a slower-paced triad, followed by “The Thaw”, which started all touching and tender, then built to an operatic crescendo; then a bare “Machines”, the, “take the pieces and build them skyward,” hook being whispered reverentially back to Neil by the longer-time fans. “Glitter And Trauma” bought back the rock, before a huge, tremendous “The Joke’s On Us”, probably my highlight (of many) of the night, crushing and thunderous. An imperious “Many Of Horror” again saw a huge communal singalong, the subsequent “Picture A Knife Fight” was an uncharacteristic but fun cheesy 80’s hair band rock stomper recalling Boston’s Waltham, before “The Captain”’s call and response brought this tremendous set to a close.

Encores included a slow-burn “Skylight”, delivered by Neil from a makeshift podium atop the stage set staircase, before a final, huge and passionate “Mountains” brought an absolute top-drawer 2 hours of arena rock to a close. “Cardiff, thank you so so so so so so so so much,” an exhausted and gratified Simon Neil remarked as they took their thoroughly deserved bows. And the feeling was utterly mutual.

A lengthy but persistent wait got me Simon Neil’s set list – result! We then took our time leaving the venue to allow the traffic to thin out, reflecting on The Biff’s performance tonight. Despite a splendid stage set-up, they let the rock do the talking tonight. Damn straight. And boy, did it talk tonight, underlining their elevation to the top echelons of rock’n’roll. Mon The Biff!

850 BIFFY CLYRO, Pure Love, Swindon Oasis Leisure Centre, Friday 8 June 2012

Given the extent to which Biffy Clyro have risen in my estimation over the last couple of years – from mostly ignored metallic noiseniks to hooky, anthemic hard rockers, inviting favourable comparisons to the likes of Seafood, Foo Fighters and even (dare I say it) Husker Du – it was inevitable that we’d be up for any future Biffy tomfoolery. So when I casually browsed the NME website and found out the Biffsters were planning a one-off show to bed in some new material from their forthcoming CDs, I thought, hmmm, where do Rach and myself have to travel to now? London? Birmingham? My jaw then dropped with a clunk onto my desk when I found out they were playing the frickin’ Oasis! The Biff! 20 minutes walk from our front door! AND on a Friday at half term, when we could get Evan down for the gig as well! Scrivens!

However, securing tickets wasn’t as simple as all that. Despite our O2 priority codes, we could only get 2 of our required 3, before the presale sold out. General sale was a joke – all websites either crashed or froze for half an hour, so I, forlornly, gave up, texting Evan that he’d unfortunately be missing out. However, a chance lunchtime call to the Oasis itself later that day revealed they, amazingly, still had a handful on sale, so I gleefully snapped one up and made a fledgling 14 year old rocker a happy boy again.

So it was that we three took a wander down the cycle path, leaving the kids with grandma and hitting the sold out but quiet early doors Oasis bar at 7.30; Rach in a state of high excitement at the prospect of seeing her current (and ongoing) band crush at such (relatively) close quarters, Evan a little bemused, not really knowing what to expect from his first rock gig proper, and me just glad I got to take him to one at last. We wandered in the busy sports hall for 8, for opening act Pure Love. Led by former Gallows frontman, the tattooed but dapper suit-jacketed Frank Carter, they thankfully eschewed the full-on punkish yet incoherent hardcore sonic assault that was the Gallows template, in favour of some much more palatable anthemic bluesy rockers, in a swaggering Clash/Smiths vein. “Quite a different direction for me, as you might have noticed,” announced an affable Frank, and all the better for it, in my view! “Handsome Devils Club” had a chuntering Urge Overkill Californian bluesy sleaze stomp to it, then Frank abandoned the stage to sing a few numbers in the belly of the mosh, pitching up at one point a couple of yards from us! The final number, which Frank pushed as a “Summer Festival anthem,” featured the no doubt bastardised line, “there’s a riot on the streets of Swindon,” nevertheless capping an impressive set from a band – and man – who tonight made me sit up and take notice.

Had a wander over to the crowd fringes, stage left, in search of a decent eyeline, before the lights dimmed and the Biff took the stage at 9 pm sharp, to, rather cutely, the refrains of “Feeling Groovy”, and against a stage set-up of shards of suspended triangular mirrored glass, and a huge tree backdrop. No messing; straight into “Mountains”, a titanic opener with the frenzied crowd already singing along, and the communal vibe resonating around this large sports hall. “Golden Rule” followed, a superb double gut-punch to kick things off, before a frantic newie “Modern Magic Formula” proved they’re really not mellowing with all their current success. A singalong, 50’s ballad style “God And Satan” slowed things down a tad, before a savage “Get Fucked Stud” raised the temperature once again. So this was the Biffy plan tonight; lull the crowd int oa false sense of harmonic security, then smash them into submission with some savage but thrilling modern rock’n’roll. And it was executed to perfection, a case in point being the silly clip-clop rhythm of “Born On A Horse”, being followed directly by the determined groove of a thrilling “Boooom Blast And Ruin”, a set highlight, as the Biff repeatedly delved into their 2009 breakthrough “Only Revolutions” CD (for a warm-up gig to bed in new material, there was a marked paucity of such, with only 4 or 5 newies scattered throughout the set).

“This place is hot in the way only a place with a swimming pool next door can be,” remarked white boiler-suited vocalist Simon Neil, who despite regretting his choice of attire didn’t hold back, with an energetic and kinetic performance throughout. “Folding Stars”, a mid-paced anthem with a Biffy trademark huge chorus, was followed by another all-inclusive singalong for a jagged, ragged “Who’s Got A Match?”, providing a perfect metaphor for the performance; “I’m a fire and I burn, burn, burn tonight…” indeed! Then, the 3,000 capacity sang as one to the imperious ballad “Many Of Horror”, providing a soaring, spine-tingling mid-song moment. Set closer, the Seafood-esque ”Bubbles” was another communal singalong, the thunderous guitar hook climaxing a superb set perfectly.

The Biff boys were fulsome with their compliments for Swindon (nice to hear!) during a 3 song encore, which was capped by a final “Captain”, oddly the set opener the last couple of times we’d seen them! However this worked as a closer, with the terrace chant “whoa-oh”s once again resonating around the sports hall and sending everyone home elated. A well timed run down the front and some politeness secured me a set-list (yay!) and we ran into our friend Penny, which was a happy exclamation point on a superb night. A fine first proper rock gig for Evan – who’d been singing and clapping along throughout – and another damn fine set from a band rapidly proving worthy of the prefix, “The Mighty…” Yup, The Mighty Biff well and truly rocked Swindon tonight, no messing!

824 FOO FIGHTERS, Biffy Clyro, Jimmy Eat World, Hot Rats, Milton Keynes National Bowl, Sunday 3 July 2011

A real first, this one; the first time Rachel and I have dumped the kids with the Grandparents overnight, and pissed off to an all-day show! Honestly, we couldn’t resist this bill; I was interested in seeing the genre-defining Foo Fighters, the epitome of a modern “rock” band, again, after an absence from my gig schedule of 8 1/2 years, and having missed out on their intriguing “in the round” Wembley Stadium shows 3 years ago. However when Rachel’s current band crush Biffy Clyro and our enduring post-emo “live” faves Jimmy Eat World were added to the Sunday undercard of their 2 day MK Bowl mini-residency, I snapped up tix pronto, for what promised to be a good and proper grunting rock pig day!

Considering our experiences for the Green Day MK gig a few years back (easy in, easy out of MK, but then stuck in the middle of the countryside at midnight, home for 2.30am. Yikes!) we tried a different tack. So we dropped the kids off at midday, and drove in from the A5 North, encountering a bit of queuing traffic in but parking up in the splendidly named Teardrops Car Park, about 15 minutes North of the Bowl, hitting the already-heaving bowl at 2.30. The first thing to note was that the stage-front “Golden Circle” was not only massive, swallowing most of the bowl floor, but also already full and with huge immovable queues waiting, likely in vain, for entry wristbands! Sod that, we thought…

So we sat on the hill, chilled and chatted, then had a walk to get Rach’s traditional first band beer. BOB MOULD, yes even he, was DJ-ing, set up on one side of the stage and on the big screens, bopping along to some Hi-Nrg dance. Bob playing dance? That… makes no sense at all! Nevertheless, we got Rach’s beer and a better viewing position, on the slope left of stage (in front of a bloke who thought that putting a couple of empty bottles down guaranteed he had sole right to a goodly chunk of the slope!), for HOT RATS, first band at 4.30. An interesting concept, this; 2/3rds of Supergrass, including mainman Gaz Coombes, playing covers of their favourite material and influential oldies. When the stuff was intrinsically rocking (as in Bowie’s swaggering “Queen Bitch”) this worked, but other songs, like the Doors’ sublime “The Crystal Ship”, were handled too roughly. Even the Cure’s “Lovecats”, a song I don’t really like, was stomped all over with big Britpop Doc Martens, and I got the feeling this was overall a surprising waste of their time and talent. At barely 20 minutes, the set was short, too…

We wandered onto the bowl floor, with Bob back on the decks – as he was between all sets – and playing better and more representative disks, including Magnapop’s excellent “Lay It Down”, although he sadly resisted playing air guitar during Dinosaur Jr’s “Freak Scene”! However, we turfed up 3 or 4 rows back from the “Golden Circle” barriers, which still seemed hundreds of yards away from the stage! JIMMY EAT WORLD wandered on, unheralded, 5 minutes early at 5.25, and with the minimum of fuss burst into “Bleed American”, seething and dynamic, raggedly played and by no means note perfect, but thrilling as ever. Even better was to follow, as they were immediately into “A Praise Chorus”, my favourite number, fulsome and epic in its’ sweeping drama, and, with the sun breaking through the soft cloud cover for the first time this afternoon right on cue for the “crimson and clover” hook, as emotive and brilliant as ever. “God damn!” remarked Jim at the song’s conclusion, and I knew how he felt.

This evening, Jimmy Eat World were on fire. A band in a hurry, nary pausing for breath between each number, delivering a performance of sweaty, raw, slightly ragged but brilliantly thrilling rock of the first water. An unexpected but incendiary “Blister” was all seething power, followed by a strident singalong “Work” for a mid-set double-header highlight. “This is a dance number, so feel free to, y’know, partner up,” suggested Jim before the irresistibly catchy powerpop of “The Middle”. Then, all too soon, the “whoa-oh” of “Sweetness” heralded the end of a lightning-fast but utterly superb rock set.

Time for a breather then? Wrong! We took a walk to the back for a loo break, only to find the walkway even more crowded than down the “front” for Jimmy Eat World! Mental! We could only surmise that the huge “Golden Circle”, combined with two massive beer tents on the bowl floor, one each side of the stage, had significantly reduced the floor space whilst retaining the same capacity. Bah! We ended up snaking back through the woods fringing the back of the bowl, finding a good viewing spot on the hill, stage right, for BIFFY CLYRO, on at 6.45. A riot of noise and colour, they were also “on it” from the outset, mobile and kinetic, the sound much better on the hill than on the floor, blasting through a strident early “Golden Rule”, all drumbeat and drama, purposeful and pounding. A slow-burn singalong “God And Satan” built to a huge choral climax, whilst “Who’s Got A Match” showed a decided Seafood/Sonic Youth vicious guitar attack, jagged riffs strafing the crowd, and overall their confident display gave the impression it won’t be too long before they’re headlining here in their own right. Their best number, “Bubbles” echoed from all sides of this huge amphitheatre, before the lighters-aloft “Many Of Horror” precipitated a jagged and crushing closing “Mountains”, closing out a damn fine set from a band I’m really warming to. Mon the Biff!

So, there we stayed as dusk fell and DJ Bob Mould succumbed to temptation, playing Sugar’s “A Good Idea”. The witching hour nevertheless came quickly, and promptly at 8.15, with no entrance music or introduction, Dave Grohl raced onstage and down the runway joining the stage to the mixing desk set-up, about a hundred yards into the mosh, like some demented dog finally set loose. The rest of THE FOO FIGHTERS followed onstage, kicking in to savage opener “Bridges Burning”, the opening track to their current “Wasting Light” album, easily their best and most consistent since 1996’s classic “The Colour And The Shape”. And we were away…

Similar to their obvious antecedents Husker Du, Foo Fighters music primarily comes in 2 different digestible packages; the balls-out, amphetamine fast straight-ahead rocker with strident, yell-along chorus and a nevertheless melodic edge; and the thicker, mid-paced yet more anthemic moshpit sing-along. Both were fully in evidence tonight early doors; an immense “Pretender” saw 67,000 arms aloft pointing “who are you??” towards the stage, and the subsequent “My Hero” was off-kilter, strident and if anything even huger, a crescendo of noise and strobe.

“There sure are a whole fucking lot of you out there,” said Grohl, before a comedy monologue (including calling Foo Fighters gig virgins “nerds”, but then saying, “that’s ok, we used to suck but now we’re rad!”) which essentially told us he was going to skip the comedy monologues and concentrate on the rock! This was an occasionally odd performance from the widely acknowledged “nicest man in rock”; without the natural swagger or stage charisma of, say, Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, Grohl seemed to feel the need to augment his usual open and enthusiastic persona with some Denis Leary-esque dialogue and antics. This was nevertheless entertaining, as was the rock: “this one’s for the crazy motherfucker in the boat,” he shouted to a crowdsurfer in a rubber dinghy (!) by way of intro for “White Limo”; a huge cheer followed him downing a beer in one during an elongated note at the start of the excellent “Arlandria”; and another scamper down the runway saw him appear on a little stage behind the mixing desk during “Stacked Actors” for a riffery shoot-out with his onstage guitarist, via the big screen.

The sublime “Walk”, possibly their best number since “Everlong”, followed, then the debt to Husker Du was acknowledged by a warm introduction of today’s DJ, “the genius that is Bob Mould”, onstage for “Dear Rosemary”, Grohl also admitting, “we wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this man”. Mould, humble as ever, nevertheless prowled the stage like he owned it, battering his Fender and growling his lines with his usual startling conviction during this brilliant rendition. A pregnant pause halted the subsequent “Monkey Wrench” as Grohl announced, “this is the part of the song where I scream until I see stars and feel like I’m gonna fall over,” before doing just that. Then, after a quick loo break for us, the lengthy “whoa-oh”s at the end of “Best Of You” saw Grohl cracking a huge grin, before a powerful “All My Life” rounded the set off.

Grohl once again took the small mixing desk stage for the encore, delivering a solo “Wheels” as night fell, before taking the stage again during “Times Like These”. Unlike the previous night, we didn’t get Alice Cooper as a guest, making do with Seasick Steve for a nondescript blues jam (hey, I’m psyched for his success, but his primitive blues doesn’t float my boat). We did, however, get a savage “This Is A Call” before Grohl, now back to his Mr. Nice Guy self, gushingly complimented us all prior to a final “Everlong”. We’d known this was the final number, and debated missing it to get a flyer and avoid the traffic, but that would have been, as Rach put it, “like going to Egypt and not seeing the Pyramids”. So we stayed, and she was right; my word, it was mighty! A lighters-aloft, robust and powerful as all hell run-through of their finest moment, with a delicious mid-song pregnant pause and a massive climax, the perfect way to end a great set, with fireworks accompanying our sprint back to the car.

So, 3 fine rock bands all delivered on the big day, with hardly a scrap of paper between them for top act. I’m still undecided about that! However the different tack worked a treat, as we left the arena on “Everlong”'s last note, on the stroke of 11, and blasted back largely unencumbered, getting home for 12.30! A perfect result, to end a great day out!

802 BIFFY CLYRO, The Futureheads, London Wembley Arena, Saturday 4 December 2010

Rachel got Biffy Clyro in a “band swap” with a new similarly music-minded work colleague, and suddenly they became her new favourite band! To be honest, they’d been skirting around the extremities of our musical radar for some time, but I’d personally found them at best formulaic jagged hard rock, in a Seafood meets Foo Fighters vein, and at worst post Nu-metal grunting rock pigs. However recent CD “Only Revolutions” revealed a more melodic, anthemic edge, so we took an opportunity to get tix. The first surprise was; Wembley Arena? If they are that popular, whatever happened to Seafood’s Wembley Arena gig??

Weather-affected tube closures necessitated our booking an expensive parking slot directly at Wembley, so we set off at 5.15 in trepidation of a crap journey; however it was pretty plain sailing and we parked under the shadow of Wembley Stadium just after 7! Result! We settled in to our seats, in the gods, stage right in this cavernous c. 10,000 capacity aircraft hanger, and awaited with no great relish the support.

Second surprise, The Futureheads were actually quite good! I was kindly disposed to them anyway, as they took the stage to Cheap Trick’s “Good Evening Ladies And Gentlemen”, but they delivered a good, energetic performance. Musically, they’re still stuck in the jerky new wave, 1st album XTC rut, but unlike a few years back, these days not every band sounds like that, so their sound almost felt like a quaint, anachronistic curio. The call and response in their best number, their cover of Kate Bush’s “Hounds Of Love” capped a surprisingly enjoyable set. As Rachel put it; “I’ve seen worse support bands – The Futureheads, for one!”

A roadie hoovered the stage between bands (!), as I noted that my knowledge of the headliners and the size of the venue were inversely proportional to each other! Finally, the Biff took the stage at 9, stripped to the waist and revealing apparently “unpleasant” tattoos, to the anthemic “Captain”. They were here to rock, with second number in, “Booooom Blast And Ruin”, a lean and mean amphetamine rush, and my favourite, the Seafood-esque “Bubbles”, following in short order. Making few concessions for the size of the venue, the Biff played a straight-ahead rock gig with few frills, occasionally anthemic and sing-along (particularly the early set, which relied heavily on their recent, best CD), occasionally just plain noisy, but generally much better than I’d feared. I also found it telling when the 3-piece Biff gathered around the drum riser for their older numbers, as if trying to shrink the stage.

There were moments of light and shade amongst the rock; “God And Satan” was delivered by vocalist Simon Neal in an almost 50’s ballad style, and an acoustic interlude was surprisingly tender and Idlewild-like. One number featured the lyric, “take the pieces and build them skyward,” which almost seemed a metaphor for this band. Ultimately, they’re a good honest rock band, who’ve paid their dues, and got where they are now through sweat and hard work, rather than hype, so fair play to them!

And a quick exit too – we left halfway through the penultimate number, and zoomed out of the car park, arriving home 1 hour 15 minutes after leaving our seats!