"A band I lost touch with a few years ago gave me no reason to get back in touch with them". This was what I wrote after the Weddoes' last trip to Swindon, way back in 1996 (gig 330). Since then they've split, reformed and released a couple of new albums, but stayed studiously off my radar. I might have played "I'm Not Always So Stupid" once or twice in the past 12 years, but that's about it!
So I was less than enthusiastic about this one when I heard about it, and was persuaded only by Rich to regard it as "a night out". Fair enough, I thought, so booked a ticket, donned shorts and wandered down to this fairly new pub venue, hitting the bar at 8.15 and catching up with various old friends. Missed the support due to my socialising in the front bar - a great name (from a Fall song) but an unenticing noise.
Eventually remembered what we were there for, about 9.30, at which time the Weddoes took the stage, so we repaired to the packed back bar for this sold-out show. Hovered near the back as the Weddoes eased into their set with some unfamiliar, low-key and not particularly full-sounding numbers. I drifted for about the first 15 minutes, thinking that, apart from a choppy "No", this was going the same way as last time! Then vocalist David Gedge surprisingly announced, "an old number," and launched into "I'm Not Always So Stupid", and I was straight into the mosh, having my breath pummelled out to the tune of my favourite Weddoes number by miles. Thereafter, they had my attention, occasionally showing signs of the form which briefly had them installed as the successors to The Smiths' 1980's Indie Guitar throne. "Brassneck", "Don't Talk Just Kiss" and an entirely appropriate "You Should Always Keep In Touch With Your Friends" were actually great, noisy and staccato guitarry as ever.
I shook hands with Gedge on the way out, telling him that the set was better than I expected! I might not buy any of their new records, but I might just go back and play some of the old ones again...
Thursday, 12 November 2009
752 IDLEWILD, Idlewild Acoustic!, Bristol Fleece, Saturday 18 August 2008
The final Saturday of 2 weeks Summer leave saw the return of our perennial gig favourites Idlewild! A "slight return", this; no new records to push, and a smaller venue than they'd played before, plus (as we noted when we arrived at 8.15) no tourbus, just a transit van with Glaswegian markings! Does this then find Idlewild on the way down... and out? Horrors! Such fears, however, were allayed due to the sell-out nature of this gig, plus a chat with drummer Colin on the merch stand, who confirmed new material was in the offing for 2009, and that they were still just having fun getting out and playing.
This was underlined when the support took the stage at 9.15. As Rachel had correctly surmised, Idlewild supported themselves! Thus we were regaled with "acoustic" versions of "You Held The World In Your Arms", the wonderful "American English", "When I Argue I See Shapes", and a touching sing-along "El Capitan", again underlining the superb REM-like songcraft of this enduring band, in this stripped-back treatment.
"We'll be back later to play loud," said Roddy, a jovial presence throughout, and just after 10 he was as good as his word, Idlewild re-announcing themselves with an impressive ragged salvo of "Competition For The Worst Time" and "No Emotion", playing it loud and raw and caring not a whit for the variable sound, but feeding off the considerable enthusiasm of this knowledgeable crowd.
Early doors, they played a smattering of "B" sides, partly in support of the recent "Scottish Fiction" singles collection, and partly, Roddy informed us, in practice for a forthcoming week-long series of Scottish gigs, where they're planning to play everything they've ever recorded! "There has to be some demand for that in Scotland," said Roddy. There's some demand for it down here as well, Rod...
So this was once again the ragged punk rock Idlewild, the early, breathless, playing-too-fast Idlewild, hyped up, hyper and amphetamine fast. A "Roseability" rocked the house, "Little Discourage" was a strident sing-along, but the defining moment of this fun set was a supersonic "Last Night I Missed All The Fireworks", a Ramones-like exercise in simple, delicious dumbness, rock'n'roll at its most brilliantly basic. "A Modern Way Of Letting Go" climaxed this ragged diamond of a set, after which we got caught in a terrific rainstorm on the drive home. So what, this one was well worth the effort!
This was underlined when the support took the stage at 9.15. As Rachel had correctly surmised, Idlewild supported themselves! Thus we were regaled with "acoustic" versions of "You Held The World In Your Arms", the wonderful "American English", "When I Argue I See Shapes", and a touching sing-along "El Capitan", again underlining the superb REM-like songcraft of this enduring band, in this stripped-back treatment.
"We'll be back later to play loud," said Roddy, a jovial presence throughout, and just after 10 he was as good as his word, Idlewild re-announcing themselves with an impressive ragged salvo of "Competition For The Worst Time" and "No Emotion", playing it loud and raw and caring not a whit for the variable sound, but feeding off the considerable enthusiasm of this knowledgeable crowd.
Early doors, they played a smattering of "B" sides, partly in support of the recent "Scottish Fiction" singles collection, and partly, Roddy informed us, in practice for a forthcoming week-long series of Scottish gigs, where they're planning to play everything they've ever recorded! "There has to be some demand for that in Scotland," said Roddy. There's some demand for it down here as well, Rod...
So this was once again the ragged punk rock Idlewild, the early, breathless, playing-too-fast Idlewild, hyped up, hyper and amphetamine fast. A "Roseability" rocked the house, "Little Discourage" was a strident sing-along, but the defining moment of this fun set was a supersonic "Last Night I Missed All The Fireworks", a Ramones-like exercise in simple, delicious dumbness, rock'n'roll at its most brilliantly basic. "A Modern Way Of Letting Go" climaxed this ragged diamond of a set, after which we got caught in a terrific rainstorm on the drive home. So what, this one was well worth the effort!
Monday, 9 November 2009
753 REM, Editors, Guillemots, Southampton Rose Bowl, Wednesday 27 August 2008
Barely 3 years after the last REM show, here we are again! This time it's different; in 2005 REM were coming off possibly their most disappointing 2 albums of their career, and delivered a variable performance, often excellent, always worthwhile, but occasionally lacking in quality or commitment. This time they're back with a bang - the old lion finding its' teeth and roaring with a vengeance with new CD "Accelerate", arguably their best for 15 or so years, and also with something perhaps to prove, to re-establish their relevance in 2008. This could potentially translate to a very exciting show, so I was well up for it!
So I hit the road with Beef, using the Southampton University site park and ride, which seemed very well organised with waiting buses and cordoned-off roads to the venue. Hit the place - Hampshire's cricket ground - at 1/2 past 3, in time for the ticketless Beef to get sorted and to join the queue for 4 o'clock doors. Couldn't take my sarnies in, which was a pain, and the doors opened late as well. Bah.
Surprised at how small the Rose Bowl was as well! I always thought cricket grounds were way bigger than footy pitches, but this didn't seem so - low stands and the wicket cordoned off made it seem even smaller! The park and ride attendant said 17,000 tickets had been sold for tonight, and looking around this seemed plenty!
Found a spot stage right and camped up for the late-running Guillemots, on at 5.45. I'd been disappointed by their first CD, finding it cluttered and schizophrenic, but it made more sense "live". Stripped back to a 4-piece, without the horns, which unnecessarily embellished the CD, their folk-tinged songcraft shone through more brightly. Singer Fyfe, pinching himself at supporting REM, was charming, "Made Up Love Song" was pretty, and closer "San Paulo" featured some exciting clattering percussion, rounding off a surprisingly good set.
Main support Editors, on at 7, took it up a few notches and were utterly faultless. The sound was perfect for them, and they exploited this to perfection. The hour-long set, drawn equally from their good if slightly derivative debut "The Back Room" and last year's superb, defining "An End Has A Start" follow-up, was perfectly paced and a total delight. The guitar sound, disappointingly thin in parts at their recent Academy gig, was sorted from the outset, soaring and haunting, and recalling the lush atmospherics of Kitchens Of Distinction. The last CD title track was strident and powerful; "Munich" broody, angular yet still singalong, and the brilliant "Smokers" taut and atmospheric. Tom Smith, energetic and kinetic, was the focus throughout, his baritone doomy yet rich, providing the perfect embellishment for their dark, 80's rock sound. "Thanks to REM for this opportunity, this is a dream come true," said Tom at the climax of their set - on the evidence of this, they'd better get used to the big stage, as tonight they firmly established their future stadium credentials.
Dusk descended but thankfully the rain held off from leaden skies, and a seemingly enthusiastic crowd heralded the entrance of REM at 8.30. The best review I'd read of new album "Accelerate" suggested that "Michael Stipe has disappeared so far up his own arse, he's rediscovered his heart!" Certainly this album has emphatically stopped the recent rot, and by tonight's evidence has given them back their appetite for performing. As per the Cardiff show 3 years ago, they opened with a venomous "Bad Day", Stipe's disgust at the current US administration evident, then kept the pace with an incendiary "Living Well Is The Best Revenge", the startling opener from the new CD, and an angular, riff-tastic "What's The Frequency, Kenneth?". Unlike Cardiff, however, they then kept the quality high with a frankly amazing "Fall On Me", still my favourite REM song and one of at least 3 truly jaw-dropping moments tonight. By now, I'd pushed forward, following a big guy and his little Asian girlfriend, but found myself surrounded by people who didn't want to be jostled by someone dancing. Hey, you're at a gig, get used to it! "I've not been feeling too well today, so I need you to send me your heat," said Michael at this point, prompting me to say to my erstwhile dancing partner, "I think he's just given us permission to dance, Big Man!"
REM tonight delivered a perfectly chosen set, revisiting the whole of their recorded output, plucking a couple here, a couple there, rewarding the loyal and true fan. Thus when they played "Begin The Begin" from 1985's wonderful "Life's Rich Pageant", I threw shapes with abandon, and likewise jumped about deliriously to "Pretty Persuasion" from 1981's "Reckoning" (another jaw-dropper - simply the fact they'd delved that far back!), both times to total bemusement from this crowd of undeserving gig tourists. Lots of light and shade too; "Electrolite" featured Michael calling for mobile phones to be held aloft to, "turn this into Los Angeles," and a wonderfully stark and moving "Nightswimming", delivered with voice and piano only, was another jaw-dropper. Plenty of time for Michael to tub-thump about his hatred for his government, underlined by a vicious "Ignoreland" and welcomed with sympathetic cheers. Political activism, sure, but it never ventured into hectoring, like his brief plug for Oxfam during the encore. Keep it brief, don't preach, get your message across more effectively. Bono, take note.
A funky, singalong "Orange Crush" and a breathless "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" closed a 1 1/2 hour set - wow, where did that go? New single "Supernatural Superserious" kicked off the encore, then Buck strapped on the mandolin for the inevitable "Losing My Religion", which finally animated this rubbish crowd. "Imitation Of life" followed, which was surprisingly excellent and has stuck in my mind since then. "Come on, come on, no-one can see you try..."
Then the denouement. We'd done our research, so at the opening bars of "Man On The Moon" (the final song every night of the tour), I bade farewell to my dancing friends and headed off, meeting Beef at the West Exit and leaving on the final note at 10.30. A quick park and ride departure, a smooth unhurried exit and home before midnight. Once again, excellent organisation to cap an excellent gig.
At a time when American rock is sagging under the weight of pretension or blandness, we need a healthy REM. Tonight was the resurrection - back to their best, not just going through the motions as a 30 year old band, but as relevant, groundbreaking and vital as ever. Gentlemen, welcome back.
So I hit the road with Beef, using the Southampton University site park and ride, which seemed very well organised with waiting buses and cordoned-off roads to the venue. Hit the place - Hampshire's cricket ground - at 1/2 past 3, in time for the ticketless Beef to get sorted and to join the queue for 4 o'clock doors. Couldn't take my sarnies in, which was a pain, and the doors opened late as well. Bah.
Surprised at how small the Rose Bowl was as well! I always thought cricket grounds were way bigger than footy pitches, but this didn't seem so - low stands and the wicket cordoned off made it seem even smaller! The park and ride attendant said 17,000 tickets had been sold for tonight, and looking around this seemed plenty!
Found a spot stage right and camped up for the late-running Guillemots, on at 5.45. I'd been disappointed by their first CD, finding it cluttered and schizophrenic, but it made more sense "live". Stripped back to a 4-piece, without the horns, which unnecessarily embellished the CD, their folk-tinged songcraft shone through more brightly. Singer Fyfe, pinching himself at supporting REM, was charming, "Made Up Love Song" was pretty, and closer "San Paulo" featured some exciting clattering percussion, rounding off a surprisingly good set.
Main support Editors, on at 7, took it up a few notches and were utterly faultless. The sound was perfect for them, and they exploited this to perfection. The hour-long set, drawn equally from their good if slightly derivative debut "The Back Room" and last year's superb, defining "An End Has A Start" follow-up, was perfectly paced and a total delight. The guitar sound, disappointingly thin in parts at their recent Academy gig, was sorted from the outset, soaring and haunting, and recalling the lush atmospherics of Kitchens Of Distinction. The last CD title track was strident and powerful; "Munich" broody, angular yet still singalong, and the brilliant "Smokers" taut and atmospheric. Tom Smith, energetic and kinetic, was the focus throughout, his baritone doomy yet rich, providing the perfect embellishment for their dark, 80's rock sound. "Thanks to REM for this opportunity, this is a dream come true," said Tom at the climax of their set - on the evidence of this, they'd better get used to the big stage, as tonight they firmly established their future stadium credentials.
Dusk descended but thankfully the rain held off from leaden skies, and a seemingly enthusiastic crowd heralded the entrance of REM at 8.30. The best review I'd read of new album "Accelerate" suggested that "Michael Stipe has disappeared so far up his own arse, he's rediscovered his heart!" Certainly this album has emphatically stopped the recent rot, and by tonight's evidence has given them back their appetite for performing. As per the Cardiff show 3 years ago, they opened with a venomous "Bad Day", Stipe's disgust at the current US administration evident, then kept the pace with an incendiary "Living Well Is The Best Revenge", the startling opener from the new CD, and an angular, riff-tastic "What's The Frequency, Kenneth?". Unlike Cardiff, however, they then kept the quality high with a frankly amazing "Fall On Me", still my favourite REM song and one of at least 3 truly jaw-dropping moments tonight. By now, I'd pushed forward, following a big guy and his little Asian girlfriend, but found myself surrounded by people who didn't want to be jostled by someone dancing. Hey, you're at a gig, get used to it! "I've not been feeling too well today, so I need you to send me your heat," said Michael at this point, prompting me to say to my erstwhile dancing partner, "I think he's just given us permission to dance, Big Man!"
REM tonight delivered a perfectly chosen set, revisiting the whole of their recorded output, plucking a couple here, a couple there, rewarding the loyal and true fan. Thus when they played "Begin The Begin" from 1985's wonderful "Life's Rich Pageant", I threw shapes with abandon, and likewise jumped about deliriously to "Pretty Persuasion" from 1981's "Reckoning" (another jaw-dropper - simply the fact they'd delved that far back!), both times to total bemusement from this crowd of undeserving gig tourists. Lots of light and shade too; "Electrolite" featured Michael calling for mobile phones to be held aloft to, "turn this into Los Angeles," and a wonderfully stark and moving "Nightswimming", delivered with voice and piano only, was another jaw-dropper. Plenty of time for Michael to tub-thump about his hatred for his government, underlined by a vicious "Ignoreland" and welcomed with sympathetic cheers. Political activism, sure, but it never ventured into hectoring, like his brief plug for Oxfam during the encore. Keep it brief, don't preach, get your message across more effectively. Bono, take note.
A funky, singalong "Orange Crush" and a breathless "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" closed a 1 1/2 hour set - wow, where did that go? New single "Supernatural Superserious" kicked off the encore, then Buck strapped on the mandolin for the inevitable "Losing My Religion", which finally animated this rubbish crowd. "Imitation Of life" followed, which was surprisingly excellent and has stuck in my mind since then. "Come on, come on, no-one can see you try..."
Then the denouement. We'd done our research, so at the opening bars of "Man On The Moon" (the final song every night of the tour), I bade farewell to my dancing friends and headed off, meeting Beef at the West Exit and leaving on the final note at 10.30. A quick park and ride departure, a smooth unhurried exit and home before midnight. Once again, excellent organisation to cap an excellent gig.
At a time when American rock is sagging under the weight of pretension or blandness, we need a healthy REM. Tonight was the resurrection - back to their best, not just going through the motions as a 30 year old band, but as relevant, groundbreaking and vital as ever. Gentlemen, welcome back.
754 SPEAR OF DESTINY, EMF, The Subkicks, Bristol Carling Academy, Wednesday 17 September 2008
Yup, that's right, Spear Of Destiny, Kirk Brandon's tilt at post-punk stadium anthemic rock, back for a "singles" tour! So Rich persuaded me to revisit the band I, amazingly, saw 5 times in the space of 8 months or so, back in 1985, for mainly single-sentence gig reviews. How times have changed!
Despite my knee playing up, I decided to strap it up, hit the painkillers and go. So Rich picked us up and dropped me outside the venue while he parked up, good man that he is! Hobbled in while the Subkicks were finishing off their high-octane modern punk set. Like All American Rejects, they were fast and tuneful and made me wish I'd caught more of them. The place was totally dead though! Got the drinks in, then we did our best to ignore EMF's horribly dated post-rave baggy techno-pop. The place was still pretty much deserted, and EMF are relatively local too!
Took a walk onto the floor for Spear's arrival at 9.30. I have never seen the Academy this empty... possibly 1/4 to 1/3 full. Wow. Welcome to the band no-one cares about anymore... Nevertheless, Kirk and co kicked off with a couple of rocking openers that got the sparse crowd going.
The set however degenerated into a mess of poor material and plodding interpretations, despite the best efforts of Kirk and his strident octave-straddling voice. My mind wandered and a couple of things occurred to me; firstly, I understand why I lost touch with SOD after their excellent "World Service" album; and secondly my favourite SOD numbers, by and large, weren't singles! Oops. The night wasn't a total wash though - the 2 encores, a passionate "Mickey" and a lengthy and powerful "Liberator" rescued matters somewhat. Despite this, I could see why I lost touch with SOD. Grabbed the oversized set-list (too big to scan) on the way out, only because no-one else wanted it! Sorry Kirk...
Despite my knee playing up, I decided to strap it up, hit the painkillers and go. So Rich picked us up and dropped me outside the venue while he parked up, good man that he is! Hobbled in while the Subkicks were finishing off their high-octane modern punk set. Like All American Rejects, they were fast and tuneful and made me wish I'd caught more of them. The place was totally dead though! Got the drinks in, then we did our best to ignore EMF's horribly dated post-rave baggy techno-pop. The place was still pretty much deserted, and EMF are relatively local too!
Took a walk onto the floor for Spear's arrival at 9.30. I have never seen the Academy this empty... possibly 1/4 to 1/3 full. Wow. Welcome to the band no-one cares about anymore... Nevertheless, Kirk and co kicked off with a couple of rocking openers that got the sparse crowd going.
The set however degenerated into a mess of poor material and plodding interpretations, despite the best efforts of Kirk and his strident octave-straddling voice. My mind wandered and a couple of things occurred to me; firstly, I understand why I lost touch with SOD after their excellent "World Service" album; and secondly my favourite SOD numbers, by and large, weren't singles! Oops. The night wasn't a total wash though - the 2 encores, a passionate "Mickey" and a lengthy and powerful "Liberator" rescued matters somewhat. Despite this, I could see why I lost touch with SOD. Grabbed the oversized set-list (too big to scan) on the way out, only because no-one else wanted it! Sorry Kirk...
755 GLASVEGAS, Mad Skull, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Sunday 21 September 2008
Well, this lot of Glaswegian reprobates have shook me up into a right old state recently. An intriguing write-up in the Guardian Guide (with a recommendation from none other than head Bunnyman Ian McCulloch), promising MySpace soundbites, tix quickly booked for a rapidly-selling out tour, then the CD and a revelation. Condensing 50 years of rock'n'roll cool into a single band - the sneer and swagger of Bunnymen meets Clash, the sonic template of Joy Division meets Jesus And Mary Chain, the song structures of Buddy Holly and the Shangri-Las, together with gritty lyrical content holding up a mirror to our fucked-up society a la Strummer or Costello. To say hopes were high - perhaps unreasonably so - would be a total understatement!
So Rachel and I headed off at 7.15 and parked up after a swift drive at 8. I'm fully strapped up after twisting my knee and dislodging some cartilage the previous weekend, so we took a slow limp into the venue and sat in the rapidly filling and very convivial bar. A real cross-section of clientele for this one - young indie-kids rubbing shoulders with retro teddy girls and old 40-something Mary Chain/MBV musos; it appears Glasvegas appeal to a broad church...
Had to kick around and wait until 9 for support Mad Skull to take the stage. A single hooded character stood behind a keyboard and played an old folk song extolling Glasgow's virtues - and that was as good as it got! Quite the worst support I'd seen for some time, this lot looked like they were about to mug you, and peddled a horrendous beatbox driven drivel, with all the charisma of a charging elephant and less subtlety, like Black Grape gone wrong. Rach and I retreated to the corridor to attempt to escape!
So, from the ridiculous to the sublime. Rach and I took a spot stage left in the expectant sell-out crowd for Glasvegas' arrival at 10. Taking to the stage in a swathe of billowing dry ice and shimmering guitar noise, like something out of the 80s, singer James Allan moaned the opening notes to "Flowers And Football Tops" like a mournful hound, before the song burst into strident life with a wall of white light, backlighting the band's black-clad silhouettes.
Rarely has a band arrived with their first album so fully-formed, so free of the pitfalls normally associated with a young group. Sure, their lineage is pretty easy to spot - 50's doo-wop song structures, guitar fuzz wall of noise, aligned to the kind of effortless cool exuded by Ian McCulloch and, frankly, few others - but the mix is undeniably their own. "Flowers And Football Tops", a heart-tugging paean to a murdered child, almost brought a tear to my eye, particularly the closing refrain of "You Are My Sunshine" - and this was just the opener!
"Lonesome Swan" followed, chiming and haunting, recalling none other than The Sheila Divine, before the JAMC "Darklands"-era stomp of "Geraldine", an ode to a social worker (!) underlying their skill for interweaving today's social issues and topics into their beautiful jagged white noise. My favourite, "Cheating Heart" was also an early highlight, the lyric delivered with suitable stream of consciousness paranoia by the Ray-Ban clad Allan. No let up at all, though, as they delivered as near-perfect a set as possible right now. The terrace chant "Go Square Go", about a playground fight, saw the enthusiastic crowd chanting "Here We Fucking Go", and the brilliant closer "Daddy's Gone" cemented its place at the top of 2008's singles for me, spine-chilling, haunting and deliciously mournful, the crowd again singing along to the chorus during the post-middle 8 break, no doubt establishing a ritual as the band, stunned, looked on.
45 minutes set, done, A quick in and out leaving us all begging for more, and knowing that we've witnessed the start of something very special indeed. In James Allan, finally this generation of so far disappointing UK rock bands has produced its one true star, a Joe Strummer for the new millennium. I'm glad we got to see Glasvegas in a small venue, because they're hot hot hot and they're going to be huge huge huge! And this time you KNOW I'm right.
So Rachel and I headed off at 7.15 and parked up after a swift drive at 8. I'm fully strapped up after twisting my knee and dislodging some cartilage the previous weekend, so we took a slow limp into the venue and sat in the rapidly filling and very convivial bar. A real cross-section of clientele for this one - young indie-kids rubbing shoulders with retro teddy girls and old 40-something Mary Chain/MBV musos; it appears Glasvegas appeal to a broad church...
Had to kick around and wait until 9 for support Mad Skull to take the stage. A single hooded character stood behind a keyboard and played an old folk song extolling Glasgow's virtues - and that was as good as it got! Quite the worst support I'd seen for some time, this lot looked like they were about to mug you, and peddled a horrendous beatbox driven drivel, with all the charisma of a charging elephant and less subtlety, like Black Grape gone wrong. Rach and I retreated to the corridor to attempt to escape!
So, from the ridiculous to the sublime. Rach and I took a spot stage left in the expectant sell-out crowd for Glasvegas' arrival at 10. Taking to the stage in a swathe of billowing dry ice and shimmering guitar noise, like something out of the 80s, singer James Allan moaned the opening notes to "Flowers And Football Tops" like a mournful hound, before the song burst into strident life with a wall of white light, backlighting the band's black-clad silhouettes.
Rarely has a band arrived with their first album so fully-formed, so free of the pitfalls normally associated with a young group. Sure, their lineage is pretty easy to spot - 50's doo-wop song structures, guitar fuzz wall of noise, aligned to the kind of effortless cool exuded by Ian McCulloch and, frankly, few others - but the mix is undeniably their own. "Flowers And Football Tops", a heart-tugging paean to a murdered child, almost brought a tear to my eye, particularly the closing refrain of "You Are My Sunshine" - and this was just the opener!
"Lonesome Swan" followed, chiming and haunting, recalling none other than The Sheila Divine, before the JAMC "Darklands"-era stomp of "Geraldine", an ode to a social worker (!) underlying their skill for interweaving today's social issues and topics into their beautiful jagged white noise. My favourite, "Cheating Heart" was also an early highlight, the lyric delivered with suitable stream of consciousness paranoia by the Ray-Ban clad Allan. No let up at all, though, as they delivered as near-perfect a set as possible right now. The terrace chant "Go Square Go", about a playground fight, saw the enthusiastic crowd chanting "Here We Fucking Go", and the brilliant closer "Daddy's Gone" cemented its place at the top of 2008's singles for me, spine-chilling, haunting and deliciously mournful, the crowd again singing along to the chorus during the post-middle 8 break, no doubt establishing a ritual as the band, stunned, looked on.
45 minutes set, done, A quick in and out leaving us all begging for more, and knowing that we've witnessed the start of something very special indeed. In James Allan, finally this generation of so far disappointing UK rock bands has produced its one true star, a Joe Strummer for the new millennium. I'm glad we got to see Glasvegas in a small venue, because they're hot hot hot and they're going to be huge huge huge! And this time you KNOW I'm right.
756 KILLING JOKE, Treponem Pal, plus support, London Kentish Town Forum, Friday 3 October 2008
Following my recent Joke resurrection, I'd have been interested about any future gig by the hosts of my first ever gig, back in June 1981. But when I heard that they were showcasing their first 2 albums on one night, his became an absolute must! So Rich and I booked tix and days off, so we could be totally prepared for the inevitable aural assault from this unique, savage and primal punk noise band, whom one of their own members described as sounding, "like the earth vomiting"!
Left at 4.15 and parked up by the venue just after 7, in time for Rich to get chips before we hit the venue for drinkies. Found a superb viewing spot behind the mixing desk (I'd deduced - correctly - that the floor would be 100% manic mosh, and my dodgy knee should probably give that a miss) and stayed there all night!
The problem with being true musical innovators is that many will subsequently take your sonic template then right royally screw it up. Thus it was with the 2 joke-influenced supports - one was shouty post-EMO hardcore, with a vocalist who believed "performance" meant poncing about and taking your shirt off, and the second were a clumsy proto nu-metal mess who frankly sounded like a walrus taking a dump. At least we enjoyed spotting the misquoted lyric during band 2 - my faves included, "I'm the flake machine," and, "In the planet of gas, here I am with a post up my ass"! Rich and I thought that if he'd enacted the latter, the entertainment value would rise a thousand-fold! Actually, however, the most entertaining thing was that Rich appeared to be standing next to Tony Stark (as portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in the recent "Iron Man" movie), so much so that I wanted to ask him to say, "I prefer the weapon you only have to fire... ONCE!" but I was afraid he'd zap me with a repulsor ray or something...!
Tomfoolery over, on to the serious business. The place by now was heaving and rapturously chanting in anticipation of the Joke's arrival, which came at 9.30 to a gothic Wagnerian soundtrack - guitarist Geordie and drummer Paul; white-clad and oddly visored bassist Youth (rocking his Orb look rather than his Joke roots), then finally the unhinged presence of frontman Jaz Coleman, boiler suited and, with joker make-up smeared across his demonic features, yet considerably trimmer even than a couple of years ago. The original Killing Joke line-up, back together for the first time since, ooh, God knows when...
And straight into the hypnotic synth pulse of "Requiem", a strident anthemic opener to ignite the floor-wide mosh, which then went even wilder for the metronomic military march of "Wardance". A relentless pace immediately established - and maintained!
The first 2 Killing Joke albums sounded like nothing else around at the time, veering between guitar-overladen anthemic yet brutal punk attacks, synth workouts with tribal beat overloads, and sinister drawn-out metronomic symphonies. So we got the lot tonight, punctuated by Jaz' lunatic exhortations that 9/11 was, "an inside job," and railings against, "the system," oddly enough still relevant now as back in the Thatcherite late-70s. "Complications" was an amazing mosh-fueller, but that was even topped by an unexpected "Eighties", filling the gap between the primal first album and the more coherent, beats-driven second "What's This For?". "Tension", a rocking beat-down stomper, was great, and "Unspeakable" creepy and sinewy, but the epic single "Follow The Leaders" sounded as harsh, raw and eerily catchy as ever.
Rip-roaring rocker "The Wait", delayed from the first album run-through to the set-end, and a titanic "Pssyche" rounded off a relentless set, before a totally unexpected and very fitting "Love Like Blood", which followed a very well observed minute's silence for early Joke member, the late Paul Raven. The funk stomp of "Change" and a brilliant "Are You Receiving?" finished a magnificent, brutally savage yet euphoric 1 1/2 hours. We got lost around St. John's Wood on the way home and didn't get back till 1.30, but who cares? This was one of the greats.
Left at 4.15 and parked up by the venue just after 7, in time for Rich to get chips before we hit the venue for drinkies. Found a superb viewing spot behind the mixing desk (I'd deduced - correctly - that the floor would be 100% manic mosh, and my dodgy knee should probably give that a miss) and stayed there all night!
The problem with being true musical innovators is that many will subsequently take your sonic template then right royally screw it up. Thus it was with the 2 joke-influenced supports - one was shouty post-EMO hardcore, with a vocalist who believed "performance" meant poncing about and taking your shirt off, and the second were a clumsy proto nu-metal mess who frankly sounded like a walrus taking a dump. At least we enjoyed spotting the misquoted lyric during band 2 - my faves included, "I'm the flake machine," and, "In the planet of gas, here I am with a post up my ass"! Rich and I thought that if he'd enacted the latter, the entertainment value would rise a thousand-fold! Actually, however, the most entertaining thing was that Rich appeared to be standing next to Tony Stark (as portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in the recent "Iron Man" movie), so much so that I wanted to ask him to say, "I prefer the weapon you only have to fire... ONCE!" but I was afraid he'd zap me with a repulsor ray or something...!
Tomfoolery over, on to the serious business. The place by now was heaving and rapturously chanting in anticipation of the Joke's arrival, which came at 9.30 to a gothic Wagnerian soundtrack - guitarist Geordie and drummer Paul; white-clad and oddly visored bassist Youth (rocking his Orb look rather than his Joke roots), then finally the unhinged presence of frontman Jaz Coleman, boiler suited and, with joker make-up smeared across his demonic features, yet considerably trimmer even than a couple of years ago. The original Killing Joke line-up, back together for the first time since, ooh, God knows when...
And straight into the hypnotic synth pulse of "Requiem", a strident anthemic opener to ignite the floor-wide mosh, which then went even wilder for the metronomic military march of "Wardance". A relentless pace immediately established - and maintained!
The first 2 Killing Joke albums sounded like nothing else around at the time, veering between guitar-overladen anthemic yet brutal punk attacks, synth workouts with tribal beat overloads, and sinister drawn-out metronomic symphonies. So we got the lot tonight, punctuated by Jaz' lunatic exhortations that 9/11 was, "an inside job," and railings against, "the system," oddly enough still relevant now as back in the Thatcherite late-70s. "Complications" was an amazing mosh-fueller, but that was even topped by an unexpected "Eighties", filling the gap between the primal first album and the more coherent, beats-driven second "What's This For?". "Tension", a rocking beat-down stomper, was great, and "Unspeakable" creepy and sinewy, but the epic single "Follow The Leaders" sounded as harsh, raw and eerily catchy as ever.
Rip-roaring rocker "The Wait", delayed from the first album run-through to the set-end, and a titanic "Pssyche" rounded off a relentless set, before a totally unexpected and very fitting "Love Like Blood", which followed a very well observed minute's silence for early Joke member, the late Paul Raven. The funk stomp of "Change" and a brilliant "Are You Receiving?" finished a magnificent, brutally savage yet euphoric 1 1/2 hours. We got lost around St. John's Wood on the way home and didn't get back till 1.30, but who cares? This was one of the greats.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
757 JOHN PEEL DAY, Swindon Wharf Green, Saturday 11 October 2008
Rachel will probably never forgive me for wanting to buy a paper while on holiday in Sharm-Al-Sheikh, Egypt, in October 2004. It was there and then that I found out John Peel, DJ, icon and champion of new music of all styles (and a man I'd passed by on a number of occasions at Reading Festivals down the years without, stupidly in hindsight, simply saying "hello" and "thanks") had died. I'll always remember that moment.
Thankfully, his memory lives on in "John Peel Day", a nationwide series of events, concerts and gigs showcasing new and predominantly unsigned bands, just like the great man had always done. Stuart and Steve, the guys behind Frequency magazine and both old friends, had a hand in putting together the Swindon event at the new leisure space in town, Wharf Green, and old Level 3 compatriot Richard Craven was doing the sounds in his DJ Mark E Moon incarnation, so the least I could do was pop along with the family!
So we got there midday on an unseasonably hot October Saturday, just missing openers 2 Sick Monkeys. Ran into Steve who advised the bill had changed somewhat, so next up weren't The Minnesota Twins (whom I only wanted to see as they're named after a baseball team!), but young upstarts Energy Without The Sun, who played a well-constructed set of thoughtful and energetic indie-pop. Shades of Death Cab For Cutie in some of the earlier numbers, but a lot of originality, fire and potential. We also checked out the Mega City 4-shirted soloist Simon Hall, who true to his roots rolled out a cover of their finest moment "Miles Apart", but beyond that played a strident and impassioned set strongly reminiscent of Dashboard Confessional.
I was up for staying for more, but we were hitting 3 pm, Logan needed milk and a nap, and a still-recovering-from-flu Rachel needed a rest, so we headed off at this point, glad at least to have done our duty by local music and by the great John Peel.
Thankfully, his memory lives on in "John Peel Day", a nationwide series of events, concerts and gigs showcasing new and predominantly unsigned bands, just like the great man had always done. Stuart and Steve, the guys behind Frequency magazine and both old friends, had a hand in putting together the Swindon event at the new leisure space in town, Wharf Green, and old Level 3 compatriot Richard Craven was doing the sounds in his DJ Mark E Moon incarnation, so the least I could do was pop along with the family!
So we got there midday on an unseasonably hot October Saturday, just missing openers 2 Sick Monkeys. Ran into Steve who advised the bill had changed somewhat, so next up weren't The Minnesota Twins (whom I only wanted to see as they're named after a baseball team!), but young upstarts Energy Without The Sun, who played a well-constructed set of thoughtful and energetic indie-pop. Shades of Death Cab For Cutie in some of the earlier numbers, but a lot of originality, fire and potential. We also checked out the Mega City 4-shirted soloist Simon Hall, who true to his roots rolled out a cover of their finest moment "Miles Apart", but beyond that played a strident and impassioned set strongly reminiscent of Dashboard Confessional.
I was up for staying for more, but we were hitting 3 pm, Logan needed milk and a nap, and a still-recovering-from-flu Rachel needed a rest, so we headed off at this point, glad at least to have done our duty by local music and by the great John Peel.
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