995 THE SHUDDERS, RAZE*REBUILD, Swindon Faringdon Park, Saturday 9th July 2016

An evening in the Park! This was a small precursor to what looks like the most promising “Swindon Shuffle” (the annual event showcasing the best in Swindon bands) since I’d been paying attention to it (not as long as I should have been, I’m somewhat ashamed to say), with the Shuffle organisers putting on a taster for said event at this, the 150^th Annual GWR Swindon Children’s Fete, as it stretched lazily and languidly into an overcast but humid and warm evening. We’d been considering taking the kids to the Fete anyway, but the presence of the in-form Shudders, plus the startling Raze*Rebuild, served to confirm our attendance!

We left it late, parking in the Outlet and wandering under the railway bridges to the Park for 5.30, finding a lot of the stalls packing up as day-tripper families dispersed. Still a few things to do, though, and we made a bee-line for the Helter Skelter and Hook A Duck stall, bumping into Rich May and family in the process. We also met Rach’s friend Rachel and her kids, and us grown-ups chilled by the performance area to the sound of a couple of Swindon Academy of Music young performers, while the kids hared around letting off steam. Eventually the serious bands showed up; Tim and The Shudders joined us for brief chats, vocalist Danny unfortunately suffering with a seriously croaky voice, and the Raze*Rebuild boys conducted an early and fiddly soundcheck. Kasey wanted to meet the band, which I arranged, the band taking it in good humour just before they took the stage; thanks boys! “Songs Of Praise” co-promoter Ed then introduced them onstage at 7.15 with a big push for the Shuffle itself, vocalist Simon then deferring to the children on the slippery dancefloor in front of the stage by promising, “not to swear – well, I promise to try not to swear!”

Raze*Rebuild were great again – I honestly wasn’t being flip or patronising when I tagged them as “my new favourite band” after their recent devastating Vic performance, gig 991; this lot are so seriously right in my wheelhouse they might as well be picking out curtains and home furnishings for it! If distilling and encapsulating the best of pre- and post-grunge US alt-rock and “popcore”, purveyed by the likes of Husker Du, Buffalo Tom, even Jimmy Eat World, into a shiny, upbeat and ridiculously catchy whole, wasn’t in itself enough, Raze*Rebuild then deliver said fayre with vim, venom and fire, following the lead of strong-armed, sinew-bulging and kinetic, scissor-kicking vocalist Simon Hall. The guitar mix was a little blowaway, as one would expect from a small open stage in an increasingly windy early evening field, the sound overall lacking the power and fulsome potency of that Vic showing, but no matter, the band made up for it in dynamism, honesty and humour. After anthemic fist-pumping opener “Back To The Fall” and the almost Joe Jackson-esque stripped rhythmic verse of “Jaded Heart”, Simon remarked, “I thought we’d scare you kids away! I underestimated you – fair play!” to his increasing junior moshpit, and later challenged Logan (who’d been taking a watching brief down the front) with, “I’m going to make it my mission to get you up on your feet!” A couple of cheesy and suitably rough-handled covers filled out the set, but the originals shone through, the bleeding raw Buffalo Tom-isms of “Kat I’m Sorry” being my highlight. They concluded a splendid set with the comment of, “I honestly thought we’d clear this place!” to the kids, and with the Jimmy Eat World-esque tear-soaked emo power ballad “Sand In The Petrol”. Now I can’t wait for their Shuffle set this Friday…!

The Shudders were on in short order thereafter, as the wind picked up and the darkening clouds threatened to unburden their contents. “The Shudders with man-flu!” announced Danny, his broken croak then totally failing to hit the high opening line to a nonetheless galloping and rambunctious singalong “Words Of A Fool”. He then advised, “when my voice goes, you get to nominate which of us carries on [singing]!” (Tim apparently being the crowd favourite here), but thankfully it held up through the Blue Oyster Cult 70’s riffery and “Grease” glam stomp of “No Angels In The Slipstream” and the subsequent, lovely and pastoral “Sunrise”. “Thought I Saw You” was initially understated, affected by a similar paucity of guitar oomph as that which hindered Raze*Rebuild’s early numbers, but took flight eventually, and “Sorry”’s powerpop stylings saw Danny nurse his voice to the finish line, dropping an octave for the 2^nd chorus after failing to get anywhere near the high notes first time around – poor chap!

A couple of oldies and a thank you to the leaden skies, “for the rain holding off!” then preceded their final number, newie “Star Bright”, which was my highlight of this brightly delivered and well-chosen set tonight. Ed had made reference in his introduction to the 7-year gestation period of their current album, which saw the light of day earlier this year, so by that token we might get to hear the slow burn opening and excellent soaring backbeat chorus of this number on record in, ooh, 2023…

Brief goodbyes and Kasey happily scrounging signatures from The Shudders for her list, then it was off for one last Hook A Bag for the kids, then home for 9.30 to lay tired heads to rest. A fun evening out in itself, and a successful taster for the main event coming this weekend. Shuffle up next!

994 THE VIM DICTA, Well Dressed Thief, Swindon The Victoria, Thursday 7th July 2016

Swindon’s going to serve me well for gigs this month, it seems… The return of The Swindon Shuffle to my itinerary, plus a precursor to said event, both loom large in my forward view; but first an intriguing one up the Vic tonight from Los Angeles band The Vim Dicta. Effusively recommended by recent Facebook friend and local gig-goer extraordinaire Geoffrey Head, a gent with an unparalleled ear to the ground regarding up and coming acts, and a band currently based out of Ilfracombe in the UK and apparently on an endless UK tour, their mission being to win over the smoky rock bars and pub back rooms of the UK, punter by punter if necessary. These 2 elements conspired to prompt local promotion duo Ed and Dave to book them for one of their excellent “Songs Of Praise” nights at the Vic, so I girded my loins in anticipation of an intriguing night being assailed by The Vim Dicta’s patented “psychogroove”…

Rach had a Governor’s training session until 9, so it was a late and slightly weary departure for me, parking up in my usual spot and trudging up the hill for 9.30, running into old friend Doug for a chat outside the Vic, then hitting a disappointingly sparse Vic back room just as openers Socket were packing up. A brief chat with promoter Dave passed the time before the usual quick turnaround saw 2^nd band, Well Dressed Thief, onstage just before 10 to 10. One well dressed, be-jacketed vocalist and three scruffbags, in fact, who played a nice line in sneaky understated verses building to towering, terrace chant chorus monoliths, largely underpinned by “whoa-oh” harmonies from the guitar and bass players. The vocalist’s impassioned, yearning vocals often gave their slower material a more emo feel, although their best number, the penultimate “Kitkat” (apparently about a girl the vocalist saw, who was, “fucked up at Reading Festival”) was a more straightahead indie rock number recalling Annie Christian. Overall a pretty decent starter.

The place then emptied again, much to Dave’s chagrin, and it seemed at one point, just as The Vim Dicta were setting up for their set, that they might end up playing to the promoters plus 3 punters… luckily the place suddenly filled to a respectable couple of dozen as Ed introduced the 3-piece band at 10.30, promising, “they’ll shred your brains…” He wasn’t far wrong, as the towering, thunderous opening to first number “My Illusion” led into a sludgy, primordial swamp groove, building to an impressive drum-dominated crescendo from hard-hitting, strong-armed drummer Chris. This set the tone for the set; a full-on sonic assault, showcasing their riff-heavy, wah-wah-tastic material, full of tension and menace; all dark, dramatic and dangerous, with undulating rhythms and tempo changes aplenty, played with passion, kinetic dynamism and no little amount of musical talent and virtuosity.

“We’ve got merch over there; our CD has a naked lady on it, if that’s what matters to you!” announced mop-headed guitarist Matt before taking lead vocals on a tempo-swapping “Wear My Love”. Some subsequent guitar tech issues saw drummer Chris display his talents and petite blonde bassist/ vocalist Cori proclaim how nice us Brits are (!), before the low-key, smoky torch singer opening of the splendid “Wreck Me” again led into some ball-crushing riffery and a thrillingly squalling crescendo. A cover of Chris Isaak’s haunting country staple “Wicked Game” was initially stripped to a naked hush, before bursting into jet-propelled life midway through, and the set finale double of “Von Tango” and “Teaspoon” was an epic dark musical ride through sleazy stomping glam, via frantic, almost Tex-Mex Mariachi rhythm, and into thudding, primitive Blues rock territory for good measure throughout its lengthy, sinuous distance. This concluded a shuddering, powerful set of full-on rock, relentless and intense, like swimming through a tsunami tide of gravel…!

A double encore featured “Point Blank”, for me their best number, the spooky, Doors-ish opening morphing into a tortured torch song, like the bar band in a Coen Brothers’ movie, playing loud to cover the noise of a particularly grisly murder occurring out back. A fitting end to an intriguing, challenging set from a dark, dynamic, unique and difficult to pigeonhole band, my only criticism being their sheer relentless onstage power giving little chance for some “light and shade” respite in the set. A small thing, as I remarked to Cori afterwards while loading up with merch, as nonetheless they certainly won this punter over!

993 TITUS ANDRONICUS, Esuma, Bad Vibes, Cardiff Gwdihw Café Bar, Wednesday 8th June 2016

The Mighty Titus Andronicus, in a venue about the size of my living room, on the hottest night of the year? Hoo boy… at the very least, this one’s going to get seriously sweaty…!

I picked up on this one on Facebook, and after checking with Cardiff resident Craig, some barely-believable details emerged, the gig being organised by a local Titus Andronicus devotee, in a venue which purported to be the size of a shoebox. Wow! Well, since their 2010 album “The Monitor” had utterly blown me away with its’ violent collision of vicious stomping punk rock, wordy literary subject matter referencing the American Civil War and general class struggles, and anthemic widescreen tuneage, causing me to proclaim it as pretty much the best album I’d heard all century (yes, I did say century), Titus Andronicus, in various guises, had become a similarly thrilling and visceral “live” staple of mine. So I wasn’t missing this potentially landmark manic evening out, booking a ticket quickly.

Craig managed to sort himself a ticket as well, so a sticky and close afternoon saw me heading off down the M4 and across the border, meeting up with Craig at his place just after 6. Long-overdue catching up with my old friend ensued, and plans were confirmed for an overnight stop, before we headed off into town, parking up at Professor Gurney’s grandiose work establishment and wandering through the city centre to this brightly painted and bohemian venue, ironically across the road from the cavernous Motorpoint Arena. Sure enough, it was minuscule, the main room actually being similar in size and orientation to my living room, the stage being more of a corner step to the front left of the boarded front window. My initially impressions were that you could probably shoehorn about 100 punters in, if they were packed like sardines…!

Sought open air refuge in the outside yet tarpaulin-covered beer garden, where Craig pointed out the neighbouring Cardiff Prison (oh lordy…), before we wandered in for openers Bad Vibes. Kind of wished I hadn’t, as they played an incoherent, shouty Nu-Metal mess, with screaming vocals delivered by the bastard son of Hermann Munster and Den Hegarty of 70’s rockers Darts. Decamped in short order to the beer garden as my ears are too delicate for this ham-fisted, clumsy and occasionally out of tune malarkey. Good thing their set was short! Esuna, next up, were a better proposition, albeit a very schizophrenic bunch, often straddling diametrically opposed musical genres in the space of half a song, and smothering what started off as either pleasantly meandering indie numbers or Manics-style anthems with hobnail-booted Sabbath style old school HM riffery. Still, the (initially) Tranmere Rovers-shirted drummer and clear bandleader was a hard-hitting and entertaining “live” presence, at least...

After another sojourn into the beer garden, we squeezed our way back in, Craig pitching up halfway back as I squeezed my way further forward, initially stage right, for the entrance of the 4-piece (for tonight) Titus Andronicus just before 10. “This is our first time in Wales – we’ve been dreaming of this moment for years and now it’s finally here,” quipped the angular, heavily bearded vocalist Patrick Stickles, tongue firmly in cheek and eliciting a chortle from the assemblage, Stickles then going on to warn us, “when we kick in with the rocking, just try and be careful – there’s potential for misadventures!”

Well, we couldn’t say we weren’t warned… the opening plaintive bars of “No Future Part Three” then burst into frenzied, roaring life, the pounding militaristic drum rolls powering the rock, as Stickles brandished his guitar like a broadsword, his conviction already clear-eyed and scarily intense, and I at least responded in kind, rocking out from the get-go, and fist-pumping the air to the all-inclusive and almost ironically joyful repetitive terrace chant hook outro of, “you will always… be a LOSER!” The eponymous and “White Riot”-alike “Titus Andronicus” was next up, one anthemic hook replaced with another (this time of, “your life is OVER!”), and it was clear that we were in for a very special evening, where audience and band combine into one, singular of purpose, revelling in the unifying power of rock’n’roll.

Titus Andronicus were utterly on fire tonight. The strident bluesy strut of “Mr. E Mann”, the skyscraping hook of “Fired Up”, and the crazed, wide-eyed hurtling punk rock thrill ride of “Dimed Out”, all prime cuts from the sprawling recent “The Most Lamentable Tragedy” double CD, were an awe-inspiring mid-set triple whammy. The band were totally in their stride by now, nary pausing for breath or a chance for the audience to even applaud before racing into the next, and by this time I’d wormed my way to front and centre, battering away for all I was worth (whilst keeping my feet planted and my dodgy knees soft!), leading the charge, immersed in the moment, completely lost in this magnificent, raw, ragged, strident, thrilling and utterly euphoric performance from this very special and unique band of ruffians. Following the Jagger-esque peacock strut of “Fatal Flaw” the band finally took a breather, Stickles thanking the promoter for, “inviting us to play here at… I’m not even going to try to pronounce it! “The Owl!” We’ve got those in America but they’re endangered!” then announcing a final couple of numbers…

The menacing jangle of the bilious, dramatic epic “The Battle Of Hampton Roads” kicked into life and the place went batshit crazy, almost impossibly finding new levels of frenzy as the song powered through the gears, swooping and tempo changing throughout its 14 minute plus duration, as I hung on down the front, backing the crowd up as best I could, lest we all collapse onstage into the band. Then, as if to demonstrate that even higher levels of magnificence could be achieved, “A More Perfect Union” threatened to unmoor this tiny café bar from its’ foundations, changing pace from manic careering punk rock to all-inclusive swayalong (“Rally ‘round the flag,” indeed!). An utterly fitting way to end an astonishing performance, Titus Andronicus surprising us all by reaching even higher levels of raw, visceral “live” brilliance, eclipsing even their own high standards. Holy fuck, what a show!

Suffice to say, we all needed to pause for breath in the immediate aftermath. I, drenched (Full Cleo! Yay!) and elated, chatted with Craig, the promoter and passing bassist RJ Gordon. I then noticed Patrick Stickles head down the road past his van, and after an appropriate time (at which point his fellow band members were asking of his whereabouts), I wandered down, discovering him sat in the corner of the car park opposite, collecting his thoughts after his performance, which had clearly taken its’ toll, requiring a prodigious level of commitment from him. We walked back to the venue as he composed himself, the two of us enjoying a brief chat about Crass and particularly the song “Big”A” Little “A””, before I took the opportunity for a pic, and Craig and I hit the road back to his place after an utterly epic night.

Big breakfast in the pub opposite and a brief shopping excursion in Cardiff before heading home at lunchtime the next day. This one was truly one of the greats; an utterly stellar performance from The Mighty Titus Andronicus!

992 TELEVISION, Lail Arad, Bristol University Anson Rooms, Monday 6th June 2016

Well, recent gigs seem to be falling into a bit of an unexpected – and unwelcome – pattern, insofar as I’ve been going to far too many clunkers for my liking of late. Also, somewhat surprisingly, said clunkers are mainly coming from the old stagers, the experienced hands (with the splendid exception of The Stuffies, Adam Ant and Brian Wilson – well, Wilson’s back line anyway…) letting me down somewhat, and the young bucks – particularly the local boys (take a bow, White Lilac and Raze*Rebuild) – coming through strongly. Another case in point was this, tonight, from 70’s New York proto punk/ art rockers Television; despite their passing me by a little back in the day, I’d latterly come to acknowledge their rightful place in the pantheon of rock’n’roll, and caught them doing full justice to their 1977 masterpiece, the seminal “Marquee Moon”, a couple of years ago at Shepherd’s Bush Empire. So despite this gig being at the impossible-to-park-at Anson Rooms, I booked tickets anyway; c’mon, Television are bound to be pretty reliable after nearly 40 years of practise, right? Right?

Fellow veteran rocker Beef joined us for this one as we headed off early to maximise our parking chances, finding a lucky last spot just around the corner for 7, thereby necessitating a wait outside on a thankfully balmy evening for doors at 7.30, and running into Devizes gig buddy Alfie in the process. Drinks in the bar and chat, circulating around recent gigs (particularly Wilson) and job prospects, took us up to the support, a tousled female soloist with a minimally played guitar and a quirky line in cool, laconic late night bluesy balladry. One jolly, coquettish number was apparently written for Leonard Cohen’s 80th birthday, and another was a one-note wordy, dark and duskily delivered tune which recalled Drugstore’s Isabel Monteiro. The studied NYC cool groove of new number, “No No Nostalgia”, closed out an intriguing and charming little set.

Back to the bar and ran into day trippers Jason and Julia, who were joining us for the return journey. We then all decamped to the main hall – by now crammed, particularly down the front – then had to wait an uncomfortable 20 minutes past Television’s allotted 9 pm arrival (enduring some painful freeform jazz in the process!) for the gents to finally join us. Led by guitar legend Tom Verlaine, they played an atmospheric opening piece highlighting Verlaine’s dextrous picking before “actual” opening number, “Prove It”, a bleak, yearning elegy with a Tex-Mex feel. The next number (which was preceded by Verlaine proffering some very explicit instructions to the lighting man, and when the beleaguered roadie failed to meet his detailed demands, suggested to the crowd, “I think you should all turn on this lighting guy!”) highlighted hired gun Jimmy Rip’s excellently snaking, sinuous fretwork, Rip coaxing an almost plaintive keening out of his instrument. Excellent, virtuoso musicianship.

However, thereafter the gig seemed to morph into a contest between Verlaine and Rip as to which could play the most elaborate – and interminably lengthy – solos. Don’t get me wrong, there were some highlights amidst this; the tango rhythm verse and tumbling, cascading chorus of “Venus De Milo” was utterly gorgeous, and the later, Velvet Underground-invoking eerie street balladry of “Guiding Light” was also superb. However “Little Johnny Jewel” (which preceded these two) was a lengthy, stripped out workout which tested the patience, and an even lengthier, creepy and largely instrumental number saw Verlaine and Rip indulge their art-rock/ avant garde selves and frequently sail uncomfortably near tedious prog rock self indulgent boredom.

“I’ve got to have a big pile of jokes next time we play, so as to be the total pro entertainer,” quipped Verlaine, uncharacteristically, before set closer, the classic “Marquee Moon”, initially a studied classic in haunting, hypnotic art-rock, lengthy but absorbing – right up until an unnecessary post-break which (there’s no other way to put this) kind of spoilt it, really. An encore of “Friction” brought a frustrating evening to a close, the only main redeeming thought was that said frustration was seemingly shared between all 4 of us in the car home – and Alfie too… Guys, keep it simple next time please?