1,155 THE SPIELBERGS, The Belishas, Bristol Louisiana, Thursday 26th September 2019

Third of 3 in 5 days bucked this recent trend of 80’s favourites with a new band – Oslo, Norway’s The Spielbergs. Another that I owe John Robb’s “Louder Than War” publication for, an interesting review earlier this year led to my checking out some of their stuff on YouTube, then picking up their debut “This Is Not The End” CD, which quickly became one of my favourites this year, replete with powerful grungy guitar, occasional urgent frantic pace and some strained, high pitched Mac-from-Superchunk-alike vocals as it is. As if Seafood or …Trail Of Dead had a raucous knock-down, drag-out fight with Manchester Orchestra or first-album Nothing, perhaps, but either way a splendid noisy listen, and a promising prospect “live” in a small venue like Bristol Louisiana!

So, off I did trot, skirting around the building site that Temple Meads seems to interminably pass for, grabbing the last street parking slot outside the Louie and popping in just after 8. Missed openers Lessons, therefore, but I popped up to the sparsely attended upstairs venue, saying “hey” to the ubiquitous Jeff, then checking out next band up, The Belishas, on at 8.30. Their opener (imaginatively title “Opener” on their set-list!) kicked off like Gaslight Anthem doing a cover of Titus Andronicus’ sprawling epic “The Battle Of Hampton Roads”, all layered and seething anthemic guitar, before diverting into a full-on punk rock assault. Vocalist Ewan, sporting a hideous brown suit a clear 3 sizes too big (!), nonetheless had the style and swagger of a young Pete Doherty, hopefully with more substance and without the drug and reliability issues (!). An early “Dorian Gray” (introduced as, “for your favourite narcissist!”) was a fast-paced 90’s indie rock pop blast redolent of Annie Christian (to these ancient ears, at least) with other numbers mining a similar dissonant and menacing seam to the zeitgeisty Fontaines DC and Murder Capital, and a couple of mid-set ones feeling looser-limbed and harmonically Britpoppy. All in all, however, a cracking set, with the bolshy recent single “Chlorine Maureen” (excellent title!) and next single “Foreign Policy” late highlights. Great openers; Ewan had introduced most numbers with, “this is [Song X], please enjoy…” and I did indeed, no messin’!

Some brief compliments with a moist Ewan afterwards (I always appreciate a man who sweats profusely for his art, me) and a break before the main event. The Spielbergs took the stage to a smattering of curious folk at 9.30, easing into the laze-rock Teenage Fanclub-like groove of opener “Five On It”. Initially following the album’s running order, next up was my favourite cut from said record, the irresistibly hooky “Distant Star”, by which time I was shaking a leg down the front and singing the “we could be… PERFECT!” hook back to the impressively maned vocalist Mads. The sound was initially a little thin on guitar, however, but the hooks and the band’s effervescent attitude still carried them through. “We had a day off in Bristol today,” remarked Mads; “great food, went bowling, got fucked up!”

As a thankfully fuller guitar sound kicked in, the jagged guitar lines and backwards drumming of “Bad Friend” recalled Biffy Clyro, no less, with “NFL” proving this band aren’t one trick ponies with some absorbingly morose, slower burn shoegaze, which then built to a faster crescendo. “4AM” was once again hooky heavy powerpop, making this old guy think of Redd Kross or even El Nino, and a swift 45 minutes set was concluded with a frantic, Seafood-like “We Are All Going To Die”, all angular and drum propelled, with a thrillingly noisy and lengthy climax. Fine stuff indeed!

Doorstepped drummer Christian for a set-list afterwards (they didn’t use one – all in their heads!), thence enjoying a nice chat with the man about the road, where to holiday in Norway (the train from Oslo to Bergan was his recommendation) and Norwegian football, Jan Aage Fjortoft inevitably cropping up in the conversation! Grabbed a mad pic with his bandmates, sat outside, on my way out, then a swift drive home for just after 11, after a fine showing from not 1, but 2 promising bands!

1,154 SPEAR OF DESTINY, Feather Trade, Swindon Level 3, Tuesday 24th September 2019

Another trip down Amnesia Avenue tonight, another 10^th gig for a band whom I’d seen multiple times in a condensed period in the 1980s… this time it’s Spear Of Destiny, Kirk Brandon’s polemic rabble of dark, sinister anthemic post-punkers, whom I’d caught 5 times in 4 months (!) starting with their support slot on U2’s coronation “Longest Day” gig in June 1985 (gig 29!), then a further 4 times down the years. A poorer showing on their Singles Tour in 2008 (gig 754) was nonetheless followed by a couple of considerably better and more redeeming support showings with Stiff Little Fingers, so I was considering popping down to Bristol to catch their “One Eyed Jacks” 35^th Anniversary tour there; then they announced a gig at my old stamping ground Level 3, thus saving me a journey! Kirk Brandon’s strident operatic tones in the confined spaces of Lev? Hmmm, he might just take the roof off on one of his prolonged high notes…!

Drove up and met the Big Man at 8 in the Rolly for some entertaining rock chat, not only with him but with Dave from local alt-rock combo Abstraction Engine (whom I’d initially mistaken for Sheer Music impresario Keiran Moore!) and his mates. Eventually took a wander downstairs to catch the last knockings of support Feather Trade and their gloomy and doomy, bass-dominated grungy final number. Spent awhile spotting old faces from punk days, including being introduced to Claire (a friend of a friend of Rich’s – small world!) whom I recognised as the “Punk Queen” from late 70’s U18 Brunel! My old friend Lynn was there too… Kirk Brandon’s in town, so of course she is!

We were half expecting a second support of Ex Simple Minds man Derek Forbes and his band The Dark (a pun on Hooky’s band The Light, perhaps?) but none was forthcoming, so when the intro music to “The Sweeney” piped up at 9.45, it was Spear Of Destiny who took the stage to a 2/3rds full Lev bottom area (the top balcony closed off completely). Not the best of turnouts, particularly for a band I’d seen headline Hammersmith Palais and Bristol Colston Hall and rock Wembley Stadium on a U2 support, but Kirk and his cohorts played to the people who made the effort rather than lamenting those who didn’t, with a fully-charged, powerful and strident set. The drum dominated stomp of opener “Rainmaker” set the tone for some dark, doom laden yet potent post-punk anthems, none more soaring and terrace chant than “Young Men”, which was preceded by Kirk welcoming us with a jaunty, “Hello Swindonia! Welcome to One Eyed Jacks’ 35… we don’t quite know what we’re doing, but whatever…”

An entertaining run-through of my second favourite SOD LP (sorry, I preferred “World Service”, but “OEJ” is still a good ‘un) ensued, with Kirk’s enduring high-pitched, strident and almost operatic voice the commanding and dominant feature, keyboards and occasional sax providing a textural feel – much like contemporaries The Psychedelic Furs, SOD were never a really guitar riff-heady band… By the rolling dancefloor power anthem “Liberator” I was wishing I still had the knees I had in the 80’s (!), and a couple of numbers later I was down the front anyway with the self-proclaimed SOD “scum” (Kirk, following a welcome anti-Tory tirade, having given us a choice as to which world we wanted to live in – Eton or scum)! “Attica” was a jagged, almost funky jaunt, yet the best number of the “OEJ” run-through for me was “These Days Are Gone”, a windswept and expansive lament, excellently and moodily delivered.

A 6-song (!) encore featuring some new material was nonetheless bookended by tonight’s highlights; firstly a rocking, sneering “Land Of Shame” (by which time Lynn was down the front with me), then a fitting set closer with the haunting keyboard intro to SOD’s best number, “World Service”, Kirk revelling in the reception from the by-now packed dancefloor, and leading the crowd in a lengthy singalong of the “I hear music” hook. The band left the stage at the end of a very fine 1 3/4 hours, leaving Kirk to take the applause, promise Swindonia that “it’s not over yet” (a veiled reference to next year perhaps, when “World Service” turns 35?) and offering us “much love” I’ve had my ups and downs with Mr. Brandon in the past, but tonight he was a star, and this was certainly as good as I’d seen Spear since their 80’s heyday. As I remarked to Lev owner and till-girl (!) Violet on the way out, on this form you can invite Spear Of Destiny back anytime!

1,153 THE CHESTERFIELDS, Rodney Allen, Dai Nichi, Bristol Louisiana, Sunday 22nd September 2019

Hmmm, where to start with this one, on a night where old ghosts – sometimes literally! – seemed to crawl out of the walls…

The Chesterfields for me epitomised the mid-eighties C86 movement, their fresh-faced, buoyant and effervescent ramshackle pop making them the archetypal zeitgeist-catching DIY/fanzine band du jour. I’d seen them 9 ace, mainly alcohol-fuelled times between 1987 and 89, usually with the not-so-big-back-then Big Man by my side – or at the bar getting the round in…! Fluid of line-up, a split between founder members and co-singer-songwriters Simon Barber and Dave Goldsworthy heralded a slow demise for the band, and the tragic death of Goldsworthy in 2003 – victim of an apparent hit-and-run – seemed to put paid to there ever being a 10^th time “live” for me. However, news of an ersatz Chesterfields line-up, put together by Barber and featuring Andy Strickland of 80’s contemporaries the Caretaker Race, playing the 2016 International Pop Overthrow Festival, put them back on my watchlist, then finally a proper tour brought them home to Bristol – well, fairly close to their actual home of Yeovil – so I was there, again with The Big Man by my side!

Jason joined us too, so I picked the boys up after a Brixham weekend, getting the drinks in at The Louisiana’s downstairs pub on arrival. We largely decided against checking out openers Dai Nichi, which worked well for us, as the couple of numbers we did see were horribly amateurish. One time the diminutive vocalist apologised for a mid-song ricket, and I thought, which one… From the ridiculous to the sublime, however, with main support Rodney Allen. The “one man-cub and his guitar” of the Tropic support, waaaay back in 1987 (gig 83!), he now sports Reed Richards greying temples but still had the enthusiasm, charm and Weller/Bragg-esque delivery of yore. The achingly yearning kitchen sink drama of “Tell Me On Saturday”, the bolshy “That’s Entertainment”-alike observational “HappySad” and the fun flourish of “The Moped Song”; all familiar numbers from those 80’s days, that he apparently wrote, “when I was 16, and I’m now a man of 50-something!” Some fun, flippant chat too, but the most memorable moment was a bouncy yet poignant reading of The Chesterfields’ “Love Mountain”, for “the one person who couldn’t be here – Davey”. Nuff said.

Great stuff, so I stopped back after a loo break for a brief chat with Rodney, who was downstairs chatting to a young man with naggingly familiar features… I complimented him on his Davey tribute, and he then knocked me sideways by introducing his friend with, “this is Joseph!” Davey’s son, subject of Davey’s “Hopes For Lauren Or Joseph” song, and a man whom we actually toasted the birth of, at the Kentish Town Forum gig (no.100) back in May 1988! No wonder those features seemed familiar… Thankfully, he took my surprise, and subsequent tributes to his dad, with great equanimity. Chip off the old block, indeed…!

Back upstairs and in a spot near the front for The Chesterfields, tuning up onstage. Simon Barber, sole remaining original member, now bald, bearded and be-suited, led his charges gently into opener “Shame About The Rain”, the version slower and almost textural in comparison to the plaintive jangle-pop version of yore. Indeed, early doors this seemed the norm, the band slowly feeling their way into the material, the gig vibe feeling slow-burn and understated despite its’ near-hometown status. “We’re The Chesterfields,” announced Andy Strickland, “we have to say that as we played in Birmingham and Spear Of Destiny [our Tuesday hosts, ironically enough!] were next door – we had some strange people in the house!”

“We’ve had a wonderful week [this being the last date of a 7-date tour] and a wonderful way to remember Davey,” commented Simon before “Girl On A Boat”, the first number they wrote together. Andy then took lead for a Caretaker Race number, before “Fool Is A Man” really saw The Chesterfields step up a gear, with added toughness and conviction finally aligned to their Byrdsian jangle and upbeat bounce. The sharp descending riffery of “Last Train To Yeovil” saw Simon reference the “Milk Train” (caught that myself a few times, back in the day!); “Johnny Dee” was an absorbing slow burner, really taking flight into the final chorus, and an almost mature-sounding “Completely And Utterly”, more melodic and less brash than the original, ended the “set”, although the band ploughed onwards, through to final encore “Sweet Revenge”, sung by Simon’s brother Mark Barber, who also saw time with The Chesterfields. By that time I was bopping down the front, and, rather surreally, shoulder to shoulder with Joseph and signing lustily along to his dad’s songs. I hope Davey was looking down on us and grinning…

Hung fire afterwards for chats with Mark and Simon, who remembered us from those 80’s days, which was nice, then home after a fine way to finally get to my 10^th with The Chesterfields. Although, am I wrong to think that my enduring memory of this one will be meeting Joseph and seeing his dad’s features staring back at me? RIP Davey Chesterfield; you’re missed, but thank you for an excellent musical legacy.

1,152 CHRIS WEBB, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 12th September 2019

The acoustic start to my 2019 “Autumn Dance Card” continues with my impromptu attendance at a solo performance by a man I’m more familiar with as part of Gaz Brookfield’s Company Of Thieves… unlike fellow Company man (that’s better than saying “fellow Thief”, right?) Nick Parker, I’d not been privy to Chris Webb’s solo outings, apart from his slot opening for Gaz at the famous “Logan onstage” Southampton gig last February (gig 1,073), a gig where he also helped Logan during his onstage antics, sharing his mic with my son during “Diabete’s Blues”. Been meaning to see him “live” since, just not had the chance (T’uh, excuses, excuses)… This one also seemed a little dicey, given that I was working through a laundry list of jobs in preparation for a family weekend in Brixham supporting my crazy wifey while she swam the Dart 10K Event, but luckily I manages to squeeze in a couple of hours to pop “Up the Tupp”…

Arrived just before 8.30, literally minutes before the man was due onstage, so had time to grab a drink, exchange pleasantries with Dave Franklin, then take a pew near the front for Chris’ performance in front of a score of keen local folk/acoustica fans and curious Thursday night punters. A gently meandering, mostly instrumental opener eased us in gently, then Chris commented on his having been compared vocally to Squeeze’s Glen Tilbrook (hmmm, don’t see that myself), which at least provided an excuse for an early and rather splendid cover of Squeeze’s joyously wordy “Up The Junction”. Great stuff!

“Wordy” in fact was probably a suitable summary for Chris’ performance tonight, albeit in the best possible way… Chatty, urbane and relaxed throughout, he told stories of other alleged comparisons as lead-ins to well-chosen covers (John Martin and Divine Comedy’s Neil Hannon, apparently), deftly avoided falling into the trap of telling Gaz stories to the Swindon audience, yet praised us as a “lovely” crowd and “Home from home – unlike Aylesbury, that was awful!”. His own material was generally less immediate and more complex than either of his Company bandmates, often requiring either some motormouth gabbling to fit all the words in (viz. the splendid “Heat”), or some seriously intricate finger-picking to cram all the notes in! Works for me, I’ve always been a fan of songs which have more verbiage than they can comfortably hold – The Hold Steady and early Del Amitri (a fairly valid comparison for Chris tonight) being enduring faves of mine…!

A 2-set showing with a break, this, with “Breakfast” opening the second set, Chris suggesting we check Youtube to, “find the video [for this] and watch me dance around like a twat!” “Bittersweet” (introduced as, “an arsey song,” which Chris wrote after a bad trip to Glasgow) featured a packed and undulating harmony line, “Parade” was more wistful and pastoral, oldie “Singing To The Sea” was almost Spanish-guitar influenced, and “Let’s Crash A Ceilidh” racier and the most Gaz-like of his offerings. But my favourite of the set was the upbeat and insistent melody of the closing “Compass”, which was preceded by Chris giving us a flash of his new “compass” gig socks!

So, overall a very entertaining way to spend a Thursday evening, and a prompter for me to check out Chris “live” more often (maybe after the new album – being mastered soon! – drops). As for comparisons? Well, Tilbrook, Martin, Hannon… you know what, with his dextrous guitar work, complex yet melodic material and laconic, laid-back yet chatty and voluble delivery, when I listen to Chris Webb I just hear… Chris Webb!

1,151 RICHARD JOBSON, Bruce and Jamie Watson, Bristol St. Georges Hall, Tuesday 3rd September 2019

An intriguing way to kick off a packed and ever-evolving Autumn Dance Card, this; something a little different from a recent “live” favourite! My first real musical loves, anthemic Scots punks The Skids, had barrelled a swathe through my recent gigging days with epic and unforgettable performances since their 40^th Anniversary reunion in June 2017, not the least being a cracking gig in Gloucester earlier this year (gig 1,124). At that one, it felt as if The Skids were in the process of winding down operations for the time being (a June slot at the Albert Hall on the Pete Shelley memorial gig notwithstanding), and a subsequent acoustic album and Richard Jobson solo tour was announced as a result. Acoustic Skids? Hmmm… Nonetheless intrigued, I looked into tix for this St. Georges gig, remembering the excellent acoustics in this former church hall seated venue, blanched a little at the £47.50 front row ticket price but thought, better that than pay half that for halfway back, and subsequently discovered said price included meet and greet! Looking a bit better value now, methinks…!

 

A 5.45 start to this social session necessitated an early departure straight from work; I was buoyed to note all the traffic was coming out of Bristol rather than in, so chanced my arm up Park Street, finding a parking spot directly outside the venue. Result! So, in for the meet and greet with a small handful of aficionados; Jobbo happily remembered me (and my son Logan, absent tonight!) from the Oxford meet and greet 2 years ago, complimented my write-up (I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy!) and I was able to show him the letter I’d written to “Smash Hits” as an indignant 14 year old fan defending his honour. Bruce and Jamie Watson, Jobbo’s guitar wingmen tonight, also remembered me, and a convivial time passed by in conversation with the performers, fellow punters and merch man/ tour manager Gordon.

 

Grabbed a drink in the new atrium, bolted onto the side of this venerable old venue, before taking my front row seat, house right, for the “performance”. A larger stage than I’d recalled from previous visits, and proper seats too, not church pews! Not a sell-out, so back-row punters were encouraged to come forward to make for a more intimate gathering. Bruce and Jamie came onstage at 10 to 8 for a couple of warm-up numbers (one a Tex-Mex galloper, the other a more poignant number, which Bruce introduced as the last number he’d written with Stuart Adamson… He then introduced Jobbo onto the stage…

 

Straight from the off Richard Jobson was his usual voluble and articulate self, commanding your attention with his stories and songs. Explaining tonight’s format, the plan being to give the lyrics more emphasis through these interpretation, he also mentioned a mid-set break; “some of you might need it – it’s a Bruce thing!” “Hurry On Boys” started the proceedings, the singalong hook still as powerful and resonant stripped back, a couple of newies from the recent album following, each benefitting from not only this interpretation, but also from extensive intro explanations from the Great Man.

 

Tonight being billed as “Songs And Stories”, both were balanced perfectly. Jobbo touched on his childhood epilepsy and his introduction to music by his brother, an early love of Bowie teaching him it’s OK to be different, before a haunting and beautiful “Animation”; he joked about Big Country’s mid-80’s success throughout (tongue-in-cheek, I hope!), juxtaposing this with the ill-fated final Skids album “Joy”, before a baroque, folky “Fields”, and a lengthy story regarding U2 and Green Day’s version of the subsequent “Saints Are Coming” saw us into the break at 9. Ten minutes later he was back, delivering a chilling acapella “The Band Played Walzing Matilda” in his commanding, dark and resonant voice, before throwing the evening open to some Q&As. This prompted a brilliant story about him and Adamson motorcycling down to London from Dunfermline in the snow to buy some leather trousers (!), hanging out with Sid Vicious and attending the first Siouxsie And The Banshees gig as a consequence; gobbing on a Nolan sister on Top Of The Pops (!!); and the sheet joy of hearing “Charles” played on John Peel’s radio show, before an excellent version. I got a question in (about old Skids fans introducing their sons to the band and bringing them along), before an unexpected “Castles In Spain”, a single from Jobbo’s underrated post-Skids project The Armoury Show, together with enough information about his band members to suggest that project was ill-fated at best… Musically, the penultimate “Woman In Winter” was probably my highlight of the night, the mournful tones of the harmony weaving an eerie atmosphere, before the inevitable “Into The Valley” ended a startlingly entertaining 2 hours.

 

Off at the end for an unencumbered drive home, reflecting on this different interpretation of songs I know so well. The hallmark of great material, I always say, is seeing it seamlessly adapt to different interpretations, and that being the case The Skids oeuvre is quality indeed. Also, Richard Jobson once again proved himself to be a frontman and raconteur of rare and unique talent. Different, but another breathtaking evening from my first musical loves - or at least their main man!

1,150 RAZE*REBUILD, Swindon Rolleston Arms, Saturday 24th August 2019

A late shout, this particular gig, despite it featuring a pretty firm staple on my gig “Dance Card”, namely Swindon’s finest purveyors of strong-armed, hard-rocking blue collar millennial punk rock, Raze*Rebuild… the lateness of my decision was down to this gig falling on the last day of our Summer family holiday in Cornwall, a superb but completely rammed week of sightseeing, Eden Projecting and Adrenalin zipwiring. A hectic time, then, so I wasn’t sure I’d have any energy left for a Raze gig; however a swift drive back with, amazingly, no traffic holdups, got us back to the ‘don in more than good time for me to sit and chill awhile before setting off for this one. My 18^th Raze*Rebuild gig overall in little over 3 years, putting them a clear 4^th on my “most seen bands” list… let’s do this!

Donned shorts and kneestraps as usual and hit the venue just after 8.30, catching up with fellow Raze uber-fan Paul Carter and also Pete Monkey, whose rabble-rousing punk combo 2 Sick Monkeys were headlining tonight, and chilling outside in the warm late Summer evening. We were also joined by various Raze folks and friends, including crazy Jon, our late plus-one from May’s Spanish Love Songs/ Pkew Pkew Pkew Exchange gig (gig 1,136), who’d been to Twickenham for the rugby with his mate and was in entertainingly bizarre and profane form. Eventually the witching hour arrived and Raze were pretty much ready for the off about 20 past 9, so I joined the throng (which by now included Shuffle entrepreneurs Ed and Colin) inside the pub for galloping opener “Burden Of Youth”. Not much room for me to rock out as usual, with too many folks walking between my vantage point and the window-located stage to get to the bar, so I contented myself with some vigorous swaying to Raze’s blend of fist-pumping anthemic Springsteen rock and Bob Mould-esque sheet metal popcore. Then there was the sound…

Si had called for more vocals in the mix during third number, “Kat I’m Sorry”, before really dialling up the stentorian roar himself, totally belting out this huge, stately power ballad (and I mean that in the “Taillights Fade”, “Hear You Me” sense, not the squawking Jennifer Rush sense!). However, this became an unwanted theme tonight, Si repeatedly calling on the young soundman’s services to adjust a murky and uneven sound throughout, at one point even quipping to him, “I bet you thought you’d get to sit down tonight, didn’t you?” Luckily Raze* Rebuild are the type of band to just get the fuck on with it, and their songs are the type of material which can stand (and occasionally actually benefit from) a bit of roughhousing, so, true to form, they simply barrelled through it, delivering an American Hi-Fi-esque set of ragged, rampaging rock. “Sand In The Petrol” was thunderous (Si introducing it with, “here’s a ballad – we can do punk rock and ballads!”), “All The Gear” and “Troubled Minds” an old-fashioned power-packed one-two punch Rock Marciano would have been proud of, and after “Poison Air” required a couple of takes, Si losing the vocals completely first time around, closer “Back To The Fall” (“this is our last song – maybe you’ll hear me singing it, maybe you won’t…” deadpanned Si, ironically) was it’s usual roaring, soaring self. So despite the sound troubles, this was again a typically raucous set from Raze!

A chat with Si afterwards confirmed that this would likely be Raze’s last gig for awhile, Si also commenting that their return would ideally coincide with some new material to freshen the set up from the band’s perspective, some new numbers being in a very embryonic stage and needing considerable work before being gig ready. Fair enough, I guess, although personally I’m not getting tired of hearing this particular set of numbers! Towards the end of the set, it had also dawned on me just how busy my day (and week!) had been, so I, tiring fast, reluctantly decided against sticking around for the Monkeys and headed off home. At least I’d got the chance to see Raze*Rebuild one last time before a likely pause in proceedings – let’s see what they emerge with next time… and hopefully we’ll be able to hear it too!

1,149 WICKHAM FESTIVAL (Saturday only), Saturday 3 August 2019

I’d been looking for an opportunity to take nascent gig-goer Logan along to his first Festival – we’d considered a day at Reading this year but he wasn’t too keen – and this small-to-mid size event seemed a perfect opportunity to start. A well-established 3-day event down near Portsmouth, this one has its’ roots firmly in the traditional folk and blues genres and still majorly catered for those styles on its’ bill, but a few enticing acts peppered the Saturday bill, none more so than headliner Frank Turner, popular folk/punk troubadour, live favourite of ours and (given the proximity of his home town Winchester to this venue) homecoming hero! Another advantage was that research indicated the 2 main stages were both under big top cover, thus allaying any fears Logan particularly had about weather. The weekend also coincided with a visit from Evan, my now grown-up son; he’d accompanied me to a Reading Fest slight return in 2013 (gig 884) and was happy to subject himself to unfamiliar music for another day, so it turned into a Boy’s Day Out!

So we set off promptly just after 10, looking out for holiday getaway traffic but avoiding a chunk of New Forest-bound stuff thanks to Evan’s navigation skills taking us cross-country to Wickham village. Parked up therefore just before 12 in the hay field opposite the Festival site, wandering around to the entrance. A compact, 7,000 capacity site clinging to the side of a small hill overlooking a picturesque Hampshire valley, a quick wander revealed a bohemian collection of Festival stalls and small side stages, and a wide variety of eats. The clientele reflected this too; a wide spread of ages, families and styles giving the Fest a relaxed and inclusive feel. After sorting the boys with Festival sunnies (not much use early doors as it was overcast, but still…), we set folding chairs up on the skirts of the smaller Village Stage tent for an initial base camp. First act proper (we’d popped briefly into a side tent where a makeshift band from local college St. Vincents’ music department – featuring a female vocalist with an impressive strident range – were stomping over some rock covers) were THE WILSONS, an acapella trio delivering some charming lunchtime folky sea shanties. Nick Parker showed up, shaking my hand and remembering Logan, and we also chatted to a fellow Nick fan Claire, who was there for the weekend with her kids and who remembered Logan from his Gaz Brookfield Southampton onstage antics! Second act WINTER WILSON, with their more sparse and baroque, and occasionally almost medieval feeling, pastoral folk, provided the background to our conversation, but thereafter Logan and I were bound for the stage, front and centre!

Our first act of interest, at 1.45, was indeed the aforementioned Mr. P, with his full band. The first time, shamefully, that I’d seen NICK PARKER AND THE FALSE ALARMS in all their glory, and they were great, the full band adding an extra dimension to Nick’s easy folky-pop melody and wry observational lyricism, “Never Been To Dublin Before” proved an apposite opener, Nick remarking, “all the people mentioned [in the chorus] have played here!” the rendition featuring some excellent sawing from fiddle player Ben Wain (also of Gaz’ Company Of Thieves), much to the delight of a woman behind me, who’d recognised Ben from school music lessons! “Down With The Yoof” was rambunctious and ramshackle fun, an oldie “Jerusalem” (“from an earlier album – I found 250 copies of it and they’re all over by the merch stand!” deadpanned Nick) featured a yearning and soaring chorus, and “Departures” was my set favourite, slow burn and slow building, the excellent lyric reflecting the glorious mundanity of an airport departure lounge. Overall, cracking, joyous and uplifting stuff with huge smiles all around; definitely not the last time I catch the full band, and I also appreciate a performer such as Nick who sweats profusely for his art!

Congrats afterwards, then whilst the boys went off to check out other attractions (Logan to the bouncy castle laser tag, Evan to watch some circus jugglers), I caught THE NEWCRANES set from base camp, as the sun attempted to break through the hazy cloud cover. Festival veterans, they played a raucous and upbeat, slightly punky fiddly-diddly set of the type which, post-Gaz, I’m much more kindly disposed to these days. Shades of Pele and Mick O’Toole in a diverting set, my favourite number being one which started slowly and funereally, but then sped up to raucous moshpit catnip. The boys returned and we checked out LIL’ JIMMY REED AND THE “A” TEAM, next up. Reed, an 80 year old old school Mississippi delta bluesman, alongside his virtuoso pianist sidekick, played a mix of piano and guitar-led tears-in-the-beers blues, proto-rockabilly and impressively groovy and more upbeat honky tonk material. The first number reminded these admittedly uneducated (in this genre, at least) ears of The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues”, and others recalled the likes of Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” and suchlike. Not my normal cup of tea, but I enjoyed this and could appreciate a master craftsman at work; as could not only a large crowd assembled in the tent, but also Evan, who disappeared in after 2 numbers and emerged at set-end, declaring Jimmy, “awesome!” So much so, if fact, that the next step was to join a large queue to pick up a Jimmy Reed CD, for Evan to get signed, and to meet the great man to exchange some words about the blues. Awesome, indeed!

This led us to a relative lull in proceedings, so we grabbed some tea (nice Thai green curry for me!) and plonked ourselves by the main Valley Stage tent overspill, chowing down with DERVISH’s more traditional and plaintive Irish folk as a pleasant background. A trip back to the car to dump foldaway chairs, and we were ready for the evening’s mainstage festivities. Back into the Valley Stage tent just as the Dervish crowd were dispersing, so we got some splendid viewing spots in front of the speaker stack, house right, for GRACE PETRIE, on at 6.30. A soloist, political (personal and party) activist singer-songwriter, she’d impressed mightily during her Frank Turner support slot earlier this year (gig 1,121) not only with an excellent clutch of thought-provoking folk/Americana tinged numbers, but also some passionate yet easy repartee and connection with her audience. More of the same tonight with some witty yet barbed comments (“[I’ve released] 6 albums about how not to vote for the Tories; another one out next year – I’ve got a good feeling about this one!” and “I’ve noticed a number of nippers in the audience; I’m sorry, but I’ll be using bad words – I’ll be saying “Tories” a lot…!” were a couple of early rejoinders), an anti-Theresa May tirade, and an excellent early “Farewell To Welfare”, committed, impassioned and riveting. The one “happy” song, about her niece, was dispensed with early so she could concentrate on the other 2 aspects of her oeuvre – angry and sad! – yet most of the material was as uplifting as it was pointed, “Black Tie” (preceded by the comment, “I’m dressed like this [in black tie and waistcoat] because… I’ve got a snooker match after the gig!”) being a case in point, a letter to her 15-year old self to say everything’s gonna be OK. “Northbound” rounded off another fine set from Grace, after which I noticed (during a quick loo trip) that she was utterly besieged at the merch stand, having clearly resonated with a large part of this audience.

I was back in, however, for my 2 highlights; firstly THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, 80’s folk-tinged political punk rockers and class struggle historians, on at 8. I’d been playing TMTCH stuff to Logan for years but this was the first opportunity to subject him to a live performance (their clutch of 2010-13 Swindon gigs coming too early, and their more recent SLF O2 support slot falling on a school night), and thankfully they delivered in spades. “Ghosts Of Cable Street” was a brilliant singalong opener, pointedly dedicated by vocalist Stefan Cush to, “Tommy Robinson and his ilk… it’s like Hitler never existed!” and even more relevant now than ever, reflecting the tension of these troubled political times. “Wishing Well” and “Coventry” was a superbly rocking double salvo, “Bounty Hunter” slightly understated but still a raucous singalong, and “Smugglers” likewise, Logan gleefully pogoing on his barrier spot. “Green Fields Of France” was a gut-wrenching and poignant reminder of the horrors of war, however “Ironmasters” was the brilliant highlight, the boys cutting loose with a rabid and rattlingly good rendition, during which I conducted the crowd behind me in the singalong chorus. (Evan had taken a loo break halfway through the set and claimed he couldn’t get back… I suspect he didn’t want to hear his dad singing embarrassingly loudly!).

Brilliant stuff overall from The Men! A friendly roadie scrunched up the set-list and tossed it over to me, and a quick loo break revealed a small queue at the merch stand, so I got it signed by The Men, along with a hasty selfe with Stefan and fellow vocalist Phil Odgers. Result! Back in to the increasingly busy stage-front – Evan took a wander, deciding the Frank crush wasn’t for him, but Logan and I stayed on out bit of barrier for the prompt entrance of FRANK TURNER AND THE SLEEPING SOULS at 9 to a huge roar from the biggest crowd of the day. Punk rock for starters; Frank led the band through rip-roaring versions of “Get Better”, “1933” and a punky “Long Live The Queen”, racing around the stage and standing on the bass drum to emphasise his already impressive height. A breather thereafter allowed him to introduce us to, “show 2,372!” along with the usual rules (“don’t be an asshole, sing along), and “If Ever I Stray” and “The Road” really got the crowd roaring along, shaking this tent to its’ foundations.

Frank was his usual buoyant and riveting self, a consummate performer, making light of an early, erm, wardrobe malfunction during “Photosynthesis”, and declaring, “My mum is here tonight!” thence organising a hardcore circle pit (“not a Dorset circle, a proper Hampshire circle!”) in her honour. Frank introduced stand-in bassist Cahir O’Doherty, covering from new dad Tarrant before a poignant yet rocking “Polaroid Picture” and a funky “Blackout” which, as usual saw Frank in the photog pit, communing with the faithful. A touching “Don’t Worry” was preceded by an interesting exposition from Frank (“we were worried about bringing out an album called “Be More Kind” – we thought it might be out-of-date quickly as things might get better…  but it’s all turned to shit!”), and, as ever, a brilliant “I Am Disappeared” was my highlight.

An hour in, Frank paused for his usual solo interlude and we took a wander out for a loo trip, catching another couple of numbers from the outskirts of the tent, “Where I Tend To Be” and a manic “Try This At Home” being late-set highlights. Logan was tiring after a big Festival day, so when Evan reported in at 10.45, we took the opportunity for a quick getaway, those 10 minutes allowing us quick egress from the car park and environs, a swift drive getting us home for 12.20, reflecting on the day. Well done Wickham Festival, you were everything it said on the tin; relaxed and inclusive with excellent facilities, and all the bands we came to see delivered big time. A splendid first Festival for Logan and a great Boy’s Day Out!