1,186 FRANK TURNER, Pet Needs, Guise, Samantics, Frome Cheese and Grain, Sunday 8th August 2021

 

The last “paying” gig before last March’s lockdown was recent “live” staple, folk/punk troubadour and storyteller Frank Turner (Bath Forum, gig 1,181), so it seems only appropriate that Frank should host one of the first ones back! Indeed, had the initial “Freedom Day” date for full easing of all restrictions gone ahead on 21 June as planned, instead of being shunted back a month, this one – part of Frank’s “The Gathering” afternoon/evening extended bill events to fully welcome the “live” experience back, and initially scheduled for the following Saturday 26^th – would actually, and fittingly, have been the first back!

 This was also due to be a full family outing, but the youngest cried off at short notice, so we dropped them off at Grandmas and headed down on a sunny afternoon, phoning our friend Matt (who rather handily lives the other side of Frome) on the journey, who availed himself of the spare ticket. Got to the venue at 5, in time to catch the last knockings of Samantics’ jumpy and shouty set (sorry, but that’s all I remember of it!) and to suss out the arrangements. No Covid passport required, but a venue running at 50% capacity and with a new ventilation system installed – fair enough! We grabbed a drink and sat on the steps in front of the sun-drenched outside terrace, popping back in for Guise at 5.45. A two-piece iteration of Frank’s wife’s eponymous band, this time, with Jess being joined by co-vocalist Laura Hanna to embellish the harmonies of her delicate, absorbing and melancholy material. Opener “The Fun Part” was a charming strumalong opener, with tumbling vocals and a few too many words for comfort (which I’m always happy with in a song!), and after Jess made reference to herself and Laura being the only distaff performers on the bill (“consider us the apple spritz to your IPA!”), a subsequent “I Know When You Leave” (“about Frank going on tour – not [at the moment], he won’t fuck off now!”) was a wispy lovelorn beast. Another fine Guise set culminated in a more up-tempo newie, “The Boy And The Thief”, featuring more galloping guitar work and more tumbling over-wordy vocals from the impressively-ranged Ms. Guise. Ms. Guise, you see, not Mrs. Turner, as in her words, “I didn’t take his name because, you know, fuck the patriarchy!”

 A brief chat with the ever-gregarious Jess at the merch table afterwards, Jess claiming to have remembered us from Bath last March which was nice, then Rach got pizza for herself and Logan and we had a tea interval down by the nearby river at the far end of the car park, not only noticing the canoe slalom course set-up, but also a couple of water voles! Back in for a brief sampling of the subsequent Pet Needs early set, their frantic acoustic folky skiffle not really floating our collective boats, so we sat outside on the terrace instead, catching up with Matt on his arrival and subsequently also missing main support Skinny Lister!

 

However, we were all back in just before 9, as Frank bounded onstage solo, welcoming us all to, “Show 2,535!” before conducting a raucous and committed singalong to opener “The Ballad Of Me And My Friends”. Introducing fellow Sleeping Soul Matt Nasir onstage and commenting, “it feels like we’re revisiting the scene of a crime!”, Frank then announced the gig rules, adding a third to the usual, “don’t be a dickhead,” and, “if you know the words, sing along,” with, “if Matt does something complicated on the mandolin (an instrument Frank recently persuaded him to learn, apparently), you have to cheer!”

 

Not that this audience needed any prompting to cheer – they (or should that be, “we”), were totally engaged in the performance from note one, cheering and singing along to every word, determined to make up for lost time. As also was Frank; an outstanding performer even on his worst day, but rarely have I seen him perform his songs with such overt conviction, such passion and emotion, pouring heart and soul into every note, and commenting pointedly between songs as to how much this matters to him, and to us all. At this point, I normally list specific highlights, but just look at the set-list – in all honesty, every single number was magnificent, as also was the easy bonhomie between Frank and Matt, Frank’s between-song diatribe about recent events (“no-one knows how things are going to play out, least of all the people in charge; fucking twats!”), a touching tribute to his friend, the recently-lost Scott Hutchison of Frightened Rabbit prior to an achingly emotional newie “A Wave Across A Bay”, and his final, sincere thanks and comments on the sense of community he – and we – feel at a Frank Turner gig, A roof-raising and raucous “I Still Believe” was the perfect ending to an evening during which rock’n’roll saved us all, at least for a while… As Frank put it earlier; “fucking hell, I missed you guys!” And Frank, the feeling is totally mutual!

1,185 THE 2021 WICKHAM FESTIVAL (Saturday only), Saturday 7th August 2021

 “A Great Boy’s Day Out!” was my summary of my inaugural Saturday trip to Wickham Folk Festival with my 2 sons, back in 2019, so this mid-sized event, musically admittedly at the periphery of my largely indie/ punk/ rock tastes, nonetheless remained firmly on my radar. So a repeat Saturday trip for myself and Logan was “on” for 2020’s Saturday, once said day announced an itinerary including full band performances from our local folk/ punk favourite Gaz Brookfield, a return for the splendid Nick Parker and a first opportunity to see New Wave veteran singer-songwriter Nick Lowe, plus a “surprise” headliner, all clues at the time pointing hopefully to Elvis Costello but ultimately turning out to be veteran Irish folk/ bluesman Van Morrison! Also not necessarily to my tastes, but one worth adding to the gig CV…

 Then… Covid hit, wiping out all Summer 2020’s festival activities, despite early hopes that lockdown might be lifted in time to get this event on… The whole bill was “rolled” to 2021, tickets and all, so we held on to our tix in the hopes that the bill would stand pat. Unfortunately, despite all restrictions being eased in time to get the event on, the bill was affected with non-UK acts not being able to attend, and Gaz Brookfield – a type 1 Diabetic who had spent much of the lockdown period self-isolating for his health and who, entirely understandably, didn’t feel ready to perform – also announcing his withdrawal. Some bad news also leading up to the event, with “problems” with the main stage requiring a rejig of the stages and running times, and poor weather reportedly rendering the site and surrounds more than a bit muddy…!

 Still, we were still up for the day out (a bit of mud never stopped the rock!), so we headed down South late morning on a cloudy but (so far) dry day, pulling off the main road and into the “Day Parking” queue about 12.30. 15 minutes later, we were still stuck there in an immovable queue, with cars in front of us turning tail and heading back out. After questioning one such driver who informed me that the parking field was “a quagmire”, we followed suit, speaking rather unsatisfactorily to a festival steward on the way out (“anywhere else to park?” – “No, sorry” – “but I hear it’s a quagmire!” – “yes, we’re towing cars on and off the field” – “that’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” – “sorry, mate, I didn’t ask for it to rain…”) then desultorily heading back the way we came, seriously considering packing it in and going home, even at this early stage, if there was no alternative to leaving the car in the bog! Luckily a local small Garden Centre opened their overspill car park for us (“you might as well park in there, I’ve a feeling we’re going to be sent more cars shortly…”), so we donned heavy boots and squelched our way through a soggy campsite to the main arena. Same site as before, situated on the side of a hill, but this time all the stalls, activities etc. were clinging to the perimeter of the site, ironically where the mud was the worst! Still, we navigated our way through the mud to the Big Top tent in the corner – 2019’s second stage, this year’s makeshift main one – for our first act YOUNG ‘UNS, a largely acapella trio bemoaning the fact that a sudden surge in popularity of sea shanties – their stock-in-trade – coincided with their not being able to perform them due to lockdown! Still, a couple of rousing numbers about class struggles through the ages (Stefan Cush would be looking down proudly, I thought) and a lovely poignant closer “Tiny Little Notes” (about a girl who leaves notes on a Sunderland bridge imploring people not to take their own lives) punctuated an entertaining start.

 

We wandered down the front, Logan grabbing some barrier and myself chatting to fellow fan Claire, braving the entire weekend with her boys, for NICK PARKER AND THE FALSE ALARMS, on at 10 to 2. With Gaz’ withdrawal, Nick’s set was suddenly the crux of our day, and happily the man delivered – big time! “Never Been To Dublin” was a joyous, raucous opener, encapsulating Nick’s oeuvre of folk-tinged but deceptively hooky melody and intelligent, well-crafted storytelling. The man remarked, “lovely weather!” and gave a shout-out to the site crew before a soaring, singalong “Make Yourself At Home”, Nick remarking at the ovation at its’ conclusion with, “I’ve missed the clapping at the end of my songs!”. A well-chosen set delivered singalong banger after singalong banger, the unprompted “ba-ba” fill-in’s during “Departures” and the hoedown denouement to “Terry And June” proving early highlights, before Nick introduced the Worley family, mum and 2 kids, for the traditional sign-aloft prompts during an excellent “Es Tut Mir Leid”. The little girl was an absolute star, waving her sign as if her life depended on it, then going utterly bat-s-word crazy during another subsequent hoedown. A great set ended, appropriately, on an unnamed song of hope, because that’s what we all need right now, right?

 Logan persuaded me to buy him the Nick Parker hoodie that the merch lady persuaded him to try on (!), and we had a brief chat with Nick during the opening numbers of former Clannad frontperson MOYA BRENNAN’s subsequent set. With 2 harps as part of the stage set-up, this was always going to be a very quiet offering, her wispy traditional Irish melodies evoking mists rolling in off a dusky evening loch, so no surprise Nick kept shushing me during our chat – I do tend to talk a bit loud, me…! Time to kill thereafter, so we trudged through the mud to the far end of the site, by the half-built and wind-battered main stage (apparently said stage was delivered both too small and too late, hence its’ abandonment!), sussing out possible tea destinations amongst the half dozen eateries clustered around the wooden picnic benches. Took the weight off awhile, but a fine misty rain began to fall so we sought shelter in the small Marquee second stage. HATTIE HATSTAR provided some fun mid-afternoon diversion – looking like Mel Giedroyc’s older sister in pink bloomers but coming across musically like a cross between They Might Be Giants and Frank Sidebottom, through a Sarah Millican filter (OK I’m reaching here a bit, bear with me…), she swapped between accordion and ukulele and sung quirky ditties such as, “I want to give birth to a Clanger because Clangers are made of pink wool” (accompanied by her very own crowd-surfing Clanger!), “Dance like a twat – because life’s too short not to”, and the one about loving one’s pets more than one’s partner. Funny, wry and observational, Hattie was the (Hat) star of a barmy but entirely entertaining set!

 Tea beckoned then, so we split a pork roll before a wander back to the main stage for SETH LAKEMAN. A singer-songwriter I was totally unfamiliar with, his Irish tinged pop melodies were passable, no more, but attracted a big crowd, so what do I know, hey? Anyway, we circumnavigated the tent in increasingly glutinous conditions (Logan almost getting stuck in a particularly deep puddle!), to take a good viewing position as the Lakeman massive exited at the end of his set.

 

NICK LOWE was next up at 6 – a veteran of early 70’s pub rock staples Brinsley Schwarz, he’d then dovetailed in nicely with the late 70’s proto New Wave singer-songwriter crowd centred around Stiff Records, as performer, songwriter and producer, and enjoyed a brief flurry of “pop” hits before, like his contemporary Elvis Costello, ploughing a more exploratory and idiosyncratic furrow through various musical genres, more bluesy and rootsy than those late 70’s New Wave days. I confess I own a grand total of 2 Nick Lowe albums, both from those days, so much of this set was largely unfamiliar to me. Also, Nick had unfortunately fallen foul of the UK Covid passport rules, his intended lucha libre wrestler-masked Mariachi backing band Los Straitjackets being stuck in Mexico (!), so, in his words, “you’ve got me on my jack!” However, initial disappointments were soon allayed by the man’s quiet, understated delivery and the charmingly classy song-writing quality of the material. The man can put a tune together, no messin’!

 Showing various facets of his musical oeuvre, this was a virtuoso meander through a varied and impressive canon. Bluesy opener “Man That I’ve Become” ceded to more upbeat, almost 50’s rockabilly-esque gallops such as “Long Limbed Girl” and “Love Starvation”, the more introspective balladry of “People Change” and the gorgeous “Lately I’ve Let Things Slide”, and even an unexpected cover of the Bee Gee’s 80’s cheese-fest “Heartbreaker”. But, inevitably “Cruel To Be Kind”, delivered 40 minutes in and accompanied with a comment of, “that’s not even my best song – but it’s the one the public heard and said, THAT is a hit, so thank you!”, was my highlight. Well, until a slow-burn and plaintive rendition of “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace Love and Understanding”, anyway…! A rambunctious “I Knew The Bride (When She Used To Rock’n’Roll”) concluded a fine hour from the great man – splendid stuff!

 

We hovered outside the tent, house left, afterwards – ostensibly hoping to catch a word with Mr. Lowe should he emerge from backstage (he never did) – as VAN MORRISON kicked his very bluesy set into gear with “Deadbeat Saturday Night” and “Three Chords And The Truth”. By this time, however, interest was waning and limbs were tired of fighting against the mud, so we called it a day 20 minutes or so in, after a false start and quick dash back upfield to see Van do Them’s 60’s classic, the Doors-like rocker “Baby Please Don’t Go”, which he merged in with an equally raucous “Got My Mojo Working”. Which, indeed he did have, fair play to him, but we were done.

 A slow squelch out and a quick drive saw us home about 9.30 after a varied day. A Wickham Festival Saturday that was in all honesty a bit of a dog’s breakfast – part of me can’t help thinking that contingency plans could have sorted some issues, whilst recognising others were out of the organisers’ collective control. However, we both enjoyed the two Nicks at least, so all in all, another memorable (at least!) Boy’s Day Out!

1,184 THE LOVELY EGGS, Thick Richard, AK/DK, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Sunday 1st August 2021

 

Starting to come thick and fast now, with this 7-time (!) rescheduled tour… I confess I’m a relative latecomer to fiercely independent psychedelic punk veterans The Lovely Eggs, having taken the plunge early last year and picking up their 6^th (!) album “I Am Moron”, finding a thrillingly ranty clutch of scuzzy and fuzzy proto-punk numbers from this Lancastrian partner two-piece. Apparently, vocalist/ guitarist Holly also used to be in Angelica some years back, a band we saw once (gig 455, over 20 years ago!) and dismissed at the time with a pithy “the world only needs so many Helen Loves”!

 Anyway, The Lovely Eggs are a considerable step up from them, so I booked tix for their Bristol SWX gig which was then postponed multiple times due to Covid, then moved to the Fleece following a fire at SWX, and finally rescheduled for the same day I’d planned a big day out in Cardiff with my youngest! Luckily, tix were still available for the Oxford gig the following night, and I had 2 gig buddies for this one, so I drove over to Stu’s and Nige picked us up from there for the onward journey, parking in a practically deserted Cowley Road Tesco’s car park (whaaaat!), and hitting the venue at 7.30 after showing our Covid passports – first in! Air con was blaring on arrival, so I was glad I hadn’t joined the boys in wearing shorts – in fact I was dressed up to the nines, giving my new shiny black shirt and red suede creepers a gig debut!

 Openers AK/DK were on prompt at 8; an odd duo set-up, with a double drumkit separated by a bank of keyboards and electronica, their modus operandi seemed to be; settle on a sheet metal synth riff and overplay it to death, overlay it with minimal and indecipherably distorted vocals, and pound out a monotone, high tempo beat. This made their set relentlessly one-dimensional, and in all honesty one to be endured; still, at least I know I’m back to gigging proper now, having seen my first crap support act! Thick Richard, next up, was a completely different proposition – a skinny bespectacled poet in a Carter USM t-shirt (part Jarvis Cocker, part Sue Perkins, as he himself put it), with a thick Mancunian accent and a 100 mph in your face delivery, he came across like a more profane John Cooper Clarke (an obvious comparison, but if I hear clip clops, I’m saying “horse”, right?). The poetry and audience banter blended together as he (allegedly) couldn’t remember half of his opener, ironically about being off his face at a music festival! “Temporary Tourettes” (“I’ve not done this on the tour yet as it’s fucking horrible!”) lived up to its’ rep, a tumbling thesaurus of scatological insults with a serious message at its core (“they’re lying to you!” – of course they are mate, they’re tories!) and a later poem saw him donning a Raoul Moat mask made out of a child’s t-shirt – horribly poor taste but bloody funny. An uncomfortably entertaining set ended quite fittingly, with him walking offstage whilst in full fl…

 Not much changeover required, so The Lovely Eggs took the stage in short order, to strobe searchlights and the undulating synth pulse of Stereolab-like opener “Long Stem Carnations”. “This Decision”, next up, was however more representative of the set; certainly more punk than psychedelia, they came across like a female Mark E Smith fronting a 2-piece Ramones, with pocket dynamo Holly either holding her guitar aloft or indulging in heads-down no nonsense mindless boogie style shredding, whilst veering between Poly Styrene little girl lost vocals and screaming demented harpy rants, and drummer Dave a Marky Ramone clone, both visually and in the same metronomic economy of drumming style. They’d have fitted in nicely in mid-70’s NYC Max’s Kansas City or CBGBs, methinks… Some fun quips (“Oxford! Did you take a punt on this gig?”) and between-song banter too, about Dave’s e-Bay sales (including – finally! – his Mickey Mouse bar of soap!) Holly’s e-mail correspondence with a disgruntled fan about Covid passports (revealing a salient point about getting jabbed and proving it, to ensure live music can continue), and the relative silence of Southern crowds during a singalong set highlight “Fuck It Oh Yeah”. “I Wanna” (like so many of their numbers, a lyrical pop culture list) featured some Breeders-like grungy guitar riffery, “24 Eyes” was a terrific yelping amphetamine rush, and closer “Dickhead” came in like a glam stomp before taking flight to end a sneering, snarling, primitive yet totally fun set of fuzzed-up indie punk. Great stuff!

 A surprising set list too before a swift drive back, home at midnight… but then front door problems necessitated an emergency locksmith call-out (the second one I tried, after waiting 90 minutes in vain for the first one to call me back!). Bed at 2.30 then; a bit frazzled but buoyed after the lovely Lovely Eggs!

1,183 DESPERATE JOURNALIST, London Rough Trade East, Wednesday 28th July 2021

 

FINALLY! I can go back to my happy place; down the front at a gig…! 

I spoke too soon after The Shudders’ gig last August, hoping that it wouldn’t be as long before I rejoiced in the experience of “live” music again… an Autumn 2020 Covid-19 second wave saw increased civil restrictions and a subsequent post-Christmas second lockdown, with a welcome but too-tardy vaccine rollout finally promising a return to normality and “live” music over the last week or so. All in all, it’s been a long and arduous 313 days since I last experienced “live” music, and 482 days since my last paying gig! 

So, no better way to get back to it than with The Best Band In Britain right now, spritely goth-tinged post punkers Desperate Journalist… Not only releasing a new album “Maximum Sorrow”, prima facie another set of deliciously dark, dramatic and gloomy numbers for vocalist Jo Bevan to recite excerpts from her angst-ridden teen diaries over, maybe, albeit this time with a slight sonic evolution which sees more emphasis on Caz’ big pounding drumbeats and Simon’s lugubriously meandering bass lines and for me recalling the Britpop Glam stomp of the excellent Slingbacks, no less (!), but also announcing an in-store set and signing sesh at London’s Rough Trade East. I paused briefly before taking the plunge, a deciding factor being my good friend and fellow gig-counter Stu’s offer of cheap train tickets! 

So, we hit the rails at 10 past 4 for a good old catch up, tubing over to Aldgate and running the gamut of the Brick Lane Curry House barkers. Next time we might just set off earlier and avail ourselves of their wares…! Hit Rough Trade just as it was closing to prepare for the instore performance, nonetheless sneaking in for a taster of tonight’s entertainment as Desperate Journalist rounded off their clear-as-a-bell soundcheck. After a tough few months, I have to confess getting a bit of a lump in the old throatie on hearing rock music from a stage once more, and clapped when the soundcheck finished. Not sure if you’re supposed to do that; didn’t care! Grabbed a drink in the nearby terrace bar to kill time before 7 p.m. doors, then took a spot near the front of the stage, situated at the back of the shop, as the place slowly filled up and Stu had his ear talked off by a fellow punter, a Spanish lady with a Pete Doherty obsession! 

A respectable but by no means full crowd of about 50 or so punters had gathered by 8 p.m., as Desperate Journalist took the stage to a deathly hush, resident Ice Queen Jo emerging last and snarkily remarking, “alright babies?” as she took the stage. Stu had been to see Wolf Alice the previous week, and reported that vocalist Ellie was in tears at the simple joy of being onstage again after so long; no danger of any of that malarkey from Jo, although we did get a couple of uncharacteristic face-cracking grins and a bit of mid-set banter (“I said, are you all having a lovely Wednesday? Showmanship!”) before she reverted to type, firing back a sharp, “fuck you!” to a punter who cheered when she introduced an old number! 

As for the set… pretty much as I expected for the setting, a 7-song, half hour vignette, mainly showcasing new material, and as per the soundcheck sounding as refreshingly crystal clear as a spring lake after a downpour. Opener “Fault” was underpinned by Simon’s creepy bass-line and Caz’ strong-armed beats, guitarist Rob adding Sergeant/ McGeoch-like spooky textural embellishments; a poppier, almost Sleeper-esque “Personality Girlfriend” nonetheless featured a venomous snarling outro from Jo, intense and insouciant as ever; oldie and Parachute Men soundalike “Cristina” was an undulating and jagged delight and my set highlight; and sprawling set closer “Everything You Wanted” sounded almost widescreen and anthemic in nature. Performance-wise, in all honesty, it felt as though Desperate Journalist were reining it in a little (we’ll have to wait until January’s tour for the full-on in-your-face “live” experience), but that notwithstanding, it was just magical to hear “live” music, and this band in particular, once again. 

A few words afterwards with an affable band, doing the “meet and greet” thang (no photos yet, but no surprise there…) before dodging more curry house waiters on the way back to a 9.48 train which got us back to the ‘don in short order, Rach picking me up from the Station and home before 11! Easing my way back in with this one, maybe, but hey, “live” music is back at last, and I’m in my happy place again!

1182 THE SHUDDERS, Swindon The Manor, Saturday 29th August 2020

 

Breaking a Covid 19-induced 169 day-long gig famine with this local one, but hey, it’s some “live” music at last! Since my last gig, waaay back in March, the world had gone into lockdown hibernation to contain the spread of the Coronavirus pandemic, with my pre-arranged Spring “Dance Card” of scheduled gigs suffering blanket postponements firstly into Autumn, then further postponements into 2021! Of late, he world has at least taken small steps towards a return to normality (myself being back to work for 8 weeks now, for instance, after a 14-week furlough period from March to June), but there still exists considerable uncertainty about when larger public gatherings such as gigs can return. A very frustrating – and financially precarious – time for music fans, artists and venues, then, leading to this, my second-longest break between gigs – ever!

 I was actually expecting said break to be even longer, but local scene stalwarts The Shudders announced an acoustic gig at The Manor pub, a stone’s throw from our front door, and in the pub’s beer garden where the necessary dreaded Social Distancing (an utter oxymoron in my eyes – surely being “social” is about closeness and friendship, not staying away from folks!!) can take place. So we arranged a family evening outing to the pub, wandering out just as a cloudy but dry day had rather ominously morphed into a damp and chilly evening, threatening drizzle for our outdoor event. Bugger! The Shudders, however, were set up line abreast under a wooden gazebo next to the pub back door, so at least they wouldn’t get wet! Caught up with Tim between periodic soundchecks, and chatted with other punters “Paj” and Colin, before Danny called the band to order, kicking off their first set in front of a small but hardy clutch of onlookers.

 An “in between” band set-up, this, with Liam and Danny both wielding big acoustic guitars, Tim plugged in with his electric bass, and drummer Jim playing a percussion box, all huddled together under an ivy-bedecked wooden gazebo which gave the impression of a weird nativity play! The opening set material delved back to The Shudders’ embryonic first “Pirate folk” album, opener “Words Of A Fool” seeing their second speaker – which had apparently stubbornly refused to play ball all day – firing up midway through! Oldies “Dog You Can Kick” and the trad-country sounding “River Song” followed, sounding a little understated and hesitant, fragile even, which I guess was totally understandable given both the long break and unusual nature of this performance. Danny’s vocals however seemed more strident and upfront for the anti-war protest number “A Truce Song”, and after that each number sounded better than the last, as the band warmed to their task and shook off their understandable ring rust, Danny admitting to be, “suffering from the lockdown fever of not playing,” before “Standing In The Rain”. A subsequent “Long Way Down” was the best of this first set, a galloping CSNY-like 70’s country rocker to take us to a break.

 A pause then, Rach electing to take the kids home as it was now less damp but increasingly chilly, so I caught up with Tim before The Shudders’ second set. “By way of an apology for the cold weather, this one’s called “Sorry”,” introduced Danny as the number snuck in with its looped acoustic riff and groovy harmonic chorus. “Thought I Saw You” was its usual fine, breezy if understated powerpop self, then the boys tried a new number out on us before a lead vocal-swapping, meandering yet haunting cover of Neil Young’s alt-country classic “Powderfinger”. “Two more songs then you can go somewhere warm!” joked drummer Jim, but the remaining hardy perennials (all 5 of us!) made our own warmth with an energetic fun jig around the table to set closer “Lost And Broke”, the raucous fiddly-diddly Irish reel number interspersed with some audience participation and a mid-number “Box solo” from Jim! A fun way to end the set, after which we all decamped to the bar for warmth!

 A quick chat with the boys afterwards before I headed off home. This one’s admittedly not going to threaten the likes of Nada Surf or The Hold Steady in my 2020 gig “Top Ten”, but after such a lengthy period of Covid 19 gig hibernation, it was just nice to catch up with friends and hear “live” music again. So thank you to The Shudders for providing that opportunity, and hopefully it won’t be so long before the next one…

1,181 FRANK TURNER, Micah Schnabel, Jess Guise, Bath Forum, Friday 13th March 2020

Another chance to take Logan along to see one of his – and my – favourite “live” artistes, namely hard-working folk-punk troubadour Frank Turner! The dates for Frank’s last tour, an acoustic band go-round at the back end of 2019 showcasing last year’s loose “concept album”, “No Man’s Land” (a laudable if inconsistent acknowledgement of influential folk through history – who all just happened to be women), didn’t work for us, but this subsequent early 2020 solo stint included an all-ages Friday night gig at the nearby Bath Forum, so tix were duly and quickly snapped up. This was supposed to be more of a family outing, but Rach felt poorly on the day of the gig, so it ended up just being a boys’ night out. 

So, we set off at 6.30 and my little man navigated me in perfectly into the car park around the corner from this old theatre venue, getting in at 7.15. After surveying the already-busy front standing area, Logan elected to sit in the rear stalls seats, 2/3rds back, the sloping floor allowing for a good view of the stage. First act on at ¼ to 8 was “the missus”; “I’m Jess Guise, I’m officially Mrs. Frank Turner – also known as that lucky bitch!” No point hiding from it, so Jess skilfully first made light of it (“I’m here because, well, nepotism…!”) then got the Frank massive onside not only with a challenge to their broad-mindedness (“we wanted to see how receptive a Frank Turner crowd would be to my music…”), but also with her set, which from the outset was captivating, charming and lovelorn. Opener “The Fun Part” was lilting, reflective and melancholy, and whilst the next number was slightly more upbeat, albeit still in Sundays and even early Smiths territory, we were soon, “back in heartbreak land – I did spend a lot of time there!” A buoyant, self-effacing manner at odds with her music (well, I guess she’s in a good place now!) and an impressive vocal range were also features of a charming set, at the end of which my 12 year old – that’s 12 year old – son commented, “that was very relatable – she’s been through as many breakups as I have!” 

After a short break, next up was a completely different kettle of reactionary radicalism in the shape of Micah Schnabel. Again pounding a well-worn acoustic, Ohioan Micah’s set was much more punky, in your face, full of self-deprecation and emo-angst, and variously recalled early Dashboard Confessional, Brian Fallon (when he’s good!) and even the powerfully rambling stream-of-consciousness delivery of Titus Andronicus’ mighty Patrick Stickles. Pointedly funny too… early number “How To Ride A Bike” featured the hook, “being alive is so expensive but being dead is such a lousy alternative”, and his garbled between-song banter included such gems as, “it’s an honour playing these lovely places; I normally play the dark corners of bars; this is nice, there’s a microphone and everything!” and, “I wish my dad were here to see this – he’d stop telling me to go get a job!” “New Norman Rockwell”, a rallying cry to be a better person, was an appropriate closer for another impressive set. Very good supports this time, Frank! 

I’d popped out mid-set to the foyer and had my ear talked off by the very gregarious Ms. Guise, and subsequently took Logan out for a brief (ha!) chat and pics. Back in to a crowded auditorium well before showtime; despite this being my 10th Frank Turner gig, this still felt like a slightly unknown quantity... We know full well what Frank’s capable of with The Sleeping Souls in tow, however my/our only previous Frank solo experience was in front of a few dozen enthusiastic punters shoehorned into Swindon’s short-lived RPM Records (gig 1,067). How would this one go down? 

Well, we needn’t have worried as from note one of opener, “The Ballad Of Me And My Friends”, this supreme showman had the audience utterly captivated, raucously raising the roof and singing along to every word. And no one more so than my little man, screaming, “we’re definitely going to hell, but we’ll have all the best stories to tell!” at the top of his voice. We’ve brought him up well, it seems… Welcoming us to, “show 2,470!” Frank informed us that we were all on backing vocals tonight (“the general vibe is that we all sing along!”) inducing a campfire singalong to his self-affirming, empowering folk/punk tunes and maintaining this all-inclusive attitude throughout, reducing this pretty decent sized theatre to the feel of a small pub back room. A rare talent. “This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The One Of Me” was ragged and bar-room bluesy; the huge ascending hook of “If Ever I Stray” was preceded with a plug for his Sierra Leone charity: and he informed us “The Next Storm” was, “a metaphor… and an appropriate one at the moment…” But the hushed, reflective “Be More Kind” was the highlight, preceded as it was by a passionate call to hold on to our humanity and be kind and decent people in these troubled times. Wise words indeed. 

“The Lioness” (one of only 2 numbers tonight from that “No Mans Land” album) was racey and appropriately teeth-baring, and a new song, “The Work” was about Jess; “we’ve been married for 6 months and I’m still enjoying saying the word “Wife”!” “Get Better” then heralded a quickfire blast to the end of the set and through the encores, with “I Still Believe” and final number “Polaroid Picture” singalong standouts. But everything was singalong tonight, let’s face it, in another stellar Frank gig. A quick exit in the rain and blast home before midnight for a tired but elated little man and his dad. A great boy’s night out!

1,180 NADA SURF, John Venderslice, London Camden Electric Ballroom, Thursday 12th March 2020

The first booking on my 2020 “Spring Dance Card” was this one, and it was a total and utter no-brainer… it takes a Very Special Band indeed to drag me up to London on a school night – particularly the deepest, darkest recesses of North London’s Camden Town – and the list of bands who justify such a trek is getting smaller all the time. One name, however, always rises to the top, that being NYC’s Nada Surf, a band who for me have pretty much gone toe to toe with The Hold Steady for the honour of Best Band In The World for the last decade, and, thanks to another wonderful addition to their flawless canon of work in this year’s sumptuously melodic and warm-hearted “Never Not Together”, pretty much a shoo-in for Album Of The Year honours (yes, already…!), might be actually putting some space between themselves and Minneapolis’ finest. All it needed was a stellar “live” performance…

So I hit the road early from work for this one, and a good thing too, as an accident on the M4 delayed me and vindicated my plan to park up at Osterley, despite a frantic ticket-mare at the car park (note to self – coins! Coins! Coins!). Nevertheless, I tubed it easily over to the venue for 7.15, joining a small band of punters on the barriers down the front and chatting to a young couple who’d travelled from Swansea for the gig! During a trip back to the loo, I saw Surf mainman Matt Caws manning the merch stand so took the opportunity for an elbow bump (no handshakes at the moment!) and a few words, which was nice. Support Jon Vanderslice, on at 8, pulled some anonymously provided questions from a bowl (“Desert Island top 3?” “How did you lose your virginity?”), his answers unfortunately proving more entertaining than his set of morose melancholic college pop. The blue-haired Vanderslice had the slightly distracted and heron-like stage presence of a Ken Stringfellow, and some of his better material veered towards Posies-like, but this was mainly a bleak set, invariably and slightly annoyingly smothered with effects from his percussion machine, and only a duet with Matt (preceded by a story from him about a recording session at Jon’s studio, during which he encountered one of Jon’s neighbours, a guy who, following an accident, had a big toe for a replacement thumb!) rose above the mediocrity. I did like Jon’s description of Matt following said duet; “he’s just sunshine, isn’t he?” You’re right there, bud… 

Took another loo break and got back quite easily; in comparison to Saturday’s Hold Steady gig, this was probably a disappointing 2/3 full. Thankfully that didn’t play into Nada Surf’s performance; on at 9 to the accompaniment of eerie synth and dry ice, they were utterly majestic from note one of lushly melodic opener “So Much Love”, with Matt, still rakishly rock-star slim, already the centre of attention. As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, the man has a gift for making you feel as if he’s playing exclusively for you, and pretty much every time I looked at him, he seemed to be looking right back! A tough, bouncy “Hi-Speed Soul” preceded greetings from the man and tonight’s first surprise, “our first single – rehearsal space back in New York was expensive, so we played really fast!”, the frantic, superfast strumalong thrillride of “The Plan”, which saw me bouncing up and down like a loon in my front row spot, bad knees be damned!

 

The set encapsulated the essence of this very special band, encompassing all eras and elements of their sound. “Killian’s Red” was slow-burn, eerie, blood red lit and goose-bump inducing; “Looking Through” was upbeat, metronomic and hard-hitting; a lovely “Inside Of Love” was a heartbreaking ballad from the heavens, delivered with a deliciously yearning vocal from Matt; and the backbeat “Cold To See Clear” was soaring, optimistic and divine. All throughout, Nada Surf’s performance was underpinned with generosity, warmth and humanity, Matt’s expression a picture of beatific serenity whilst he delivered the rock, leaving the expansive gestures to his bandmates Daniel Lorca – flailing his dreadlocks wildly – and octopus limbed drummer Ira Elliott. In fact, Ira, as ever, gave a massively Caldes-like energetic performance to the set highlight, a brilliantly undulating “Hyperspace” (“a song I wrote in a taxi to rehearsal as I was late!”), prompting some wag down the front (OK, me…) to shout, “yeah, Ira!” to which Matt joined in. Yeah, Ira!!

 

“See These Bones” was its’ usual slow-burn self, building a head of steam to a brilliantly layered and startlingly epic conclusion, whilst set closer, newie “Something I Should Do” was a crazy finale, dovetailing Joy Division steals (“Dance! Dance!”) with a steam-of-consciousness monologue from Matt. Another surprise awaited in the encore; a run through of early single and post-grunge MTV favourite “Popular”, then an extended “Blankest Year”, featuring 3 false endings to prolong the party, ended the night on an utterly celebratory note. I grabbed one of the lists gathered up by Matt at the end, deciding against waiting for more merch-stand facetime with the man after surveying the queue – long journey home and all! Back just after 1 after a stellar night, everything I’d hoped for from these boys – and more. If bliss had a sound, it would be Nada Surf. Gig Of The Year? Already? Don’t bet against it…!