1,294 THE NATIONAL, Soccer Mommy, London Alexandra Palace, Wednesday 27th September 2023

 

After a couple of little gigs, it’s time for a big ‘un; and right now they don’t come much bigger (Stadia and Festivals notwithstanding), than US alt-rock leaders The National! The band of choice for serious black jeans-clad “sad dad” musos (hands up, guilty as charged) and now firmly established as the R.E.M. of this particular musical generation (I said it would happen, and it’s happened…), Ohio’s The National announced a date at London’s cavernous greenhouse Alexandra Palace, so naturally I logged on for tix at the very second they went on sale. Despite my continuous “refresh” efforts, however, I was stymied and locked out until the “sold out” signs went up about 10 minutes afterwards… Luckily, I checked back about half an hour later, to find they’d added a second date for the night after! Yay! So, I quickly bagsied tix for that one before they, too, disappeared… Good thing too, as The National then went and delivered what may well be their career-defining album in this year’s “The First Two Pages Of Frankenstein”, a quite magnificent body of work, mainly slow-burn, stripped back and understatedly melancholy, but with a significantly elevated quality of songwriting which took a quantum stride forward from their last couple of “National by Numbers” albums. Likely their best, easily the best album I’ve heard this year, this could be their “Out Of Time”, the one which elevates them from growing cult status to the national (sic) and international consciousness…

 (Ironic really, given that in mood and timbre, its more akin to R.E.M.’s follow up to “OOT”, “Automatic For The People”, but still…)

 So, hopes were very high for a performance to match, as Stu picked me up at 4, hitting traffic just off the North Circular which delayed our arrival until ¼ to 7. Parked up easily, nonetheless, and grabbed a quick bite in the main atrium before wandering into the huge and ornate venue just after 7. Nashville’s Soccer Mommy took the stage just after 10 past, immediately easing into pure, textural opener “Crawling In My Skin”. Thence followed a real early 90’s college pop throwback set, with some fine musicianship from singer/ songwriter Sophie Allison’s backing band (particularly the robust, strong-armed drummer) happily giving an extra dynamism to Sophie’s oft-muted (and in the case of her second album material, sadly a bit borderline dull) material. “Circle The Drain” was plaintive and lovely, almost a companion piece to The Blake Babies’ classic “Out There”, the eerie pseudo goth template of “Darkness Forever” was juxtaposed with a languidly summery “Bullet In A Shotgun”, and after a slightly morose solo cover of Slowdive’s “Dagger”, Sophie bigged up the headliners (“The National put on quite a show”) and left us with set closer “Don’t Ask Me”, which was the brightest, bounciest and Belly-est number on display in a quietly impressive opening set.

 

We kept our good viewing spots, house left about 10 rows back, as the place got understandably busier, the lights smashing to black dead on 8.20 to the big screen backdrop of the band about to take the stage! So they did, easing in with an elongated “Runaway”, singer Matt Berninger’s nuanced, inflected baritone already the standout feature. However “Eucalyptus”, next up, was utterly magnificent, eliciting a surprise singalong to the “you can take it” hook, and building to a dramatic and sweeping crescendo (not the last of the evening, of course) augmented by the brass section overlay and Matt’s impassioned vocal. Woah… they’ve not peaked too soon, surely?

 Thankfully quality control was maintained, despite (although I blanked on this at the time) guitarist Aaron Dessner then advising us that the band wouldn’t be repeating any songs they played last night! We therefore had a slightly off the beaten track National song selection, but as ever delivered with this band’s signature mellifluously understated yet wonderfully sombre style, and happily (which hasn’t always been the case in large venues for me this year) matched by a clear-as-a-bell sound and impressive augmented light and screen backdrop (said screen usually showing artily fragmented shots of the onstage action). A delicious “This Isn’t Helping” ceded to “I Should Live In Salt” (“one of our strange time signature songs,” advised Aaron before brother Bryce took centre stage with some serious guitar shredding through its building denouement); “I Need My Girl” was heartcrackingly sombre, Matt’s yearning mahogany vocal augmented by stark backlit blue banks of light; newie “Deep End” (from an unexpected forthcoming album “Laugh Track” – their second this year!) was an old school “Alligator”-era rocker with a slightly countrified (think R.E.M’s “Reckoning”) lilt; and “Sorrow” (preceded by Aaron joking, “we thought about playing you [this song] for 2 ½ hours – there’s a precedent for that!) was beautifully despondent, heartbreak never sounding so good.

 Thereafter, it all got a little intermittently (and surprisingly) punk rock! Oldie “Murder Me Rachael” was a startlingly upbeat and growling U2-esque 80’s stadium rocker with a thunderous climax; the equally veteran “Available” was a soaring blast, Matt (not for the first time) delivering his screaming vocals from the photo pit into the faces of the front rows; and after the circular layered vocal build of “Secret Meeting” calmed matters slightly, “Turtleneck” was a dynamically juddering swampy Stones-like blues rocker. Yikes!

 For me, the gig took a bit of a lull thereafter (not helped by me zoning out slightly because some entitled 6 foot+ tall 5 to 3’er in a striped shirt planted himself directly in my line of vision – twat!), but a superb “Conversation 16”, with its’ juxtaposition of elegiac verse and huge strident “I’m EVIL!!” hook, brought me right back, before the propulsive thrill-ride of “Graceless”, the set closer and highlight of the night for me, saw Matt not only abandon the stage for the middle of the melee, but also then take a right turn and return to the stage via our side, phones held aloft to mark his progress. As he passed me by, I hastily snapped a photo, then during the early encore, tracked down the punter next to him in said pic (hi Max!).

 

“This has been the fucking best time!” pronounced a buoyed Matt, who once again had given his all, balancing his marvellous baritone with by-now easy frontperson showmanship. The slow-fast dynamics and textured hook of “Terrible Love” was the highlight of the encore, final number “About Today” seeing Stu and I head back to the car for 10.45 after nearly 2 ½ hours of stellar entertainment, a quick run seeing us back in the ‘don for 12.30. A superb night out as ever with The National, then, once again cementing their status as the heads of the US alt-rock table. Surely stadium-level status won’t be too long to follow…

1,293 ASH, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Tuesday 19th September 2023

 

A quick return to Rough Trade; after last week’s album release show and signing from spritely indie newcomers Coach Party, this one is hosted by spritely indie veterans Ash! The band may be into their 31^st year, astonishingly, and the boys themselves now well into their mid 40’s, but on the evidence of last year’s “Shiiine On” Top Band performance, they can still knock out one devastating rock show. Also, judging by brief advance listens to the new material from forthcoming, 8^th album “Race The Night”, they’ve still got a bat’s ear for an infectious, riff-powered indie hook or two, so a trip to Rough Trade for an album release show (including a copy of said album in the ticket price!), albeit in acoustic form, was pretty much a no-brainer for long-time Ash fans Rach and myself. So, over 28 years since I first made the trip down to Bristol for an Ash gig (July 1995, gig 301!), and for the 18^th time of asking overall, it’s Ash time again!

 Rach’s work colleague Sarah took Jami off for the evening, so Rach and I set off down the M4, hitting the very busy shop just before 6.30 so joining the queue for ticket activation (hey, it’s the future, dont’cha know). Grabbed a front centre spot in the back room (yay!) next to We Are Scientists fan Louise, who was also doing the return trip for Ash – although, amazingly, it was her first Ash gig! Compared notes, during which we’d discovered that Rachel had seen Ash at Glastonbury 1995, so a month before my own first time!

 

So engrossed in gig chat were we, that we hardly noticed the band taking the stage prompt at 7.30… well, Tim and Rick initially, Mark joining them after a quick hunt for the bassist, Tim commenting, “[it’s] like a weird version of “Where’s Wally”!” Unlike Coach Party last week, this was a proper stripped back – virtually naked, in fact! – stage, with 3 stools for the boys, big ol’ acoustic guitar (with one solitary fuzz effects pedal) and bass for Tim and Mark, and drummer Rick making do with a tambourine for his percussive contributions! Quite the departure from the usual stack of Marshall Amps then…

 A clutch of newies from the “Race The Night” album ensued… Opener and title track “Race The Night” featured all the Ash hallmarks of upbeat undulating verse structure, delicious soaring and harmonised choral hook and (still!) youthful buoyant effervescence; “Usual Places” (preceded by an otherwise ebullient Tim commenting, “my voice is a bit frazzled but we’ll do our best…”) saw the aforementioned fuzz pedal get some use in this racey yet melancholy paean for lost youth and the passage of time; “Peanut Brain” (“a short snappy one!” announced Tim before challenging the crowd to time it; the couple behind us clocked it at 98 seconds, 2 seconds faster than on record!) had a flippant, embryonic “Jack”-esque feel; and “Crashed Out Wasted” was a slow-burn, melancholy wallow, a real Sunday morning comedown vibe with a lengthy and absorbing build to the guitar riff outro (Mark remarking that it was one of his favourite Ash guitar riffs!).

 

We were then joined by Ash’s new (and former!) record label Fierce Panda’s boss (and one of my go-to NME journos, back in the 80’s-90s!) Simon Williams, who plugged his own book “Pandamonium” before conducting a pre-prepared Q and A sesh with the band. Disappointing that he didn’t take any questions from the audience (I had one prepared), but this was an entertaining chat nonetheless, referencing (thankfully) abortive plans to set a DeLorean on fire to promote the new album, and how the band “accidentally” headlined Glastonbury in 1997! Ash’s relaxed nature and bonhomie shone during this chat vignette, and it was easy – and excellent – to see that despite 31 years of being at close quarters in the band together, they’re clearly still the same best mates that they were when they formed Ash at school.

 Back to the music one final time, then, as Ash treated us to acoustic run-throughs of oldies “Kung Fu” and a superb singalong “Girl From Mars”, Tim leaving the stage with, “see you in 2 weeks [at the Marble Factory gig]” and some wag (not me, sadly) retorting with, “see you in 10 minutes [at the signing session]”! 10 minutes stretched to over an hour, as our front stage spot translated to a back of the queue spot, and, happily, Ash were taking time to take pics and properly chat with everyone. Well done boys! Our turn finally came for a chat and photos with an affable trio, who appreciated my “Shiiine On” 2022 setlist I’d taken for them to sign. I also bought that “Pandamonium” book after an earlier queue chat with Mr. Williams, thanking him for informing my musical tastes in the 80s with his journo work. Home late after a detour to pick up Jami. Shame I’m missing the Marble Factory gig, but Rach will be there with Sarah. If tonight is any evidence, she’ll find a band on good form with some cracking new material. Still plenty of life in this lot yet!

1,292 COACH PARTY, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Tuesday 12th September 2023

 

An uncharacteristic 7-week gigging hiatus finally ends, and we go pretty much straight away from famine to feast, as, kicking off a hectic Autumn Dance Card (16 gigs currently booked for the next 3 months, for starters…!) are Isle of Wight’s Finest, the buoyant and irrepressible indie-pop rush that is Coach Party! After honing their craft over the Summer with stadium gigs (yikes!) with the likes of Queens of the Stone Age and veteran French New Wavers Indochine, they’d announced an Autumn tour in support of long-awaited debut album “Killjoy”, and I’d already secured tix for the early October Thekla date. However, they then scheduled a smattering of “instore” stripped-back gigs and signing sessions, including one for Bristol’s splendid Rough Trade. So, a couple of Coach Party trips in the space of a month? You bet’cha!

 Beef was up for it too and picked me up early doors for a catch-up during a swift trundle down the M4, hitting the venue just after 6 for some shopping (myself picking up a signed copy of Bunnyman Will Sergeant’s new book “Echoes”) and a quick drink in the back bar. CP vocalist Jess wandered through and stopped for a quick chat; apparently the Thekla gig is close to selling out – they’ll rock the “Dirty Boat”, no messin’! Eventually the back-room venue doors opened and we snagged a spot at the front next to Louise, the We Are Scientists fan with whom I’d had my set list kerfuffle at their recent Thekla gig (gig 1,265). Happily, all was forgiven, and some fun rock chat passed the time until Coach Party took the stage at 7.30. A drum-free stage set up with a bank of keyboards in situ instead, but otherwise no further concessions seemed to be made for the “stripped back” approach for this one (no big fat acoustic guitars in evidence, f’rinstance), so we were anticipating some “interesting” interpretations of what, on initial snatched youtube listens, appeared to be somewhat harder-edged new material from “Killjoy”. Let’s see…

 

“We’ve been looking forward to this one… Bristol is where we have the most fun!” exclaimed Jess by way of introduction, before a few complaints about an, erm, productive cold she’d been suffering with. However, said bug seemed in no way to affect her singing, as once again she demonstrated a fair set of pipes, overlaying the Summery, pastoral vibe of opener “Be That Girl” with a fine, delicate vocal performance and dovetailing neatly in with Guy’s one-note keyboard embellishments. “Born Leader” was yearning and melancholy in this less riff-heavy environment, Jess again the highlight with an undulating and lilting off-mic choral hook, and “July” saw the voluble singer elicit some audience participation in the absorbing and building repetitive “everything has changed” hook, exclaiming at its conclusion, “fuck it, you’re all on the Thekla guestlist!” I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat…!

 A rockier “All I Wanna Do Is Hate” saw Jess deliver the deadpan, dismissive vocal via her hand-held echo mic, over a metronomic drum machine beat and some fine sleazy riffs from Steph; then closer “What’s The Point In Life” (preceded by Jess lamenting, “my mum’s trying to cancel us online!”) was easily my set highlight, and a shoo-in for inclusion on my “Best Of 2023” CD comp, a gloriously upbeat indie anthem with an irresistibly happy singalong hook of, “we’re all gonna die, what’s the point in life??” An entertaining juxtaposition to round off a fine “stripped back” vignette, where the new material overall shone brightly in this naked light.

 

Louise bagsied Jess’ set-list (fair enough really) and I secured the keyboard copy, before we headed out into the shop, queuing up for the meet and greet. Brief chats, pics and signed CDs with this increasingly familiar bunch (well, 5^th time tonight and 6^th next month!), then we bade farewell to the band, Louise and a passing Big Jeff, before heading off for an early home arrival, just after 9.30. As I mentioned to the band, the true hallmark of great material is that it sounds right even when subjected to different “live” interpretations, and in that regard Coach Party deliver big time. However, this was really just an appetiser for the full-on amped-up band set next month; the “Dirty Boat” is gonna rock to the sounds of Coach Party, and no mistake!

1,291 THE WONDER STUFF, Ian Prowse, Southampton The 1865, Wednesday 26th July 2023

 

Quite an eventful one, this, and not all for the right reasons, but first, here’s my intro blurb…

The Wonder Stuff’s recent original album celebration odyssey reaches a conclusion with this “ID30T” tour, commemorating the 30^th Anniversary release of their 4^th and final first-time-round album, “Construction For The Modern Idiot”… Hot on the heels of their most commercial (and arguably successful) release, “Never Loved Elvis”, this one toned down “Elvis”’ flippant fiddly diddly indie pop tuneage just a tad, in favour of a more studious, streamlined and rockier sound evidenced on darker, more dynamic leadoff single “On The Ropes”, which remains my favourite Wonder Stuff track, and was supposed to catapult them to arena (and possibly higher) status. Unfortunately, it did the opposite, the subsequent 1994 mega “Idiot Manoeuvres” tour (on which I saw them 3 times, largely due to the presence of my favourites Gigolo Aunts as support act) sadly precipitating the band’s initial breakup later that year. Happily, though, they’re now back with us, and have of late established themselves as one of the most reliable and thrilling “live” acts of the past few years (particularly at “Shiiine On”, where main-man Miles Hunt is a regular presence, either with the band or solo). Plus, we’ve seen them do the other 3 albums, so we’re not about to miss this one, right?

 A minor wrist operation earlier today, requiring both regional (block) and general anaesthesia (more on that later!) precluded me from driving, so Rachel took the reins, the 3 of us (Logan in tow for two gigs in two nights!) picking up fellow Stuffies devotee Robynne for the usual swifter than expected drive down to the South Coast, parking up just round the corner from the venue and heading in for 7.30, just as the support took the stage. Not the Gigolo Aunts this time, sadly; however Ian Prowse, frontman of 90’s Celtic-tinged folky rockers Pele and a man who humorously (I hope!) called me a cunt at Shiine On 2017 (!) admirably stepped up, duetting with virtuoso violinist Laura McMillan (AKA the Great Macca of Stirling, according to Prowsey). Sandwiched between a couple of jaunty, fiddly-diddly Pele numbers (“Fair Blows The Wind For France” and “Fireworks”) was an excellent “My Name Is Dessie Warren”, an upbeat yet hard-hitting old school class struggle anthem reminiscent of The Men They Couldn’t Hang, plus plenty of chat and bonhomie from a voluble Prowse (including a fine tribute to tonight’s headliners; “how the hell do you open up for one of the greatest UK bands of all time?”). A splendid vignette ended with the usual barbed anti-Sun comment (“I can see by your kindly beautiful faces that none of you would stoop so low as to read that fucking rag”), before a heart-rending final singalong to “Does This Train Stop On Merseyside?”. Lovely stuff, once again!

 The Stuffies themselves were due on in short order thereafter at 8.30, however technical issues delayed their arrival until 8.45, by which the place (surely sold out on the night) was fit to burst. They opened with a jaggedly rhythmic “Change Every Lightbulb”, Miles taking the stage last and bellowing the hook through a bullhorn, then “I Wish Them All Dead” was strident, savage and utterly superb. “We’ve got the dark ones out of the way; now let’s have some fun!” quipped Milo before a boisterous “Cabin Fever” (announcing at its’ conclusion, “that should have been a hit single – you’ll be hearing THAT from me a lot tonight!”) and by this point I’m already thinking, these “Idiot” songs sound absolutely blistering “live”! How the hell is it that more of them don’t feature as part of their regular set???

 Well, apparently not everyone shared my views, according to Miles, who later referenced, “two assholes on the internet who have pissed me off,” by complaining about The Stuffies playing, “awful songs from their worst album,” on this tour. Well, bunkies, you couldn’t be more wrong! “Full Of Life” fully lived up to its title, as celebratory and life-affirming as anything on display tonight, and a frankly astonishing “On The Ropes” totally blew the doors off, with a rendition as good as I’ve ever – EVER – seen The Wonder Stuff play my favourite Wonder Stuff song. A later, poignant “Sing The Absurd” was also a surprisingly emotive highlight, before a couple of overlooked yet still excellent “B” sides rounded off the “Idiot”-centric first set splendidly, completely underlining the validity of doing this tour.

 Then things unfortunately went a little South for me… I suddenly realised that the mixture of a packed sweaty rock venue and double anaesthesia isn’t necessarily a good one, and, feeling distinctly faint, sought some fresh air, ultimately propping myself outside in the rain in the care of the doormen… Rach grabbed me some sugary drinks and I ultimately ventured back inside, but only just, and I was firmly installed on the cloakroom girl’s stool, right at the back of the venue, as The Stuffies returned for set 2 of the night. Running 20 minutes late at this point, Miles eschewed the chat to concentrate on the rock; a galloping “No For The 13^th Time” was followed by the sweeping hometown paean “Caught In My Shadow” and fiddle-tastic singalong “Golden Green”, the tumbling circular violin riff of “Here Comes Everyone” was a late highlight, then The Stuffies ploughed through the encores to keep to curfew with a rambunctious “Unbearable” and shuddering “Ten Trenches Deep”. The band were clearly on absolute top form; a shame I wasn’t!

 We all met up afterwards, Logan having enjoyed himself in the mosh, and I chatted briefly with facebook friend Pete Cole outside before a difficult journey home up an utterly awash A34 and M4. Still groggy, I spent most of the next day in bed! So, an eventful one indeed, although an inescapable conclusion from tonight is that “Construction For The Modern Idiot” is a great album fully worthy of its’ place in the Wonder Stuff canon, and of being deservedly given its’ time in the spotlight on this tour. As for the rest, I’ll just have to make sure I’m fully fit for when The Stuffies doubtless smash it all up at Shiiine On in November!

1,290 THE DICKIES, Violent Hearts, The Human Error, Bristol Fleece, Tuesday 25th July 2023

 

Finally, the last of my pre-scheduled Covid-affected gigs to actually happen! Well, sort of… I’d booked tix in January 2020 for myself and Logan to see influential veteran US West Coast cartoon punks The Dickies at Bristol Fleece in July that year, only for the damn bug to get in the way, shunting the gig forward to July 2021, and then (given restrictions were still in place) to July 2022! I was rather hoping that that date would happen, but a month beforehand they cancelled their full UK tour, citing ongoing Covid effects and increasing touring costs. So I conceded defeat at this time and got tix refunds, reacting with skepticism at subsequent news that the tour was rescheduled a further year forward! However, the closer it got, the more it looked as if the dates would actually happen this time, so earlier this month I re-booked our tix, to further Logan’s musical education with some seminal goofy and thrashy helium-voiced old school punk!

Swindon’s own punk rock Queen Debby was also up for this one, so we picked her up at 6.30 for the usual entertaining chatty drive down the M4, squeezing into a parking spot just around the corner. Grabbed barrier spots house left, as is our wont, before openers The Human Error joined us early doors. A painfully young trio, this; the peroxide vocalist/ guitarist and baby Billie Joe Armstrong clone looked barely out of his teens, and his flailing, Animal from “The Muppets”-esque drummer little brother was actually still only 15! They tore through a set of embryonic and slightly unrehearsed yet entertaining pop-punk, with a smattering of aptly chosen covers (Buzzcocks’ “Fast Cars”, The Ramones’ “Chainsaw” and The Clash’s “Complete Control”) to pad it out. Awed at their situation (Billie Jr. inquiring, “how the fuck did we get on this bill?”), their youthful verve and enthusiasm carried them through. Here come the young men; decent job, boys!

 

Main support The Violent Hearts were however a different kettle of fish. Fronted by an angular, shape throwing vocalist resembling Brett from Suede and backed by a couple of strong-armed, black clad desperado guitar wielders, they were much more accomplished, with a sleazoid, riff heavy yet surprisingly hooky and melodic style somewhere between Goth-tinged post-punkers Flesh For Lulu and post-grunge Mojave Desert nomads Urge Overkill (!). “Burning” was a slower-burn yet hookily anthemic mid-set number and my favourite of the set, the subsequent amphetamine rocker “Porcelain” nicked an intro from The Ramones’ “You’re Gonna Kill That Girl”, and, by robust, air punching closer “Everything And Nothing” I was making plans to buy their CD at the merch stand afterwards. Shame I ultimately got there just as they ran out, but I found out, on discussion with vocalist James Mattock, that they’re supporting Desperate Journalist at Dareshack in October, a combination that makes much more sense. I’ll be there – as I’m there already!

The Dickies took the stage at 9 in front of the expectant gathering of punks both young and old. with bowl-haired preying mantis vocalist Leonard Graves Phillips joining us last, announcing the opener as, “the song I sang at my audition [for this band]… I thought I had the job anyway, I mean, look at me…!” before a surprisingly straight version of The Sex Pistols’ old school punk classic “Anarchy In The UK”. The subsequent opening salvo was relentless speed punk, featuring a breathless, yelping “Give It Back”, a tremendous “Nights In White Satin” (making much better sense at 1,000 mph!), a surprisingly tuneful and hooky “Fan Mail” and a soaring “Pretty Please Me”, featuring some impressive stick-work from smart, bow-tie wearing drummer Adam Gomez, before everyone paused for breath. Phillips then introduced a couple of newies which apparently tipped their hat to groundbreaking new wave all-girl act The Go-Go’s and disgraced ex glam rocker Gary Glitter! Typically perverse stuff from the good taste vacuum that is Mr. Phillips…!

 

That said, and despite the hurtling punk rock bullets blasting by, this seemed a slightly less full-on show than previous Dickies gigs; no “If Stuart Could Talk” so no penis puppet, so we made do with a brief outing for the blow-up doll during “Waterslide” and the good boy glove puppet for “Doggie Do”. Maybe their veteran status had a hand in this (Phillips quipping, “I’ll soon be 67 – this is what happens when you don’t die!”) but I’ve certainly seen them crazier, zanier, more unhinged. Don’t get me wrong, though, this was still a great cartoon punk rock gig, which was capped with set closer “Gigantor” and a brilliant encore of “Eve Of Destruction” before an inevitable “Banana Splits” brought a swift 50-minute performance to a close.

Burly guitarist Stan Lee handed me a list and I grabbed a pic with him before we headed off, home at an early 11. So, a couple of gears lower tonight, maybe, but the Dickies were nonetheless worth waiting for!

1,289 MIDWAY STILL, Falling Stacks, The Setbacks, Bristol The Crown, Wednesday 12th July 2023

“Because Midway Still aren’t coming back…” There’s a Facebook fan site thusly named, celebrating the early 90’s (post-Grunge, pre-Britpop) underground indie scene, when bands such as Mega City Four, Senseless Things and our titular heroes The Still would load up in a van, drive the length and breadth of our green and pleasant land and ply their usually raw, ragged and ramshackle punkish mess in front of any group of long lank-haired, big-shorted indie-kids who’d ‘ave ‘em. For various reasons, sadly, we’re no longer likely to see the Things or the Megas, but it just seems that recently, Midway Still just keep coming back… An utterly incendiary set at Shiiine On 2021, despite initial collywobbles, not only won “Band Of The Weekend” for this returning rabble, but on reflection is currently my favourite Shiiine On set evah! So, two years later, more of the same? Hell fucking yeah!

 

Tim of course is also a Still acolyte, having put them on twice at Swindon’s Vic (May 2010, gig 788 being the most recent time), so he was up for this one too, picking me up at 6.30 for a drive down the M4 to the first of 3 new Bristol venues for me in the next couple of months. This one was a down and dirty tiny beer cellar downstairs room, complete with bitumen-black painted brick curved ceiling, below a ramshackle and sprawling city centre pub. This one might get sweaty…! But first, after checking out opening act The Setbacks (a veteran 5-piece playing basic and formulaic unfocussed poppy punk, all pounding drums, power chords and shouty vocals) and deciding they weren’t for us, Tim and I got a drink and sat in the alley outside the front, catching the last of the evening sun. Good thing we did, in fact, as the good gentlemen of Midway Still sauntered up, greeting us like long-lost comrades, and joined us for a drink and chat! I was happy to share the news of my brother’s full recovery from Covid (he’d just gotten out of ICU when we last spoke, at Shiiine On 2021) and we chewed the Cud (pardon the pun – first time I saw the Still, waaay back in 1991’s gig 196, was supporting The Cud Band!) as other friends and fans wandered by, or joined us briefly. Maybe not the 90 attendees at last night’s Birmingham gig, but still plenty of love in Brizzle tonight for The Still!

 Eventually wandered down for the late-running last knockings of main support Falling Stacks (who were an improvement on the openers, but still just background noise to my and Tim’s bar chat). Took a spot down the front as The Still plugged in, Dec Kelly’s eye-catching kinetic rolling drum style and Russell Lee’s driving bass and Ramones-esque wide stance thereafter underpinning a ragged, powerful opening “Note To Self”, pretty much setting the tone for the set. “I’m 55 – time I sorted my fucking life out,” deadpanned guitarist/ vocalist Paul Thomson before the Lemonheads-like laze rock of “Jamie And Gigi”, then the frantic luge hurtle of “Counting Days” was introduced with a pithy; “this next song is 32 years old; only a little bit younger than me! [Mind you,] Dec’s been in this band since he was 12 – he’s now 70!”

 

The Still were in fine fooling tonight, then, their snarky and sarky comments and self-deprecating humour as much a feature as the rock, which was fast, fierce and elemental, and, with the “Handle With Care” labels long faded, delivered with a raw and ramshackle vigour and enthusiasm belying their “veteran” status. And, belying my own advancing years and dodgy knees, I rocked out down the front as best I could, happily working up a sweat (Full Cleo! Yay!) to The Still. An early string breakage (“that hasn’t happened for fucking years!”) necessitated Paul’s borrowing of the support’s guitar, the man giving us a “Back in Black” riff (“it’s our new single – Back and Shite!”) to tune up. The driving Dinosaur-esque verse and pounding, descending hook of “Me In You” was tremendous; the “juxta-fucking-position” of “Miss You” and the breakneck “Fuck You” a thrilling double-whammy; and whilst “Better Than Before” was looser and relatively sedate, the subsequent “What You Said” brought the heavy riffery roaring back with a vengeance. However, they saved the best for last; after getting the 5-minute time warning, Paul thanked the hardy yet enthusiastic souls (“it’s amazing you’ve all come to see this shambolic fucking wreck of a band!”) before letting loose with a rip-roaringly brilliant “You Made Me Realise”, once again including the whole of “Come Down” in the middle-8 feedback fest before a lengthy thrilling riff-heavy outro. Great stuff!

 Grabbed some air and more chats and compliments with the boys outside afterwards, before bidding farewell and heading off for a drive home punctuated by idiot lorries on the M4. I’ll ache in the morning, but as always, well worth it… If they’re going to deliver such incendiary performances as this, as far as I’m concerned Midway Still can keep coming back… and back… and back!

1,288 CHAMELEONS, Whistleblowers, Holmfirth Picturedrome, Saturday 8th July 2023

 

Another gig centring around renewing acquaintances with an old friend, albeit this one being intentional and pre-arranged… Earlier this year, I’d re-connected on Facebook with my old school friend Jennifer, a lady who was largely responsible for keeping me sane during my difficult 6^th Form schooldays, and with whom I’d kept in touch for a subsequent period in the 80’s, visiting her at Warwick University for gigs by The Fall and the Smiths in late 1983/ early ’84 (gigs 10 and 11!). Life got in the way and we lost touch, but it was great to reconnect, and a plan was hatched to visit her in Holmfirth, where she now resides with husband Paul, when a decent enough band was due to play at fabled local gig venue The Picturedrome. And they don’t get much more “decent” than 80’s anthemic post-punk/ goth heroes The Chameleons!

 So, I hit the road early Saturday oop North, clearing Manchester and heading through impossibly scenic windswept vistas on Saddleworth Moor, and equally impossibly winding and near-vertical single track country lanes up to Jen’s hilltop home. Much catching up ensued, the years falling away, before Jen, Paul and I headed down into Holmfirth (which despite prima facae seeming a dour, grey bricked typically Northern town huddled in the base of a valley around the confluence of 2 rivers, was actually quite a happening place, with lots of interesting craft and boutique pubs and upmarket eateries) for a splendid gourmet burger tea at Lou & Joes, before joining the queue at the venue at 7.30. As the name suggests, The Picturedrome is an evocative old mid-sized (I guessed 800?) picture house venue, exuding faded vintage silver screen glamour, and we took balcony seats overlooking house left. Stayed there for veteran support Whistleblowers, on at 8.30. A local trio from Ashton-Under-Lyme, they were sadly very dull in a very dull way (!), plying some low-key, plodding 60’s folky psych Fillmore East fayre which shudderingly recalled Midlake when they hit the flares and double-denims. Later numbers floated into midnight jazz café territory, before returning to the flimsy hippy stuff. Not well played and somewhat off-key vocal-wise to my ears as well, I’m afraid.

 I took a wander down the front afterwards, still pitching up a couple of rows back, joined briefly by Paul and also chatting to India, a lady who’d posted in the Chameleons Facebook fan page about her journey from paraplegic wheelchair usage, to now just needing one stick. Brilliant job, you go girl! The eerie Cocteaus-ish entrance music heralded the Chameleons’ arrival onstage at 9.30, a false start due to technical issues with Reg’s guitar pick-up (“it’s always the newbies!” quipped granite-hewn vocalist/bassist/main-man Mark Burgess) being eventually sorted before the band plunged into the plangent ringing chimes of opener “Paper Tigers” to rapturous applause from the cultish devotees. “I hope it’s not going to be one of those nights,” warned Burgess before the Sophie Lancaster dedication preceded a chilling “A Person Isn’t Safe Anywhere These Days”, delivered with neck-bulging, scary conviction by the man. Sorry mate, I think it is…!

 

Correct. The Chameleons were on fire from note one tonight, delivering a brilliantly passionate, strident performance of their atmospheric and textural yet huge and anthemic post-punk mood music, often deploying both their usual weapons of slowing down the material “live” to give it extra breathing room and gravitas, and throwing in unexpected lyrical references from the likes of Bowie, The Fall, The Clash, The Smiths and predominantly The Beatles. That said, it took until “Monkeyland”, 5^th number in, for the crowd to respond in kind, the eerie slow build of the first verse suddenly bursting into the roof-raising “trick of the light” hook like a cork from a champagne bottle, precipitating a boisterous yet largely good-natured moshpit which remained throughout, where the main rules of engagement were arms-aloft inclusive raucous singalongs and bearhugs from total strangers. Although we’re not really strangers, We Are All Chameleons, after all…!

 “Looking Inwardly” and “Up The Down Escalator” were two fast-paced, brutal mid-set gut punches, the air becoming a scarce commodity in the kinetic sauna the Picturedrome had suddenly become (I actually turned to a fellow punter and remarked, “I think I can forget about breathing for the next hour or so!”); “Soul In Isolation” was a staggering, swaggering affirmation of life (“I’m alive in here!” again a roof-raising terrace chant hook); and a later “Swamp Thing” an undulating, libidinous thing of joy and wonder, the guitar interplay in the build to the first verse just gorgeous. Yet set closer, “Second Skin” topped the lot; preceded by thanks from a drenched Burgess (who’d given it his all tonight) and a sermon about creating experiences and living in the now, this was a lengthy and magnificent all-inclusive manifesto for The Chameleons “live” experience in particular, and rock’n’roll gigs in general. The stuff dreams are made of, indeed!

 A couple of encores (a roaring, none-more-punk “In Shreds” and a sinister, anthemic “Don’t Fall”) before the boys took well-deserved bows and left us breathless and euphoric after another stellar performance. Grabbed a list and a quick chat with keyboard player Daniel afterwards before meeting Jen and Paul outside. A quick taxi back up the hill, then a much-needed breather and fluid intake before towelling myself down and making use of the spare room for the night. More catching up the next morning over a splendid fry-up brunch, before bidding fond farewells and driving to Manchester, meeting my son Evan for a roast Sunday lunch at Mr. Thomas’ Chop House in the city centre, then hitting the road at 3.30 for a difficult roadworks, traffic and thunderstorm-affected drive down South, home for 7. Just a lovely weekend in excellent company, though, both on and offstage. Thanks Evan, The Chameleons, and mostly Paul and Jennifer… hopefully this won’t be the last time we light up The Picturedrome!