A day out in London today for Rachel and myself, along with Cope-centric former Honda colleague James. He drove and we parked up at lunchtime in Islington, visiting the Tate Modern (never again!) and hitting Camden for CD shopping in the afternoon. Then drove the short distance to Hackney, parking round the corner from this new and spankingly posh and very chrome venue. Somewhat out of the way, but still do-able! Got good seats front-centre, a few rows back, behind a couple from Rhode Island who know Tanya Donelly! Small world!
Cope, bedecked in grey camo, orange of face and huge of hair - and boots! - joined us at 9, taking the stage with a confident and proprietorial swagger. Immediately into the audience banter - recalling an incident at his last London show, with a fan shouting out, "Julian, you're so local!" in tribute to his ferocious provincial schedule of gigs - Copey was immediately joined by his oppo Donald Ross "Donneye" Skinner, who provided drum parts to Cope's clutch of opening numbers. Cope himself thwacked a double neck guitar/bass and brought the noise, laying down some rocking tracks reminiscent of his "Saint Julian" days. One hopes that some of this stuff will end up on the forthcoming Brain Donor CD!
Donneye soon departed the stage for a time, leaving Cope to espouse his theories on the barbarian art form which is rock'n'roll, and also strum a mean looking resprayed spangly orange acoustic ("you don't need to re-invent it, just spray it orange and it'll be all new!"). The angry, vitriolic "Armageddon Blues", the quirky "Julian H Cope" and the touching and tender "I'm Your Daddy" all cascaded out of the magically strung acoustic. "Upwards At 45 Degrees", a stripped back number which built to an emotive crescendo, was an early highlight too, as the banter continued! Then, a totally unexpected treat, as Cope introduced one from, "my ba ba ba days," namely a splendidly rendered "Greatness And Perfection", as wonderfully jolly and sing-along as ever. Cool!
Following a splendid "Sunspots", Donneye rejoined Cope onstage for his usual prowl around the audience; this time however he chose to climb right over the seats and sing to the Rhode Island lady in front of us! Donneye held the beat strong as JC wandered in and out of the hall, kissing and dancing with bewildered fans along the way. Extraordinary stuff - only an amazing showman like Cope could get away with it!
The show rolled to an end and once again the 2 hours seemed like 20 minutes. However, despite not deciding to play any encores but just play through instead, Cope was cheered back onstage to deliver a superb mellotron and synth based version of The Teardrop Explodes classic "The Great Dominions". A brilliant end to a superb show - once again from the fried and utterly mad genius Julian Cope!
Friday, 7 May 2010
503 ASH, Relish, London WC2 Astoria, Saturday 12 May 2001
Why is it I tend to go see Ash on the hottest day of the year? That furnace of a Bristol Fleece gig the first time, or numerous balmy August Reading Festivals, and now a scorching FA Cup Final day! This one was an early gig so Rachel and I set off just after Liverpool had secured their comeback win (boo!), getting to Shepherd's Bush for 6.30 then street parking and tubing into the Astoria for a ridiculously early 7pm. However, we were right to do so, as we discovered that "early gig" tonight meant curfew at 10 pm! So, a quick drink later, we settled down to watch support Relish. Unfortunately, they were fucking terrible and wholly inappropriate for an Ash support; their first number sounded like all that is bad about early 70's bland prog rock - pompous, twiddly and soulless. The next numbers drifted into awful soul/funk pastiche, like the diluted George Benson-isms of early Jamiroquai, or the BMW-owners wallpaper funk of Seal. By now we'd repaired to the upstairs bar to get away from it all, only to find that the speakers now pipe the bands through to this former sanctuary. D'oh!
Anyway, we knew better things were coming, so we piled into the anticipating throng afterwards, while I noted that their backdrop, advertising new CD "Free All Angels", actually looked like it read "Free All Bagels"! Arf!
Ash joined us at 8.30, but despite the early hour were ready and prepared with some incendiary and powerful poppy punk rock. After a couple of numbers from their new "Bagels" CD (ha!), they hit in with the chiming intro to their tense and taut soaring masterpiece, "A Life Less Ordinary", and I piled into the madding throng to mosh like mad.
Ash now appear to have been around for ages, but thankfully still sound young, fresh and vital. The new material tends more to the naive thrashy optimism of their early stuff than the disappointing rockier dynamics of second CD "Nu Clear Sounds", and their live set benefits from it. "Girl From Mars" sounds as fresh as ever, even with Tim Wheeler stretching out the quiet middle 8, and the dedication to the recently deceased Joey Ramone (RIP) was not only welcome, but demonstrated both an affinity for punk history and the debt that their sound owes to these masters of surf punk. A wonderfully welcome "Jack Names The Planets" and encore "Petrol" capped a splendidly dynamic set from an underrated but important act. Ladeez and Gentlemen, please welcome back Ireland's finest - Ash!
Anyway, we knew better things were coming, so we piled into the anticipating throng afterwards, while I noted that their backdrop, advertising new CD "Free All Angels", actually looked like it read "Free All Bagels"! Arf!
Ash joined us at 8.30, but despite the early hour were ready and prepared with some incendiary and powerful poppy punk rock. After a couple of numbers from their new "Bagels" CD (ha!), they hit in with the chiming intro to their tense and taut soaring masterpiece, "A Life Less Ordinary", and I piled into the madding throng to mosh like mad.
Ash now appear to have been around for ages, but thankfully still sound young, fresh and vital. The new material tends more to the naive thrashy optimism of their early stuff than the disappointing rockier dynamics of second CD "Nu Clear Sounds", and their live set benefits from it. "Girl From Mars" sounds as fresh as ever, even with Tim Wheeler stretching out the quiet middle 8, and the dedication to the recently deceased Joey Ramone (RIP) was not only welcome, but demonstrated both an affinity for punk history and the debt that their sound owes to these masters of surf punk. A wonderfully welcome "Jack Names The Planets" and encore "Petrol" capped a splendidly dynamic set from an underrated but important act. Ladeez and Gentlemen, please welcome back Ireland's finest - Ash!
504 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, Spear Of Destiny, Bristol University Anson Rooms, Wednesday 16 May 2001
And after a bit of thrashy punk rock from a bunch of young Irish bucks (namely Ash, last time out), it's only fitting that the next gig should be a bit of vintage thrashy punk rock from what could be Ash's spiritual ancestors, da Fingers. This one was a second bite at the punk rock cherry, as The Big Man and I had ventured down in March, only to be told when we got here that the gig was off. D'oh! So, we try again, Rich picking me up in his loan car and driving through sweeping rain to The Anson Rooms, hitting the venue for doors and noting how empty the place was early on!
Another surprise was the support act; none other than Spear Of Destiny, Kirk Brandon's epic rock cohorts from the 80's, whom I'd been dragged along to see on a few occasions by a drooling Lynn Mulraney. Kirk hadn't changed a great deal since those days; a little portlier, maybe, and a blond flick where once there was a quiff, but otherwise he'd weathered the years of indifference well. They played a set largely unfamiliar to me, but much in keeping with their usual dour but dramatic rock stylee, with Kirk's strident vocals way to the fore. They then ended with a radically reworked Spear oldie "I Can See", followed by a punky blast through Theatre Of Hate's "Propaganda" and their sleazy, pseudo goth cowboy song "Do You Believe In The Westworld?". Altogether, not too bad at all, Kirk.
Had a brief interlude in the bar with Rich, noting that footballer and old punk rocker Stuart Pearce was in there too, enjoying a quiet drink, before heading back into the by-now full hall for the appearance of the Fingers. On they came to a raucous reception, all sporting matching SLF footy shirts (underlining my theory about goalies and drummers, the SLF drummer had a goalie shirt on - nice touch!), and ripped straight into "Roots Radicals Rockers And Reggae". I dunno, vocalist Jake Burns and his main oppo, former Jam bassist Bruce Foxton, may be in their mid 40's, but they can still kick up some dynamic hard biting punk rock with social comment. "Nobody's Hero", "Fly The Flag" and "Tin Soldiers" got the slamdancing going, and I liked Jake's point about, "5 lads with vests on doing gymnastics and trying to be in a rock'n'roll band" as a put-down to manufactured boy bands before newie "Guitar And Drum". The years of performing in sweaty halls have given Jake a rapport and ease of communication with his moshing punk audience, and each song told a story, or spoke up for an issue or an injustice. Nevertheless, this was too much fun to turn overly preachy, and I joined the mosh for first encore - a cover of the Clash's "White Riot". An incendiary "At The Edge" concluded proceedings on a fine evening. Hopefully, it won't be another 11 years before I catch up with SLF again!
Another surprise was the support act; none other than Spear Of Destiny, Kirk Brandon's epic rock cohorts from the 80's, whom I'd been dragged along to see on a few occasions by a drooling Lynn Mulraney. Kirk hadn't changed a great deal since those days; a little portlier, maybe, and a blond flick where once there was a quiff, but otherwise he'd weathered the years of indifference well. They played a set largely unfamiliar to me, but much in keeping with their usual dour but dramatic rock stylee, with Kirk's strident vocals way to the fore. They then ended with a radically reworked Spear oldie "I Can See", followed by a punky blast through Theatre Of Hate's "Propaganda" and their sleazy, pseudo goth cowboy song "Do You Believe In The Westworld?". Altogether, not too bad at all, Kirk.
Had a brief interlude in the bar with Rich, noting that footballer and old punk rocker Stuart Pearce was in there too, enjoying a quiet drink, before heading back into the by-now full hall for the appearance of the Fingers. On they came to a raucous reception, all sporting matching SLF footy shirts (underlining my theory about goalies and drummers, the SLF drummer had a goalie shirt on - nice touch!), and ripped straight into "Roots Radicals Rockers And Reggae". I dunno, vocalist Jake Burns and his main oppo, former Jam bassist Bruce Foxton, may be in their mid 40's, but they can still kick up some dynamic hard biting punk rock with social comment. "Nobody's Hero", "Fly The Flag" and "Tin Soldiers" got the slamdancing going, and I liked Jake's point about, "5 lads with vests on doing gymnastics and trying to be in a rock'n'roll band" as a put-down to manufactured boy bands before newie "Guitar And Drum". The years of performing in sweaty halls have given Jake a rapport and ease of communication with his moshing punk audience, and each song told a story, or spoke up for an issue or an injustice. Nevertheless, this was too much fun to turn overly preachy, and I joined the mosh for first encore - a cover of the Clash's "White Riot". An incendiary "At The Edge" concluded proceedings on a fine evening. Hopefully, it won't be another 11 years before I catch up with SLF again!
505 YOU ARE HERE, Cold Fusion, Swindon Victoria, Thursday 17 May 2001
You Are Here's triumphant return to gig action in their home town - and I'm late on parade! Domestic issues dispensed with, I hit the venue at 9.45, in time to catch the dying throes of the support band's Bon Jovi-isms. Persuaded the Big Man out of the bar and into the back-room venue by virtue of the DJ playing 3 songs by The Skids in a row over the PA! Cool!
Had more vintage punk over the PA before You Are Here came on at 10.30. They took some time to settle to their task after a surprisingly nervy start and a couple of missed beats from Alan, but worked their way through, and after a shambolic "Summer Song" which saw Alan indulging in completely different drum patterns than usual, much to Tim's surprise, they settled back in and totally nailed next number "Confidence In Me", now sounding the finished article in amphetamine-urgent punky thrashes. "Far Cry" suffered a little from Tim and Alan surprisingly abstaining from backing vocals in the strident chorus, leaving Mark to quickly change octaves and do his own backing vocals! However set closers "Hard To Stop" and the inevitably superb "Trying To Write" were much more like it; melodic, upfront, confident US-alt influenced rock, with Mark on top of his game and untangling himself from the mikestand. Encore "Ordinary Day", despite still being half-formed, was well-constructed and well-delivered, boding well for the future. All in all, not their best, but still an enjoyable and well delivered set which got me up and dancing anyway!
Had more vintage punk over the PA before You Are Here came on at 10.30. They took some time to settle to their task after a surprisingly nervy start and a couple of missed beats from Alan, but worked their way through, and after a shambolic "Summer Song" which saw Alan indulging in completely different drum patterns than usual, much to Tim's surprise, they settled back in and totally nailed next number "Confidence In Me", now sounding the finished article in amphetamine-urgent punky thrashes. "Far Cry" suffered a little from Tim and Alan surprisingly abstaining from backing vocals in the strident chorus, leaving Mark to quickly change octaves and do his own backing vocals! However set closers "Hard To Stop" and the inevitably superb "Trying To Write" were much more like it; melodic, upfront, confident US-alt influenced rock, with Mark on top of his game and untangling himself from the mikestand. Encore "Ordinary Day", despite still being half-formed, was well-constructed and well-delivered, boding well for the future. All in all, not their best, but still an enjoyable and well delivered set which got me up and dancing anyway!
506 CRASHLAND, Saint Rose, The Preservation Society, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Thursday 7 June 2001
Well, the intervening 3 weeks between this and my last gig had been the most hectic and important of my life! I'd left my long-dead marriage, taking Shoemaker's advice that, "it's time to end this six year marriage," and moved in with gig companion and not-so secret lover Rachel. So it was time for a gig to try to return some normalcy to the proceedings! Rach had her parents' car as they were holidaying in Russia (!) so off we did trot, collecting a curious Ady along the way to see fine newcomers Thirteen:13. Or so we thought...
Gaining entrance to the pub attached to the venue, I fumbled with a haphazardly strewn flyer and proclaimed innocently, "hey, Crashland are playing here on 7th June!" I was then reminded that 7th June was in fact tonight, and we subsequently discovered Bristol's finest were late replacements for the otherwise-committed Thirteen:13. D'oh! Nevertheless, after much deliberation, we went in anyway, just as The Preservation Society took the back-room venue stage at 8.45. Jolly good they were too, proving that a band can be mellow without sounding sullen, and melancholy without ripping off Radiohead in the process. Some good, well constructed songs as well, without falling into the clichés of "earnest" songwriters such as, well, you know. With a very late 80's indie feel to their stuff (kind of Trashcan Sinatras), and a couple of surprisingly up-tempo numbers mixed in, they're possibly one to watch...
Saint Rose, next up, were quite the opposite; cliché ridden archetypal Radiohead miserablists, with a vocalist intent on purloining Brett Anderson's vocal quiver. Unfortunately another Sued-io-verve in the offing. Bah!
So, we'd stuck it out till 10.45 to see a band we'd not even turned up to see in the first place, and I for one was getting tired too (poor old get!). This demanded a good show - nay, a performance - and could these 4 Bristolian ruffians deliver? Well, after the first couple of numbers, it was evident the answer was a resounding "yes". Some good honest urgent spiky indie tunes, relatively low-ish on originality but high on energy, enthusiasm and verve (with a small "v"!), delivered with piles of spunk, indicating this lot might be able to fill a few sperm banks if this indie rock lark lucks out. Like an updated Baby Chaos albeit with better songs, Crashland thrashed guitars and warmed the old place up, making me want to hunt down their album and play it a time or two! Good stuff from the late replacements - next time I might show up to see them in their own right!
Gaining entrance to the pub attached to the venue, I fumbled with a haphazardly strewn flyer and proclaimed innocently, "hey, Crashland are playing here on 7th June!" I was then reminded that 7th June was in fact tonight, and we subsequently discovered Bristol's finest were late replacements for the otherwise-committed Thirteen:13. D'oh! Nevertheless, after much deliberation, we went in anyway, just as The Preservation Society took the back-room venue stage at 8.45. Jolly good they were too, proving that a band can be mellow without sounding sullen, and melancholy without ripping off Radiohead in the process. Some good, well constructed songs as well, without falling into the clichés of "earnest" songwriters such as, well, you know. With a very late 80's indie feel to their stuff (kind of Trashcan Sinatras), and a couple of surprisingly up-tempo numbers mixed in, they're possibly one to watch...
Saint Rose, next up, were quite the opposite; cliché ridden archetypal Radiohead miserablists, with a vocalist intent on purloining Brett Anderson's vocal quiver. Unfortunately another Sued-io-verve in the offing. Bah!
So, we'd stuck it out till 10.45 to see a band we'd not even turned up to see in the first place, and I for one was getting tired too (poor old get!). This demanded a good show - nay, a performance - and could these 4 Bristolian ruffians deliver? Well, after the first couple of numbers, it was evident the answer was a resounding "yes". Some good honest urgent spiky indie tunes, relatively low-ish on originality but high on energy, enthusiasm and verve (with a small "v"!), delivered with piles of spunk, indicating this lot might be able to fill a few sperm banks if this indie rock lark lucks out. Like an updated Baby Chaos albeit with better songs, Crashland thrashed guitars and warmed the old place up, making me want to hunt down their album and play it a time or two! Good stuff from the late replacements - next time I might show up to see them in their own right!
507 THE STROKES, Moldy Peaces, Mull Historical Society, Oxford Zodiac, Tuesday 12 June 2001
The Strokes, The Strokes, The flippin' Strokes...you can't pick up a music paper (particularly the NME) without coming across reams and reams of column inches about them. The kids love The Strokes. NME loves The Strokes. They've even left a pretty favourable impression on this cynical old git to date, with an insistent debut single "The Modern Age" currently sitting atop my 2001 singles list so far. But can they cut it "live" when the spotlight is exclusively on them? Let's see...
Our intended number tonight was reduced by one, when Ady got a whack on the head with an iron bar at work, so was told, unsurprisingly, to rest up. Hence we had to call on Rachel's dad's car once again, getting there in good time to park up, have a quick drink in the Bullingdon Arms, sell our spare ticket to an eager punter outside, and still get into this already-heaving venue before first band, on at 8.30! Said band, on this Rough Trade showcase, was newcomers Mull Historical Society. From write-ups I'd read about this lot, I was expecting some kind of quirky, unorthodox bunch of Scottish folky types, like a Scottish Mercury Rev, or even Hobotalk. However, their set was so trad and derivative it was like watching an Oasis tribute band. Rachel even commented that their first number sounded like Robbie Williams - horrible thought! Rach and I headed back to the bar, surprised also by their arrogance - bottom of the bill and they come on to dry ice and backing music!
Ran into former 5.30 frontman Tara Milton at the bar, chatting again about those hectic 5.30 gigs. Indeed, the stars were out tonight; after Rach and I headed out to a vantage point near the gent's loos, we ran in to Kevin from Seafood (always in the loos, eh?), then whilst standing there before Moldy Peaches' set, Rach's foot was trodden on by Radiohead vocalist Thom Yorke! Freaky!
Anyway, back to the music. Or was it? Moldy Peaches, up next, were a very strange duo dressed in Robin Hood and Cat costumes, who strummed some very weird stuff which I can only describe as Jonathan Richman's goofier moments, with added swear words. Sorry, Kimya Cat-woman, I have no desire to lick your puss-yyy, so Moldy Peaches music went straight over my head. But then I guess I was neither drunk or a teen student, so I wasn't their target audience anyway...
Our intended number tonight was reduced by one, when Ady got a whack on the head with an iron bar at work, so was told, unsurprisingly, to rest up. Hence we had to call on Rachel's dad's car once again, getting there in good time to park up, have a quick drink in the Bullingdon Arms, sell our spare ticket to an eager punter outside, and still get into this already-heaving venue before first band, on at 8.30! Said band, on this Rough Trade showcase, was newcomers Mull Historical Society. From write-ups I'd read about this lot, I was expecting some kind of quirky, unorthodox bunch of Scottish folky types, like a Scottish Mercury Rev, or even Hobotalk. However, their set was so trad and derivative it was like watching an Oasis tribute band. Rachel even commented that their first number sounded like Robbie Williams - horrible thought! Rach and I headed back to the bar, surprised also by their arrogance - bottom of the bill and they come on to dry ice and backing music!
Ran into former 5.30 frontman Tara Milton at the bar, chatting again about those hectic 5.30 gigs. Indeed, the stars were out tonight; after Rach and I headed out to a vantage point near the gent's loos, we ran in to Kevin from Seafood (always in the loos, eh?), then whilst standing there before Moldy Peaches' set, Rach's foot was trodden on by Radiohead vocalist Thom Yorke! Freaky!
Anyway, back to the music. Or was it? Moldy Peaches, up next, were a very strange duo dressed in Robin Hood and Cat costumes, who strummed some very weird stuff which I can only describe as Jonathan Richman's goofier moments, with added swear words. Sorry, Kimya Cat-woman, I have no desire to lick your puss-yyy, so Moldy Peaches music went straight over my head. But then I guess I was neither drunk or a teen student, so I wasn't their target audience anyway...
So, 2 crap supports over with, it was finally time for The Strokes. They joined the stage, 5 skinny New York punks in ratty t-shirts and scruffy thrift-shop suits, certainly looking the part. And musically, they fitted the bill too, kicking off with the title track "Is This It?" from their forthcoming debut CD, then bursting into the itchy, insistent garage punk of wonderful first single "The Modern Age". Nice touch - get it over with quickly! This really energised the crowd into a frenzied mosh, and The Strokes took that as a cue, delivering a fine, energetic set. They look like they sound; young, brash, angular, punkish, nervous and agitated but confident in their ability and potential. "Barely Legal", with its' evident nod to Boston rock (the verse sounds like Big Dipper's "Wrong In The Charts", and the chorus is a dead ringer for The Sheila Divine's "Automatic Buffalo") was an early highlight, but also spot-on was forthcoming single "New York City Cops", with a big savage riff-led chorus. That said, the set retained the insistent tinniness and scratchiness of the best New Wave bands from the 70's. Fitting that, in a year that we lost Joey Ramone, that New York spits out a young band with the potential to take over The Ramones' mantle. Excellent stuff from a band not yet worth all the hype, but with oodles of potential.
Nice blokes as well! Pretty much as soon as the lights were up after the show, they were out chatting to fans and signing stuff (including my set-list!). All were very humble and seemingly amazed by their current success. So far, they're making the right moves and doing the right things to ensure they deserve it!
508 CHEAP TRICK, The Quireboys, London The Garage, Wednesday 13 June 2001
We should borrow Rachel's dad's car more often! This, the third gig in a row we've hopped into the big Rover, followed some heroic mileage from Rach, scooting back from a work meeting in London, picking up said motor, picking me up, then driving us back oop the Smoke! The very recent easing of the current traffic chaos was back off the agenda again, though (damn!), as it took 2 3/4 hours to get to our usual parking slot just before Highbury Corner. Had a swift drink in the Old Cock Tavern before heading in, noting the numbers of old rockers out for tonight's show. There's going to be a lot of hair around tonight, and no mistake...!
Took an early wander in to our second sold-out gig in consecutive nights, and sure enough, it was heaving early doors. I dunno, give me Seafood in a half-empty Oxford Point anytime...! I was also right about the clientele. This was the third of a 3 night residency by Da Trick, each night concentrating on one of their first 3 albums, and by the looks of it Rach and myself were the only people who hadn't been to all 3 nights! There was also lots of first time round Trick fans, putting me into the unique position of feeling very very young at a rock show. Plus hair. Hair everywhere. The only excuse for not having long hair seemed to be the vagaries of nature!
So, long hair it was. And as such, we had to put up with a couple of members of recently reformed 80's hair glam metallers The Quireboys, who'd allegedly been "especially invited" by Da Trick to open tonight. A good tactic to make them seem even better, methinks! Sure enough, the acoustic Quireboys were as obnoxious and cliché ridden as they were first time around; husky, pseudo sexy vocals, big empty power riffs and lighters-aloft bollocks. Rach and I headed to the bar and did our level best not to fall asleep to them!
Wandered to a vantage point stage right, by some rather annoying old people standing on the benches down the side of the venue, and not being too welcoming to a bit of jostling. Sorry, but it's a rock gig, not an executive box at the opera...
And rock gig it was, as we got very startlingly reminded, by the entrance of Da Trick. Zander, all suited up and looking like the rock star from central casting, with tan and blond locks; Bun E Carlos, hefty and workmanlike, like Tom Polce's dad (!); Petersson, suited but unkempt, wearing his rock credentials in the lines on his face; and then band leader Rick Nielsen - first a hand, then an energetic entrance from the wild-eyed, becapped but now beardless showman. As this was "Heaven Tonight" night, we knew what was coming, but the Trick built the anticipation, until... the bright lights and thundering riff heralded the start of "Surrender", and the crowd, old boys, hairy boys, everyone, went bat-shit mental. "Surrender", powerful, awesome and with that breathtaking sing-along chorus, was the perfect opener, and the best thing the Trick delivered tonight, by miles.
"Heaven Tonight" was then dutifully played start to finish, although not without incident; Roy Wood being dragged onstage to an ovation, to sing his composition, the strident blues number "California Man"; Zander strapping on a guitar and joining in the mad riffery for "Takin' Me Back"; Tommy Vance (even he!) reading the "On The Radio" middle 8 broadcast, and Chrissie Hynde (even she!) duetting with Zander on one number.
But this was mainly about the Trick. I'd taken some time to warm to them, and for me they still veer too close to plodding rock riffery at times (viz encore "Gonna Raise Hell"), but how can you resist a band who can produce such perfect soaring pop as "Dream Police" or touching balladry like "Voices" (both splendid encores tonight)? But let's face it, I can forgive everything of a band who can produce such a heart-stoppingly classic rock moment as "Surrender". Tonight, it was Heaven Tonight!
Took an early wander in to our second sold-out gig in consecutive nights, and sure enough, it was heaving early doors. I dunno, give me Seafood in a half-empty Oxford Point anytime...! I was also right about the clientele. This was the third of a 3 night residency by Da Trick, each night concentrating on one of their first 3 albums, and by the looks of it Rach and myself were the only people who hadn't been to all 3 nights! There was also lots of first time round Trick fans, putting me into the unique position of feeling very very young at a rock show. Plus hair. Hair everywhere. The only excuse for not having long hair seemed to be the vagaries of nature!
So, long hair it was. And as such, we had to put up with a couple of members of recently reformed 80's hair glam metallers The Quireboys, who'd allegedly been "especially invited" by Da Trick to open tonight. A good tactic to make them seem even better, methinks! Sure enough, the acoustic Quireboys were as obnoxious and cliché ridden as they were first time around; husky, pseudo sexy vocals, big empty power riffs and lighters-aloft bollocks. Rach and I headed to the bar and did our level best not to fall asleep to them!
Wandered to a vantage point stage right, by some rather annoying old people standing on the benches down the side of the venue, and not being too welcoming to a bit of jostling. Sorry, but it's a rock gig, not an executive box at the opera...
And rock gig it was, as we got very startlingly reminded, by the entrance of Da Trick. Zander, all suited up and looking like the rock star from central casting, with tan and blond locks; Bun E Carlos, hefty and workmanlike, like Tom Polce's dad (!); Petersson, suited but unkempt, wearing his rock credentials in the lines on his face; and then band leader Rick Nielsen - first a hand, then an energetic entrance from the wild-eyed, becapped but now beardless showman. As this was "Heaven Tonight" night, we knew what was coming, but the Trick built the anticipation, until... the bright lights and thundering riff heralded the start of "Surrender", and the crowd, old boys, hairy boys, everyone, went bat-shit mental. "Surrender", powerful, awesome and with that breathtaking sing-along chorus, was the perfect opener, and the best thing the Trick delivered tonight, by miles.
"Heaven Tonight" was then dutifully played start to finish, although not without incident; Roy Wood being dragged onstage to an ovation, to sing his composition, the strident blues number "California Man"; Zander strapping on a guitar and joining in the mad riffery for "Takin' Me Back"; Tommy Vance (even he!) reading the "On The Radio" middle 8 broadcast, and Chrissie Hynde (even she!) duetting with Zander on one number.
But this was mainly about the Trick. I'd taken some time to warm to them, and for me they still veer too close to plodding rock riffery at times (viz encore "Gonna Raise Hell"), but how can you resist a band who can produce such perfect soaring pop as "Dream Police" or touching balladry like "Voices" (both splendid encores tonight)? But let's face it, I can forgive everything of a band who can produce such a heart-stoppingly classic rock moment as "Surrender". Tonight, it was Heaven Tonight!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)