891 SPIZZENERGI, Stella, Bristol Fleece, Saturday 19 October 2013

Halloween 1979; I was a 14 year old pseudo punk rock kid, off to a nightclub for the first time, namely Swindon ’s legendary Under-18 “Nappy Night” at the Brunel night spot! It’s no exaggeration to call that evening a musical epiphany for me, as I heard a whole raft of wonderful punk and post-punk bands and songs for the first time that night, leaving the club with a metaphorical record shopping list as long as my arm. And right at the top of that list was “Where’s Captain Kirk?”, a slab of scattergun sci-fi mutant punk by SpizzEnergi, who sounded less like a band, more of an Eastern European industrial complex. A superb singles band whose quirky cartoon punch never worked as well over a full-length, I never saw them first time around, but here in 2013 they’re another band scratching that reunion itch. So why not?

So, this vintage punk rocker was joined by another couple of vintage punk rockers, Deb and (eventually) L8Z, to see these vintage punk rockers (hmm, seeing a pattern develop here…), rocking down the M4 this early Saturday evening and parking up just before the venue doors opened, then popping into the pub next door for some entertaining chat about those Nappy Night days. Hit the sparsely attended venue about 8.15, in time to catch support Sheena. Not a girly punk rocker as we’d previously joked, this was a group of four painfully young looking kids straight out of 6^th form (or maybe not even there yet…), who actually peddled some organ-fuelled 60’s mod/ psych numbers with darker, almost Joy Division-ish undertones, apart from a startling drum-dominated third number which recalled The Birthday Party! Some impressive diversity and driving rock from such a seriously young bunch, a name to watch methinks…

Took a wander down the front for the entrance of Spizz, in front of a 2/3rds full Fleece crowd comprised of old punkers and devotees. The band took the stage to a backing track of Star Trek (Original Series, of course) voiceovers and sound effects, kicking into the growling guitar opener “6,000 Crazy”. Then Spizz appeared… Dressed in black with glowing logos splattered liberally about his form, sporting crazy green goggles giving off strobe lights and with 2 LCD displays on belts low-slung under an impressive paunch, the peroxide pantomime punker Spizz cut a dramatic, eye-catching figure as “6,000 Crazy” morphed into the speedy terrace chant punk of “Mega City 3”, before welcoming us to the “fucking brilliant” show, and introducing the fuzzed-out soaring powerpop gem that is the overlooked “No Room”. And we’re off…

Thence followed a supremely entertaining, ridiculously and riotously fun hour’s sci-fi punk rock nostalgia. Thankfully concentrating on that clutch of classic singles (A and B sides!) rather than the more drawn-out albums material, Spizz, effusive and entertaining throughout, all high energy, dramatic gestures and wide stance, led his band through a kinetic, riveting set with his unique, high-pitched nasal vocals, and the verve of a man half his age. “Soldier Soldier”, kicking off with the “Star Spangled Banner” and featuring some militaristic drumbeats, was an early highlight; the “very moving love song!” of “Spock’s Missing”, alternating between the swish of the Spanish guitar verse and the thrash punk chorus, was a thrilling mid-set highlight, and the thrash through Roxy Music’s “Virginia Plain” referenced Debbie Harry and Bristol’s own Beki Bondage in a couple of false endings. But the set was all building up to one thing…

Spizz schooled the crowd in the correct call-and-response to “Clocks Are Big” (“Machines Are Heavy!”), then the unannounced bass intro heralded “Where’s Captain Kirk?”, a thrillingly committed version of this all-time sci-fi classic, Spizz and his equally ridiculously kinetic and photogenic guitarist Phil Ross giving it loads onstage, and the crowd joining in as much as their creaking knees would allow (or am I just speaking for myself?). A couple of well chosen covers to finish; Kraftwerk’s “The Model” and a Clash-faithful but riotously singalong “I Fought The Law” closed out probably the most fun set of punk entertainment I’ve seen since The Dickies.

Picked up a couple of setlists afterwards – props to the band for signing them all beforehand! – then had pix with the man afterwards (he’d previously announced that he was going to be hanging out afterwards to say hi, and true to his word marched offstage at the end of his set and straight over to the merch stand – props for that too!) before hitting the road. Waaaaay better than I’d expected, this was a wonderful evening’s entertainment from another vintage punker who, like Adam Ant and Peter Murphy earlier this year, proved tonight time doesn’t diminish the star quality of a born performer. Spizz, I salute you!

890 GLASVEGAS, The Shiverin’ Sheiks, Bristol Fleece, Monday 30 September 2013

Well, if a couple of years ago you said to me that Glasvegas would still be playing in such small venues as The Fleece in 2013, I’d have called you out for the ignorant musical buffoon I surely would have pegged you as. Glasvegas in the late noughties were the band for whom all things were possible, riding on a tide of hope and music press hype, having delivered a brilliant debut album, arriving fully formed as a distillation of everything cool in rock’n’roll through the ages, and featuring a real candidate for Spokesperson For A Generation in James Allen. Wow, how things changed, and in a hurry… their sophomore effort, “Euphoric/ Heartbreak” whilst flawed but still generally damn fine to my ears, was universally panned as an overblown, overwrought and over-reaching exercise in epic stadium rock, and knocked them back to practically square one. As for Spokesperson For A Generation, that mantle seems to have passed on to Frank Turner, with Allen generally – and unfairly – regarded by the press as a white-clad embarrassment. So, in surprisingly reduced circumstances, it may well be make or break time for this once ridiculously promising band. Glasvegas, what have you to offer us in 2013?

Rach and I made this our Anniversary outing (one day shy of our 8^th), leaving the kids with grandma and parking up at 8 after a good run. Wandered into the piss-poorly attended venue, early doors, just as support The Shiverin’ Sheiks came on. They were a traditional rockabilly 4-piece apparently spotted by Glasvegans James Allan and Jonna Lofgren while out for a drink, all in matching 50’s suits and featuring a big ol’ double bass! The moustachioed vocalist announced one number with, “this next one will cheer you all up a bit – it’s about how we’re all going to hell!” and their best number, “Sheik of Arrow B” had me reaching both for the metaphorical Arabian headdress, followed by some intricate hula melodies from the impressive guitarist. Their set closer turned into an adjective-fest; “we’ve been for your listening pleasure, the quivering, quaking, defenestrating (!), Shiverin’ Sheiks!” A somewhat different, whole lot of fun opening set, which Rach, with her Buddy Holly hat on, loved.

The place filled up to a more respectable level, but Rach and I took an easy spot right down the front, stage left. Allan, back in black (hooray!), led the band onstage to a swathe of billowing dry ice and discordant background noise, opening with the moody, atmospheric “Later…”, the title track from the new, insidiously growing, CD, his fractured, heavily Scots accented vocals and upright drummer Jonna’s steamhammer pounding already a feature. A menacing “Youngblood” followed, all seething drama and power and a quantum leap over the recorded version, and we knew we were in for something very special.

“Thanks everybody for coming to see the band,” a humble Allan said before the stark, late night betrayal drama of “Cheating Heart”. Allan was so wrapped up in his portrayal that he knocked the mikestand into the front rows, but acknowledged this during the lyric then apologised to the girl it landed on, handing her one of his beers. Stylish. “Euphoria Take My Hand” was simply stunning, a soaring widescreen epic, making fools of anyone who thought otherwise. A chant of “One James Allan!” subsequently started up, to which Allan replied, “thank fuck!”

This was a real performance of precision, passion and power from a band on top of their game. Allan, certainly not the greatest singer in the world but a supreme master of emotional projection, poured heart and soul into his performance, and was personable, voluble and utterly riveting throughout. “The World Is Yours” was magnificent, an understated opening leading to a massive noise-fest crescendo, and not the first (or last) spine-tingling moment of the night. “All I Want Is my Baby” was yearning, powerful and plaintive, with Allan stretching his voice way beyond its comfort zone, before he diffused the mood afterwards by chatting with the merch man, (“I don’t normally see you; how you doin’ man?”) and, clearly loving what he does, declaring this, “the best job in the world”.

The Jesus And Mary Chain stomp of “Geraldine” solicited a mass singalong, but “official” set closer “Go Square Go” surpassed that, the band downing instruments to conduct the audience in the “here we fuckin’ go!” terrace chant refrain. Allan stayed onstage then, delivering a bare, poignant and harrowing “Flowers And Football Tops” on a solo acoustic. Allen then referred to his tuning up and gathering his thoughts as a, “tumbleweed moment,” before delivering tonight’s highlight, a magnificent, heart-tugging “Daddy’s Gone”, their epic paean to absent fatherhood, with the refrain once again being sung back by the audience while Allan looked on, impressed. A final “Lots, Sometimes”, again building to a crescendo of white noise and drama, ended a quite, quite brilliant set, Allan leaving to handshakes from the front rows (myself included). Wow. Simply… wow.

We gathered our thoughts (and a set-list) before heading off, reflecting on this performance and Glasvegas’ place in the world. For me, they’ve captured lightning in a bottle, and are currently the act who, “live”, transcend their recorded work more so than anyone else. Relaxed and with pressures and expectations lifted from their shoulders, they utterly killed it tonight, delivering a set as potent, strident, powerful and emotive as any set I’ve seen this year. And to anyone who’ve abandoned and/or dismissed them; people, you seriously don’t know what you’re missing.

889 XSLF, Charred Hearts, Swindon Basement 73, Saturday 28 September 2013

Squeezed in an unexpected gig tonight as it was local, and a variation on my usual “Mad March to Bristol !” I normally pop down the M4 each March to catch original punk combo Stiff Little Fingers on their annual Academy tour, however former original guitarist Henry Cluney, widely credited as the man who introduced punk rock to an Ulster covers band called Highway Star, thus prompting their metamorphosis into SLF, has formed a breakaway version of the band trading under the XSLF banner and also featuring early line-up drummer Jim Reilly. And they’re playing a gig in my old 80’s/90’s weekend haunt Level 3, sorry Basement 73 as it’s now billed. This should be an interesting one, to contrast this lot with “the real thing” with whom I’m so familiar thanks to their annual go-around, and also to see how SLF numbers stack up without the gravelly rasp of vocalist Jake Burns. Here goes…

Drove into town after the kids went to bed, meeting up with The Big Man and Ady outside the Rolleston and catching up awhile. Chatted upstairs through the opening act downstairs, but t’was then getting a little chilly so I went down to this familiar old venue (although oddly enough for the first time under its’ new incarnation!) to catch main support, 80’s reformed punk act Charred Hearts. Local boys, this lot, with vocalist Dermot Fuller also having had a hand in organising this gig, a memorial event for a friend, they understandably played with bucketfuls of passion and commitment, sweeping their ramalama terrace chant street punk along with undiluted intensity and conviction. Fuller was fulsome in his praise for the impressive turnout of old punk rockers (“I’m so proud of all you fuckers”), also remarking, tongue in cheek, after one energetic number, “the adrenaline’s starting to kick in – I tell you, when you’re pushing 40 like us lot…!” I also appreciated him wandering offstage during a middle eight, simply to walk through the venue and shake hands with a few punters and friends. Style, sir. Noisy and ramshackle, but sincere and impressive stuff from a band who clearly wear their (charred) hearts on their sleeves.

By now Ady and The Big Man had joined us at the bar, where we awaited XSLF’s entrance at 10.30. Dermot Fuller announced the 3-piece onstage, with Cluney, a short black-clad bloke who’d clearly been sharing the same diet as his similarly expanding former bandmate Burns, kicking off with “At The Edge”. However, whereas SLF’s rendition is normally exciting and adrenaline-fuelled, this seemed slow, sluggish and haphazardly played, with Cluney, a quieter, more understated, nuanced and heavily Irish accented vocalist, suffering in comparison to Burns’ considerably more strident tones. A couple of less familiar early numbers later, I was formulating the view that this was not a patch on the real thing, a disappointing, almost pub-circuit standard imitation. Then…

“Tin Soldiers” changed all that. “If they get this one wrong, we might as well all go home…” I remarked to The Big Man. Thankfully, they didn’t, kicking up the conviction level a few hundred notches with an impressive rendition of SLF’s best number. “Gotta Getaway” followed, one rarely trotted out by Burns’ mob, so I got up for a pogo and an arms aloft, fists punching the air punk rock singalong. The usual SLF faves shone after that, with Cluney ultimately playing with a sense of ownership and entitlement; an anthemic “Fly The Flag”, a shambolic “Alternative Ulster” which nevertheless got the dancefloor filled with a rampaging mosh, a swayalong “Barbed Wire Love”, and final encore “Roots Radicals, Rockers and Reggae”, to end on a real high.

Sure, there were bum notes and ragged edges aplenty, particularly from the short-notice replacement bassman, and musically they didn’t compare favourably to the “real” SLF. But after a dreadful start, this was better than I’d initially feared, with Cluney another old punk growing old disgracefully, revisiting his roots and rediscovering his mojo in the process. And they were playing in a small sweaty club in Swindon on a Saturday night, for a good cause. So fair play to ‘em. A damn fine evening’s punk rock!

888 JIMMY LAFAVE featuring PHIL HURLEY, Tingewick Village Hall, Buckingham, Friday 20 September 2013

This one was less an actual "gig" from my perspective, but more an opportunity to catch up with an old friend. Phil Hurley, former Gigolo Aunts guitarist extraordinaire, friend of 20 years standing and an absolutely lovely bloke whom I'd not seen since he kindly took a day out of his schedule to show two slightly swamped and flailing Brits around his then-hometown of LA, on our California honeymoon trip in 2005, announced he was dirtying the shores of the UK for probably the first time since his mid-90's stints with Tracy Bonham. This time however, having since relocated to Austin, Texas, he was riding shotgun with Texan folk/ country singer Jimmy LaFave on a short UK tour. OK then! However, of the 3 dates Jimmy was scheduled to do, Nottingham was out of reach and I didn't fancy Central London for the 100 Club on a Thursday night. Thus it was that I opted for a journey to what all my research idnicated was basically a tiny wooden scout hut in an equally minuscule village, in the middle of Nowheresville, Buckinghamshire!

So, I leapt into the Friday night commuter traffic queues after work, sitting frustratingly in traffic north of Oxford but finding Tingewick Village Hall easily – there’s only one road through this quintessential sleepy old English village! Phil was hanging out by the van, chatting to his driver, so I unrolled my window and shouted, “Hurley!” That surprised him! “Hey David! What are you doing here? What am I doing here??!” was the incredulous response. Parked the car, then hung out with Phil and tonight’s promoters, chatting about music and children (mine and his brother’s, Phil not being a dad – yet…), the years falling away.

Got in – on the list. Nice! – then took a seat near the front, catching another chat about Boston Rock with Phil before stage time. Jimmy LaFave then took the stage just after 8.15, leading his 4-piece on to a fine reception from the c.100-strong audience of evident Country/folk aficionados. The set kicked off with some stark, parched and bare country balladry, topped by LaFave’s plaintive, yearning and slightly high-pitched voice, the material also giving ample opportunity for Phil’s stellar guitar licks. This was some detailed and intricate picking, as if born to the genre, from my friend, the virtuoso  guitarist.

I'd not done any pre-gig listening research on LaFave's music itself, which he apparently terms "Red Dirt" music after the colour of the soil around his native Stillwater, Oklahoma. Fittingly, it sounds as rootsy and dusty as the image evoked by that description, and was delivered in an easy, laid back and comfortable style from the seated LaFave, chatting “stream of consciousness” style between songs as if to old friends. Phil happily acted as his foil, particularly for old stories of drunken misdemeanours on previous UK visits (“don’t eat Mexican food in Camden !”). Tales of last night’s visit to London ’s legendary 100 Club were recounted (“punk rock lives on in the bathrooms!” was Phil’s summation) and LaFave challenged Phil’s lack of tuning up between songs with, “because some people don’t give a damn!” A lengthy story about LaFave’s ex-wife preceded, “something really angry,” which was a bilious reading of Dylan’s “Just Like A Woman”, a set highlight. Another cover, a smooth, soulful rendition of Jackson Browne’s “These Days” also shone, Phil once again embellishing the mood perfectly with some stellar chops, ringing and resonant.

A singalong “Have You Ever Seen The Rain”, capped a 1 hour 45 performance, eliciting a raucous shout for an encore, which saw a heart-tugging cover of The Left Banke’s “Walk Away Renee”, and a second encore of Dylan’s “Not Dark Yet” saw Phil indulge in some wig-out raucous riffery (“a bit of MBV!” was his verdict afterwards), adding drama and gravitas to tonight’s best number and the climax of the performance.

Brief chat and compliments with a besieged Phil afterwards, before I headed off into the inky night, thanking LaFave on my way out for bringing my friend over to the UK and mentioning to him that although his music is not my normal thing, my ears are sensible enough to recognise class and excellent musicianship when they hear it. Good stuff indeed, but all the better for catching up with an old friend along the way. Mission accomplished!

887 JIMMY EAT WORLD, The Shimmer Band, Bristol O2 Academy, Saturday 14 September 2013

Jimmy Eat World. Mesa, AZ's finest proponents of hearfelt and irresistibly catchy emotive powerpop and melodic punk rock, are back with a new album and UK tour, and we're all over this one like a rash. We got tickets in the O2 pre-sale, which was good as this show sold out within days (the only date on the UK tour to do so, oddly...), which was ultimately frustrating, as latterly my oldest son Evan decided he fancied it for a visit, but we couldn't get him sorted with a ticket this time. Darn!

So it was just Jimmy uber-fan Rach and I who headed off at 6.30, hitting traffic in Bristol then finding our normal car park was full, with an immovable queue of cars nonetheless chancing their arm. Bah! So we headed back down the hill, parking up in the Millennium car park by @Bristol and hitting the venue for 20 to 8, Rach then getting overcharged for her drink by a dim barmaid who didn't know what a lager shandy was! Cripes! Not the best of starts then, but here we were in place, stage left, for openers The Shimmer Band at 8. A long-haired rabble who took ages to actually get going after taking the stage, they played a very Doors-like brand of dangerous, down and dirty proto blues rock, driving and heavily bass-dominated (so much so, we figured their song-writing process was, "hey, here's a good bass riff, let's build a song!") which I actually ultimately ended up warming to. A very brief - 20 minutes! - set was concluded with a "Break On Through" pastiche which even appropriated said song's chorus!

The brevity of their set however left us facing nearly an hour's wait for Jimmy Eat World's scheduled 9.15 start, and by 8.45 the floor was heaving and the sell-out crowd was bubbling with anticipation. Throw us a bone, please, guys, and come on early! Thankfully they did, as just before 9 the lights dimmed and they nonchalantly wandered onstage to a huge ovation.

Jimmy Eat World's new album, "Damage", is a more muted affair than, say, the upfront power riffs of "Bleed American" or "Futures", whilst retaining the brutal lyrical honesty that is their trademark. An attempt at a "grown-up breakup record", apparently, it's however a real grower, albeit with the words ratgher than the rock carrying the power. In keeping with this, opener "I Will Steal You Back", from the new album, seemed a little subdued, as the band felt their way into the gig, and the packed crowd's response was appreciative rather than enthusiastic. A fine, smooth and deliciously harmonic "Lucky Dencer Mint" aside, it took until mainman Jim Adkins bolted on a fat acoustic and delivered a bleeding-raw, heart-rending "Hear You Me" to really engage the crowd with a huge emotive and communal sing-along resonating around the venue. The subsequent "Futures" triad of the title track, an immense "Kill" and an equally powerful "Work" (preceded by the unusually taciturn Adkins introducing it as, "probably one of the happier songs on our graded curve...") then saw the band and the crowd really start to build up a head of steam. "It's always fun playing here, it's like everyone's at the party," observed Adkins, beckoning to the overhanging balconies.

The gig was bubbling up nicely now; however the final three numbers in the set were utterly stunning, an object lesson in how to finish a set good and proper. The majestic "A Praise Chorus", their best number, and sinuous, soaring and swooping, kicked things up several gears; a blistering "Sweetness" saw the "whoa-oh"s echoing around the venue, accompanying the jagged riffery and juddering thump of the drums, and a final "Bleed American", bristling with power and seething menace and featuring that killer driving middle-8, capped a set which eased it's way in, taking time to build up momentum, but left the best until last. And better that than the other way round!

A 3 song encore capped with the joyful melodic burst of "The Middle" ("our happiest song - I'm having a glass half full day, noticing all the happy songs," according to Adkins) ended an ultimately excellent hour and a half, with Adkins and the band, genuinely thankful of the reception, taking a lengthy and deserved ovation. An easy set-list, then back to the car, avoiding the gangs of lairy drunken women (!) staggering around Bristol, reflecting on the gig. My 10th time overall of seeing Jimmy Eat World, 4th time here, and another excellent night from a band who have consistently delivered excellent albums and top drawer gigs for 12 years now. Worth all tonight's hassle. Oh yes.