1,218 SPIZZ ENERGI, Healthy Junkies, Articulate Outburst, London Camden Underworld, Friday 8th April 2022

 

The second of a boy’s gig double-header was a trip oop The Smoke for this potentially mental one… despite discovering Spizz Energi (one of many band pseudonyms for complete punk rock fruitcake Ken “Spizz” Spiers) as a 14 year old on my 1979 Under-18 Brunel “epiphany” night, falling hard for his mutant Sci-fi punk rock classic “Where’s Captain Kirk?”, I’d seen him/ them “live” only once, back in 2013 at The Fleece (gig 891) on a barmy night out. An irregular gigger at best, Spizz, I’d nonetheless kept an eye out for any future shows, and had actually seen him out and about in London a couple of times last year (in the distance for Heaven 17 at the Roundhouse, and at the Hope And Anchor bar for a chat at The Starjets). I’d even bought a rare “Athletico Spizz 80” tshirt off him earlier this year, being sent some even rarer promo badges in the process. Chap! So when I got wind of this Friday night Underworld gig, I was well up for it, and also happy to expose my “gig buddy” son Logan (at 14, the same age as me on my Brunel “epiphany” night, and to whom I’d been playing “Where’s Captain Kirk?” since he was about 6!) to some Spizz tomfoolery!

 A teacher training day meant no school for Logan, so I took the day off work and we made a day of it, parking in our Kentish Town spot just after 2 p.m. and hitting Camden for some shopping, splendid Thai/ Chinese street food and an overall great father/son afternoon out. Hit the deserted venue about 6.30 – it’s as oddly shaped as I remember! – and wandered through to the main hall to catch some of openers, Leeds’ inappropriately named Articulate Outburst at 10 to 7. Their hefty Selwyn Froggatt soundalike vocalist led them through a passable cover of “Blitzkrieg Bop” for starters, their set then unfortunately degenerating into noisy, one-dimensional oi/street punk, sadly the kind of inarticulate howl that put me off the genre in the first place, and causing us to retreat back to our spot in the bar! Still loud from there, their “Is There Anybody Out There” featured a ramalama repetitive hook and was easily their best number, before another run-through of “Blitzkrieg Bop” bookended their set. Nice guys (as we later found out) but sadly not my cup of Upstart...

 We noted that most of the mainly leather-jacketed punker punters arriving were sporting either Spizz t-shirts or painted Spizz motifs on their leather jackets; a small but highly dedicated collective here tonight! The man himself then arrived, greeting all and sundry just before we took another wander in to check out main support Healthy Junkies. Featuring a Daisy Chainsaw-alike female vocalist, their opener “This Is Not A Suicide” set the tone for their set with some Iggy/ CBGBs sleazy and glammy proto punk, quickly followed by the bratty repetitive hook and effects-pedal led riffery (the guitarist liked his pedals, of that there was no doubt!) of “I Don’t Give A Damn.” Infinitely more palatable than the openers, but I wasn’t in the mood for bratty teen defiance played by a decidedly older band, so we once again retreated to the bar!

 

Stirred into action just before ¼ to 9 by noises emanating from the main room, we wandered back in and took a spot front row, house left, along with a half-full but dedicated and eager crowd. The band took the stage first, the rhythm guitarist sporting a cossack hat and Joker make-up and immediately getting in our faces with a manic laugh; then Spizz theatrically joined us with a flourish, sporting flashing neon rings and an electronic display belt buckle playing a lurid green “Spizz Energi” across it (then getting stuck on the “S” for most of the set. Whoops!), leading us into the call and response “that’s what I said!” hook of opener “Shallow End”. “Good evening motherfuckers!” greeted the man; “We’re in Camden… where we live!”

 A hometown gig, a room of devotees; this demanded a stellar performance, and boy, did we get one! Tonight this Spizz Energi incarnation not only sounded tight and dynamic, but visually were striking, all-action and kinetic, delivering a proper performance. And Spizz, as ever, was a total star; posing, pouting and preening like the proudest of punk rock peacocks (if that’s not too much “p” alliteration for ya!), his slightly camp “Carry On” ooh-er missus persona would have been entertaining enough, but when augmented with antics such as letting off numerous confetti cannons, discarding his flashing rings into the crowd (Logan happily snagging a couple!), pulling USA and Russia flags out of his trousers before a brilliantly tough sounding “Soldier Soldier”, and reading the mood of the room perfectly with a brandished Ukraine flag and a pointed “Ding Dong, the witch is dead” barb on this, the 9^th anniversary of thatcher’s death (and yes, no typo there… she doesn’t deserve a capital “T”) he was an utterly riveting presence. You couldn’t take your eyes off him!

The 60’s B Movie car chase of “City Of Eyes” was an early highlight, then Spizz threatened to, “scare the living daylights out of you happy campers!” with the sinister metronomic beat of “Here Come The Machines”. The verses for “No Room” were a little messy and garbled, but the hook was still irresistible and the middle 8 magnificent, Spizz then ironically quipping, “I forget what’s next,” before an angular and savage, moshpit inducing “Amnesia”. As previously mentioned, “Soldier Soldier” sounded brilliantly tough, and a rampant “Virginia Plain” was given 3 finishes as Spizz chastised the crowd for not singing the hook loudly enough! However, the highlight was to still to come, of course…

 Following the call and response of “Clocks Are Big” (“machines are heavy!”), they careered headlong into a frankly astonishing “Where’s Captain Kirk?”, the sci-fi punk classic sounding as fresh as ever, the chanted hook raising the roof. Wow. A quieter, almost ballad-like “Denmark Street” calmed things, before a couple of covers – a faithful, metronomic “The Model” and rambunctious, rabble-rousing “I Fought The Law” ended a supremely entertaining set. Utterly superb!

 

Then, just to augment a brilliant night (and thanks to a kindly steward), we barged our way backstage, meeting the bands and having our pix taken with the friendly but utterly crazy Spizz Energi guys. A wander back to the car and a difficult drive home through a sodden capital and 2 sets of M4 closures (bah!) then saw us home at a red-eyed 20 to 1. Yipe! But no matter. This was a gig – and overall, a day out – for the ages, a brilliant boy’s night out thanks to the mesmerising mutant punk rock madness of Spizz Energi!

1,217 B-SYDES, Brightr, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 7th April 2022

 

We’ve had a couple of recent snippets of Sydes of late, but tonight’s it’s time for a bigger helping… B-Sydes, the nom du guerre of that excellent gentleman Benjamin Sydes, has recently cropped up on my Dance Card as the opening act on Gaz Brookfield’s “Original Trilogy” tour (gigs 1,206 and 1,208), both occasions entertaining with a short snappy set of his own idiosyncratic take on the solo acoustic format. Throwing in elements of urgent indie and angst-ridden emo into the mix (particularly when in the full band format), Ben’s music is an intriguing outlier in comparison to his more overtly folky/ punky mates and contemporaries (Gaz/Nick/Jake et al), plus he’s a splendid chap of the first water, well worthy of a trip up the hill for an extended version of his particular brand of acoustic tomfoolery on a Thursday evening!

 So, Logan and I did precisely that, as part 1 of a boys’ gig double-header; me first, driving up solo and catching up with Ben, a visiting Gaz and other friends and fans (including The Big Man!) in “The Tupp” on arrival. I also grabbed the front and centre pews, and Logan joined us, having been dropped off by mum after his swim session, just in time for opener Brightr who took the stage dead on 8.30. A hefty bearded gent resembling Manchester Orchestra’s Andy Hull, he immediately rattled through a couple of opening numbers with a decidedly fast-paced, urgent emo-ish edge, accompanied by some high-pitched yearning, almost keening vocals, immediately bringing to mind one pretty obvious comparison… admittedly I’m normally one for hearing clip clops and shouting “horse” rather than “zebra”, but I nonetheless thought I’d check my hypothesis with Mr. Hartley-Smith, the learned gentleman to my left, and he agreed; “yup, the first time I saw [Brightr] I [also] immediately thought, he’s the British Dashboard Confessional!” Okay then!

 No one-trick copyist though, this bloke; “Pavement” was a racey pacey strumalong with off-mic harmonies, about realising he was carrying his former bandmates; “Coffee” a splendid treatise on the state of this fucked-up covid world and a proper workout for his larynx; and a later, more melancholic “Mark Strong” his “coming back from the abyss” number. Much of the material, in fact, felt as if he was singing his own therapy, a point underlined by his opt-lengthy between song explanations; “I tried to write something positive but it ended up being even sadder; my songs are miserable but I’m a happy guy really!” Final number “We” (his best-known, apparently) was more of a group therapy clarion call to arms, rounding off an impressively snappy set. Shame that for the most part he was fighting against the hubbub from the back of the room…

 In short order (time enough to get the round in from the table – thanks Linda!), Ben was up, promising a set of “upbeat songs” and kicking off with my favourite number, the anthemic woah-oh hook of “Crutches”. Some wag down the front (ok, me…!) tried to replicate the Gaz tour diary “knees! Knees! Knees!” chant to general hilarity but no accompaniment; I was a little disappointed about this and casually mentioned that I’d have to beat everyone up afterwards for not joining in, my off-the-cuff remark then taking on a life of its own and becoming a running joke throughout Ben’s set, eventually escalating into an impending full-on car park donnybrook! Actually, that level of humour and sarky yet relaxed banter between performer and audience was a feature of the set throughout: promoter and soundguy Ed Dyer switched Ben’s sound off when Ben started a tongue-in-cheek “Wonderwall”; the “Stourbridge clapping guy” and the “Norwich why-aye guy” from the recent Gaz tour both got mentions; Ben commented that his gig pairing with Brightr tonight was like a “musical blind date”, quipping, “we should have more; not with Jake [Martin] though!”; and of course the ubiquitous shots were present, provided by Gaz whenever Ben hit a bum note (not too many this time!)

 

And the music wasn’t bad either! Actually, Ben was in fine fettle tonight, his soaring nasal lilt powerful and resonant, filling the cosy confines of “The Tupp” and obviating any potential concern about the hubbub drowning him out. “All At Sea” built to a potent, angst-propelled crescendo, “Safe And Sound” (described as “a musical hug” by a fan) was a delight, and “This Was My City Once” was a roof-raising singalong. “The Desperate Dance” saw Ben quipping, “have we had a lovely evening? Well, I’m about to ruin it as I’ve got a harmonica…!”, then discarding said instrument midway through in pantomime frustration. The impressively held final note of a splendidly creepy and discordant “Still In Saigon” ended the set, before Ben’s arm was twisted by Ed for an unplanned encore, Ben delivering an unexpected but excellent cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” and nailing the falsetto mid-section perfectly. Great stuff! Thanks and farewells to all and sundry, then we cleared off, thankfully avoiding any car park ruckus (!) after a splendid extra helping of Sydes!

1,216 OCTOBER DRIFT, Foam Heads, Oxford Jericho Tavern, Wednesday 23rd March 2022

 

Another trip down Nostalgia Avenue tonight, venue-wise at least; back to The Jericho Tavern in Oxford, scene of many 80’s/ 90’s gig nights for the likes of Pulp, A House, The Heart Throbs, Midway Still and my then-faves The Parachute Men, whom I saw 4 times in that scuzzy and sweaty upstairs room. And tonight has the potential of another rousing and memorable Jericho evening; mine hosts are October Drift, the young band who impressed me so much when I saw them, virtually previously unheard, in January 2020 at Rough Trade (gig 1,172) that I gratuitously bandied around phrases like, “most exciting prospect since Desperate Journalist”! Their debut CD, which I picked up that night, partly delivered on that promise with a melting pot of thrilling post-punk, heavy grungy riffery and more textured shoegaze, a slight lack of consistency of material seeing it just miss out on my 2020 Top 10 (in an admittedly high-quality year for albums!), but the dark, haunting stomp of “Cherry Red” comfortably making it onto my “Best of 2020” CD compilation. A couple of years on, then, it’s time to revisit this promising band to see where they are now…

 Set off at 6.15 then pretty much immediately realised why I don’t go gigging in nearby Oxford as much as its’ proximity would dictate; got stuck behind a lorry on the Oxford Road for ages, making the drive into the city interminable and irritating! Parked up easily, down the road from the old Tavern, and popped into the old upstairs venue; first in, and only one in for a good while too! A smattering of early comers had joined us for openers Foam Heads, on at 8. A 3-piece of indeterminate vintage (probably closer in age to me than to the headliners!) and a local last minute replacement for the Covid-affected tour support China Bears, their second number “Drowning In My Room” had post-punk shades of U2/Bunnymen and featured a Cure “A Forest”-esque underlying bass, and “Rain”, next up, was a valiant attempt at a hookier harmonic chorus, the shame being that the singer’s voice was somewhat lost in the mix. Whilst much of the set was more workmanlike fayre, they finished an overall decent set strongly with the 60’s spy movie backbeat of “Way Of The World”, also featuring some shimmering guitar licks. Not original, but fairly enjoyable overall.

 Took a step forward as OD guitarist Daniel Young finished soundchecking, and got chatting to a nice lady down the front, who was honouring her recent late husband’s memory by continuing to go gigging, a thing they both enjoyed. Good on you, my dear! October Drift joined us slightly late at 9.10, squeezed onto the tiny stage and charged into a cacophonous squalling noisefest intro to the powerful, fist-pumping anthem “Losing My Touch”, vocalist Kiran Roy’s deep, sonorous vocals as much a feature as his all-action style, ducking and diving onstage as if avoiding machine-gun fire. Stunning opener, but amazingly, it got better with the bass-led thrill ride of “Cherry Red”, Roy sawing at his high-slung guitar for all he was worth, flanked by his kinetic guitar partners and backed up by drummer Chris Holmes pounding seven hells out of his kit and pulling faces in the process. An amazing visual spectacle, an astonishing and almost palpable wall of sound!

 

It soon became obvious to me that October Drift are clearly one of those bands who take on an extra dimension “live”, coming alive onstage as the full-on rabid rock beasts they truly are… “Don’t Give Me Hope” came in all stately and elegiac before building to another cacophonous crescendo, Roy eschewing his stage spot and hiking through the audience (about half full tonight – come on Oxford, what are you playing at?), and “Oh The Silence” featured a powerful military beat reminiscent of Boston’s Taxpayer, with some squalling Pale Saints-like guitar for good measure. Newie “Insects” is evidently their Pixies number, a creepy bass intro surreptitiously building to a proto grunge choral howl, with “Come And Find Me” a rampant beast with a metronomic “French Disko” style beat powering it along. Impressive stuff.

 

All too soon a remarkable swift and sweaty hour was over – I’d been giving it as much as my knees allowed down the front, and was dripping sweat at this time – and Roy thanked us profusely before he and drummer Holmes took the floor (Holmes warning us, “shit’s about to get real”) and played an almost acapella final number, the touching and tender “The Past”, in the round, before heading directly to the merch stand to chat with fans and friends. I grabbed a setlist and joined in the chat – not only do we have a band who, like the likes of Seafood, American Hi-Fi, Midway Still et al, truly elevate themselves in the “live” environment, but also know their rock history and seem to have a real rapport with their fans. A better “economy drive” run home and back just after 11, after, as promised, another rousing and memorable Jericho evening!

1,215 WHITE LIES, VLure, Bristol O2 Academy, Saturday 19th March 2022

 

Well, the appetite was duly whetted last month after White Lies’ in-store acoustic show at Rough Trade Bristol (gig no 1,210), and now it’s time for the real deal! Since that show, the boys’ 6^th (!) album, the presciently titled “As I Try Not To Fall Apart”, has been in pretty constant rotation in the car (particularly if Logan and I are the only passengers!), and it’s a proper banger. Musically it veers more definitely into smooth yet haunting synthy Talk Talk territory, but is again replete with swathes of brain-hugging hooks and one particularly huge, anthemic number, “I Don’t Want To Go To Mars”, which stands pat with pretty much anything else they’ve done. Overall, this may ultimately be the strongest White Lies album since their debut, so expectation was high for a performance to match tonight, to really elevate them to the Big Leagues…

 An early drive down the M4 into the low setting sun got Logan and I there 10 minutes before doors, joining the O2 priority queue (yay!) and snagging a barrier spot, house right, on entry. An hour to wait for proceedings, but we were joined by an affable bunch of fellow punters on the barriers, some fun Smiths-centric rock chat passing the time convivially before openers VLure. A hotly-tipped new Glaswegian lot, this, they were introduced onstage by a smartly dressed festival barker intoning a bleak poem; “on this hill we die, welcome to the world of VLure!” Quite the entrance and something to live up to, then, and from note one they were utterly stunning; opener “Desire” strode in on the coattails of a decidedly creepy Peter Hook-esque bassline, all dark and deliciously doomy, and vocalist Hamish Hutcheson upped the ante with not only his commanding, heavily accented vocals, but an authentic and hard-hitting intensity and conviction. By the second number, the brutal goth stomp of “Show Me How To Live”, he was in the photographer pit, striding the plinths and eyeballing the front rows like a T Rex sizing up his next meal. He means it, maaan! Sonically a totally apposite support for White Lies, dovetailing into that synthy, post-punk/goth sonic template, but with an underlying looser, dancey edge, VLure more than lived up to the hype; “I Won’t Run” featured a New Order-esque cascading synth pattern and strong-armed beats, and subsequent numbers featured robotic krautrock, evoking bleak dystopian cityscapes. Final number “Euphoria”’s elegiac opening then plunged into an epic pulsing backbeat thrill-ride not dissimilar to tonight’s headliners’ brilliant “Death”, rounding off a set which Hutcheson finished shirtless and kneeling, arms outstretched, to soak in the deserved applause for a highly impressive opening set. They’d be amazing at the Thekla… or The Joiners…!

 It got appreciably busier down the front, but we still got quick loo breaks in before the lights dimmed dead on 9, White Lies taking the stage to the muted synth strains of the new album’s opening section. Kicking in with a slightly reworked but still widescreen and singalong “Farewell To The Fairground”, they were pretty much “on it” from the outset, the sound beefy and punchy, augmented by their mystery 4^th synth player member, the only slight criticism being that Harry McVeigh’s vocals were occasionally down in the mix. No matter, we were singing along to every number anyway! A treat visually as well, the stage stark and uncluttered by monitors, with strobes and pulsing, multi-coloured strip-lights illuminating the backdrop and the base of Jack Lawrence-Brown’s high drum riser. The layered hooks of “There Goes Our Love Again” was an early treat, “Am I Really Going To Die” recalled the expansive Euro-synth dance of “Sons And Fascination”-era Simple Minds and featured some Forbes-esque bass plucking from Charles Cave; and the almost thrashy, punky “Hurt My Heart” opened with blood red strip lights morphing into almost savagely flashing strobe lighting! A mellower, twinkling “Is My Love Enough” diffused this frantic mood, “Big TV”’s Visage-like sheet metal synth was stunning and epic, and the double of an almost jolly “Tokyo” and the brilliantly chugging, coruscating “I Don’t Want To Go To Mars” closed out a remarkably swift but excellently played set.

 Encore “Death” was however the highlight of the night; a stridently pounding intro, accompanied by an almost violent flashing white light strobe display, led to a slow, funereal verse, ultimately building to a euphoric release for the hook, as good as I’ve ever heard this wonderful track played “live”. Following an understated “As I Try Not To Fall Apart”, the otherwise taciturn McVeigh piled fulsome praise on the enthusiastic audience for coming (“after 2 years I can’t tell you how good it feel to tour again!”) before the huge roof-raising singalong to “Bigger Than Us” closed out another excellent White Lies set. No confetti cannon tonight, as per other recent gigs, but no matter. A set-list from a friendly roadie then a few words with the friendly folks from VLure, hanging out in the loading bay, and quickly home via the kebab van. Great boy’s night out. No doubt; that certainly was The Real Deal from both VLure and White Lies!

1,214 THE UNDERTONES, Hugh Cornwell, Frome Cheese And Grain, Friday 18th March 2022

 

An oft-postponed one, this, the actual ticket date being 5^th June 2020 (!), and my first time of asking for a band I’ve liked for over 40 years now, namely Northern Ireland’s The Undertones! A late-70’s band that skirted around the “punk” scene but, with their bubblegum pop tunes, teenage angst lyricism and ill-fitting sweaters and snorkel parkas, fell more in line in the subsequent “New Wave” slew of bands, they nonetheless arrived with a bang… Their debut (!) single “Teenage Kicks” was an instant classic, and is still, over 40 years on, heralded as one of the greatest tracks of all time. A real singles band, with arguably only The Buzzcocks for serious competition in the lovelorn buzzsaw pop punk singles stakes, I liked them fine early doors but drifted away from their poppier and more anodyne early 80’s material, and didn’t really miss them when they initially called it a day in the mid-80s. Reforming in the early 2000’s with the original line-up sans the distinctive high-pitched quaver of vocalist Feargal Sharkey, they’d been a band I’d been meaning to check out “live” at some point… and “some point” was pre-Covid 2020, which became post-Covid 2022!

 I picked up a CD copy of their first album to run it past Logan, and, after not listening to The Undertones for a long while, immediately realised why I’d kept them at slightly arm’s length even back in the day… really not that fond of Sharkey’s voice! Logan liked the new wave guitar enough to join us, and I was hoping the new vocalist had a more palatable (to me, anyway…!) voice! So, we headed off down country lanes to Frome, parking up and joining a snaking queue to get in for 7 pm doors, bumping into old punk buddy Barney on the way through the bar but nonetheless still snagging Logan’s preferred barrier spot, house right, chatting with a fellow front row punter to kill time before opener Hugh Cornwell. Cornwell is the former lead singer of The Stranglers, a 70’s punk/ New Wave band I actually disliked and avoided back in the day – not least because, for some reason, I’d fallen foul of a couple of skinheads who were big Stranglers/ Sham 69 fans, and who roughed me up a bit on the odd occasion back then. (In a “Be The Bigger Man” moment, I actually confronted one of them, a few years later, in the toilets at Levs, said bloke immediately apologising for, “being a bit of a dick back then”…) Not Cornwell’s fault, I hear you say, and you’re right, so I approached this set with an open mind, and, after a slightly dodgy start (particularly the second number, a Stranglers deep cut about a bug on a big red leaf, which was terrible), he and his 3-piece band warmed to their task, and I actually warmed to them! An early “Duchess”, shorn of the organ accompaniment, was still a highlight, the likes of “Skin Deep” and the conversational verse style of “Always The Sun” were fine pieces of languid sleazoid bluesy rock, recalling The Doors, Lou Reed (an obvious touchstone for Cornwell) and early Bowie, and even his recent solo material impressed (in particular “Mr. Leather”, about an abortive meeting with Reed, which felt as though it could have walked off Reed’s “Transformer” album!). A chatty and open raconteur as well, this hour-long set was overall a nice and unexpected surprise, culminating in a tremendously dark, doomy reading of the Stranglers’ finest moment “5 Minutes”. Good work, Hugh!

 Only half an hour to kill then, as the place filled, and a drunken punter mistook Logan for being my girlfriend (!). The Undertones took the stage prompt at 9.30, bassist and evident bandleader Michael Bradley proclaiming, “we’re the Undertones, we play Undertones songs and crack Undertones jokes!”, before immediately cracking into opener “Family Entertainment”, which set the tone for the whole set with its’ bright, breezy and snappy New Wave melody. Thence followed a 31 song (!!) set squeezed into barely 90 minutes, The ‘tones blasting through at occasionally Ramones-like breakneck speed, yet still having time for plenty of entertaining Irish “craic” and banter between Bradley and “new” vocalist Paul McLoone. Ah yes, McLoone… possessed of a similarly high voice to Sharkey, slightly reedier yet without Sharkey’s more pronounced and oft-annoying quaver, his vocals fitted the material perfectly, and his peacock-esque strutting performance was similarly entertaining. And the material sounded great, the twin guitars of brothers John and Damien O’Neill giving the songs fulsome power and purpose. Highlights? Well, you know them all… an early mosh-inducing and singalong “Jimmy Jimmy”, the brilliant “Teenage Kicks” casually thrown in mid-set (style!), a breakneck “Here Comes The Summer”, a dark and swirling, almost “Paint It, Black”-esque “When Saturday Comes”, my set favourite “Male Model” a chunky, drum-propelled set closer “Get Over You”, McLoone calling Frome “good clapping country” and singalong final number “My Perfect Cousin”…

 Altogether a damn fine evening’s entertainment, home for midnight after an inky black drive through Wiltshire lanes. Well worth the near 2 year wait, and hopefully not the last time I check out The Undertones!

1,213 THE MYSTERINES, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Saturday 12th March 2022

After we enjoyed last month’s White Lies “In Store” mini-gig (gig-let?) here (gig 1,210), I was on the lookout for any more such band appearances, and a couple of intriguing ones presented themselves in pretty short order… Recent Biff support Bob Vylan next month, but firstly young Liverpool band The Mysterines, promoting their debut album “Reeling”, again free with the entrance fee for this show. Nice! A brand-new (to us, at least…!) female-fronted combo, this, initial YouTube investigations of their material revealed some upbeat, gnarly and pseudo gothy/ grungy post-punk guitar rock, with some big sweeping choruses and dramatic hooks. Right in my wheelhouse, then! And sonically very much in the current post-punk zeitgeist, but thankfully we also seem to have a band with a singer who actually sings, which, rather puzzlingly, seems to be a rare commodity these days…

 This one was also a little unusual, inasmuch as it was a lunchtime appearance, which suited our Saturday plans better than their evening in-store set in Marlborough. So, Logan and I set off down the M4 at 11, parking up deceptively easily in the cavernous Cabot Circus car park and wandering through said (and equally huge) retail centre, hitting the venue dead on 12 to grab our wristbands, then having to join the already-lengthy queue outside! Passed the time chatting to a couple of fellow punters before they let us in to the back room venue at 12.20; and despite that big ol’ queue in front of us, we still managed to worm our way down the front, house right, for a good view for my now not-so little man!

 

So the 4-piece Mysterines took the stage at 1 to the strains of Jonathan Richman’s whimsical “Ice Cream Man” (not their usual entrance music, I’d wager…!), with the bassist and guitarist both seated and flanking vocalist Lia Metcalfe, centre stage. As with the recent White Lies set here, this was due to be a low-key, stripped back and more acoustic performance, so we weren’t going to get those big guitar riff-powered, almost anthemic bangers today. However, what we did get was quite a surprise: opener “Dangerous” crept in low and surreptitiously, almost like Nirvana’s classic “Come As You Are”, building to a big choral hook led by Lia’s strident tones. Oh, did I mention we had a band with a singer who actually sings? Hoo boy, does she… deep, low and resonant yet striking strident, sounding almost world-weary beyond her tender years, and recalling for these ears the excellent McKenzie Scott of Torres, or even the icon that is Patti Smith! “On The Run” and “Reeling” were equally slow-burn, dramatic and yearningly morose, veering towards dark alt-country territory, then “Under Your Skin” took that journey a step further, with the tense swirling atmosphere of a creepy Appalachian folk murder ballad, coming across all akin to Violent Femmes or even the sadly overlooked Cordelia’s Dad! As I said, quite a surprise…

 A later “All These Things” (introduced by Lia as “a bit of a happier one”), with a more traditional indie/ post-punk structure, was probably my favourite of the set and a potential shoe-in for my “Best Of 2022” compo CD, if the recorded version matches up to expectations (spoiler alert: it does!). Then Lia thanked us for coming along (“it’s a bit weird that people actually give a fuck!”) before the meandering “Confession Song” closed out a surprising and intriguing vignette from a very promising and potentially unique new band, one I’m now keen to see fully amped up, as it were…

 

We quickly squirmed our way out to get a spot near the front of the signing queue, and got our CDs and setlist signed by an affable band, chatting about The Bunnymen and Violent Femmes in the process, and Logan getting compliments for his Pixies combat shirt! A quick trip to the Lego store on our way back to the car, and home for 3ish after an entirely successful excursion. Look out for The Mysterines… they may well be a band to reckon with in 2022… and beyond!

1,212 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, The Professionals, TV Smith, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 10th March 2022

 

Following a back pain-induced pause, I can finally get gigging again! And a couple of additional auspicious occasions tonight; firstly, another landmark gig number, this of course being the “roadie” number (1-2, 1-2, geddit? No? Oh well…), and secondly, the return to my “Spring Dance Card” of the traditional “Mad March to Bristol” to see original 70’s political punks Stiff Little Fingers! Their last “Mad March” date, just before the initial 2020 Covid lockdown, had clashed with my Nada Surf Electric Ballroom gig (gig. 1,180), and obviously 2021 didn’t happen, so for me this was 2 years away from this traditional date. So I was glad to make this “MMTB” no. 15 out of 18 years in the noughties thus far, and my 20^th time overall for SLF. And, given the current horrendous world events, a much-needed night out. One wonders what Fingers frontman Jake Burns will have to say about the state of the world…

 Rich and Ady joined us for the usual Lauda-esque hammer down the M4, hitting the venue midway through opener TV Smith, the former vocalist of 70’s punk rabble The Adverts. Rakishly thin and sporting Dennis The Menace punk attire, he wasn’t remaining silent about current events, introducing “The Immortal Rich” with the diatribe, “who’s gonna pay for [their wars]? It’s not the immortal rich!” Full of nervous tension, punk attitude and righteous indignation, he and his road-worn acoustic fired up the crowd perfectly with a great rendition of The Adverts’ classic “Gary Gilmore’s Eyes” (preceded by a story of their first visit to Belfast; “a local band called Stiff Little Fingers supported us and they blew us off the stage!”), and a fine finale of “One Chord Wonders”, Smith belying his age with some energetic high-kicking. Good start!

A merch stand visit then back in for main support The Professionals. Formed in the late 70’s by former Sex Pistols guitar/ drum duo Steve Jones and Paul Cook, I confess they passed me by back then, as I delved more into the post-punk slew of bands, but tonight they played some tough, tight and strong-armed street punk with occasionally surprisingly good vocal harmonies and choral hooks, propelled by the pounding drums of sole remaining Pistol Cook. “Silly Thing” was an inevitable mid-set highlight, “Kick Down The Doors” shared a similarly fine descending guitar riff, and if some of the set veered too much into worthy but samey pub rock territory, they finished strongly with “a cover of a cover” of the Monkees’ via Pistols’ “Stepping Stone”. Plus, Paul Cook is Punk Rock Royalty of the highest order, so there!

 

We kept our usual floor spot, house left, as the DJ saw fit to regale us with assorted 70’s TV theme tunes! Finally, the Finest Entrance Music In Rock, the rousing instrumental “Go For It”, kicked in, the usual “diddly-do!” mass singalong resonating around the venue as SLF took the stage, vocalist Jake Burns now strikingly bald (a legacy of getting too tired to wrestle with his ongoing alopecia problem, apparently!) and, between his tiny guitarist Ian McCallum and preying mantis bassist Ali McMordie, looking more monolithic than usual! “Let’s try that again,” Burns wryly muttered before ripping into an incendiary “Suspect Device”, followed in breathless short order by “At The Edge” and “Fly The Flag”, an astounding opening triple-salvo, all played with vim and righteous venom. They can’t keep this up, surely?

 Inevitably, the answer was no… “Welcome to 19/20/20!” Burns confusingly announced before “Hope Street”, with an undulating “Just Fade Away” and fist-punching “Bits Of Kids” next up. “When We Were Young” was good too (Burns commenting on the irony of introducing this song after recently reaching his “Beatles” birthday – 64!) and the angular skank of “Roots Radicals Rockers And Reggae” fired the crowd up; however for me much of the mid-set song selection was wanting, and the band, Burns’ voice particularly, were showing notable ring-rust, inevitable after a couple of years away (and this being the opening date of this tour!), and entirely excusable in all honesty. “Barbed Wire Love” (preceded by McMordie asking us to, “spare a thought for the people of Ukraine”) was however a set highlight, and they nonetheless finished the set strongly with a powerful “Wasted Life” and superb run through the rarely played “Gotta Getaway”.

 And as for what Jake had to say? Well, actions spoke louder than words, as he emerged for the encore sporting a yellow Ukraine football shirt to cheers from this crowd, leading the band through a splendid “Tin Soldiers” and final number “Alternative Ulster”, dedicated to Gavin Martin, his old mate and editor of the 70’s fanzine of the same name, who sadly passed earlier today. An easy list then home promptly. Not their best, but understandable given the circumstances. And no matter; we’ll still be back again next March!