1,226 WYLDEST, Stay Lunar, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 12th May 2022

 

I didn’t really expect to leave this Wyldest gig with a Gaz Brookfield song blaring in my head, but you’ll probably see why… 

I usually seem to save my excursions “Up The Tupp” for some acoustic folky punky or Americana-tinged stuff and nonsense (or, in the regular case of Si Hall, both), but tonight promised something different; a set of wistful and ethereal dreampop from Wyldest, pseudonym for talented Swindon native Zoe Mead, whom I’ve seen in a couple of times in Shuffle scenarios or 12 Bands of Xmas showcases, but never as a gig headliner in her/their own right. Time to put that right, then!

 So, after helping the youngest with maths homework, I trundled up the hill, parking in my recently discovered free spot (hooray!) and hitting the Tupp just after 8 for a chat with those splendid fellows and local gig impresarios Ed Dyer and Dave Franklin. In fact, I got so absorbed in a conversation with Dave about 80s/90s bands that had passed us by, that I didn’t notice how busy the pub had gotten in advance of proceedings. So much so, in fact, that when Ed introduced support Stay Lunar (or at least, 2 fifths of them, namely vocalist Harry and guitarist George), we were relegated to a spot right at the back (far from my usual preferred front row spot in this tight little pub venue), unfortunately right in the midst of general bar chat and hubbub. I gave it a couple of numbers then wormed my way back to a spot right by the side of the window stage by the front door, which was initially better, then worse, so I hit the back again, trying my best to squeeze forward to hear. A shame, as the boys were on good form; an early newie “I Like It When You’re Around” had a pastoral, hazy C86/ Sundays vibe, “Keeping Me Up All Night” was a bouncier and optimistic strumalong recalling the likes of The Hit Parade, and both Ed and I liked another newie, “Oscillation” featuring lots of -ation rhyming which reminded me of Orange Juice’s similar “What Presence?” Closer “Dancing” was a pretty and resonant number with nice embellishments from George, far from the acoustic disaster a voluble Harry had hinted at earlier. Overall a fine, understated start, from what I was able to hear…

 Luckily (or so I thought) and thanks to Linda, I managed to secure a 2^nd row seat in advance of Wyldest’s set, chatting to Jo, a fellow punter and Oxford gig promoter, and anticipating actually hearing Wyldest’s set. Wrong! The place (for the Tuppenny at least) was rammed, and after Ed introduced the 4 piece Wyldest onstage, a group of young folks (clearly irregular gig-goers at best) standing to my immediate left decided to have a booming conversation about their social media accounts. Again, I gave it a couple of numbers, then “respectfully” informed them that the partitioned bar was the place for such conversations, not right at the front of the gig; being challenged with, “what? Can you hear me then mate?” by one of these ignoramuses (ignorami?), my reply was, “mate, you’re ALL I can hear!” This seemed to quiet them down awhile, but taking a hint was obviously not one of their collective strong points, but by now (and with the help of a louder than expected band) I’d at least managed to zone them out a little more. I found out later that said bunch were “friends” of Zoe; all I can say is, with friends like that at your gig, who the fuck needs enemies!

 

A shame again, as Wyldest were also in fine fettle, and much more robust and dynamic than their lovely yet understated and gossamer CD “Dream Chaos” would suggest. Following a false start due to an unplugged pedal, opener “Hollow” was bright, buoyant and Belly-esque, with Zoe’s Tanya Donelly-esque vocal inflections and impressive guitarist Marine’s resonant fretwork a feature, setting the tone for the set. “Beggar” was even (dare I say it) rockier, and “Seastroke” was my set highlight, a slow build with Zoe’s yearning vocal fills leading the song into an absorbing crescendo. “Good to be able to embrace the West Country accent again!” remarked London-domiciled Zoe, introducing a newie “Winter Limbs” which seemed to collapse into itself at the end; then “Monthly Friend” (“[from my] concept album about periods!”) was a more delicate, fragile number, more similar to their dreamy CD. “The Best Is Yet To Come” kicked in as a stately 70’s ballad before some distinctly echoey electronic beats led into a naggingly familiar hook, before Ed tried to get Zoe’s parents to choose an encore, the band repeating an earlier number to conclude a fine set.

 A nice chat with Zoe afterwards about her band, the Bunnymen (my t-shirt, her previous cover of “Killing Moon”) and Belly, plus a signed list, then farewells to friends old and new before I took a stroll back to the motor, still slightly steaming and with the words of Gaz Brookfield’s “I’ve Paid My Money” ringing in my ears. “Have some respect for those around you, and try not to be a dick”, indeed. Nonetheless, it won’t put me off going to see this absorbing band Wyldest again, but next time I would hope to hear them too…!

1,225 COACH PARTY, Sometimes, Bristol Louisiana, Monday 9th May 2022

 

“As for Coach Party, that Louie gig will be a proper firecracker, no doubt…!”

 Those were my words after seeing Coach Party tear it up at the Trinity last December, in support of We Are Scientists (gig 1,203), as I was eagerly anticipating their long sold-out Louisiana headlining show, then scheduled for the following month… however, Covid precautions then caused the postponement of this highly promising young Isle of Wight combo’s January dates until now. In the interim, they’d released a new EP “Nothing Is Real”, another collection of spritely and snarky indiepop tunes showcasing devastating single “FLAG (Feel Like A Girl)”, and kept their hand in “live” with some dates with the equally promising Mysterines (one of which, the Electric Ballroom date, I was jonesing to go to, but it sold out! Bugger!). Anyhoo, time eventually rolled round for this one; hopefully we’ll still get the anticipated fireworks…!

 I had some company for this trip in old friend Paul, who’d joined us for a gig as recently as last September (that triumphant Heaven 17 Roundhouse gig, no. 1,189) but with whom this would represent the first gig just the 2 of us had been to together since June 1999 (The Dickies, gig no. 407)! His first time at the Louisiana as well, so after arriving promptly at 7.30 and finding all street parking now double yellows, so dumping the motor in the new car park opposite the venue, I introduced him to a Louie – and Bristol – tradition, namely meeting Big Jeff! Had a drink and a chat, then the rope was removed so we wandered upstairs to the venue (Paul remarking it might just be the smallest venue he’d ever been to!), joining the hardy batch of early comers for openers Sometimes at 8.15. Friends of the headliners (one of their number directing Coach Party’s videos, apparently), this was apparently their first ever gig, but they kicked into a distinctly Dinosaur Jr.-esque riff-heavy laze rock opener displaying few first-night nerves. “I Was The Fire”, next up, was a slower-burn beast with an insistent hook, and following some debate led by the vocalist about how brilliant Bristol is, other numbers displayed some very grungy quiet/loud dynamics, with the vocalist’s high, angsty yelps a feature. Rooted in that early 90’s era sonically, maybe, but Sometimes (or “Someone”, as the running order on the bottom of the stairs referred to them; “that’s our pseudonym!” quipped the vocalist!) nonetheless showed some promise and a degree of musicianship that belied their relative experience.

 Took a breather downstairs before hopping back up into the by-now packed room, finding a viewing spot centre stage a few rows back; thankfully Jeff was to one side so wasn’t in our way! Coach Party took the stage promptly at 9.15 and in short order ripped into punky, savage opener “Lola”. No messing about then!

 

My “Cliff Notes” version of Coach Party increasingly reads, “what Sleeper, Pixies and Interpol would sound like if they got together and wrote songs to purge their bad relationships”. Even the song titles underline this; “Crying Makes Me Tired”, “Everybody Hates Me”, “I’m Sad”, “Breakdown”, and so on… hopefully vocalist Jess and co will find fulfilment in their lives before too long (!!), but in the meantime they’ll have to rely on the adulation of their audience, which on tonight’s evidence should be more than enough. The place went bonkers from note one, and pretty soon I found myself in a mini-moshpit, bouncing off a hefty bearded bloke but finding an occasional pocket of space which was also, thankfully, under a ceiling-mounted cold air blower! A buoyant Jess thanked everyone, “who’s had a ticket [for this gig] for so long!” before the sinister Pixies growl of “Crying”, then told the story of the girls complimenting her trousers at that We Are Scientists gig, thankfully stopping short before my involvement…! “I’m Sad” built to a big, anthemic yet still melancholy denouement, a ragged “Shit TV” (“we’ve only played it a few times!” pleaded Jess) featured some taut, Interpol-esque one note riffery before a dismissive spoken word chorus, with the subsequent “3 Kisses” immediately changing tack with a Summery, almost Beach Boys hook. “Space” was a thunderous wall of noise, guitarist Steph riffing for all she was worth, “Breakdown” again saw the guitarist generate squalls of impressive volume, and “FLAG”’s screeching riot-grrrl chorus rounded off a breathless and rampaging set, the sole encore of an undulating “Can’t Talk, Won’t” finishing off the gig with a flourish.

 

By this time I’d inveigled my way through the mosh to the front, in prime position to be handed Jess’ list by Steph (hooray!), and after pausing for breath, briefly renewed acquaintances with this affable yet predictably besieged band at the merch stand. A quick and chatty journey home after another splendid gig. Looking forward to seeing them at Victorious now, but as for tonight; fireworks we expected, and fireworks we got!

1,224 THE STAYAWAKES, Everyone Lies, Fareham Ashcroft Arts Centre, Friday 6th May 2022

 

A bit of an adventure, this one, and a memorable one for a number of reasons, sadly not all of them good… But here goes…

 I’d picked up on Southsea band The Stayawakes last year thanks to Facebook’s “New Music For Old Punks” page, ordering their 2021 sophomore CD “Pop Dreamz” from bandcamp and discovering a clutch of irresistibly melodic powerpop numbers featuring huge hooks you could easily land the average whale shark with, underpinned by loud, crunchy guitars and the type of honeyed, 3-part harmonies that, even approaching 57 years young, still make my knees buckle with delight. A definite and timeless lineage to this sound for me, stretching through the likes of Swiss Family Orbison, The Hormones and even Gigolo Aunts, Velvet Crush and Teenage Fanclub, and always the type of music I can never have too many bands playing for me! So, a Stayawakes gig was definitely on the agenda from that point on, their lack of profile outside their native South Coast (less than 1,000 likes on facebook! The fuck’s that about? They’re brilliant!) unfortunately seeming to preclude any… until this one, a support slot on a Friday night in a tiny Arts Centre in a South Coast town I’d never muddied with my presence before! So, the adventure starts…

 Logan was up for it too, so we hit the road just before 5 with warnings of M4 crashes forcing us to avoid it altogether and take a cross-country route to the A34. Notwithstanding that, the rest of the journey was stupidly easy for a Friday evening, and we parked up in this tiny Arts Centre car park about an hour before doors! Took a wander into town to pass the time before heading back into the light and airy dance studio venue’s bar, to be hit with a proverbial sledgehammer… I’d idly logged onto facebook only to be informed about the sudden passing of Boston rock musician friend Michael Gill; utterly stunned by this news, I however soon realised I’d need to park my sorrow and get my head back in the game for the gig, if for no other reason because that would be what Michael, with his innate passion for rock, would want from me…

 Taking a moment, I then popped down the front with Logan and plopped down on a couple of small metal stools (which, I was informed by the soundguy afterwards, were actually tiny tables; surprised they held my weight!) for first band Everyone Lies. After a couple of 100mph ramalama punk openers, they settled down to some quite passable and more melodic if generic pop punk. An early “Smile Inside My Head” featured an insistent hook underneath all the power chords, “90’s Girl” was apparently about guitarist Adam’s girlfriend (“to be fair, I’m punching…!” he was happy to admit) and featured some nice Camden lyrical references which Camden fan Logan appreciated, then the main vocalist tried and managed to get this small but perfectly formed crowd to sing along the hook to breakneck penultimate number “Get Up”. Overall a decent start, with a fair level of tuneage and musicianship buried underneath those power chords…

 Logan and I had discussed band images beforehand, noting that all photos I’d seen of The Stayawakes featured them all suited up like Elvis Costello and the Attractions, or even (more relevantly for me) The Gravel Pit, and I was hoping they were planning that attire tonight. No such luck (and probably a good thing too, as this, despite the small turnout, was a hot one, particularly on the tall, window-backed stage), but they came onstage sporting matching pastel pink spotted shirts, so I’ll take that! Powering into the drum-roll and power riffery opening of the rampant “Wendi”, the sound was however somewhat haphazard and discordant initially, despite the band powering through in an impressively kinetic, high-kicking manner. However, by 3^rd number, the American Hi-Fi-isms and snaking, almost Thin Lizzy like guitar breaks of a stupendously catchy “Please Steve Just Drive”, they were flying… and flying high!

 

This set was all I’d hoped from The Stayawakes, and more; the type of set the likes of Midway Still, Seafood, even the Hi-Fi themselves specialised in delivering… all-action, full of energy, effervescence and wild-eyed, high-kicking and jumping onstage movement, often raggedy arsed as all hell and not entirely bereft of the occasional bum note, but when it’s this thrilling, this viscerally exciting, who cares? It also didn’t escape my notice that this was also the kind of pure rock’n’roll set we saw Michael’s band The Damn Personals deliver on 3 occasions back in the day, so the only thing for me to do was to rock out as much as my battered body and buggered knees would allow. “Oh Telephone” was a pounding, fist-pumping hook-driven anthem; the slower “Stepping Over Cracks” was the outlier amongst the ball-crunching powerpop deluge, its’ menacing march and falsetto vocal outro from bassist Jimmy recalling Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind?” (a point also not lost on the soundguy, who played said track following their set!); and “Lovestruck” was just spellbindingly brilliant, its’ sheer joyful riffery and multiple singalong hooks winning for me not only set highlight but one of the best “live” numbers I’ve seen this year, period! An all-too-short half hour ended with Jimmy and main vocalist Andrew riffing furiously and rocking out on the dancefloor next to me to closer “Little Explorer”, leaving this old punker breathless yet exhilarated. Just wonderful stuff, the essence of rock’n’roll for me. You can keep your big stages, big productions and big “shows”, this is what does it for me!

 

Took a breath outside afterwards as the boys unpacked and loaded up, then had an extensive chat with the band, finding a group of rock fans and kindred spirits, the likes of Gigolo Aunts, The Hi-Fi (The Stayawakes having been compared to both, apparently!) and even The Posies and Raze*Rebuild cropping up in conversation (as well as Logan’s Bowling For Soup shenanigans!). Headliners Dead Authors’ set provided a musical backdrop through the backstage door – I didn’t hear any of the supposed “angsty pop-punk/ folk-rock”, it all sounded a bit proggier to me, but I’m happy to admit I wasn’t paying much attention! Eventually we headed off about 10ish, following photos and warm handshakes with the band, for an equally eventful journey home – again part-cross country following M27 closures and M4 late-night delays, and involving 2 wrong turns and an owl sitting in the middle of the road! Home just before midnight, kebabs in tow. An amazing gig, immersing myself again in the life-affirming joy of rock’n’roll. Tonight was a great gig night. Tonight was for Michael.

1,222 BOB VYLAN; 1,223 THE BETHS, Cherym, Bristol Rough Trade Records; Bristol Fleece, Wednesday 27th April 2022

 

(Yeah, I didn't get the Bob Vylan set-list, but took a pic of it anyway...)

Two gigs on the same night in Bristol? Am I turning into Big Jeff, or what…?!

 Very strange bedfellows as well, these two hosts; I’d booked to see spritely pop combo The Beths waaay back in 2020 for this gig’s initial date of Autumn of that year, as part of a UK tour promoting their splendid hook-laden sophomore CD “Jump Rope Gazers”, only for their native New Zealand’s “closed borders” approach to Covid to cause multiple postponements, the date finally settling on 3^rd April 2022 (and also being moved to the Exchange from the initial SWX venue, the tickets for this sold-out gig being split between matinee and evening shows). In the meantime, Logan and I had been blown away by Bob Vylan on their Biffy Clyro support slot last November (gig. 1,197); whilst veering towards in-your-face rap, which isn’t usually to my tastes, I nonetheless liked the underpinning punk rhythms and sensibilities, and saw in vocalist Bobby a passionate young spokesman, a Don Letts or Benjamin Zephaniah for these still sadly divisive times. So it was an easy decision to snap up a couple of tix for an early evening Bob in-store and signing sesh at Bristol’s Rough Trade Records, an increasingly familiar and usually thoroughly enjoyable scenario for us both. Typical of our luck then, that The Beths’ gig was postponed once again, this time due to band illness, and rearranged to a 3^rd venue, this time The Fleece, but for the same date as Bob’s in-store! Bollocks! Frantic e-mails to the Beths promoter ensued, to try to score a single ticket for this long-sold out show, an approach which finally bore fruit with some returned tickets going on sale the weekend before. Phew!

 So, we were up for a rare double-header, heading off just before 5.30 for a swift jaunt down the M4, parking the car up near The Fleece then wandering across to Rough Trade. The start time for Bob was 6.30, so we were expecting a 7 p.m. stage time; unfortunately (as we quickly gathered on arrival at a very quiet early doors store) we were some way off… As the time wore on and we frustratingly milled around the venue entrance at the back of the store, I had my red velvet shirt felt by a very camp lady called Gemma (remember the name…,), who then complimented Logan’s handsomeness! Eventually the doors opened at 7.20 and I killed time chatting to a fellow old punk down the front about, well, mainly old Anarchist punk band Crass!

 

The two-piece Bob Vylan (imposing, heavy dreadlocked vocalist Bobby and comparatively diminutive drummer Bobbie) then arrived onstage at 5 to 8, with Gemma (who’d squirmed herself down the front as well) immediately presenting Bobby with a jar of home-made chilli jam! “There’s a lot to process here,” offered a somewhat taken aback Bobby, also coming to terms with the manic reception from a jam (sorry) packed room; but after an instrumental opener (“for meditation and light stretching”) and a debate with the crowd about how to handle this evening’s show (either take it easy as it’s an in-store, or just treat it as any other gig, Bobby ultimately deciding to, “just play the shit”), he freed the dreads and launched headlong into it…

 Make no mistake about it, when these 2 hit a stage, it stays well and truly fucking hit! Second number in, the ranting hardcore of “Big Man”, the Big Man was in the mosh giving as good as he was getting from the punks and punters, then juxtaposing the sheer rampant energy and aggression of the music and performance with some caring, inclusive and almost light-hearted between-song banter (his Biff-used line of, “Bristol! The land of Uni students that never went home!” getting another airing amongst the constant inquiries of, “y’all alright out there?” and fulsome thanks for supporting the band and pushing the album into the chart’s higher reaches, rubbing metaphorical shoulders with Ed Sheeran and Little Mix!). An early “Country Back” was Rage Against The Machine’s finest hour ramped up about a million notches, “He Sold” a menacing Pixies “Wave Of Mutilation”-alike, and “GDP” a savage and pummelling hardcore BBC critique. All along, Bobby’s message, perfectly articulated through his ferocious commitment, riveting stage presence, righteous anger and bilious quickfire delivery, was clear – it’s a fucked up world, the rich are getting richer, the inner city youth are either being discarded or trampled underfoot, it’s about time something was fucking well done about it. Hear bloody hear!

 

A swift, savage half hour was soon over, Bobby summing it up best with, “we played some fucking punk out there – but I rapped my ass off too!” and we made our way through the still baying mosh as Bobby praised the crowd one final time (“this is our favourite place to play – I’m not just blowing smoke up your asses! You threw that slave trader in the river [so] you’re all right!”) before kicking final number “Health” into savage, screaming life. However, by then, we were front and centre in the signing queue… Cognisant of the time and our next gig, we jumped into said signing queue early and, after a few moments to relax and collect their thoughts, the boys were out. One brief and enjoyable chat with 2 very articulate young men later (whence I also took the opportunity to present them with a signed copy of Don Letts’ excellent autobiography and chat briefly about The Don), and we were on our way to gig 2 of the night!

 We arrived at a sold-out, rammed and sweltering Fleece just as the all girl 3-piece support Cherym were rounding off their set with a couple of appropriately spritely indie pop numbers, including impressive closer “Take It Back”. Somehow, we still managed to squirm our way to the front, finding a small pocket of space down there, house right. Yay! In seemingly short order, the 3-piece Beths took the stage at 9.30… hold on, 3-piece? Yup, unfortunately guitarist Jonathan Pearce had fallen foul of the dreaded Covid (!), but, rather than postpone this gig for the umpteenth time, they gamely decided to soldier on, with vocalist and usual rhythm guitarist Liz Stokes taking on lead duties with the help of some intensive practice earlier in the day, and copious notes on her set-list (as can be seen!). Occasionally, this unfortunately meant that some numbers lacked depth and oomph as Liz concentrated on the lead line or riff, but these were few and relatively far between as they, in Liz’ own words, gave it a “red hot go!” A frantic opening double of “I’m Not Getting Excited” and “Great No One” were fine openers (the former featuring a great dead stop pregnant pause – I like them, me!), but an early “Not Running Away” was a brilliantly accelerating headlong downhill luge ride and the best Beths number on display tonight.

 

“It’s sad Jon’s not here but this is an opportunity for Liz to overachieve!” quipped bassist Ben Sinclair after the C86 jangle of “Happy Unhappy” and this was true, Liz was certainly doing a lot of the heavy lifting tonight, playing lead and rhythm lines on top of her pure, lilting, Madder Rose-esque vocal delivery. Then there were the birds… a display of inflatable birds behind the drumkit, all apparently native New Zealand species, which inflated and deflated randomly all night and proved a talking point for the band between numbers. A later “Uptown Girl” was quickfire and snarky, “Whatever” featured some lovely layered harmonies augmenting the “Sunday Girl” verse line and general pop fizz, and although Liz hit a couple of bum notes for the lead-in riff to “Dying To Believe”’s chorus, this shiny Popguns-like number was still the 2^nd best of their set. A delicate solo encore of “You’re A Beam Of Light” and another accelerating, tumbling “Little Death” rounded off an overall fine set of bright shiny indie pop. Shame about Jonathan’s absence, he was certainly missed in sound and presence, but The Beths gave it their promised “red hot go” well enough!

 Grabbed a list (Liz’, with all those notes!) then we rocketed home, thankfully unhindered by roadworks this time, both mulling over a couple of fine if highly contrasting sets. Strange bedfellows indeed, although for both of us the dynamism and scarily clear-eyed conviction and message of Bob Vylan won the night. But I’m glad we actually managed to go to this Beths gig after a near 18 month wait and last-minute scheduling hiccups, and overall I hope it won’t be so long before I get to see either of these acts again!

1,221 RIDE, bdrmm, Bristol Marble Factory, Sunday 24th April 2022

 

Reformed Oxford shoegaze/ pre-Britpop roustabouts Ride are on the road again… A band whom I liked very much back in the day, at least until their thrilling shoegaze sound morphed into less innovative baggy/ Britpop and unfortunate band infighting (one apocryphal story of that time seeing co-writers Andy Bell and Mark Gardener fall out so hard, that they insisted their own tunes not be put on the same side of Ride’s 3^rd album as the other bloke’s!), the times I’d seen them since their 2016 reunion (particularly that June 2018 Cure undercard appearance, gig 1,095, when their entrance music alone won them Band Of The Day!) made me actually wish I’d liked them much more back then! So when this tour – a 30^th Anniversary run-through of their stunning debut album “Nowhere” – was announced, I was all over it like a rash. Got me a ticket to Ride!

 I wasn’t the only one either –old Level 3 buddy Robynne and her slightly reluctant daughter Tia were going too, so I picked them up just before 6, anticipating some difficulty parking in this industrial estate-located venue but finding the last spot down a nearby side-road to dump the motor and join the queue. Grabbed barrier spots, house right, and chatted before openers bdrmm at 7.45. Their first 2 numbers were a bit gruesome; inarticulate guitar howls and pounding drums with not a hint of a tune, and although they settled down and played some atmospheric, gloomy and gothy post-punk noise with occasional hints of Cure-like bass and Diiv-esque monotone driving rhythm, they only had a couple of numbers (the 3^rd one, and their last, best number, which had hints of the headliners’ “Drive Blind” about it) which seemed to feature those old staples of tune, verse and chorus. Some brief flashes of promise amidst all the murk, but so far they seem more interested in coaxing “interesting” noises out of their instruments a la My Bloody Valentine (viz. the bassist kneeling to generate feedback from his monitor) than doing something so prosaic as writing songs!

 So, from the (faintly) ridiculous, to the utterly sublime… the place rapidly filled up, seeming busier than a lot of sold-out gigs I’ve been to of late, and expectation was palpable. The lights smashed to black and Ride joined us at 8.45, vocalist Mark Gardener looking somewhat taken aback by the reception as he greeted us with, “good evening Bristol! Wow! We’re gonna play “Nowhere”…” thence launching into the opening guitar squeal of “Seagull”, and we were away…

 

Without wishing to kick off with hyperbole, Ride were fucking awesome tonight, easily the best I’ve seen them since their reunion. They were “on it” from note one, celebrating the 2-year-postponed 30^th anniversary of their 1990 debut “Nowhere” which, when it arrived back in the day on the coattails of a trio of frantic, murky yet thrilling EPs, defined the “shoegaze” genre with MBV’s shimmering, reverb-heavy soundscapes aligned with the epic, stately post-punk “rockist” sound of Echo And The Bunnymen, sweeping and swooping in majestic and grandiose fashion. However, to just harp on about “soundscapes” and atmosphere does this album a disservice; simply put, it’s a collection of superb songs which have comfortably stood the test of time, and which were given full shining justice tonight. The sound was spot on; the swathes of guitar feedback were actually dialled down, allowing Andy Bell’s inverted Indian/ psychedelic guitar licks, almost Byrdsian “5^th Dimension”-like in their baroque intricacy, to really shine. And the band were clearly loving it up there, Gardener teasing the frenzied crowd for more cheers, wearing a wry smile of silent satisfaction throughout, and constantly complimenting not only the audience but the venue itself (“this place is really great, really echoey and gothy!” and “do they really make Marbles here?” being a couple of asides).

 Highlights? All of them! But particularly the elegiac march of “In A Different Place”, the languid majesty, cascading riffery and iconic drumbeat of my set highlight “Dreams Burn Down”, the gloriously sweeping “Paralysed”, the mesmeric, joyful and lengthy denouement to a stratospheric “Vapour Trail” and a frenzied, mosh-inducing but singalong “Taste”. The maleficent brooding menace and extended psych feedback finale to “Nowhere” rounded off as swift an hour set as I’ve seen of late, with a 6 (!) song encore featuring excellent newie “Lannoy Point”, the anthemic “OX4” (the crowd reaction prompting Gardener’s thanks for “taking this song to another level”) and the lugubrious, lengthy closer “Leave Them All Behind” taking us up to 10.30 and the finale of a stunning set, Gardener commenting, “let’s do this again… but not in 30 years!”

 A relatively easy set list, but a horrendous drive home thanks to a motorway closure, a subsided diversion and getting stuck behind a lorry, so home at midnight. Bah! But worth it for Ride on this form. Superb gig!

1,220 PSYCHEDELIC FURS, Pauline Murray and the Invisible Girls, Wasted Youth, Bristol O2 Academy, Wednesday 13th April 2022

 

The 9^th time of asking for one of my enduring 80’s faves, Bowie-influenced post-punk art rockers turned leather-clad 80’s FM anthemic fist-punchers – and thankfully back again! – The Psychedelic Furs! This one’s also slightly different from recent encounters (2005, 2012 and 2017), inasmuch as there’s “new” material to promote – 2020’s “Made Of Rain”, a first new album for 29 years! Showing the current swathes of dark, brooding post-punk groups how to do it, this was a bleak and morose yet cohesive and triumphant return, a blend of hooky melody and underpinning sinister, almost pseudo-Goth (before Goth was even a thing!) malevolence that was the Furs’ trademark circa their first 2 albums, particularly the angular, off-kilter sophomore effort “Talk Talk Talk” which is often considered their finest work (I prefer the subsequent, slightly more polished “Forever Now”, me, but I’m perverse like that…). Growing old disgracefully, perhaps, so I duly snapped up tix for the accompanying tour, which was then shunted back at least a couple of times due to that damn Covid bug…

 Nonetheless the date finally arrived, so I collected old buddy Doug – a regular companion for Furs gigs going back to July 1984, gig 15! – for the drive down. Hit the quiet venue (somewhat poorly attended, this one, the balcony remaining closed all night) as openers Wasted Youth took the stage at 7.30; a very dapper gent in hat and cane, who looked as if he’d walked out of a 60’s London kitchen sink drama, led a couple of Johnny Thunders lookalikes and a couple of younger blokes through some standard 70’s pub-rock/ early new wavey fayre. Apparently a post-punk/ early Goth band back in the day, I really didn’t hear any of that in their somewhat tired sounding sludge. “Jealousy”, their more pastoral first single and the Cramps/Ramones-like NYC rock sleaze of closer “Do The Caveman” were the only ones to rise above the murk, but they went down well with the early comers, so what the hell do I know, eh? Anyway, half an hour later we were wishing they were back… main support Pauline Murray, former punk icon with Penetration and tonight fronting up her supposed “post-punk” act the Invisible Girls, was sadly terrible! I’d expected some challenging upbeat post-punk, but tonight’s fayre was very bland and dated sounding 80’s pop, as if they’d been rummaging through latter-day Altered Images’ dustbins, a mid-set “Shadow In My Mind”(their best number and one which briefly threatened to kickstart the set) notwithstanding. Also Pauline, bedecked in houndstooth trousersuit, sounded seriously out of breath between numbers from the outset, and the voice, dismissive yet soaring back in the day, deteriorated badly throughout, so much that later numbers were a trial of endurance for our ears. When a number was dedicated, “to all the keen gardeners out there…” I really felt as if I was on a Saga cruise or something! So disappointing, as I really wanted to like her/them, but maybe it’s time to pack it in and head off to the garden centre, dear…

 Still, thankfully tonight’s headliners weren’t showing their age in quite as pronounced a manner… Keeping us waiting over the scheduled 9.30, the Furs took the stage, gentleman ruffian Richard Butler last on, sunglasses in situ throughout, rasping into opener “High Wire Days” with that distinctive drainpipe sneer, fighting for attention with Mars Williams’ blaring clarinet. An early “You’ll Be Mine” first of the new material on display tonight, was a clattering regimental march, but it was the galloping and tough-sounding “Mr. Jones”, next up, that really kickstarted this set. Now we’re talking!

 Thereafter once again Psychedelic Furs delivered another superb performance, led by Williams’ strident virtuoso sax, imposing monolith Tim Butler’s rock-solid bass base, and his brother’s gesticulating, expansive stage presence and whisky-soaked, world weary vocals. Newie “Wrong Train” (which had actually appeared in their set as long ago as June 2005’s gig 667!) was dark, brooding and quite magnificent, the plangent “Ghost In You” then switched the mood to bright melancholy, and “The Boy Who Invented Rock’n’Roll” discordant and off kilter, the “Made Of Rain” material easily standing tall with those 80’s Furs classics. “Pretty In Pink” was again thrown casually in mid-set (it’s just another number, right?), with “President Gas” superbly widescreen yet horrifyingly prescient for today’s fucked up times. “This Will Never Be like Love” was a stretched, morose yet stately slow-burn, but the subsequent soaring hook of a stunning “Heaven” saw me squirming my way forward from my house right spot, holding my arms aloft to Tim Butler’s approval. All too soon the massive chiming hook of “Heartbreak Beat” drew a stunningly swift set to a close, the band returning in short order for a virtuoso sax-powered “Sister Europe” and the careering “India”, by which time I was rocking out down the front and mouthing the lyrics to the equally frenzied dancing lady next to me.

 A heartfelt, “thank you!” from Richard (taciturn throughout, only ever thanking the crowd occasionally but not introducing a single number – no need, I guess!) and that was that. No list again, a friendly roadie apologising to me for being “not permitted” to hand them out. Hmmm… Still, another fine night out in the fine company of my old friend Doug and equally old friends The Psychedelic Furs. Definitely growing old disgracefully!

1,219 THE WAR ON DRUGS, Lo Moon, Birmingham Academy, Monday 11th April 2022

 

The first time in over 7 years – November 2014, gig 930, on their “Lost In The Dream” tour, in fact! – that I’ve crossed swords with Americana/alt-rock collective War On Drugs and their idiosyncratic and slightly flakey main-man Adam Granduciel… said rather splendid album was followed up in 2017 with a good-but-not-great one in “A Deeper Understanding”, accompanied by an elevation to much bigger, almost arena-sized venues, so I gave that tour cycle a miss, and subsequently approached last year’s release, “I Don’t Live Here Anymore” with a degree of caution. My mistake. A proper return to form in my eyes and one of my favourite albums of last year, this one, their trademark hazy sun-dappled melody, lyrical references to dreamy memories, recollections and regrets, and occasional krautrock metronomic workouts being given a greater degree of clarity and melancholy, making for an understated yet enticing listen. Also, some excellent, best-of-career vocals from Adam himself; as if Tom Waits and Bob Dylan could actually sing in tune! So I was well up for seeing how this would come across “live”. Shame that a longhaul up to Birmingham was the nearest gig to the ‘don, but hey ho…

 My eldest lad Evan came down to visit for a couple of days, so I picked him up from the station then abandoned him with his younger siblings (bad dad!), heading off at 5 and hoping for street parking near the venue. Clearly I underestimated the draw of this band, as all nearby streets were choc-a-bloc, so I ended up dumping the motor on the top floor of the adjacent Horsefair car park, and wandering down the grassy knoll to join the massive queue. Hooray for the O2 priority lady then, who shuffled me forward into that priority queue, bumping into erstwhile Raze*Rebuild drummer Jamie and his dad there! Got a spot house right near the front, enjoying some rock chat with a pair of fellow solo flyers, a lady from Nottingham and a bloke from Chiseldon, no less! Support, LA’s Lo Moon, squeezed onto the front of the stage at 7.40 – I’d picked up their new album beforehand so was looking forward to them, and opener “Carried Away” set the tone well with a slow burn early verse building to a sleigh bell jingle crescendo, overlaid with some high-pitched, gossamer vocals from Matt Lowell (recalling for me Dean Wareham’s work with Galaxie 500) and some fine intricate fretwork from guitarist Sam Stewart – son of Eurythmics’ Dave and Bananarama’s Siobhan Fahey, no less. The boy’s learned well… “Thanks for coming out early to watch us!” announced the gregarious Matt before my favourite number, “Expectations”, an understated verse line ceding to a soaring, pulsing and almost early U2-esque choral hook! “Raincoats” returned to the previous quiet-loud structure with a widescreen Sigur Ros atmosphere morphing into an angular jagged guitar workout, Matt then quipping “I feel like the Grateful Dead! This [tuning] is taking forever!” The “Groovy Kind Of Love” melody line of a haunting “Dream Never Dies” and the almost Simple Minds guitar flourishes of “Loveless” crowned a varied and impressive vignette from an intriguing and intelligent new band. Fine start!

 

Then suddenly our front spot got very busy… and very hot! The 7-piece War On Drugs joined us after an uncomfortable wait at 5 to 9, Adam shooing off the roadies and greeting us with a, “hello, hello, how’s everybody doing?” and the stately, windswept opener “Old Skin”. Thereafter we were treated to a superbly chosen set of their melting pot of stately, understated Americana balladry, occasional Springsteen-like heartland storytelling and undulating, keyboard powered rollercoaster rides, all played with impressive balance and clarity (a later, unplanned and rather muddied grunge workout through Neil Young’s “Like A Hurricane” notwithstanding). The potent steamhammer of “An Ocean Between The Waves” was preceded by brief details of keyboardist Robbie Bennett’s “wild night” in Birmingham (“jellybeans, 7-11s…!”), “Victim” was a tense, taut change-of-pace with Adam’s vocals veering between strident and conversational, the verse lyrics tumbling out like discarded marbles, and an early “Red Eyes” was possibly my set highlight, a careering thrill-ride with Adam shredding vigorously over an extended denouement. “Arms Like Boulders”, a new entry to the set, was for, “a 7 foot one bloke who’s going to attack us if we don’t play it!”, “Harmonia’s Dream” featured some discordant cheesegrater synth, then after a fragile, hushed and yearning “Rings Around My Father’s Eyes”, we even had a good-natured moshpit for a later, meandering and lugubrious “Under The Pressure”. Well, largely good natured, but there’s always one dickhead…

 

Said dickhead, a large and visibly over-refreshed curly haired chap propped up by his tiny girlfriend, whacked into the back of us – fine, no worries, occupational hazard, not my first rodeo etc. etc. – but I drew the line at him trying to barge past us like an entitled “5 to 3”-er into an already crowded stage front. You can fuck right off pal, where’ve you been for the last hour and a half! A word with the steward in the pit thankfully put paid to his antics, so I was back in the room for the aforementioned squall of “Like A Hurricane” and an almost curfew-busting “Occasional Rain”, Adam (who’d been fulsome in his praise for the engaged crowd throughout) quipping, “it’s £10,000 if we play one second past 11 [so] we’ll play it fast!” and even turning his digital clock around at 10.59!

 So, a splendid but hard-on-the-knees 2 hour set; grabbed a list then endured a difficult journey home… half an hour to get into and out of the car park (some bozo was holding up the only exit for ages because of some card payment problem), then the Quinton Expressway was closed causing an interminable diversion through Stourbridge, then, after ranting it down the M5, another diversion through Cirencester thanks to another road closure saw me home at a red-eyed 10 past 1! Bloody hell! Still, hopefully I’ll look back on this one and remember a couple of fine sets from a couple of superb US alt-rock bands, rather than the difficult journey or the moshpit dickhead…!