1,347 BIG COUNTRY, Mike Peters, Swindon MECA, Saturday 21st September 2024

 

The Big Man and I had already done this tour earlier this year in Bristol (gig 1,323), but I guess you don’t refuse when they’re playing a stone’s throw from your house… So, second time this year then for 80’s post-punk Scots rockers Big Country, continuing the 40^th (!) Anniversary tour of their sophomore effort “Steeltown” with a second leg, including a rare gig at the criminally underutilised MECA. As mentioned in that Bristol report, “Steeltown” marked a departure from the upbeat and windswept bagpipe riffery of Big Country’s debut “The Crossing”, ploughing a darker, more politically oriented lyrical furrow paired with a suitably murkier, almost heavy machinery musical feel. From Big Country to Big Industry, perhaps (!), but either way still a quality listen, with strident terrace chant hooks aplenty, so a much-loved album for me. 

Ironically my last MECA gig was fellow Scots The Skids last Autumn (gig 1,298), a band which latterly featured Big Country mainstay Bruce Watson and his son and gunslinging partner-in-crime Jamie, and tonight was another father and son outing, as Logan joined me for the stones-throw drive into town. Met the posse in the venue, plus other Swindon folks, before the support at 8. Happily, it was Mike Peters, vocalist of 80’s contemporaries The Alarm, the guest singer in the early 2010’s Big Country reunion shows (gigs 812 and 841), and latterly the recipient of treatment for a recurrence of his cancer. Thankfully, he was in fine form tonight, striding between 3 mics onstage and generally stadium rabble-rousing the crowd (“raise your hands, raise your voices!”), whilst bashing away at a fat acoustic accompanied by backing tapes fleshing out the full band sound (not usually to my liking, but I’ll forgive him this time). The set itself was a run-through The Alarm’s finest flag-waving 80’s post-punk moments, with a fist-pumping “Strength”, the slow-burn intro into a rather epic actually “68 Guns”, and the hymn of working-class hope and redemption that is “Spirit Of 76” all highlights. But the real highlight was the ovation for his impassioned speech about his cancer charity, and simply the fact he’s still with us. “I will never give in…” indeed!

Took a wander around the venue with Logan – plenty of room to move, but very few large empty spaces, denoting quite a decent turnout for this one. Well done, Swindon! We were back in our house left spot, half a dozen rows back, as the lights dimmed and the eerie pulsing opening to “Flame Of The West” heralded the band onstage, immediately ploughing into this “Steeltown” opening track. From the off, the sound was big, powerful and strident (if a little muddy early doors, with the more intricate riffery taking a while to become fully established in the sound), and the Watson boys in particular were a kinetic onstage presence, sawing furiously away on their guitars, swapping positions and back to back rock poses, and generally having a ball and challenging the initially static Swindon crowd to do the same. Side one of “Steeltown” was dispensed with in a heady rush, the dark, dramatic title track and a turbocharged, anthemic “Where The Rose Is Sown” early highlights, before Bruce told us the story of how the album was recorded (in Abba’s Sweden studio, apparently!) and introduced new vocalist, tribute band Restless Natives’ frontman Tommie Paxton, a serious Stuart Adamson look- and sound-alike who, “jumped in to save the day, 3 ½ months ago!” 

A couple of technical hitches (“thwarted by technology! Bastard!” bemoaned Bruce) interrupted the flow of “side 2”, Jamie lightening the mood by leading the “Broooce!” chants, some wag (ok, me…) shouting, “that’s “Dad” to you!” The broody, morose “Just A Shadow” rounded off the album run-through, after which the soaring singalong of “Look Away” and a melancholy yet roof-raising “Chance” saw the Swindon crowd finally in full voice, Paxton reflecting on a point Adamson made at a gig the vocalist attended in 1986 – “you should hear what that sounds like back here!” A tremendous and still fresh sounding “In A Big Country” and a rousing “Wonderland” segue into a hard-hitting “Fields Of Fire” (featuring a snippet of old staple “Whisky In The Jar”) rounded off a punchy, energetic and powerful set, the snaking and weaving guitar interplay between Watson father and son a highlight throughout. Angular B side “Restless Natives” rather appropriately capped things off, after which I grabbed a list then saw a breathless Jamie Watson emerge from backstage. So I doorstepped the man to show him a pic of him and dad Bruce with me and Logan, from the 2017 Skids Oxford gig (gig 1,040); after incredulously realising my teenage son was the same wide-eyed little man in the pic, he not only insisted on re-enacting the photo, but then grabbed Logan and marched him over to the merch stand, instructing the merch lady (his mum!) to sort him out with a free t-shirt. Chap! Thus loaded up, we then grabbed some food and headed home. So, a great night out with son and old friends, and plenty of familiar, singalong tunes. “Fields of Fire”? Tonight, Big Country were on fire!

1,346 RIDE, Junodream, Portsmouth Guildhall, Tuesday 17th September 2024

 

A bit further to go than I’d have liked for this one, but needs must when gig schedules clash; I’ve been on board with the post-reunion journey of Oxonian 90’s shoegaze innovators Ride, making up for lost time to a certain extent with a band I should have really liked and seen more back in the day. Since their 2016 reformation, they’ve been full-on noses to the grindstone, this tour pushing their third second-coming album “Interplay”. A fine collection of well-constructed tuneage with distinct nods to their history, this, striking a delicate balance between their effects-led shimmering wall-of-noise material and their difficult yet more song-focussed proto-Britpop/ post punk, so I was up for the tour. Unfortunately, their Bristol SWX date clashed with last Saturday’s Men They Couldn’t Hang Thekla gig, last time out, and I’d already booked tix for that, so this ticket to Ride came with a ride down to the next-nearest venue, down on the South Coast!

Happily, I had company in Ride uber-fan and 90’s Lev friend Robynne, whose husband wouldn’t take her! I picked her up just after 5 for a sunny South Coast drive, taking a wrong turn but eventually finding an open air car park near the venue. Got in 20 minutes after doors to find the auditorium almost deserted, and a house right barrier spot very easy to come by! Yikes! Chatted with fellow front-rower Chas, over from Singapore (!) to visit his Kent-domiciled parents and catch this one, before openers Junodream, on an 8 to a small smattering of folk. I’d picked up their debut album “Pools Of Colour”, finding it pleasant but unmemorable, and for me this set largely followed suit; opener “The Beach” was a meandering piece of unobtrusive dreampop, “Kitchen Sink Drama”, next up, was a more urgent drum-propelled early Death Cab-esque brooding US alt-bedsit pop number, and “Death Drive” a looser-limbed 80’s slice of baggy trip hop. To be fair, vocalist Ed Vyvyan regularly attacked his task with impressive gusto, particularly on the crescendo outros, although his claims of being the best band in the world (or second best to Ride) seemed somewhat far fetched. Closer “Nobody Wants You”, with its intricate upbeat strumalong recalling Real Estate or Rolling Blackouts, was the best of a nice enough set. Damning them with faint praise, I know, but there you go…

Unfortunately, the place still hadn’t really filled that much, and the auditorium seemed only half full (with the balcony shut and blanked off as well!) by the time Ride themselves took the stage at 9 to a suitably dramatic fanfare music backdrop. The straightahead indie rock stylings of newie “Monaco” kicked things into gear, although initially it seemed that the mix was a bit too polished and crystal clear, at the expense of the “sonic cathedrals of noise” that Ride were/ are so renowned for. An early “Dreams Burn Down” suffered particularly, its’ usual ball-crunching post-hook crescendo sounding sadly sedate, the thin sound rendering this usually mighty number a little ponderous, and I pondered this during the properly epilepsy-inducing strobe assault of a nevertheless dramatic “Killswitch”; have Ride eschewed their usual pedal-stomping modus operandi to accentuate the songcraft of the new material, but in the process lost that thrilling sonic assault? 

Happily, after an eerie, stripped-back reading of morose newie “I Came To See The Wreck”, the upbeat groove of “Twisterella” marked an ironic turning point, the balance between the crispness of sound and full-on thrilling wall-of-sound much better, as the hitherto taciturn band, initially playing within themselves, seemed to really warm to their task. The clipped, undulating hook and hypnotic krautrock beat of “Lannoy Point” was easily the best thus far, but that was eclipsed in short order by the crashing intro and sweeping strident hook of a brilliant “Taste”, seeing me give it loads in my front row spot. That’s what we’re here for!

The set denouement maintained this quality control; “Cool Your Boots” was all shimmering oscillation and cascading drums, “Vapour Trail” superbly widescreen and windswept as ever, and “Seagull” a barnstorming psych workout to close out a proper set of two halves. First encore “Light In A Quiet Room” featured a juxtaposition of the delicate choral harmony between main men Mark Gardener and Andy Bell and the noisy crescendo outro, before the lugubrious and meandering “Leave Them All Behind” required 2 takes (Bell labelling the short abortive first start as the “Tik Tok, short attention span” version! The embryonic heady rush of “Chelsea Girl” rounded off a damn fine overall set, the impressively bearded roadie then handing me a list, then we bade farewell to Chas and fellow front rower Ian, there with his son, before a quick and chatty drive up the A34/ M4 beat route saw me dropping Robynne back just after midnight. So, a slow burner, this, but one that really built up a head of steam and finished strongly, and was definitely worth the lengthy trip!

1,345 THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, Headsticks, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 14th September 2024

 

Dust has blown, years have flown, yet The Men They Couldn’t Hang are still going strong, and this tour marked the Magnificent 40^th Anniversary of this enduring and pioneering folk/ punk band. I’d been on board “live” for 38 of those years (my first being November 1986’s Bierkeller gig, no. 63!), that and the other even dozen occasions I’d seen this band of desperados since being inclusive, raucous, singalong and wholly entertaining affairs, so of course I was up for a 14^th for their 40^th! 

So was Logan, so we made plans for a boy’s night out, donning sunglasses and riding into the evocatively low setting sun; well, we drove down the M4 westward into Bristol, at least! Squeezed into a dockside parking spot about 10 minutes before doors, then grabbed a front of stage spot, house left, right next to increasingly frequent Bristol gig friend Louise! So, some lively chat filled the short time before openers Headsticks took the stage at 7.30. I’d not come across this veteran folk/ punk rabble before, but after a couple of numbers it became apparent that my 20-year-old, Red Wedge gig-going, anti-Thatcher political march attending, radical young post punker self would have liked this lot very much, and in all honesty, so did my current loony lefty Green party/ Greenpeace member 59-year-old conscientious dad self! Led by an impassioned, in-your-face manic (eyed) street preacher in Andrew Tranter, they recalled the fervent anti-establishment politico-punk of The Clash, New Model Army and tonight’s headliners, with the strident early 80’s dark anthemic guitar feel of Spear Of Destiny and even (on the snaking riffery of opener “Cold Grey English Skies”) Big Country, topped with an ample helping of ramshackle and high-octane Dropkicks folky jiggery pokery. Buoyed to be on this tour (“it’s nice to be in Bristol! Mind, when you’re from Stoke, it’s nice to be anywhere!” quipping Tranter), they delivered their set with conviction, their message powerful yet never hectoring, even eliciting a loud audience participation for their early Dead Kennedy’s-like (especially Tranter’s vocals, raising an octave for this number and strongly recalling Jello Biafra) penultimate best-of number “Apocalypse”. Fine forceful stuff; something tells me our paths may cross again “live”…

Not long to wait for the main event, either; in fact, the time rather sneaked up on us before the sweeping orchestral intro saw the 6-piece Men take the stage prompt at 8.20. “It’s our 40^th Anniversary,” announced vocalist Phil “Swill” Odgers; “we’re gonna raise some hell!” then easing into aptly named opener, “Raising Hell”, which, if a little too low-key to rouse Lucifer, was then totally eclipsed by the subsequent double of a ragged, acerbic and anthemic “Going Back To Coventry” and a stirring roof-raising singalong to “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, both of which sent soundquake shudders down through all the nine circles. Here we go, boys! 

The Men They Couldn’t Hang were magnificent tonight. Shorn of the more in-your-face rabble-rousing approach of their sadly missed co-founder Stefan Cush, lost to us in 2021, Swill, Simmo and co. relied on their innate musicianship, easy band-crowd repartee and obvious connection with their audience, plus the timeworn familiarity of their material to deliver a consummate performance. Newie “Red Kite” (preceded by some, erm, well-refreshed punter nicking Swill’s pint and Swill calling him out for it) was a folksy yet poignant tribute to their fallen comrade, the subsequent off-mic audience singalong to Cush’s number, the anti-war paean “Green Fields Of France” being genuinely heartfelt and affecting. Thereafter, as WWE wrestler Sheamus would say, it was “banger after banger”… “Smugglers” highlighted deep-voiced Bobby Valentino’s virtuoso violin mid-section; Swill namechecked all the venues they’d played in Bristol before a rousing “Bounty Hunter”, also quipping about going out in Bristol earlier then realising how old they all are (!); “Shirt Of Blue” was dramatic, slow-burn and still uncomfortably relevant; and the quite brilliant “The Colours” saw Logan and myself sing along raucously to this affirming story of working class validation. But my highlight was the rollicking rambunctious reading of “Ironmasters”, as ever a potent clarion call to arms.

A couple of encores of “Night To Remember” and “Walkin’ Talkin’ ” rounded off a right proper night to remember. Swill kindly sorted Logan with a list, then a brief word with him and Simmo at the merch stand about their forthcoming “Shiiine On” debut (I’ll be down the front singing along!) and a chat with “gig life crisis” buddy Jeremy, before heading off into the murk, home at 11 via Jimmy’s Kebab (of course!). A night to remember indeed, and here’s to many more for this enduring and treasured band!

1,344 MARTHA, Former Champ, Hamburger, Bristol Strange Brew, Thursday 5th September 2024

 

After yesterday’s shlep up that Big Smoke, here’s a closer one, down to Bristol’s relatively new Strange Brew for Durham’s own bouncy anarcho-punk popsters and queercore warriors Martha. A relatively quick return for Martha-punx, this, gig 1,254 at The Exchange in support of their spunky 4^th album “Please Don’t Take Me Back” being barely 22 months ago, and also one where prima facie they seem to have nothing in particular to push or promote. Still, that last one was a bit of a barnstormer, so I’m always up for more from this bunch of effervescent helium indie punk popsters!

 A pretty crappy day saw me nearly blow this one off, but I eventually hauled my ass into the car for a solo trip down a drizzly mood-matching M4, parking in Nelson Street and meeting Stu, Andy and Nigel in the venue about 10 to 8. First support Hamburger were already squeezed onto the stage at this bohemian Arts Centre-esque space; they ploughed a similar furrow to tonight’s headliners, some gauche 80’s-influenced DIY indie tuneage getting my toes tapping early doors before they diverted into more understated, slower-burn (and slightly dull actually) Weezer-esque proto-emo stuff. My best memory of them was their thanks to the early comers before their closer; “I know Thursday is a premium night for “Settlers Of Catan”…!” 

Much better was to come though, with main support Former Champ; a female fronted 5-piece, opener “Beginner’s Luck” was a splendid robust piece of indie powerpop, and an early newie “Big Surprise!” recalled current faves The Beths with it’s undulating and accelerating guitar groove. A later “Sunday Morning” showed a different dreamier side with a more crafted, expansive and widescreen mid-paced vibe, before they switched up gears again for the final few numbers, finale “Hold On” the pick of the bunch with a Summery strumalong Smiths/ early Byrds feel. The fact they packed 11 numbers into a half-hour support slot as well, most of them economical and fat-free, was great value, so I could even forgive the slight verse structure steal from 60’s staple “Got To Get You Into My Life” for their nonetheless highly melodic “Porcelain”, plus vocalist Claire’s tones being a little understated and occasionally lost in the mix. Nope, Former Champ were ace, happily continuing the run of excellent Martha supports initiated last time out by Bigfatbig (gig 1,254), and prompted me to grab a list and buy a tshirt off Claire on the merch stand.

A quick loo trip and a chat with a visiting Gareth from Los Campesinos! who remembered our chat at their recent Exchange gig (gig 1,338) and complimented my This Mortal Coil tshirt, before back with the boys in their spot, halfway back for Martha’s arrival in short order at 9.15 to the backing music of Rush’s “Spirit Of Radio!” As ever, the PityMe DIY punksters were in no mood to fuck about, setting the tone for their set with the rampant amphetamine gabble and snaking riffery of “Beat Perpetual” and the quickfire, acerbic “Every Day The Hope Gets Harder”, featuring that Clash “Tommy Gun” drum outro. Pow pow, take that, Bristol!

The reason for this tour then became evident, drummer Nathan announcing, “10 years ago we released an album called “Courting Big”… it’s good you [the audience] whooped at that as we’re going to play 6 songs from it… here’s 4!” So, an impromptu celebration of their debut (despite their later mentioning one theme of 2022’s aforementioned “Please Don’t Take Me Back” was about not romanticising the past!) featured that album’s pounding “Cosmic Misery”, Naomi’s helium Minnie Mouse vocals on “1997 Passing In The Hallway” and the overlaid call and response and undulating riff of a later “1967 I Miss You I’m Lonely”, rebadged as a “Horny” sexy number tonight! In between, the joyous hook of an effervescent “Heart Sink” and the irrepressible singalong hook and descending riff of “Goldman’s Detective Agency” were highlights of a set which galloped along at a cracking pace, like wild ponies on a windswept Whitby beach. 

An overheating Naomi joked about changing her undies (!) before the hobnail boot-stomping “Chekhov’s Hangnail” and the “Silver Lining”-esque guitar of set closer “Love Keeps Kicking”. Drummer Nathan then made an impassioned plea on behalf of 2 charities, Pro Palestine and anti-Fascist group Red Flare (highly worthy and necessary causes both), before the pointed “Flag Burner” and a dark, dramatic “Void” rounded off another breathless, buoyant yet (at its’ conclusion) politically charged Martha set. I’d moved forward and seen the last half dozen numbers from nearer the front, hanging with 2000 Trees friends Jamie and Marc; then patience eventually got me Nathan’s set list, before I hit the road for a swift drive, home at 11.30, kebab in tow. Glad I went, as Former Champ and Martha provided the perfect antidote for my crappy day!

1,343 MATTHEW CAWS, London Rough Trade East, Wednesday 4th September 2024

 

A late shout, this one, but once I heard about it, it was pretty much essential… Matthew Caws, leader of pretty much the best band making music over the last decade or so, the majestic and heartwarming Nada Surf, announced a run of record store appearances ostensibly promoting ‘da Surf’s forthcoming album “Mirror Moon”, out at the end of the month. I’d already booked for their November Islington date (unfortunately the closest to the ‘don on a limited run) but had no hesitation grabbing a dice ticket for this one too (again, the closest to the ‘don on a limited run!). Nada Surf have, for me, produced a consistently magnificent body of work across their almost 30 (!) years rivalling anyone else in rock ever (yup, ever…), journeying from their 90’s US underground alt-rock roots into all-encompassing and life-affirming purveyors of warm, heartfelt and melodic rock incandescence, so “Mirror Moon” is likely to be another top-quality addition to said canon, and an early AOTY candidate for me!

Stu was up for it as well, sorting very cheap train tix thanks to the missus’ work concessions, so we headed off just before 5, catching up on this year’s events given that this, rather disgracefully, was the first time I’d seen the man since Desperate Journalist’s Dareshack gig last October (gig 1,295)! Yikes! A slow tube to Aldgate East rather curtailed our pre-gig Brick Lane curry plans, however, so we hit the venue at doors, grabbing near-front spots, house left, and greeting young Mr. Caws as he wandered out of backstage. Our catching up took us right up to the appointed hour of 8 p.m., whereupon the lights faded to a dark blood red and Matthew took the stage, turned on the standard lamp next to his mic stand, and quietly strummed the intro to the yearning “Inside Of Love” on a shiny new acoustic, to utter hushed silence from the audience. 

“Friend Hospital” and “Never Not Together” deep cut “Come Get Me” followed, Matthew elaborating on “CGM”’s subject matter with, “it’s about the subway; I do a lot of my thinking on the subway; it’s like the shower commute!” He then treated us to the first of the newies, the upbeat round reel lyric and brain hugging choral joy of Track of the Year candidate “In Front Of Me Now”, preceded by a warning on the dangers of multitasking (Matt having recently flooded his house while vacuuming with noise cancelling headphones on!), the singer then rather ironically missing a few couplets but styling it out with this usual affable grace. A Minor Alps number, “Buried Plans” then followed, Matt teasing us with the suggestion that he and MA partner Juliana Hatfield “may do another [MA record] one day,” and wrestling with a temperamental squishy beat pedal during this number. Lower-key newie “New Propeller” and the strident cascading hook outro of “Looking For You” then preceded a reverential singalong to a hushed “Blonde On Blonde”, before, for me, the highlight of the night… Matt challenged himself to do “a long complicated one”, choosing the dramatic, undulating change of pace of “Mathilda” over “See These Bones” and preceding it with a story of his youth, in particular his father making a safe space for the young and rather feminine Matthew to be himself, concluding said story with a heartfelt, “thanks to the dads who let their sons be who they are”. Lovely.

A comment from the relaxed and unusually gregarious Matt about running over time (“we’ve gone over but I want to give you value for your hundred grand ticket!”) led into a story of the band treating him to the new guitar he was using tonight; then a singalong “Blizzard Of ‘77” preceded tonight’s finale... Matt commented, “it’s been the joy of a lifetime to play to really amazing audiences!” before bursting into an unexpected, upbeat and quickfire strumalong “Hyperspace”. Woah! Great though it was, I couldn’t do my usual thing of complimenting drummer Ira, who normally propels this one “live” with octopus-limbed gusto; no matter though, as this concluded a quite enchanting set from a marvellous and relaxed performer.

A short wait in the signing queue then got us some face time with the Star of the Show, and I chatted with him about “Matilda”’s premise, referencing my and Rachel’s unconditional support of our daughter Jami on their journey of gender exploration, changing their birth name and finding their “tribe”, which drew a comment of, “you’re one of the good ones,” from Matthew. Coming from a man who’s essentially composed of pure joy and sunshine, that’s praise indeed! We eventually tore ourselves away and dodged the Brick Lane curry barkers (too late for one now, sadly), settling for a pasty on the 10.40 train out of Paddington, then a wander back from the station, home for midnight. A quite delightful evening in the presence of a wonderful singer and (on tonight’s evidence) storyteller; now, bring on that November full band Nada Surf show…!

 

The Set:

 Inside Of Love

Friend Hospital

Come Get Me

In Front Of Me Now

Buried Plans

Oh Yoko

New Propeller

Looking For You

Blonde On Blonde

Mathilda

Intel And Dreams

Blizzard Of ‘77

Hyperspace

1,342 THOMAS DOLBY, Martin McAloon, Wolverhampton Wulfrun Hall, Sunday 18th August 2024

 

This hectic 3-in-3 closes out with a rare excursion to the Black Country; only my 3^rd ever gig in Wolverhampton, and this time it’s a debut on my “Dance Card” for a gent I’ve nonetheless admired since I was a teenager… I’d first come across Thomas Dolby in 1981 on his debut 7” single, an embryonic slab of brooding synthpop called “Urges”, which also featured an equally excellent B-side in the hypnotically austere “Leipzig”. If I’d enjoyed that debut, however, I was utterly blown away by the follow-up… “Europa And The Pirate Twins” and its’ story of unrequited friendship set against a Cold War background, was an utterly devastating and zeitgeist-grabbing slice of utter synthpop euphoria, joyous and heartbreaking in equal measure, and worthy of its’ place as an absolute classic of its’ genre, alongside the likes of “I Travel” and “Empire State Human”. Dolby, for me, never approached that level again, his subsequent string of 80’s pop hits nonetheless being quirky and entertaining, with Dolby himself adopting a slightly befuddled mad professor persona, at one point roping in slightly befuddled mad TV professor Magnus Pyke to stridently exclaim “Science!” on his best-known 80’s work.

I’d recently been revisiting the synthpop side of my musical heritage with the likes of Blancmange and Heaven 17 but given Dolby had eschewed his 80’s pop career in favour of film and computer game soundtracking and US tech company consulting, our paths were seemingly unlikely to ever cross “live”. So, when the man announced a rare-as-rocking-horse-shit UK jaunt, I jumped at it, particularly as setlist research suggested “Europa” is a staple of the set. Happily, so did (relatively) local former TTP friend Rog, so after a testing 2 hour mainly cross-country drive, we met up in a deserted Wolverhampton town centre, nonetheless enjoying a Turkish meal and a long-overdue catch-up in the one open restaurant we found, before hitting the venue just after 7.30. A seated one, this, so I took my spot in row K for support Martin McAloon, formerly of 80’s soul boy indie chart botherers Prefab Sprout alongside his brother and PS main-man Paddy. I was never much of a fan of their crafted and melodic but (for me) anodyne 80’s pop, and Martin’s performance tonight gave me absolutely no desire to revisit them. From the off it seemed to be one bum note after another, McAloon then forgetting the mid-section lyric to “When Love Breaks Down” – only one of ‘da Sprouts two best-known numbers! – and the whole first line to a later “Barney”. OK, he was very realistic about it (“let’s manage expectations!” being one line, in response to an audience applause on introducing one number), but frankly it came across to me as unprepared and unprofessional. A muted crowd singalong to the hook of “King Of Rock’n’Roll” (whilst McAloon bafflingly took it upon himself to sing the chorus of T Rex’ “Get It On”) suggested I might not have been the only one thinking that way, and a bit of an out-of-tune balls-up version of my favourite PS number “Faron Young” was the sour icing on a complete mess of a support set.

Met up with Rog (who’d sensibly stayed in the bar) and chatted with a couple of gents here from Coventry, before taking my seat again just before the lights dimmed and a single key note played as intro music. Thomas Dolby, slim, casually dressed and with his recent new coiffure knocking 10 years off his 65, sauntered onstage, asked, “can you hear me?” through a vocoder, then eased into a stripped back cover of New Order’s pioneering synth dance crossover “Blue Monday”! A surprising yet entertaining start, then, followed up by an excellent “Evil Twin Brother”, Dolby’s largely spoken word vocals and eerie synth backwash painting an evocative pulp novel picture of rainy alleyways and police sirens. Then “Europa”… 

The unmistakeable 6-beat staccato opening of “Europa And The Pirate Twins” heralded a brilliantly clear, thankfully extended (I’d have been happy for it to go on all night, really…!) and utterly majestic version, Dolby abandoning his keyboard set-up to overlay some strident harmonica and lead a clap-along as I danced in my seat as best I could, throwing arms up for the hook. As it ended, I noticed Rog only a couple of rows behind me and joined him in the empty seat next to him, remarking, “we might as well all go home now, we’re not going to hear anything to top that tonight!” Maybe not, but close… Anyway, the haunting “One Of Our Submarines”, next up, featured a bubbling synth undercurrent with WWII footage on the screen backdrop, and a brief nod to Gary Numan’s “Cars”, Dolby remarking at its conclusion, “I’ve just been on an 80’s US tour… it was clear that all [the crowds] wanted to hear was a medley of my hit!” “I Love You Goodbye”’s initial bossa-nova esque feel ceded to an evocative rainswept “LA Woman”-like keyboard refrain; “Spice Train” saw a belly dancer film to augment its heavy swampy middle Eastern tinged rhythm; and “Budapest By Blimp” was an expansive travelogue, folding in a late night jazz café feel with some decidedly Scott Walker/ Glenn Gregory-esque baritone crooner vocals from Dolby. The man can sing, no messin’…

However, next up was a highlight which almost – almost – approached “Europa” in its’ widescreen magnificence for me; Dolby shared his experience of meeting his hero David Bowie, warning us, “you might need a hankie for the next song” then delivered a poignant yet triumphant and genuinely affecting version of the man’s “Heroes”, accompanied by footage of 1985’s “Live Aid” Wembley gig, where, of course, Dolby played keyboards during Bowie’s performance. Wow. Just… wow. 

Following an understandably lengthy ovation, Dolby invited us all to our feet (finally!!!) for the funky brass blare of the quirky “Hyperactive” and inevitable set closer “She Blinded Me With Science”, the 2 original 80’s videos being played on the screen in accompaniment… well, apart from “other celebrities” such as Hilary Clinton (!), JFK (!!) and “Breaking Bad”’s duo of Walter and Jesse (!!!) joining Magnus Pyke in the “Science!!” declamation onscreen. An entertaining way to close out a set waaaay better than I’d anticipated, Dolby coming across as a natural showman, relaxed, confident and urbane throughout. A couple of encores, including the stark, elegiac and Bowie-esque “Airwaves” saw out a thoroughly excellent proper performance from the man, who deservedly took in a lengthy ovation at the end. I made a beeline to the front and was rewarded with the stage mixing desk’s list (yay!), before collecting my thoughts and chatting with Rog outside. Eventually bade farewell to my old friend, then hit the road for an equally painful extraction from Wolverhampton, the 10 or so miles to M5 J2 seemingly taking forever, forcing me to stop every hundred yards or so at every! Single! Fucking! Red! Light! Eventually back to the ‘don for a weary 12.30. However, on reflection I won’t remember the journey or the crap support, I’ll just remember “Europa”, “Heroes” and mostly the affable, cultured genius of a true Renaissance man, namely Mr. Thomas Dolby!

1,341 BEARS IN TREES, Tiny Umbrellas, Southampton Joiner’s Arms, Saturday 17th August 2024

 

And following Coach Party, here’s another band I’m currently seeing rather a lot of… Third time this calendar year for Croydon’s finest “Dirtbag Boyband” Bears In Trees, my daughter Jami’s favourite music makers that don’t rhyme with Trailer Lift, and a band who not only entertained us both with their own wide-eyed brand of inclusive, affirmative jangly indie pop at Bristol Fleece in April (gig 1,324), but who also brought the fun and sunshine to a noisy Friday afternoon at “2000 Trees” last month, vocalist Callum also recording a video message for Jami after their buoyant pop set. Chap! So, despite this gig filling in a blank space (that Trailer Lift again… grrr…) between 2 pre-arranged shows and making this a 3-in-3-nights run for me, we couldn’t miss this one at The Joiners, one of my favourite venues and one for which (on the band’s insistence, as they advised me at “Trees”) lifted their usual 18+ criteria!

So, a late Saturday afternoon drive down South got us parked up just around the corner at 6.15; the queue of young fans already stretched down the alley to the side of the venue, so we jumped in and did shuttle runs for food (well, I held our spot as Jami went for chips, at least!). Ran into a Chinese takeaway-bound Callum, thanking him again for the vid, and Jami took the opportunity to give him a friendship bracelet! In at 7.30 doors (we miscalculated, thinking it was 7!) and grabbed a spot near the front, house right. Tiny Umbrellas, AKA the softly spoken and very young solo guitarist DT, was a very hushed opener, on early at 7.50 and playing pastoral, introspective and melancholy material on the awkwardness of nascent young relationships (viz an early “Friendzone” and “100 Poems” in particular, in which she called for audience members to write “purge” letters for a forthcoming video). Think Cavetown’s quieter moments, albeit turned down a few hundred notches… luckily, the young crowd was often pindrop silent during her performance! The final number “Just For Company”, which featured a left/right crowd call and response singalong, was as rocking as it got for Tiny Umbrellas (“like ones in a cocktail?” asked Jami…!)…

A quick run back to the car to dump J’s merch, then Bears In Trees joined us in short order, just after 8.30! The Woodentopsy skiffle/ rockabilly rhythm and Summery C86 guitar jangle of opener “Seaside”, apt for this Summer seaside tour, kicked things off, before Callum inquired, “are you ready to dance a lot?” to cheers from their young and devoted massive. The irrepressible “Heaven Sent Is A Coffee Cup” not only got the crowd dancing, but as usual saw Callum depart the stage and join in the pogoing mosh at the front! 

Thereafter, Bears In Trees delivered another fun, all-action, all-inclusive “live” set, revelling in and reinforcing the strong bond with their young LGBTQ+ -savvy crowd, who often sang along to every word. Callum fired a bubble machine (apparently acquired from Aldi in Salisbury on the way down!) during “Henry Says” (“about a friend who throws rocks at other rocks!”) then bemoaned the bubble juice which subsequently got on his keys (“it’s really slippery!”). The band delved back for oldie “Sitting Pretty” (Ian deadpanning, “[from] 2019? 2017? Even I didn’t like us in 2017!!”) before Callum resorted to another prop, this time an inflatable cactus which members of the audience were invited to use as hoopla target practice – unsuccessfully, I might add (“Exeter [last night] were much better!” remarking Callum).

A “mood changer”, namely the more stripped-back, plaintive and melancholy “Confetti”, was nonetheless a very lovely mid-set highlight, featuring a reverentially hushed singalong, Ian commenting at its’ conclusion, “most of the time we make you feel sad in a happy way; [that one] makes you feel sad in a sad way…” However, the soaring hook of the subsequent and ebullient “Injured Crow” brought back the mood of upbeat buoyancy, before a blind audience vote resulted in the band again delving back, this time for 2017’s “The Musical”, a pacey and ramshackly embryonic indie strumalong number recalling early 80’s James, no less! Set “closer” “Hot Chocolate” (a likely inclusion on my 2024 “Best Of” Compo CD) was a superb keytar-led breathless indie banger and the “best of” of tonight for me as well, the guys again taking stage front, line abreast, for the goony dance at the denouement. 

A couple of encores, rounding off with the jangly call-and-response of “Fresh Concrete” closed out another fine Bears In Trees set, and another lovely night out with the daughter of the house. Early too, as we grabbed drummer George’s list then, with Jami’s feet aching, took off well before 10! Home just after 11.20 after another thoroughly upbeat and effervescent Bears In Trees gig. Happy to come back anytime!