936 ALVVAYS, Moon King, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 31 January 2015

They’re growing on me like a rash, this lot… Having walked in part-way through Alvvays’ Real Estate support slot at the Empire last October (gig 929) and thoroughly enjoyed what on the face of it seemed to be some buoyant, wide-eyed C86 influenced jangle pop, I picked up their eponymous debut CD and found something else. Something inexplicable, intangible and ever so slightly out of reach, but nevertheless a real extra depth to the material, layers of melancholy and emotiveness  that rewarded repeated listens. “Alvvays” made it into my Top 5 albums of last year (behind some serious heavyweights like The Hold Steady, New Pornographers, Merchandise and War On Drugs) and if I were making that list now, who’s to say they wouldn’t be even higher…? Thus I pounced on tickets for their ultimately sold-out trip to “The Dirty Boat”, always a favourite venue.

I wasn’t alone for this one; riding shotgun was recent gig buddy Andy Fenton; we passed an entertaining drive down comparing past gig experiences, parking up in the final spot and going aboard the venue at 7.30. My first visit since the Thekla’s recent renovation, and they’ve spruced up the old vessel nicely, improving the eyeline from the bar, reflooring and repositioning the mixing desk, plus much-needed loo improvements! Already taking the stage as we headed to the bar were openers Moon King, a Toronto 4-piece featuring a madly tousle-haired male vocalist and a striking ginger female guitarist who also took lead vocals on a few tracks. A very promising  spritely,  frantic opener augured well for the set, more so when it was followed by a chugging Pixies-ish rocker, our crazy-haired friend already showing a nice line in strident, nasally atonal vocals, recalling Violent Femme’s Gordon Gano. “Crucified” featured the breathless wide-eyed innocence and wonder of (very!) early U2, and whilst some of their quieter material was a little fey and insubstantial on first listen, their more upbeat number showed some fine Veruca Salt/ Breeders quiet/loud moments and striking vocal interplay. “Roswell” was a careering punkish blast to end a great opening set from a highly promising band for 2015. Their “Secret Life” album, due out in April, already looks an essential buy…

Having had a watching brief near the mixing desk for Moon King, we moved to the front, stage right, for Alvvays, as the place filled up rapidly. Alvvays bounced onstage at dead on 8.30, to the accompaniment of a haunting Celtic fanfare, led by Breton-clad blonde vocalist Molly Rankin. After opener “Your Type”, a Primitives-like punky and spritely blast (prophetic, that…), Molly declared, “we’re on a boat! This is so cool! Hello boat people!” before the irresistibly melodic “Next Of Kin”, played beautifully and sounding utterly superb – evidently the refit included sound system investment too! Molly, still wittering on about the novelty of playing on a boat (“anyone ever played a show on a plane? Is that a safety hazard?”), was an effervescent focal point throughout, her voice accurately conveying the right mood of melancholy for “Your Agency”, love-lorn innocence for “Ones Who Love You”, and world-weary ennui for the marvellous, hooky “Archie, Marry Me”, an soaring early set highlight.

Whilst the mid-set dipped from the stratospherically high standards of the opening salvo (a discordant “Underneath Us” even slightly jarring), they roared back with a “Atop A Cake”, a C86-driven slice of cute bouncy jangle, a hauntingly yearning “Party Police”, and set closer “Adult Diversion”, a chugalong slice of prime indiepop to end a great little set.

Back on for the encore, and an unexpected treat in a cover of The Primitives’ “Out Of Reach”, nailing their influences to the mast somewhat (although for me this lot have much more substance than Tracey Tracey’s fizzy, fun but throwaway pop lot). A gushing “We’d really like to come back here! We’d like to take you all to [next gig] Antwerp with us!” from Molly underlined they’d had as much fun as we had, a new number finishing tonight’s proceedings. 

Grabbed a quick chat at the Merch stand with an ebullient Moon King vocalist, who kindly wrote out a set-list for me, then got my set-list signed by the besieged Alvvays members at said stand before heading off. An early one, this, home by 10.30, but a great night out from two really promising bands. After this performance from Alvvays, it’s no surprise they’re already scheduled to headline the Empire in Autumn. If this is a rash, then I want to keep scratching it!

935 LEEDS 6 ALL-STARS, The Expelaires, Leeds Brudenell Social Club, Saturday 24 January 2015

I’m almost certainly breaking my own gig rules by including this one, effectively a covers band gig, in my gig list, but I don’t care, they’re my rules, and I can damn well break them if I want to! I think, however, I need to say, by way of explanation/ justification, that (music being a highly subjective topic, and one’s own taste in music as intrinsically individual as their own DNA) for me, The Parachute Men are the best band ever to hail from these shores, full stop. Their 1988 debut album “The Innocents” is one of the finest ever recorded; from the opening deliciously plangent guitar chimes of “Sometimes In Vain”, through to the wispy, haunting refrain that fades out closer “Quiet Day” like some distant, half-remembered dream, it’s an album as familiar to me as my own skin, and only has one serious rival, the Bunnymen’s 7-years-older “Heaven Up Here”, as my most-played record ever. And just to round it off, their finest hour, the monumental, majestic “If I Could wear Your Jacket…?”, only has “Revolutionary Spirit” and “Life On Mars” as company for the best single of all time. There, I’ve said it!

 

Right, hopefully that positions how I came to find myself in Leeds, 200 miles North of home and hearth, on a chilly January Saturday evening. Thanks to the good offices of Facebook, I’d re-connected with The Parachute Men’s vocalist, the vivacious force of nature that is Fiona Gregg, and kept abreast of her occasional musical dabblings. So when a window of opportunity cracked open, even only slightly, with Fi’s “hobby” covers band, The Leeds 6 All-Stars, first on the bill at the Brudenell on a potential Evan visit Saturday, I leapt through it with gusto! Having dropped Evan off at 4.30 in North Wales, I traversed the Pennines in increasingly inky blackness, nevertheless finding The Brudenell relatively easily, and parking up at 6.30. I followed the noise into the hall to the left of the venue, spotting Fi and the band chilling while waiting for their soundcheck and watching tonight’s headliners, second wave Anarcho-punk survivors Abrasive Wheels, crank up their own noisy soundcheck. Nothing to do but surprise the holy hell out of “Lady Poundland”, so I did! The years fell away as we caught up, comparing life experiences over the last 25 years – yup, it’s been that damn long since I last saw The Parachute Men…!

 

Eventually, Fi and The All-Stars had to soundcheck, running through a bouncy version of Blondie’s “Dreaming” as the WMC-style venue filled up with old punkers, then off to prepare. I hung out and sussed out tonight’s “raison d’etre”, which was to celebrate the 50th birthday of Skum, a heavily tattooed and apparently notoriously cantankerous local punk rocker (though he seemed a reasonable enough bloke when I shook his hand and wished him happy birthday). An old mate of Skum’s got up onstage to do likewise (“we’re surprised you made it to 50!”) and play a number, before the stage was swathed with dry ice and Fi led the All Stars onstage at 8.30. Smartened up for the occasion, particularly Fi’s beau, former Three Johns bassist Phil Brennan, who sported some natty red checked trousers onstage, they kicked into an eclectic selection of rock, punk and 60’s covers, chosen to fit the mood of the evening. Some fine fretwork from veteran guitarist Mick Lake early doors, particularly during a strident “Blitzkrieg Bop” and a punchy, push’n’shove “Can’t Explain”, but let’s face it, I was only really here to hear THE VOICE…

 

Husky, sincere, heart-crackingly world-weary and able to project a mood of delicious melancholy back in the day, time and maturity has only given Fiona’s voice more depth and range, Fi switching deftly from disconsolate yearning to impish rabble-rousing, seemingly in consecutive breaths, complementing her bouncy, energetic performance. This was no better illustrated than by the set highlight, a perfect rendition of Joy Division’s desolate classic “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, which segued skilfully, thanks to the outro riff, into The Crystals’ “Then He Kissed Me”, Fi’s vocals driving the mood change. Just lovely stuff. A swift half-hour concluded by Fi announcing, “we’re available for parties”. Hmmm, there’s an idea…!

 

Hung out with Fi afterwards for long-overdue photos, meeting folks and banter, while second band The Expelaires kicked off their set. A Leeds post-punk band from back in the day, I remembered and enjoyed their angular Zoo Records release “To See You”, but ultimately the realisation that there was a damn long way to go to get home hit me, and I bade fond farewells to Lady Poundland, hitting the road about ¼ to 10. Good thing too, as M1 roadworks necessitated a lengthy 50 mph crawl, then worse, a junction closure sent me through a mordant Wakefield city centre frantically looking for diversion signs. Once clear of this muck, I made good time but still hit home at a red-eyed 1.15. Yikes! But you bet it was worth all the hassle to catch up with an old friend, and to hear THAT voice sing and soar once again.

934 THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS, Mini Mansions, London Shepherd’s Bush Empire, Tuesday 2 December 2014

My final scheduled gig of a totally satisfactory 2014 is a welcome reunion with those prodigiously talented tunesmiths, The New Pornographers! Since my last sighting, in this very venue (gig 804, a week shy of 4 years ago exactly), I’d done the work I’d implied I needed to do on their back catalogue and found it utterly rewarding, their 3^rd album “Twin Cinema” in particular becoming a regular in-car favourite of mine. Their current album “Brill Bruisers” is again a work of dazzling tunefulness, the only real departure being a hazy sprinkling of 80’s style keyboard and synth to embellish their usual wide and varied chameleonic musical approach and irresistibly brain hugging hooks, so I pounced on tix for this one straight away on the pre-sale. Also, after badgering Rachel for ages to listen to them, she finally crumbled, then realised I’d been speaking truths about their wondrous tuneage, so booked herself a ticket to join me! Yay!

 

So we headed off at 5, stopping for tea at Heston yet still parking up in our usual spot before 7.30, hitting the surprisingly quiet early-doors venue for openers Mini Mansions, on at 7.45. A California trio of bass, synth and a dapper, white suited Paul Simpson lookalike playing drums standing up, they played some 80’s-influenced synth pop with falsetto harmonies overlaid, making them sound very dated (The Bee Gees and Hall And Oates were two comparisons we made!). A dour, plodding cover of “Heart Of Glass” was almost funereal in feel, and not even a subsequent brighter, upbeat original number recalling Our Daughter’s Wedding could rescue them for me. At 45 minutes, they overstayed their welcome considerably, too…

 

We stayed stage centre, down the front, as the place filled up, Rach correctly tipping the band to come on at 9, rather than my website-provided 8.45 schedule. Sure enough, at 9 the 7-strong New Pornographers line-up sauntered onstage, led by strawberry-blond mainman Carl “AC” Newman and bearded, bohemian Dan Bejar, two-thirds of the band’s songwriting triumvirate, with Neko Case being oddly absent tonight. They kicked into the glam stomp and almost orchestral harmonies of opener “Brill Bruisers”, but the sound didn’t do them justice, sounding trebly, echoey and a little thin, almost as if the sound was exclusively coming out of the onstage monitors and bouncing off the stage backdrop. A few numbers in, it had improved to the point that you could actually hear Carl and Dan’s vocals, but remained sub-par throughout. A real shame, this, at this usually pindrop-perfect sounding venue.

 

I however have no doubt that when the New Pornographers sit down to write new material, they hang up “Quiet – Genius At Work!” signs. They all deftly walk a tightrope between producing mature, sophisticated – almost, whisper it, grown-up – songs in various chameleonic musical styles, which nonetheless all possess a vibrant, hooky immediacy which prevents them degenerating into clever-cleverness, instead really making them shine and sparkle. That said, they were hindered with the poor sound tonight, throughout, and then there was the intrigue of Dan… The unkempt, almost Columbo-like Bejar kept disappearing, only returning onstage to add his low, laconic and nuanced vocals to his own material before bowing low each time and taking off again, leaving his partner-in-crime to attempt to explain his absence (“where does he go? I can’t answer that! I think he [goes off and] reads Camus or something…”

 

All that said, they were still never less than excellent tonight, particularly energetic keyboardist Kathryn Calder, who filled in on the absent Case’s vocals and for me was possibly tonight’s MVP. Bejar’s wry vocals on “Myriad Harbour” recalled the NYC cool of Mink DeVille, the wobbleboard carousel ride of “Use It” and the darkly dramatic “War On The East Coast”, with its’ soaring chorus were an early double-whammy, and the jagged “Jackie, Dressed In Cobras” was a mid-set highlight. “Testament To Youth” featured a lovely acapella “bell ringing” middle 8 which was received reverentially by the quiet, studious crowd, and set closer “Mass Romantic” saw a mini mosh break out to its’ galloping, off-kilter joyride.

 

However, they saved the best until last; an utterly superb encore of “Spanish Techno” was topped by “The Bleeding Heart Show”, building from almost murder-ballad hush, through sinister flamenco, then to a galloping crescendo layered with harmonies. Brilliant, and a perfect punctuation point on a splendid set.

 

The home journey was a stinker, however, with Junction 2 of the M4 being shut, necessitating a painfully slow crawl through Brentford and a diversion around Heathrow, culminating in a home arrival at a red-eyed ¼ to 1. Yikes! Nonetheless, a thoroughly enjoyable evening despite a couple of bumps in the road, in good company both with my Rachey, and with The New Pornographers!

933 2:54, LSA, Follow The Sun, Bristol Louisiana, Tuesday 25 November 2014

I should really know better than to tip bands to go on to greater things by now, shouldn’t I? Having previously gleefully declared that the likes of Lush and Glasvegas were going to be “huge huge huge!” – and that really didn’t work out for either of those, did it? – I also said, after seeing promising ethereal dreampop pipistrelles 2:54 at my old 80’s tiny bolt-hole, Oxford’s Jericho Tavern, a couple of years ago, that I had a feeling the next time I saw them would be in a much bigger venue. Hmmm, I thought, 2 years on, as I booked tickets for tonight’s gig at, erm, tiny Bristol bolt-hole The Louisiana, bigmouth strikes again!

 

I also picked up their new CD, “The Other I”, but despite it generating a similar mood of wistful melancholy as their eponymous debut, I found it a bit, well, samey really, overall no real development or progression to their sound, a couple of numbers (notably the excellent “Crest”) notwithstanding. Nevertheless, one hopes that as at the Jericho, the band could rise above their lack of obvious tuneage “live”. We’ll see… So, I set off after 7 for a run down an increasingly rainy M4, rather stupidly over-shooting my turn in the centre of Bristol, but eventually finding a lucky parking spot directly outside the venue, nonetheless getting soaked while I got the ticket. D’oh! Dried off in the downstairs bar while watching the first half of the Man City Champion’s League game, then took a wander upstairs for opener Follow The Sun. Wished I hadn’t, as he was (again) “playing” low budget nature documentary theme tune bollocks through his tape loop machine whilst sitting there looking gormless. I hate these so-called “musicians” who do this… hate ‘em!

 

I was therefore more kindly disposed to main support LSA – at least they were a proper band! – and honestly they were much more the ticket. A gang of four black and red clad youths playing some generic but spritely and upbeat glam/indie guitar pop, with their third number displaying some shimmering shoegaze fretwork, and their best number, “Where’s The Time Gone” (?) showing some widescreen stadium rock tendencies. Set closer “Honest Man” spewed out impressive garage rock venom, closing a nice support set from a confident young band clearly still looking for their own identity. It’ll be interesting to see how they end up…

 

Back into the now-busy upstairs room for the main act; I took a spot near the front as 2:54, after a soundcheck and brief departure from the stage, re-appeared at 10, the 4-piece band led by sisters Collette and Hannah Thurlow and backed up by 2 beefy blokes. Opener “South” kicked off proceedings, the girls slowly swaying and rocking in time with this moody opener. An early “Scarlet” segued splendidly into the excellent, creepy “Sugar”, and a subsequent bouncy “Crest”, easily their best new number, was also head and shoulders above anything else tonight, a sweeping chorus featuring some almost early U2-like intricate guitar riffery from Hannah, and some pounding drums from the impressive, hard-hitting sticksman.

 

That, however, was as good as it got. All too often there was little variation in the otherwise patchy material, and it merged into one, relying too much on evoking a gloomy, melancholy mood and atmosphere, and on Collette’s strident atonal vocals. Like one of their obvious antecedents, 90’s pseudo Goth/electronica band Curve, they’ve got a couple of really good numbers right now, then there’s a big gap, then there’s the rest… The chorus line to new number “Blindfold” uncomfortably resembled Adamski’s “Killer” (covered by them last time out), and I confess my mood wasn’t helped by ubiquitous (and large) scenester Jeff turning up midway through and barging right to the front, necessitating a shift around just so that I could see! Appreciate your enthusiasm Jeff, but you make a lousy window…

 

“Orion” concluded a lengthy-feeling 45 minute set, prior to which Collette thanked everybody for coming, stating, “it’s been a long road back”. Perhaps they should have made a couple of more stops along said road to write more songs and develop their sound further, I thought as I swiftly exited the venue (no set-list tonight, so my recent run stops at 20, but after this show I wasn’t that bothered) and made my way home, a wretched journey down a sodden M4. Sorry girls, but I’m afraid that on the strength of tonight and the current album, 2:54 have been well and truly eclipsed in the doomy goth girl-pop stakes by the likes of Savages, and I’ve got the feeling the next time I see them – and there will be a next time, I’m not giving up on this still-promising band that easily – it’ll be in exactly the same size of venue as tonight…

932 MERCHANDISE, Shopping, Idles, Bristol Start The Bus, Thursday 20 November 2014

A new gig location for me, this, and a familiar band with possibly a slight departure to their previous sound. Merchandise, last year’s Reading Festival best newcomers and hosts of a fine Jericho Tavern show last Autumn, announced another small venue tour to promote delicious new album “After The End”, a record which, despite retaining their blueprint moody, textured and sample-layered sound, sees them moving away from the freeform structure and stretched Krautrock templates of their previous efforts. There are discernable choruses! Verses! Hooks aplenty! A move to generally more “conventional” song structures, with vocalist Carson Cox having declared in advance of the album, “we’re going to remake ourselves as a pop band,” how would this play out “live”? One way to find out…

 

So I hit the road fairly early, expecting lots of Christmas shopping traffic around Bristol’s Cabot Circus and oddly finding none, therefore parking up and hitting this central venue around 8. A small pub side area/room, not much bigger than the Louisiana (so, then… small!) cordoned off from the main bar with a bit of black material (but well within earshot of the bar), with steps down to a small dancefloor, and a wooden-clad corner stage which gave the impression the bands were playing in someone’s garden shed! Not enough room onstage for 2 drumkits so local openers Idles played on the floor. They were terrible; an unrehearsed, half-formed, half-baked mess of clumsy shouty pseudo-allegedly “punk” bollocks. The vocalist introduced most numbers with, “this is called [song x], and it’s about [ subject y]… only joking…” (?), and their only redeeming feature was some nice Editors-like ringing fretwork from the guitarist, who could obviously play a bit, so he’s clearly wasting his time there… Main tour support Shopping, on about 9.30, were more palatable; seemingly mining the middle ground between The Slits, early B52s and Talulah Gosh (!), they had a pronounced DIY ethic and a sound consisting of militaristic drumbeats, occasionally dubby rhythmic base, intricate mutant single-note guitar picking and minimal yelping vocals passed liberally around the 3 band members. Interesting stuff, but I couldn’t eat a whole one…

 

Between the 2 supports, I’d stopped a lurking Carson Cox for a quick chat, and had my ear talked off by this most gregarious and open frontman; he allegedly remembered me from Oxford, and we chatted about Florida, the state of rock’n’ roll and his future plans for the band (“it was only meant as a side-project!” Yeah, right…). I was subsequently even more up for this one, and took my place down the front as the band set up for their late-starting set, about 20 past 10. After locating their drummer (Cox quipping, “anyone want to play drums for us tonight?”) we were on our way with big, strident opener “Enemy”, the chiming, driving rhythm being overlaid by Cox’s deep, deliciously resonant vocals, and the subsequent “In Nightmare Room”, all louche and languid, prompting me to shake my ageing booty down the front, and prompting Cox to remark, “thanks for dancing!” Hell, that was enough to keep me dancing throughout!

 

Shorn of the samples and effects which add depth and texture to their studio output, Merchandise “live” were a full-on rock’n’roll treat, and Carson Cox was a brilliant, riveting frontman, mobile and angular, with oddball, slightly flaky charisma to throw away. “Little Killer” was an early, superb highlight, the chugging rhythm very reminiscent of The Smiths’ classic “The Headmaster Ritual”, and the hook dark and dramatic, then a slower “Beginning” (“for the disco ball!”) nonetheless morphed into a Doors-like psych-rock wig-out, and “Green Lady” thereafter was a real treat, soaring and imperious with a dramatic finale.

 

But it was the penultimate “Anxiety’s Door” which was tonight’s highlight; this lengthy Krautrock workout positively rocked, bristling with venom and purpose, and Cox’s frontman performance was committed, riveting and outstanding, jumping in and out of the crowd, teasing, tempting, loving this moment, not wanting it to end. And neither did we. Brilliant stuff from a real band with boundless potential.

 

Guitarist Dave Vassalotti handed me the setlist (“sure thing!”) and I hung out afterwards, catching my breath, chatting with the band, getting the list signed and buying a t-shirt (Merchandise merchandise!) before eventually heading home with Carson Cox’s thanks and compliments ringing in my ears, home for 12.30, late for a Bristol gig. Aching limbs the next day, but Merchandise were totally worth it!

931 BOB MOULD, Young Knives, Bristol Fleece, Monday 17 November 2014

And now for something completely noisy…! The US alternative rock legend that is Bob Mould, mastermind behind 2 of the finest and fiercest bands of the 80’s/ 90’s in Husker Du and Sugar, and compiler of a breathtakingly impressive body of work in his own right (including 1989’s “Workbook”, still one of my all-time Top Ten albums), playing the noisy rock music at The Fleece! Over the last couple of years, after a dalliance with electronic-tinged stuff, he appears to have rediscovered his alt-rock/ popcore mojo again, with an impressive 2012 release “Silver Age” (parts of which he premiered when we last saw him, after the “Copper Blue” run through of gig 848, a couple of Summers ago) being followed by an even better one in this year’s “Beauty And Ruin”. So I snapped up tickets pronto, disappointed that no-one else felt the need to have their ears sandblasted with some sheet metal rock’n’roll noise, thereby resolving to go on my own!

 

A bit of pre-gig research (I love setlist.fm!) indicated Bob would be playing a smattering of Husker Du numbers straight out of the blocks, so I made sure of an early departure, to ensure avoiding traffic chaos in the 24-hour jam that Swindon has suddenly turned into, and also to arrive in time to buy an old friend a beer. It worked in one way; I duly joined the queue for doors at 7.30, but the old friend didn‘t show! Luckily (?), this was an early scheduled show, so I didn’t have long to wait for openers Young Knives, on at 8. However, I just flat out didn’t like them; I should have, given some dark, driving rock from this eclectic-looking trio, but their tunes were smothered not only in echoey reverb but also pompous nonsense and a feeling of unentitled self-importance. Clearly a band who take themselves waaay too seriously (viz. the keyboardist being called The House Of Lords!), their best moment was when the singer donned a set of makeshift batwings (which actually looked like umbrellas!) during their final number!

 

From the ridiculous to the utterly sublime; despite this being a sell-out, I found a clear space, stage left, actually leaning against the monitors, for Bob’s entrance just before 9. He followed his band (bassist Jason Narducy and drummer Jon Wurster) onstage to a rapturous reception, then kicked into a formidable opening triad of 3 Husker Du numbers, “Flip Your Wig”, an incredible “Hate Paper Doll” and “I Apologise” with ferocious intensity. Holy shit, that’s the way to start a set, no mistake!

 

So that was me, rocking down the front as much as my knees would allow and occasionally bolting in my earplugs to give my eardrums some respite from the almost palpable noise. This was as uncompromising, relentless and powerful a set as I’d been subjected to for many a moon; after a few remarks about tribute bands (“so anyway, we’re Hugh-sker Du!”), Bob launched into a selection from the current “Beauty And Ruin”, the highlight being the phenomenal “I Don’t Know You Anymore”, as irresistibly catchy a number as he’s produced since “If I Can’t Change Your Mind” (which also appeared later on in the set!). Bob was imperious, his low, resonant growl rising above the guitar assault, as Jason wrestled his low-slung bass like Dee Dee Ramone, and Jon hammered the beat with thrilling kinetic Caldes-like energy. The slow-burn denouement to excellent newie “The War” segued into Husker Du classic “Hardly Getting Over It”, providing some respite but delivered almost power-ballad like, sprawling and epic. Then it was back onto the sheet metal noise onslaught, with a soaring “Helpless”, and a later, almost singalong “Hoover Dam” from Sugar’s back catalogue. The embryonic post-hardcore of “In A Free Land” closed an amphetamine-fast set of 21 songs in a breathtakingly swift hour, after which encores of the irresistibly melodic “Makes No Sense At All” and a cover of Sonny Curtis’ “Love Is All Around” (no, not that one…) punctuated the set, at which point Bob took centre stage to bathe in the applause, leaving to lengthy and unrequited encore calls.

As good was to come afterwards though; I needed some time to catch my breath so hung back near the backstage entrance awhile, and my patience was rewarded as I met Bob and the band to get my setlist (handed to me at the set’s climax by Jason, whose monitor I‘d been pounding on throughout, as a thank you “for rocking out!”) signed, and a pic, handshake and a few quick words with the great (and very humble) man, one of my all-time rock icons. “Thanks for your support through the years,” he remarked, my response being, “keep coming back and I’ll keep coming to see you!” My ears are still ringing. Wow. Just…. wow.

930 THE WAR ON DRUGS, Steve Gunn, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 6 November 2014

I’m continuing my Autumn Dance Card “deep dive” through what appears to be the best American Alternative rock has to offer right now (Hold Steady, Real Estate, SoSo Glos in the books, with Bob Mould, Merchandise and the New Pornographers yet to come) by giving this lot another chance! My last outing with War On Drugs, 18 months ago, was a bit of a clunker, their intriguing metronomic Krautrock/ Americana mixture being submerged under swathes of indistinct noise by the Thekla’s sound system. Truth to tell, I probably wouldn’t have bothered, however WOD’s current album “Lost In The Dream” is a lovely listen; an aptly-named immersive, melancholy drift through hazy, half-lit smoky rooms bathed in early morning sunlight through latticed windows. It manages a rare feat of being intriguingly hypnotic and mesmerising, whilst at the same time evoking Don Henley’s 80’s cheeseball anthem “The Boys Of Summer”. Weird! Anyway, one hopes that the much better O2 sound system wouldn’t muck this up. We hope…

 

So, an early departure thanks to drizzly weather and traffic chaos in Swindon still meant I parked up at 7.30. However this was unfortunately well in time to join the early-comers for support Steve Gunn and his 2 back-up boys, on at 8. He kicked off with an interminably long – over 10 minutes! – opener which started pleasantly enough but then descended into Jethro Tull sludgy prog noodling. At its’ (eventual) conclusion I turned to a fellow punter and suggested, “I’m half expecting him to say now, “this is our last song”!”. Thankfully the rest of his set was a little better, tending towards forgettable strumalong alt-Americana with the odd unfortunate prog detour. However the best part of his set for me was when he introduced, “my brother Tommy on bass…” wait, what? His brother’s called Tommy Gunn?!?

 

After a loo break, I wormed my way back through an utterly heaving floor to an air pocket, stage left, in front of the speakers. Some shuddering pre-set feedback made me wonder whether they were trying to find the brown note (!), then War On Drugs frontman Adam Granduciel demonstrated control freak tendencies by coming onstage to lay out his own cables and pedals. You’ve got roadies for that, mate! Anyway, Adam then led the 6-piece band on to zero fanfare; they plugged in and kicked off the synth pulse and heavy guitar reverb of intriguing opener “Burning”, the sound already a quantum leap better than last time out. Hooray!

 

This was a fine, varied set of their melange of guitar-driven Americana, often evoking the strumalong heartland travelogues of early REM, and Stereolab/ Krautrock synth overlays. A lot of light and shade, with slower, more considered numbers mixed in, although I liked their sound better when it was off on a gallop. “The last couple of times we played [Bristol] we were on the motherfuckng boat! It’s nice to be off the Thekla!” announced Adam before the languid, absorbing “Under The Pressure”, then following the audience reaction, recanted somewhat; “oh, you like it? It’s better than here? OK, long live the Thekla!”

 

The excellent, upbeat “Ocean Between The Waves”, featuring a hard-edged, soaring climax almost recalling early U2, was a mid-set highlight, before a thoroughly noisy number (“Best Night”?), which was a little jarring, featuring swathes of everything (synth, brass, the whole darn kitchen sink!), but was thankfully followed by a quieter “Buenos Aires”. The subsequent, penultimate “Red Eyes”, however, was a thrilling, locomotive joyride and the best thing on the menu tonight. Adam was the pivotal point throughout; clearly in charge here, his detached, nasal tones, which recalled a hazy, lazy Bob Dylan (!), sprinkled over the music like desert sand, whilst his guitar provided the main thrust and propulsion.

 

“Baby Missiles” was the highlight of the encore, another breathless synth/strumalong collision, before the tender Laurel Canyon ballad of “Suffering”, the best of the slower numbers on show tonight, along with more compliments for the Thekla (!) and for tonight’s sell-out, totally engaged crowd, drew a 1 ½ hour performance to a close. Always fine, one jarring mid-set number notwithstanding, and at its’ best at full-on rhythm and jangle, this was a million times better than last time out, and a record-breaking set-list (my 18^th in a row!) was the icing on the cake. I’m glad I gave War On Drugs another chance!