950 THE REPLACEMENTS, You Am I, London Camden Roundhouse, Wednesday 3rd June 2015

I’ve got Ed Valauskas to thank/ blame for this one… Given the letter “R” by Letters To Cleo guitarist and all-round good egg “USA” Mike Eisenstein in one of those random Facebook surveys recently, I dutifully nominated a band I love (REM), a band I hate (Rage Against The Machine – I bloody do, check the review from Reading Festival 1993, gig 248), a band I’ve seen (The Ramones) and a band I’d not seen. For this latter I chose recently reformed US alt-rock veterans The Replacements, early 80’s proto-punks turned anthemic alt-rock/ bar room blues merchants turned alt-country groundbreakers, and contemporaries of the aforementioned REM and the brilliant Husker Du on the burgeoning 80’s alternative rock circuit. I also mused on their then-forthcoming London Roundhouse dates, declaring them a real tempter if somewhat of a trek on a school night. However, fellow FB friend and erstwhile Gravel Pit bassist Mr. Valauskas left me a subsequent – and simple – 4 word instruction; “Go See The Mats!”. Far be it from me to argue – I’m off to see the ‘Mats!

 

As if it were needed, the icing on the cake was revealed the previous day, with splendid Antipodean rockers You Am I announced as support, the first time they’d crossed my path for over a dozen years (gig 591). This necessitated an early start, so I left straight from work, pausing briefly in town to get my weekly comics then hitting the road, parking up at the Bush dead on 6.30 after a tea stop at Heston. One tube trek later, I was at the venue well in time for You Am I’s entrance at 8 (no Jesse Malin tonight; that was just last night apparently…). Led on by slick-quiffed and dapper vocalist Tim Rogers, resplendent in iridescent green jacket and red ribbon tie, like the coolest bingo caller alive, he announced, “this little ol’ band has supported the Stones and The Who but nothing means as much to us as playing with the fucking Replacements tonight!” They were straight “on it” from the off, laying down some dirty and scuzzy blues rock with a swish, a strut and a swagger, The cool harmonies and “whoo-whoo”s of “Mr. Milk” was introduced as “ “Senses Working Overtime” in ‘E’!” which as a Swindonian I appreciated, and the thunderous riffery of “Billy” was a pressures to the irresistibly catchy “Good Mornin’”, You Am I’s brief 90’s flirtation with mainstream success. Rogers, kinetic, windmill-armed and effusive throughout, repeatedly bigged up tonight’s headliners - he related stories of having the lyrics to “Bastards Of Young” pinned on his wall for years, recounted that on first hearing it he dashed out the next day and bought 3 albums by… The Residents (D’oh!) and announced, “you’re in for some gen-you-wine rock and roll tonight!” before their own finest hour, the brilliant and blistering modish strut of “Cathy’s Clown”. After a final “Burning” to cap a splendid set, Rogers left with, “thank you – dreams can come true!” but in all honesty You Am I set the bar pretty high for their idols tonight. Damn fine job, boys!

 

As the witching hour approached and an anticipatory atmosphere fuelled the rapidly-filling crowd, I kept my spot near the front, stage right, noticing that a PA run-through of The Ramones’ classic “Blitzkrieg Bop”, with its’ “Hey Ho, Let’s Go!” hook, seemed incredibly apposite. This proved the case when The Replacements took the stage at 9 to a rapturous welcome, ploughing immediately into the incendiary punk of “Takin’ A Ride”, reducing this ornate hall into a scuzzy back room bar, sticky beer-spilled floor and all. It was clear from the outset that time had not dimmed this lot’s passion and fire, as they were also “on it” from the outset, not missing a beat with a powerful “Favorite Thing” and a dumbass, Ramones-like “Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out” despatched in short order. “Here’s one we omitted last night,” announced mainman Paul Westerberg, before the sprawling, anthemic “Little Mascara”, a Springsteen-like highlight amidst all the early Fraggle rock.

 

Westerberg actually spoke very little tonight, unusually taciturn particularly in comparison to his support’s voluble mainman, addressing the audience only when forgetting some lyrics (a couple of times), preferring to save his 55 year old frame for playing the rock. He removed his zip jacket about half a dozen numbers in to reveal the letters “U” and “T” adorning his t-shirt – apparently this is an ongoing thing throughout the tour, different letters each night purportedly spelling out “I have always loved you, now I must whore my past!” Well, if this was the case, he did so brilliantly tonight, a magnificent, effusive performance of prime rock’n’roll, from touching, finger-picking country (“Kiss Me On The Bus”), balls-out rock (a startling “I Will Dare”) to euphoric, buoyant powerpop (“Color Me Impressed”, taking in a truncated improv cover of The Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” which deconstructed the cheesy disco classic into a sleazy rocker). This was received with acclaim by tonight’s devotional crowd, creating a celebratory atmosphere throughout.

 

“Once again the stage kicks Paul’s ass,” he declared before the chugging, call and response vocals of “I Don’t Know”, then after a big, brassy “Can’t Hardly Wait”, the highlight; “Bastards Of Young” was utterly magnificent, raising this old engine shed roof with an all-inclusive singalong of the massive, anthemic hook, the tumbling denouement morphing into a few lines of no less than “My Boy Lollypop”! . Wow. Just… wow.

 

A solo encore “Skyway” led into a final magnificent double whammy of “Left Of The Dial” and their signature number, “Alex Chilton”, the best song The Hold Steady never wrote, to end a quite awesome performance. We had a final “thank you very very much!” greeting from a clearly elated Westerberg and his bandmates, who’d backed him up superbly with a tight, thrilling showing. That wasn’t it, though, as a very kind steward sorted me with a set-list, which I showed round and chatted to fellow punters down the front; then, after catching my breath, I ran into Declan from Midway Still for a chat before hitting the merch and heading out of the venue, which was cool. And then (!), wandering down the side of the venue to the tube, I spotted the You Am I guys hanging out behind a gated area, and got them to sign my set-list, also sharing anecdotes with affable drummer Rusty Hopkinson! A brilliant bookend to a fantastic night of rock, which made the hour tube ride back to the car fly by, and the 1.15 a.m. home time utterly worthwhile. I was a little late to the wild and wonderful world of The Replacements, bringing them into my musical fold after hearing Westerberg’s solo material in the 90’s, but I’m really glad I made the effort to catch them tonight. A couple of bands growing old disgracefully tonight, and for me there’s no other way to be. The epitome of rock’n’roll; thanks for the push Ed!

949 PITY SEX, The Death Of Pop, Bristol Louisiana, Wednesday 27th May 2015

A heady early Summer rush of gigs – up to 8 before the end of June, including a couple of big days out in London town! – starts tonight with a jaunt down to the Louisiana to see Ann Arbor, MI’s Pity Sex, a band whose name I can’t really decide whether I like or not (put it this way, as a dad of 2 inquisitive little kids I won’t be buying any t-shirts tonight!), but whose debut album, “Feast Of Love” has intrigued me with a mixture of lazy guitar groove, slightly submerged and mumbly vocals and post-grunge riffery. A very 90’s slacker/ shoegaze feel, but enjoyable to these ears, so I was up for some “live” Pity Sex!

 

I hit the road at 7.30, which normally pitches me up well in time for the Louisiana’s evening events; however, after I parked up in a tight squeeze on the “free” side of the road and wandered through the quiet pub, then shoehorned into this small and already packed upstairs bolt-hole, I realised openers Pushing Daisies, onstage, had actually just finished their last number. D’oh! Things were running early tonight; I should have taken the hint…

 

I guessed Pushing Daisies were local and had brought their mates, as the place was appreciably less packed for main support The Death Of Pop, who were given the, “away you go,” instruction by the soundman at 8.45. Their set eased in with an opening number which started off all resonant, jangly laze-pop, then morphed into a more shimmery, shoegaze wall-of-noise reminiscent of Ride’s early, slower moments. A promising start which continued with some faster-paced stuff, delving variously into C86 territory, jangle pop and psych-fuzz, with a strong sense of warm melody overlaid by very apposite echoey vocals and occasional shards of guitar noise. “Whenever” segued impressively into “I’m Really Into Sally”, and a final breathless and galloping number stretched out into a slashing riff-fest and final squalling cacophony of noise. An impressive set overall from this young support.

 

Nice chaps too – I took a wander back to the car between sets, and bought a CD and chatted Boo Radleys with them as they hung out by their transport (I’d spotted some similarities in their set to Martin Carr’s mob’s 90’s pre-Britpop psychedelic masterpiece “Giant Steps”, which the guitarist confirmed was one of his favourite CDs, remarking, “you’re the first one to have noticed that!”). I then wandered back upstairs 5 minutes before Pity Sex were due on, only to hear on my approach the opening bars to “Wind Up”, the lead-off song from the LP and this set! D’oh! Again! I hastily squeezed back in to a spot near the front, stage left, for the rest of this upbeat and dynamic Dinosaur Jr.-alike opener, noting the male/ female call and response vocals were more in evidence “live”. A good start!

 

Pity Sex numbers at this point are pretty much set to one of two speeds; a more upbeat, galloping groove typified by the opener, and a more slow-burn, lazy pace punctuated by big grungy riffery and higher octave vocals either from mainman Brennan Greaves (straining his vocals, often uncomfortably, in a similar vein to Mac from Superchunk) or the more ethereal and atonal sounding Britty Drake. The set chopped and changed between said 2 speeds, and was punctuated by some entertaining slacker chat from Brennan (remarking on his day with, “I had a nice nap in the van, drank some warm beers and had a walk by myself… aaand that’s my story…!”, and following Britty’s compliments of Bristol’s ambience with, “I saw a swan on a garbage barge – sleeping on another dead bird!”). The opener notwithstanding, I actually preferred the slower numbers on show tonight; “Sedated” was musically more stark and bare than most of their riff-loaded material, almost recalling Galaxie 500, and the penultimate “Dogwalk” was probably the most melodic number on show, a hooky and almost tender melody which drifted lazily along.

 

I grabbed an easy set-list following the conclusion of Pity Sex’s decent 40 minute set, which overall was high on mood and guitar vibe, with the slacker shoegaze grunge melting pot of guitar noise making up for their relative lack of memorable material at the moment. Definite promise tonight, though, from both bands on show, both of whom I hope to check out again to see said promise being realised. A good start!

948 FAMILIARS, Cirencester The Golden Cross, Sunday 3rd May 2015

Another (relatively) local one for a “2 gigs in 2 nights” double-header; this time being my first ever gig in nearby Cirencester, a sleepy market town about 10 miles North of the ‘don. My hosts for this venture into the unknown are Cirencester residents Familiars, who impressed me greatly with an understated yet dark and delicious set of keyboard-led rockist stuff and nonsense, in support of Faye Rogers’ White Lilac in February. I’d gotten wind of this one thanks to their Facebook event page, which also promised some new material, so I took a swift 20 minute drive up the A419 on a pre-Bank Holiday Sunday evening to check them out!

 

Got a little confused around the Cirencester one-way system, but parked up in Market Street, relatively unencumbered by other traffic – so far Ciren was living up to its’ “sleepy” reputation! This was underlined further as I found The Golden Cross down a pedestrian side street, inhabited by a dozen or so locals being assailed during their evening meals by Familiars’ soundcheck! I grabbed a chat with Familiars’ frontman and keyboardist Steve Skinley after they’d finished soundchecking, happily discovering somewhat of a kindred musical spirit with a shared musical heritage (Bunnymen, early Simple Minds, Throwing Muses, 80’s Bierkeller nights etc.). We also lamented the turnout tonight, which literally promised to be one man and his dog – the dog being a lolloping old golden Labrador who (I shit you not) actually wandered up onto the raised back-bar stage area a time or two during their set, and the man being me!

 

Nonetheless, I took a seat in front of the stage as Familiars eased into their opening set at 9, the chiming, elegiac opener “Landscapes” initially slow burn, Steve’s vocals low and mournful and again favourably recalling The National’s Matt Berninger, then the song picking up a head of steam, galloping into a more dramatic crescendo. Thus was and is the band’s modus operandi – dark evocative songs which more often than not are built around a repeating keyboard refrain, with a hint of underlying menace recalling open, windswept landscapes and dark threatening clouds, then building to impressive climaxes, more joyous and often anthemic in nature. A number of different threads and moving parts to the intelligent song construction as well; “Battle Stations” featured an almost “Terror Couple” Bauhaus opening drumbeat and some slashing, Wire-like fretwork from guitarist Rick Morton before the typically soaring chorus, and “Tooth And Claw” threw in some almost Summery C86 jangle amidst all the high drama. A real melting pot of disparate, often juxtaposed elements, yet working in perfect harmony, and I enjoyed them all!

 

And the man can sing – despite, like last night’s host Jim Kerr, suffering from flu after effects (at one point he asked me to grab him a brandy from the bar – “purely medicinal!”) – Steve Skinley’s voice was again a standout feature; haunting, sombre and mournful when required, mostly as their songs eased into life, but also soaring, the “whoa-oh” harmonies often driving the numbers along to their impressive finales. “Call To Arms” required a restart due to a swarm of angry bees infiltrating the monitors, but the subsequent, faster paced and rockier “Techa” had a “Pearl And Dean” style “ba-ba ba-ba” crescendo, which Steve happily acknowledged!

 

The band took a break after a fine 40 minutes opening set, and I joined Steve, Rick and bassist James Thring for some entertaining muso chat in the smoking yard before set 2, which was basically more of the same! Second number “Half Life” was a highlight with a fluctuating bassline courtesy of James, “Ticker Tape” almost ventured into Scott Walker territory with its’ rich balladry, then the final double whammy of the excellent, haunting “Ballyhoo” (“a sad song,” announced Steve) with its’ “Killian’s Red” keyboard riff, and “Bottleneck” (“a silly song to finish”) rounded off a consistently splendid and impressively committed performance from this intelligent band. Shame really, that there were so few people taking notice.

 

Some more rock’n’roll chat with my hosts, who were grateful for my support and attendance, before I reluctantly hit the road just after 11. I’ll be back for more Familiars though, and so should you!

 

947 SIMPLE MINDS, Swindon Oasis, Saturday 2nd May 2015

Simple Minds… at The Oasis? Simple Minds? Oh, go on then…!

Truth to tell, I would have been happy to leave Simple Minds be, following that brilliant Birmingham show in February 2012 (gig 845), part of their epic “5 X 5” tour whereby they revisited those halcyon early days and albums when they were cutting-edge sonic innovators, rather than the pot-rattling stadium bluster uber-bores they unfortunately metamorphosed into. Let’s face it, there’s no way they’d top a set which featured the likes of “Premonition”, “Factory”, “Chelsea Girl”, “70 Cities” et al (well, maybe if they decided to do “Real To Real Cacophony” and “Empires And Dance” start to finish on the same night…?). However, a gig at the Oasis, 10 minutes’ walk from my front door? OK, I’m game for that, happy to grit teeth through the post “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” muck for the Glittering Prize of some early material knowing it was a short walk home afterwards, and happy to shell out the steep – hell, make that vertical – £50 ticket price knowing there was no add-on petrol or car parking outlay!

Another added bonus for this evening was that my brother, who, despite having seen similar post-punk rockists turned flag-waving stadium filling tub-thumpers U2 over 100 times, had never seen Simple Minds before, was able to join me! So, after some Bobby’s chippy tea, we wandered over to the sparsely attended Oasis early doors (no sell-out, this), taking a wander down into the hall when it opened at 7, and sat in our centrally located seats, about 2/3rds back, chewing the cud whilst watching the hall fill up.

Wait, what? Seats? Oh yes. In their infinite wisdom, The Oasis had determined that tonight was a seated performance, the hall set up in temporary rows like a sales rep conference, a potential atmosphere killer. As the witching hour approached, and the audience of Saturday night couples and the long-standing faithful filed politely in, we reflected on this state of affairs. It just seemed… well, wrong, really…

Happily, we weren’t the only ones who thought that… As the lights dimmed at 8 following their stirring orchestral intro music and the band filed onstage, vocalist Jim Kerr, typically the last on, took to the mic and remarked, “a seated audience at a Simple Minds gig? It’s impossible to sit down at a Simple Minds gig – it’s like going to a party in Glasgow and wearing underwear; it just doesn’t happen!” That thankfully got the remaining seated audience members on their feet and immediately rocking to set opener, a rambunctious cover of sadly forgotten 80’s band The Call’s “Let The Day Begin”. Immediately Kerr was in stadium frontman mode, the archetypal audience mass communicator, all extravagant gestures and fulsome movements, exhorting the crowd to clap along. “There’s not too many places we come to for the first time,” he announced before the synth opening to the solid and rather good actually newie “Blindfolded”, getting the crowd onside further with a plangent early “Glittering Prize”.

Then… the unmistakeable staccato quickfire synth opening to the epic “I Travel”, easily Simple Minds’ finest hour and one of my favourite records ever to dance to, a thrilling krautrock rollercoaster ride through stark concrete 80’s European cityscapes. I gave it loads to this breathless and breathtaking rendition, arms flailing wildly about and knees taking a pounding to the pulsing beat, and shouting “keep going!” and “play it all night” when it sadly reached its’ all-too-soon fadeout conclusion. Following that, the subsequent “New Gold Dream” was, sadly, both tremendous and disappointing at the same time!

“Live Aid... Mandela Day... now Swindon on a Saturday night!” remarked the firmly tongue-in-cheek Kerr before a stripped back “American”, the acoustic treatment proving rather lovely, after which I took a seat for a couple of later numbers before getting up again for the synth pulse and snare snap of a splendid “Love Song”. The inevitable “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” rounded off set part one, Kerr oddly checking his watch and saying, “some of us have work tomorrow”, before thanking us, “for making us feel like rockstars” (odd, I’d not noticed anyone giving them cocaine and blowjobs, but still…).

 

After a short intermission, set part two was less remarkable; backing vocalist Sarah Brown took lead on the opening couple of tracks, with Kerr himself being more understated, more economical with his vocals, legacy of a recent bout of flu alluded to earlier, happier to allow the enthusiastic audience to backfill his vocal lines. Despite 2 starts (“2 screw ups!”), a haunting, expansive “Someone Somewhere In Summertime” was far and away set 2’s highlight, again evocative, plangent and magnificent.

An uneven but understandably very professionally delivered performance was capped with an odd, almost funky reading of The Doors’ “Riders On The Storm”, featuring 3-part lead vocals delivered by Kerr, Brown and keyboardist Catherine AD, before the closing “Alive And Kicking” saw me throw shapes in the aisle as if it were 1985 again. I grabbed the set-list from the obliging light-man before wandering off with Paul, reflecting on a set with many memorable moments amongst the stadium pop, most notably the brilliant “I Travel”, and in Jim Kerr a frontman who can still ignite a crowd despite advancing years and a recent flu bout. Worthwhile overall again, and better for Paul, who after wandering home with me to collect his motor, drove past the venue again and got selfies with guitarist Charlie Burchill and drummer Mel Gaynor (whose performance he’d been (positively) critiquing most of the evening). Lucky sod!

946 ADAM ANT, Shooze, Bristol The Marble Factory, Friday 10th April 2015

The undoubted Comeback Of The Decade continues… following my witnessing Adam Ant’s run-through of his debut album, the sleazy, sexy art-school punk rock masterpiece that is “Dirk Wears White Sox” at the Hammersmith Odeon on one of my best days in recent memory, last year’s Record Store Day (gig 913), Adam had undertaken 4 more performances at a sold-out Islington Assembly then decided to take the show out to the provinces! So, this being the best night of the tour for me, I grabbed tix toot sweet for another Adam Ant show, my 8^th (including his RSD acoustic performance at Rough Trade) in just shy of 4 years – well, I did say I’d be back whenever time and finances allowed!

Tired from a family day out, ironically in Bristol, and also suffering with a streaming cold and headache, there was nevertheless no way I was missing this one, so I dosed myself up with drugs them took a whip-fast early evening jaunt down the M4 into the blazing sunset, losing my way to this new venue around Temple Meads, then finding the road I needed was closed, and having to double back to get there! Eventually dumped the motor in a parking layby near this allegedly “new” venue, a scuzzy old run-down and low-rent warehouse effort which recalled the 80’s Sheffield Leadmill. Openers Shooze were already onstage, their unimpressive set including a couple of forgettable covers and some reggae-infused rock which actually recalled The Police at times, particularly in the vocalist’s Sting-like nasal lilt.

Their set meandered to an end at 8.30 with some better, rockier numbers, but we then had an interminable – and knee-numbing – hour-plus wait, thankfully enlivened by this knowledgeable crowd singing along to some punk classics over the PA, before Adam’s young backing band took the stage to the strains of Iggy’s “The Passenger”, at about 20 to 10. The dual drummers kicked in the solid drumbeat opening of “Cartrouble Part 1”, following by the distinctive bass refrain, then The Star appeared. As befitted his promise of “an evening of 100% British Leather Rock”, Adam was all bedecked in black leather, no concession to his later-period “pop” image (things looking up already!), with a natty straw boater atop his bandana-wrapped dome, as he yelped the song into life, immediately riveting, mobile and kinetic, performing the songs rather than just singing them, meaning it (maaaaan) from word one.

“Dirk”, having been further bedded in during the aforementioned Islington shows, was delivered with aplomb, the band tight and dynamic, rarely putting a note wrong, but still delivering the rock in raw, garage band style, befitting tonight’s surroundings. “Cartrouble Part 1” segued perfectly into “Part 2”, the brazen riff bursting into life, Adam’s flippant vocal a feature. “Day I Met God” was a boisterous, careering thrill-ride, then the stark “Tabletalk” was chilling, Adam’s repetition of the middle-8 hook “love love love love” echoing around the venue. The biker jacket was off for “Cleopatra”, then “Catholic Day” saw some distinctly un-PC but playful shotgun miming, before the singalong during the dramatic “Never Trust A Man (With Egg On His Face)” actually elicited tonight’s first, “thank you,” from Adam!

“The Idea”’s off-kilter funk groove brought “Dirk” to a close, after which we were left wondering how the rest of the set would shape up. Happily, having delved back in time for “Dirk”, Adam then went back even further in his Antmusic time machine, selecting approximately fuck-all songs from the “pop” years, dredging up some rarely heard but utterly unforgettable proto-punk Sexmusic gems. Also, following the grunge-sleaze of “Plastic Surgery” building to its’ frantic, frenetic finale, then the ringing chimes, driving power and war-chant yodelling of the brilliant “Beat My Guest”, we finally got the chatty Adam! Taciturn through “Dirk” (“less talk, more songs,” Adam offered by way of explanation), Adam now was voluble, cheeky and smutty, his charisma and humour shining. He introduced “Christian D’Or” with an ironic, “the next song means a great deal to me, as it’s such a sensitive lyric!”, fielded a bloke (!) shouting, “I love you!” with, “I love you too! Though not in a hippy way – fuck Woodstock… they were all eating each other after Hendrix had played!”, then introduced a brilliant and unexpected “Bathroom Function” with a slightly censored version of the story behind the song (“no names, no times, no places… her name was Sue!”). The rambunctious military march of “Deutscher Girls” was superb, all the more so for Adam proclaiming, “that one made the Top Ten and Pan’s People danced to it [on Top Of The Pops]! One of the highlights of my career!”

Set finale, “Lady” was introduced with a dismissal of “50 Shades Of Grey” (““Jubilee” was better! The lyrics to this [next] song are better!”), “Lady”’s “Carry On”-style playful smut segueing into a driven, dynamic “Fall In”, powering through to the end of a quite superb set. However, superb though that was, the encores even topped that; after thanking fans for picking up the Record Store Day re-release of “Dirk” and announcing that a gold-vinyl version of his breakthrough sophomore effort “Kings Of The Wild Frontier” is next up (full-LP gig/ tour as well, hopefully?), he then introduced said album’s title track as, “my favourite song,” and delivered it as such, the driving tribal drumbeats a base for Adam’s breathtaking performance, all the verve of a man less than half his age, his vocal dispatched with clear-eyed and purposeful intensity and conviction. That however was even topped by a brilliant, soaring “Zerox”, Adam bolting on a guitar to pick out the riff and his band powering through an utterly amazing version of Adam’s best number. “Physical” as ever brought the evening to a close, Adam ripping off his t-shirt and throwing it into the frenzied mosh in one final gesture of appreciation before exiting the stage, after another 1 ½ hour performance of complete and utter class.

I gathered my thoughts and a set-list, then hit the road after another vindication of Adam’s stature. This time we got the punk rock Adam as well; he’d whipped through “Dirk” then quipped through the rest, and in the process further cemented his place as a True Star Of Our Times. He’s 60 years old and “live” he’s still showing the rest how it’s done. Long may that continue!

945 THE VACCINES, All We Are, Fufanu, Bath Pavilion, Saturday 4 April 2015

I have Sarah Henderson to thank for this one... when indie pop pilferers and doubtless future (and before too long I’d guess) arena-fillers The Vaccines announced a mini tour of smallish (for them) venues, ostensibly to bed in material from forthcoming album “English Grafitti”, fangirl Rach looked into getting tix for this one, but they sold out in pretty short order. However, I was happy to relieve old Level 3 and facebook friend Sarah of her 2 tix, when she suddenly realised, after receiving them, that they were for a different night than the one for which she was available. Whoops… the lesson here, ladies and gentlemen, is…! Thus was an unexpected extra added to my Spring dance card, a chance to catch up with these fun but plagiaristic indie darlings to see if they’d written any songs of their own by now… (ouch!)

We had new babysitters tonight, in Rach’s work friend Laura and her fiancé Rob (thanks guys!), so we set off for a swift drive to this easy-to-find venue, finding ample parking in the cricket ground opposite and wandering into this large hall, as openers Fufanu kicked off their early set. An Icelandic lot, apparently, they regaled us with a doomy brand of droney pseudo-80’s post punk gothy rock, which normally would have been right in my Bunnyman/ Joy Division-inhabited wheelhouse were it not for the fact it was suffocatingly and somewhat ham-fistedly delivered, and the last number’s vocals seemed incredibly out of key. However after 1 ½ numbers of main support All We Are, we were wishing for Fufanu back, as the female fronted 3-piece AWA were excruciatingly godawful; their opener was the kind of piss-weak insipid white boy jazz funk which I rather hoped had gone out of fashion with The Style Council, then they went downhill from there, by which time we were in the bar trying in vain to escape their irritating noise, particularly the blonde vocalist, who sang as if she was wearing knickers 10 sizes too small for her!

Thankfully it eventually abated, so we found a good viewing spot stage left for The Vaccines arrival to an enthusiastic welcome from their keyed up and ready to rock young massive. Straight into tubthumping, roustabout opener “Teenage Icon” and revealing their 2 key influences from the outset in the couplet, “I’m no Frankie Avalon, I’m nobody’s hero…” 50’s embryonic rock’n’roll and 70’s post-punk new wave are stamped through The Vaccines work as through a stick of rock, with the gloriously dumb Ramones-like singalong punk of “Wreckin’ Bar” underlining this, and guitarist Freddie’s sleazy Cramps-like fretwork on the subsequent “Ghost Town” providing the punctuation point. Not that their young audience were playing “spot the influence” with this old muso… they were too busy moshing, raising the roof raucously singing along to The Vaccines’ easy and catchy hooks, and generally immersing themselves in a rocking good time.

As expected, a sprinking of newies punctuated the set, although only the hooky “Handsome” impressed; I found “Dream Lover” an unexpectedly jarring slow-burn glam sleaze with a Billy Idol-esque chorus, and “Want You So Bad” was a disappointingly incongruous slowie. No matter, there were still high spots aplenty in the older material; “Wetsuit” saw a mass singalong to this Buddy Holly doo-wop ballad, the mid-set double of the excellent, galloping “All In White” (which saw vocalist Justin abandon the mic for the crowd to fill in) and the haunting “Melody Calling” (“a golden oldie… from 2013,” introduced Justin) was a splendid mid-set double whammy, and the elongated, pounding intro to their best number, the penultimate “If You Wanna”, saw the crowd go even more batshit crazy, if at all possible.

The one hour set was capped by a 3-song encore featuring a bouncy “Norgaard”, after which the boys took a served bow; they’d put in a good shift tonight and left all their sweat and effort onstage, particularly Justin, who’s evolving ever more into a pretty decent singer and stadium-friendly frontman. A persistent but patient wait got me a set-list too, then off we went, with egress proving as easy as access, after a fine gig overall. So OK, they’re still not the most cutting-edge original band in the world, but there are plenty of other bands at a similar elevated level of popularity who are considerably less deserving of said status than this lot, who at least deliver an inclusive, effervescent and fun brand of catchy indie pop to their young audience. More power to ‘em, really. And thanks again Sarah for the tix!