1,144 INDOOR PETS, St. Agnes, London Chiswick Metropolis Studios, Monday 24th June 2019

Happy Birthday to me! And on my birthday I’m always up for a gig, particularly if it’s a) by one of my favourite new bands, the spiky, spunky spritely young powerpop bucks Indoor Pets, and b) it’s free! I didn’t know what I was signing up for tonight, however; Indoor Pets announced on their Facebook page that they’d be “recording a live session” at Metropolis Studios in Chiswick, and tickets to come and watch were free but incredibly limited… so I put my name down, thinking it might be a gig, it might be watching a recording studio sesh, who knows? Either way, it’d be a fun thing to do on my birthday!

One of the nice things my company does is to give everyone their birthday off work, so this trip plan was expanded to do some shopping oop t’Smoke! So, after a morning taking Kasey around a prospective Senior School and an impromptu trip into town to buy a new phone, to replace my old handset which took a swim in the cinema loo at the weekend (!), I set off about 1ish, parking up at Osterley and tubing it to Notting Hill, then hitting the book, comic and record exchanges. Eventually tubed it back over to Chiswick (the right side of town for a gig as well!), found the venue and loitered in the vicinity before they let us in at 7. The audience were ushered to the upstairs bar and I found a comfy sofa to sit on and work out my new phone’s inner machinations, before we were then all ushered back downstairs to a small, wood-lined and very pink-lit studio, with a stage set-up at the far end. Ah, so it is a gig, then…

I’d actually bumped into IP bassist Olly in the bar upstairs who primed me on the running order, so before da Pets were due on at 9, we had another session from St. Agnes, who kicked into gear at 8. Unfortunately, they were awful; clumsy and ham-fisted gothy hard rock straight from the Almighty school of heavy-handed rawwwwwwk riffery, with a screaming goth female vocalist who seemed to think feigning orgasm sounds is still “rock’n’roll” in 2019. And I do actually like my goth, me – I was hunting around for a Virgin Prunes 12” in Notting Hill earlier – but this was just dated, turgid, lumpen and really heavy going, with lyrical couplets such as “death or glory, I don’t really care”… I endured a couple of numbers before retreating to my comfy sofa, where unfortunately they were still audible, albeit quieter!

Took a wander back down as St. Agnes finished their crushingly loud final number, and the “rock” half of the crowd filed out. This left the tiny room happily less crowded but still stiflingly hot, as Indoor Pets set up. Just after 9 we were good to go, though, and the boys took the stage, crashing into a noisy instrumental opener before helium-voiced gabbling motormouth vocalist Jamie Glass kicked in with the opening lines to the bouncy, buoyant “Cutie Pie, I’m Bloated”, kicking off a soaring rambunctious rendition and eliciting lots of jumping about – both onstage and off!

Indoor Pets were once again in rare form tonight, an onstage whirl of energy, angular shapes, rubber-kneed bounce and swirling hair, particularly from Olly and guitarist Rob. Jamie was his usual effervescent self, quipping, “thanks for coming down! We’re worth every penny of the ticket price!” before the flippant slow grunge of “Couch”, which for me recalled the sardonic sparkle of Glitterbox (remember them?). “Teriyaki” was terrific, off-kilter, fast and frantic, before the sweaty vocalist (suffering with his glasses steaming up throughout) asked, “who’s on the water?” prompting the roadies to hand out bottles to the melting front rows. Once again the new album material showed up well, the likes of “Heavy Thoughts” in particular soaring, anthemic and hooky, yet my highlights were the final 2 numbers; “Barbiturates”, as bitter, biting and yet bouncy as ever, and a frenzied, moshpit-inducing “Pro Procrastinator”, which closed out this 40 minute vignette. “You’re so kind!” remarked Jamie, “I think you’d have paid for a ticket!” Maybe, just maybe, we would have…!

A quick chat with Rob before I wished him and the boys well on their Weezer Brixton Academy support slot this weekend, and headed off, unfortunately having a 20 minute wait for my tube before getting back to the motor, a swift rant down the M4 getting me home at 12.30 before I nodded off! Nonetheless, a fine way to spend my 27^th (twice!) birthday, with a band who (finally) seem to be going places – Indoor Pets!

1,142 GAZ BROOKFIELD, Simon Hall; 1143 RAZE*REBUILD, Swindon Beehive; Swindon Regent, Friday 21st June 2019

What had threatened to be a rather unfortunate gig clash – and indeed, earlier in the evening, a medical emergency-induced double blowout – turned into a quite splendid raucous 2 gig night out in the ‘don! I’d long penned local blue-collar rock faves Raze*Rebuild’s 2019 debut into my Spring Dance Card, tonight’s show at The Regent serving as both Shuffle warm-up and a celebratory performance for Regent (and former Castle) landlady Audrey’s birthday; however, acoustic folk/punk guitar basher and gig regular Gaz Brookfield then announced an impromptu solo performance at The Beehive – for the same night! To make matters worse, said gig was going to be part-recorded for a mob singalong to feature on his new album! Bugger! Heavy of heart, I decided to stick to my initial plan and go see Raze, but call at The Beehive first – where Raze frontman Si Hall was pulling a double shift of his own tonight, doing an acoustic solo support slot for Gaz – and tender my apologies to the man, maybe catch some of his set before legging it up the hill to The Regent if timings were favourable. You never know…!

But then the medical emergency; earlier in the week I’d been prescribed Beta-blockers to start to address a long-standing (and hereditary) atrial fibrillation issue, but I’d reacted badly to them, suffering with shortness of breath. In fact, after my leisurely cycle commute home Friday evening, I was gasping like a guppy fish on dry land, and in need of medical advice. Thus, I was frustratingly sat in an out-of-hours Doc’s surgery at 8.15, calming my breathing down but increasing my blood pressure at possibly missing out on tonight’s shenanigans! An all-clear (and chuck the damn Beta-blockers away!) from the doc later, I drove swiftly up the hill, hitting a well-attended Beehive to catch the last 3 numbers of Si’s set. “Kat I’m Sorry” sounded as impassioned as ever, Si warming up his larynx for later, an acoustic “Back To The Fall” nonetheless went well (“I wasn’t sure how that would go!” confessed Si), and “Sand In The Petrol” (“a sad slow one to end on a high note!”) rounded off a fine and well observed, if slightly reined-in set, Si thanking all and sundry for being so attentive!

I passed on my apologies to a magnanimous and understanding Gaz, also informing him of Logan’s mention of him on our recent “Dinosaur To Junior” appearance on Steve Lamacq’s Radio 6 show. Si advised Raze were due on about 10, which happily gave me about ½ hour of the Brookfield, so I stuck around, chilling outside with Ady then popping in for Gaz’ set at 9.30. A fun newie to start, featuring some wordy interplay about writing new songs, ironically enough, then we were straight into the likes of “Diabetes Blues”, “Gunner Haines” and “Under The Table”, to a loud reception from the raucous crowd, who to Gaz’ obvious delight, sang along to pretty much everything. No fool Gaz; he’d clearly thought this through and picked a set of well-known, roof-raising singalong bangers to really warm the crowd’s collective larynx in advance of the mob singalong. In good fooling too, the man; “Haines” was introduced with a quip of, “a song about a dead soldier – keeping it light!”, “So Very Rock And Roll” was, in Gaz’ words, “what its’ really like to be a professional musician – “professional musician”, hah! Both of those words are a lie!”, and a punky “I’ve Paid My Money” allegedly had it’s first 2 verses, “written by pricks!”

“Maps”, oddly enough, was a stand-out, things getting weird as the audience kept calling out the title, so by the later “Be The Bigger Man”, the audience were in clear party spirits.

(Me too – by this time I’d excused myself at 10, but a swift wander up The Regent revealed things running very late, openers Flour Babies having just started their set! Thus buoyed, I popped back down The Beehive for the rest of Gaz!)

So I was happily there for the recording; a couple of runs through “Great Minds Drink Alike”, Gaz performing it off-mic in the middle of the crowd, with everyone giving it their roof-raising lustiest best voices. So it seems that, along with a few dozen other loud punters, I’m on the next Gaz Brookfield album. Great stuff! Gaz broke out the Whitney Houston cover after that, which was a fortuitous time to head up the hill, where Raze*Rebuild were plugging in and getting ready for launch at 11. Good timing!

Due to my medical issues earlier, I was strictly instructed not to dance, but I nonetheless took my usual front row spot for Raze’s opener “Burden Of Youth”, being joined by Ady and also old mates Avril and Ingrid, out on a girly night and clearly, erm, well-refreshed…! “Burden” was a rampaging opener setting the stall out for the set, Si clearly saving his roar for this one, and an almost jolly “Face For Radio” followed, a few folks dancing along and myself obeying doctors orders, contenting myself with a gentle sway… Damn shame, as this was pretty much a totally incendiary set – in fact, I’m sure that if you looked up the word “incendiary” in the Oxford English Dictionary of Rock, there’d be a pic of Si in full flow, lionesque roar and bulging neck veins, backed up by Matt intricately picking the riffery, Paj head bobbing in time to the bass, and Jamie pounding furiously away at the back. Another clear masterclass in what makes “live” rock’n’roll such an inclusive, visceral experience; again, by no means note-perfect or technically spot-on, but raw-boned, raggedy-arsed, sweaty and hellishly awesome. The rampant “New Leaf” got me a namecheck, “Sand In The Petrol” was honest and impassioned (for the second time tonight!) and “Troubled Minds” was a brilliant punky blast.

“This has gone way better than I thought!” gasped Si at the encore; “set the bar low and you can’t fail to be impressed!” as they launched into closer “Back To The Fall”. Another great, rocking set from the Raze; they’re well warmed up for The Shuffle, I’d say, and hopefully I’ll have my dancing shorts back on then and will be able to do them justice…

Chats with friends and the Raze boys afterwards – I think they appreciated my mentioning them on Lamacq’s show, which was nice – then a wander back to the car via The Beehive for a quick word with Gaz; and an almost London-late 12.45 home time… good thing it’s Friday night! So, another slap in the face for anyone who says nothing happens in Swindon; this was a great double-header out in the ‘don!

1,141 THE PETE WYLIE SHOW, Birmingham O2 Academy 3, Friday 7th June 2019

Ridiculously, given that his debut Wah! Heat… album “Nah=Poo; The Art Of Bluff” was part of my teenage voyage of post-punk discovery in the early 80’s, tonight marked the first time I’d ever seen Pete Wylie “live” in his own right… Wylie was the self-confessed maverick motormouth and self-publicist from that amazingly fertile Eric’s/ Liverpool post-punk scene, the least prolific of the “Crucial Three” triumvirate which included Julian Cope and the Bunnymen’s Ian McCulloch yet arguably the most commercially successful, with the anthemic earworm likes of “Come Back”, “Sinful” and particularly “The Story Of The Blues” bothering the upper reaches of the singles charts in the 80’s. Seemingly also the most gig-shy as well; I’d only seen him once before, with Dead Men Walking at Swindon Arts Centre in 2001 (gig 535), an Oxford gig on a recent tour having been cancelled after I’d gotten tix (bah!), so when facebook friend Russ advertised a spare ticket for this Birmingham show, I quickly took it up, relishing the chance to right both an ancient and recent wrong!

Made arrangements to meet up with Russ and hit the road straight from work at 4, only to get a call from the man to advise that a family emergency would preclude his attendance. Russ kindly pdf’ed me over the tickets and I parked up in my pre-booked Horsefair car park slot after a difficult Friday night traffic-affected drive up, thence needing a run into New Street station to find a loo! Wandered into the Academy 3; the smallest of this complex of venues, this was a tiny 250-capacity ground floor room, deserted early doors whilst a couple of blokes were feverishly working on a fairly elaborate stage set-up – a gazebo frame with banners, twinkling lights and “Pete Sounds” t-shirts suspended from it! The man himself emerged to briefly oversee events, evoking memories of that time Wayne Coyne got handy with a spanner to set up The Flaming Lips’ gong in Oxford on that Mercury Rev support tour (gig 405). Sat and watched the place (very) slowly fill up until a loo trip predictably saw me lose my seat, so took a wander down the front instead.

At 8.30 prompt, Wylie’ young sidekick Anders took the stage and switched on a rocking rhythm on a PC, then Wylie emerged, rounded and resplendent in black, topped with a red scarf, quipping immediately about his wingman; “I booked a tour and he booked a holiday! We’re lucky to have him [tonight] – next week I’ll be pushing my own buttons!”, then, in response to some good-natured heckling, Wylie evoked Liverpool’s recent Champion’s League win and laid into his host city’s football clubs, “we’ve only got one shit team in our town!”

It became immediately apparent that I’d need to quickly remove the stick from my ass about “taped” performances; I have a real problem with that, dating back to that execrable PWEI Reading 1991 performance (gig 191), and even recently laid into a support act who used pre-recordings, dismissing them as “goth karaoke”. Yet here was one of my post-punk icons only playing guitar “live”, and using bass and drum pre-recordings… Wylie however made the point that this would be the only way he could perform “live” (“I don’t know any Liverpool musicians anymore, and I can’t afford musicians not from Liverpool!”), confirmed that he’d played all the recordings himself, then announced; “hope you enjoy it – and if you don’t – fuck off!” Fair enough then! He kicked off with newie “I Still Believe”, a big heroic flag waver and almost a companion piece to Frank Turner’s song of the same name, equally as impassioned and topical, and featuring a lyric “it makes no difference if you disagree, ‘cos I’m taking ‘bout me, yeah, I’m talking ‘bout me” which may as well have been a metaphor for the whole night!

Tonight was indeed an astonishing insight into Wylie the musician and Wylie the man; musically this was a supreme performance, the likes of “Fourelevenfortyfour” and “Sinful” anthemic singalong highlights of the opening set, standing proud next to an acerbic yet utterly joyful “The Day That Margaret Thatcher Died”. The between song banter was equally as memorable, veering from disarmingly honest (“I’ve had a brilliant 20 year career – over 40 years” and “I’ve had mental health battles – they’re mostly skirmishes now”) to side-achingly funny (commenting on the rainy journey down, “at one point we saw a dolphin get run over,” and elaborating on his early 90’s health issues with, “I broke my back in 1991 and was gutted as I couldn’t die like a Rockstar! I’d have been rich – dead but rich…!”) yet the love of music ran through his core like a stick of rock (“music saved my life – and nearly killed me too – it’s a trade-off!”). Plenty of time too, to celebrate those who walked alongside him on the journey, including a couple of numbers poignantly dedicated to old partner Josie Jones, lost 3 years ago.

A short pause followed a 1 hour 10 opening set, the second set opening fittingly with “Come Back”, probably my highlight of a night of so many – epic, widescreen and soaring doesn’t start to do it justice… newie “People (The Rise Of Dunning-Kruger)” had an explanatory preamble (Dunning-Kruger apparently being a theory about stupid people being too stupid to realise how stupid they’re being – plenty of them in the world right now!) before Wylie introduced the song itself as his take on an anti-racist song in the style of the Beach Boys! He bolted on a fat acoustic for a genuinely affecting “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory” before ranting through a dark, dramatic and punky “Seven Minutes To Midnight”, sideswiping the idiot Number 45 in the process. Ultimately, the inevitable “Story Of The Blues” finished off an amazing 2 hour+ performance, Wylie leaving us with fulsome compliments – “I fucking love it here; it’s not true what they say!” before returning for the “Blues Reprise” after the lights had come on, leaving us with the salient comments of, “there’s no fake news, there’s just lies!” and “we’re gonna win – because we’ve gotta win – for the future!”. The man cares. Deeply. Still. Just… wow.

And an exemplary evening was capped by a pic and quick words with the great man, before an equally difficult squally rain-affected run home. Despite the tapes, this was stunning stuff from a captivating singer, raconteur and performer with charisma and chutzpah to throw away. Tonight it was a privilege to see him finally perform, after so many years, and hopefully this first time won’t be the last time!

1,140 EX HEX, Rattle, Bristol Exchange, Monday 27th May 2019

There seems to be quite a lot of all-female, or female fronted, bands or acts popping up on my Spring Dance Card this year… maybe I’m turning into my occasional gigging buddy “Beef” on the quiet! Anyway, here’s another distaff ensemble, namely Washington DC’s punky power trio ex Hex, who burst into my sightline with their splendid 2015 debut “Rips”, a collection of proto-punky riffery and New Wave harmonies that sounded as if it stepped out of Max’s Kansas City circa 1977. A couple of fine upbeat gigs around that time cemented Mary Timony’s latest project as a “live” staple for me, so I picked up a ticket for this Bank Holiday Monday gig when announced, following it up with new album “It’s Real”, which honestly lacks the immediacy of its’ predecessor, the tracks in general slower-burn, longer, and veering a little uncomfortably towards a more 80’s hair metal and occasionally AOR vibe. Not yet great then, so I was hoping that some of the effervescent buoyancy and fun of the live Ex Hex experience might elevate these numbers somewhat. Here’s hoping…

So I set off at 7.15 for a swift blast down a quiet Bank Holiday M4 (I wouldn’t say “reluctantly”, but certainly I felt less of the stomach-knotting excitement and anticipation that normally accompanies me along to gigs), parking up usual spot and hitting the very quiet-early-doors venue just after 8. Whiled away some time on my phone, in FB correspondence with my brother – earlier today I’d unearthed a copy on Flickr of a letter I wrote to “Smash Hits” as an indignant 15-year old, vehemently defending my then favourite band The Skids against accusations of poseurism! Said banter was certainly more fun than the support Rattle, a female drum duo – yup, that’s right… drum duo… They pounded out 3 numbers over their ½ hour slot, caterwauling over the 15-minute first, ooh-oohing over the thankfully shorter second, but when they announced their third number as, “one last one, but it’s long, so brace yourselves…” I got the hell out of dodge, continuing my FB chat from the safety of the bar, away from the efforts of Rattle… And Drum! (Groan…)

Hopefully from the ridiculous to the sublime – or at least musical… I grabbed a second row spot, house right, as the place filled up to a respectable level and the girls, in matching New Wave chic and spray-on jeans, set up. They took the stage at 9.15 to little fuss or fanfare, Mary Timony announcing, “what’s up? We’re Ex Hex from Washington DC!” and leading her charges into oldie opener “You Fell Apart”, all snappy, sassy, snazzy and singalong.

Sonically, the set unfolded as I expected; the girls interspersed new material in with old, the older proving generally more melodic, shorter, snappier, faster, punkier, more immediate and singalong than the newer stuff. “How You Got That Girl” oozed with Mink DeVille late 70’s insouciant NYC cool, “Beast” was superbly energetic, guitarist Betsy joyfully high-kicking her way through its’ denouement, and “Don’t Wanna Lose” was probably my set highlight, all slashing riffery and groovy, flippant chorus. By contrast, some of the newer numbers felt overlong and a little drab in comparison, “Another Dimension” in particular skirting uncomfortably close to that 80’s hair metal sound with some over-fussy middle-8 licks. However, the girls’ energetic and kinetic performance made up for the lesser quality of the new songs, Betsy and Mary swapping rock poses and often interlocking legs whilst riffing off each other, the addition of a “live” bassist freeing Betsy up to throw rock riff shapes and revisit “the leg”, our favourite Betsy pose from their last “live” go-around. They were clearly enjoying themselves, and honestly, so was I!

A swift 45 minute set was topped by the groovy “Radio On” and a splendid, Velvet Underground-esque “Hot And Cold”, the latter also borrowing elements of that classic Knack “My Sharona” middle-8 riff. At a shade under an hour, this was short but sweet, the band overall rising above their not-so-great recent material to deliver a fine showing overall. No list for me tonight though, as the devoted front rows beat me to it. Nonetheless, a quick chat with the sound guy – none other than Tim from The Woahnows! – on the way out was a nice way to end a fun night with the Ex Hex girls. I was looking for effervescence and energy – girls, you delivered!

1,139 CHAMELEONSVOX, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Thursday 23rd May 2019

The second of two in two nights for me, and whilst last night’s Juliana Hatfield gig may have been full of doubts (both before and after!), tonight’s hosts were pretty much the nearest you can get to a nailed-on Sure Thing “live” these days; the one and only Chameleons Vox! Barely 3 years since my post-redundancy voyage of 80’s musical discovery unearthed for me this ruffian band of epic goth-tinged post-punker Mancunians, but this would be my 5^th time seeing them “live” since then; making up for lost time indeed! An added bonus this time however was that this Gloucester gig would be a run-through of their third album “Strange Times”; their third and arguably most epic, sweeping and-anthemic sounding collection. Released in 1986 to a divided UK, with the South bathing in yuppie affluence yet the North still reeling from the after-effects of the bitter Miner’s Strike (strange times, indeed), it reflected the fear and doubt of those times, all moody melody and bleak intensity, yet also managed to sound joyful and euphoric at the same time. A great, great body of work, and (again) one that I should have held dear for 33 years, rather than just 3!

Ok, enough of the self-flagellation; another benefit of this Gloucester gig was that I finally get to hang out with a kindred spirit and likely my blog’s biggest fan; I’d been receiving favourable comments from a certain Cerebus660 pretty much since I set up my gig blog, finally getting to meet him at the Skids Guildhall gig earlier this year (gig 1,124)!. Simon (his real non-comic aardvark-related name) and I arranged to meet up for this one; he, like me, had allowed The Chameleons to pass him by somewhat back in the day, but some revisiting on my recommendation was enough to sway the man into joining me tonight! A quick drive up and parking in my usual free spot saw me hit the venue at 7.30; Simon joined me shortly after and we enjoyed a lengthy chat, discovering much common ground – comics as well as music, and even a difficult illness in our medical pasts; almost lives lived in parallel, 40 miles apart…! Kate and neighbour George joined us briefly as well, before we headed into this old school hall venue. Another fairly quiet one tonight, with the hall probably only 2/3rds full of the devoted church of the Chameleons, but hey, I’d go for knowledge over numbers any day of the week…!

With very little fanfare, the trenchcoated and monolithic Mark Burgess led his charges onstage dead on 9, announcing the run-through of “Strange Times” then remarking that in “honour” of the idiot incumbent in the White House, the opener would be re-christened “Mad Trump”! Of course, this found favour with this crowd, as did the rendition; as ever with this band the version was faithful yet epic, again a little slower than the breathless gallop on record, setting the tone for the performance. “Caution”, next up, was eerie, undulating and superbly widescreen, with guitarist Neil Dwerryhouse’s virtuoso picking a feature, the band already weaving the kind of taut, moody atmospherics that gained them such a devoted following (and, conversely, catapulted U2 to stadium status at the same time…!). The slow-burn “Tears” featured Korg synth embellishments from a mystery 5^th member, replacing the shimmering acoustic strum-along base of the recorded version, but an elongated “Soul In Isolation” was the first real skyscraping highlight from a set full of them; the complex drum pattern lurching the song into staggering life, before the clouds broke and the song really took flight, Burgess using its’ rhythmic middle 8 section to deliver some serious messages (“60% of the species on this planet have become extinct in the last 20 years!”) as well as throwing in the likes of “The End” (“all our leaders are insane!”), Bowie’s “Be My Wife” and various Beatles numbers for added emphasis. Utterly magnificent.

Photo courtesy of Cerebus660. Nice one Simon!

Burgess was again in rare form, the voice authoritative and commanding, and his band backed him up with another display of haunting, shimmering and plangent brilliance. “Time” and “In Answer” were both serious rockers, surprisingly hard-edged, yet the intervening “Seriocity” was simply gorgeous, proving this band have a lightness and deftness of touch when required. All too soon the almost angelic instrumental coda of “I’ll Remember” ended the “Strange Times” run-through, Burgess leading the band off after a quite magnificent hour. After a short interval, Burgess returned, canvassing the crowd for requests before a galloping “Paradiso” and an elongated “Second Skin”, which almost matched “Soul” for its epic scope, the crowd lustily providing “woah-oh” backing vocals from the off; then “Nostalgia” closed out another superb Chameleons set.

I thought I’d lucked out on a set-list when the roadie collected them all up during the brief interval; however, we stopped for merch on the way out and I was happily offered the one just lying there on the merch table! Had a quick drink with Simon to compare notes on the gig before taking my leave and blasting home down a pitch-black A419. Great company and one hell of a gig from as good a band as there is “live” right now. I’m still making up for lost time, but on this form I won’t ever miss a chance to see ChameleonsVox!

1,138 THE JULIANA HATFIELD THREE, SHE MAKES WAR, Bristol Thekla, Wednesday 22nd May 2019

Well, this girl had well and truly put me in my place last time out; Juliana Hatfield was pretty much the one outlier in a stacked Boston Rock wet dream line-up at the ACLU Benefit Show at the Paradise 2 years ago (gig 1,028), the one act I’d not been keeping up with and the one I wasn’t relishing. However, backed by The Gravel Pit rhythm section of Valauskas and Caldes, she’d put on a tough and acerbic set of upbeat college rock, prompting me (also at EdV’s insistence, he having been involved heavily in it) to pick up her 2016 album “Pussycat”. A similarly tough and acerbic listen, a certain incumbent of a certain White House particularly looming large in Jools’ lyrical crosshairs, it certainly did enough to put la Hatfield back onto my radar. I did actually think twice about this Thekla show when it was announced, an early stop-off on a rare jaunt around the UK, but the early addition of Bristol fave She Makes War swayed me into booking a ticket for this one. An added attraction was that this was the original Three – a quick message to EdV confirmed that it would be the same line-up who scribbled over my set-list back at the Windsor Old Trout in December 1992 (gig 227)!

Fellow post-grunge US rock acolyte and Level 3 casualty Rich Carter was up for this, so I picked the man up for a swift drive down, cutting across town to avoid Bristol’s one-way silliness and parking up at 7.15, shortly after doors. We ran into Laura, AKA She Makes War, striding purposefully down the corridor and asked her when she was on – “now!” came the hasty reply, and, sure enough, Laura and her 2-piece backing band were ready for the off at 7.20. Quipping, “is there anyone out there?” to the sparse early crowd, she kicked off with the splendidly menacing growl of “Drown Me Out”, thence apologising for doing that song on a boat! Sipping from a mug of tea and making quips about the early start (“thanks for coming out at teatime!”), she was in relaxed fooling, delivering a fine set of US alt-rock-tinged tuneage. The undulating “Cold Shoulder”, a vocal-looped acapella “Delete Myself” (I’m not usually a fan of the dreaded loops, but she used them here with some style) and a quieter, almost pastoral dreampop “Slow Puncture” were highlights, before the brash, Pixies-ish hobnail boot-stomp of “Devastate Me” and the excellent, post-grunge change-of-pace of “Love This Body” completed a splendid 40 minutes. In between, Laura gushed fulsomely about tonight’s headliner (“I wouldn’t be the musician I am if not for [Juliana]”), but in doing so, set a very high performance bar for her mentor.

Had a nice chat with Laura during the interval as the place filled up. However it was probably still only half full at showtime, and I grabbed an easy spot against the stage, house right, while Mr. Carter hung back – not a front row boy! Spot on 9.30, Juliana and her 4-piece Three (augmented by an extra touring guitarist) took the stage, Juliana inquiring whether it was her first time ever in Bristol (2^nd, replied a punter), then leading the refrain into her best-known number, “Everybody Loves Me But You”, a still corking little tune. A good start…

I need to say this from the off; I enjoyed this gig. I really did. Even given a Pit-augmented strong showing last time out, I had reservations about tonight, but overall this was better than anticipated. The original rhythm section rolled back the years with a superb, strong and forceful performance, drummer Todd Fisher holding his sticks aloft Neil Peart-like throughout the set, and bassist Dean Fisher (more on him later) belying his Bob Mould-like white cropped beard and general geography teacher look with an energetic performance. The set itself was a well-chosen career-spanning retrospective, with lots of delving back into that 90’s era when Juliana was the post-grunge College Pop Ice Queen pin-up, although I doubt whether many of the audience would have been familiar with the many “Pussycat” cuts, but anyway… Juliana, however, seemed again a little distracted at times (I’m going to be kind and say, actually, that’s probably just her…), and on occasions her fragile, little girl lost voice turned into “little girl lost in the mix”, and also sounded strained, particularly through the higher octaves. Her stage persona was a little odd as well, Juliana on one occasion urging the disappointingly static half-full Thekla crowd to, “stop staring at me!”, then later rambling confusingly about their hushed attentiveness. All a bit bizarre at times then, and it felt to me like that 2011 Portsmouth Lemonheads gig (gig 834), when her male counterpart Evan Dando (cliché to say so, I know, but hey, when you hear clip clops, you’ve gotta say “horse”, right?) put in a similarly uneven performance and was similarly often carried by their rhythm section (The Hi-Fi boys in Evan’s case).

Lots of good bits, though, so let’s focus on those; “Wonder Why” was a lovely slow-burn grungy number with gorgeous yearning vocals, probably Juliana’s best vocal of the night; “Going Blonde”’s racy galloping college pop featured some excellent stickwork from Todd; the glam stomp of “Rhinoceros” was a full-bore anti-Trump blast with a great, upbeat hooky chorus, and the 80’s cheesy hit “(Let’s Get) Physical” from her recent Olivia Newton John covers album sounded rough, tough and… well, physical…! During this one, bassist Dean Fisher caught my eye and complimented my Gravel Pit tee-shirt, so I flashed him the TGP tattoo to his general hilarity. Nice to see that’s still getting attention! The tense and taut “Nirvana” closed out an uneven but overall entertaining rhythm-powered set, with the excellent punky “What A Life” the highlight of the 2 encores.

Grabbed an unpacking Mr. Fisher at the end; I’d originally swiped Dean’s set-list at set-end, only to be asked by the bassist to put it back! However, he then kicked it over to me midway through “What A Life”, so I thought it only fair that he sign it afterwards (and get the rest of the band to do so!)! The affable bassist admitted he didn’t know how to react upon seeing my TGP tattoo (!) and we shared a brief chat about Boston rock, Dean sharing my incredulity that The Sheila Divine aren’t massive, and also enjoying (then showing his bandmates!) my phone pic of that Old Trout set-list, before I was unceremoniously moved along by an overzealous security guard. Lovely to chat with him, and also lovely – albeit equally brief – to chat with Stacee, who I met at that ACLU show 2 years ago, and who was on this tour in a photographer capacity.

The chat with Rich on the drive home revealed he felt similarly about the set, commenting that this would be a really difficult review to write (it was!). So overall another Curate’s Egg of a set – I’m getting a bit tired of using that phrase for my veteran Boston chanteuses, but I’ve got to call it like I see it. Fun but flawed (or flawed but fun…!), but hey, I’m still keeping faith with Juliana!

1,137 HONEYBLOOD, Feet, Southampton Joiner.s Arms, Saturday 11th May 2019

The last of 3 gigs in 3 different towns over 4 nights was a Saturday evening jaunt down the South Coast to likely my favourite venue, the splendidly scuzzy Joiner’s Arms, to catch up again with Scots indie combo Honeyblood. Just over 2 years since my only previous experience, and it had been an eventful time for them; the previous 2-piece had reduced to a 1-piece (!) consisting of just vocalist/guitarist/songwriter Stina Tweeddale, yet she’d soldiered on with her now-solo project, recording a new album “In Plain Sight” for 2019. A slight disappointment was that the scheduled release date was for the end of May, after most of the tour had concluded, but I was happy to trust in Stina’s effervescent song-writing talent and go for this gig anyway!

Fellow Honeyblood fan Rich Carter actually booked a ticket this time, but had to blow out as it was his wedding anniversary. T’uh, excuses, excuses…! Stuart was at a loose end (whilst waiting to pick his wife up from Heathrow in the small hours!) so happily took up the offer of a free ticket, and a sunny drive down the A34. We made such good time that we parked up almost directly outside the venue before the 8pm “free” parking started, so lurked by the motor until the legal hour before hitting the dark and dry ice-enveloped classic old “L”-shaped back room, already busy early doors with a high amount of female gig-goers. Good! Not so good, however, were support Feet, on at 8.30; a 5-piece sporting an entertaining selection of hats, but not so much in the way of memorable tuneage. Their opener sounded like 3 songs (a quietly pastoral start, a Spacehog-like mid-paced alt-rocker and a faster cinematic bit recalling My Life Story) clumsily gorilla-glued together, and subsequent numbers felt a bit Britpop-era Blur-like, quirkily English and 60’s referencing, but all in all a bit dull. Stuart was of a similar mind, so we repaired to the bar to chat, popping back into the venue after Feet finished to get a good spot, house left, for this sell-out gig, ironically behind the same chap who totally lost his shit (!) dancing sweatily next to me at the Martha gig here back in July 2017 (gig 1,045)!

Had a quick loo trip then spotted a familiar face behind the bar; none other than Sean McGowan, star of February’s Level 3 gig (no. 1,123)! Enjoyed a quick chat with this most affable of gents (Sean intoning in his Ian Dury cockernee, “awright mate, ‘ow are ya! Course I remember you, how could I forget that accent!” Look who’s talking mate!) before leaving him to his “day job” and wandering back in for Stina and her girls’ entrance onstage at 9.30. Stina, strikingly feline of features and sporting a flowing black/red patterned dress, kicked into the undulating bouncy pop of “Sea Hearts”, and our friend immediately demonstrated Martha aren’t the only band he loses his shit to, pogoing up and down like Zebedee on acid from note one. Clearly Southampton’s Jeff, albeit about 3 feet shorter, happily for the likes of us standing behind him! Clearly buoyed by the reaction, Stina announced, “Southampton! It’s been too long! How are you!”, deftly dealt with a couple of idiot remarks from some knuckleheads behind us, then kicked up a gear with newie “The Third Degree”, an impressive NYC New Wavey scuzz-rocker with an insistent, “drama drama baby” hook, boding well for the new album (which Stina plugged on numerous occasions tonight – and why not!).

Oldie “Walking At Midnight” was a creepy noir movie soundtrack and a mid-set highlight, as was the flippant “Super Rat” (for which Stina invited singalongs from the enthusiastic crowd) and newie “Gibberish”, a Veruca Salt-esque post-grunge glam stomp and possibly my favourite of the new numbers. However, following a surprisingly rocky yet lilting “Fall Forever”, things really kicked on with a roaring finish to the set; a big, bouncy “Babes Never Die”, a terrific, swaggering “Killer Bangs” featuring a lengthy, tongue-in-cheek pregnant pause, and a superb set closer, the soaring infectious hook of “Ready For The Magic”. By now, our bouncy friend had been sucked into a happy moshpit, and I was up against the stage, throwing a few hand-jive shapes and eliciting an approving nod from drummer Debbie! Fulsome praise to the crowd from an elated Stina at the end of this fine set, and I grabbed her set-list, having checked with the couple leaning on the stage next to me that their daughter didn’t want it! Hmmm, that’s not like me, must be going a bit soft in my old age…!

Great stuff, and a quick pic and signed list with the merch stand-bound and predictably besieged band preceded a swift drive home, dropping Stuart off for his drive to Heathrow. Home just after midnight after a splendid Honeyblood gig; in all honesty better than expected, particularly the last third. New album sounds tasty! A damn fine way to end a hectic 3-gig extended weekend – now hopefully I can get some sleep!