1,150 RAZE*REBUILD, Swindon Rolleston Arms, Saturday 24th August 2019

A late shout, this particular gig, despite it featuring a pretty firm staple on my gig “Dance Card”, namely Swindon’s finest purveyors of strong-armed, hard-rocking blue collar millennial punk rock, Raze*Rebuild… the lateness of my decision was down to this gig falling on the last day of our Summer family holiday in Cornwall, a superb but completely rammed week of sightseeing, Eden Projecting and Adrenalin zipwiring. A hectic time, then, so I wasn’t sure I’d have any energy left for a Raze gig; however a swift drive back with, amazingly, no traffic holdups, got us back to the ‘don in more than good time for me to sit and chill awhile before setting off for this one. My 18^th Raze*Rebuild gig overall in little over 3 years, putting them a clear 4^th on my “most seen bands” list… let’s do this!

Donned shorts and kneestraps as usual and hit the venue just after 8.30, catching up with fellow Raze uber-fan Paul Carter and also Pete Monkey, whose rabble-rousing punk combo 2 Sick Monkeys were headlining tonight, and chilling outside in the warm late Summer evening. We were also joined by various Raze folks and friends, including crazy Jon, our late plus-one from May’s Spanish Love Songs/ Pkew Pkew Pkew Exchange gig (gig 1,136), who’d been to Twickenham for the rugby with his mate and was in entertainingly bizarre and profane form. Eventually the witching hour arrived and Raze were pretty much ready for the off about 20 past 9, so I joined the throng (which by now included Shuffle entrepreneurs Ed and Colin) inside the pub for galloping opener “Burden Of Youth”. Not much room for me to rock out as usual, with too many folks walking between my vantage point and the window-located stage to get to the bar, so I contented myself with some vigorous swaying to Raze’s blend of fist-pumping anthemic Springsteen rock and Bob Mould-esque sheet metal popcore. Then there was the sound…

Si had called for more vocals in the mix during third number, “Kat I’m Sorry”, before really dialling up the stentorian roar himself, totally belting out this huge, stately power ballad (and I mean that in the “Taillights Fade”, “Hear You Me” sense, not the squawking Jennifer Rush sense!). However, this became an unwanted theme tonight, Si repeatedly calling on the young soundman’s services to adjust a murky and uneven sound throughout, at one point even quipping to him, “I bet you thought you’d get to sit down tonight, didn’t you?” Luckily Raze* Rebuild are the type of band to just get the fuck on with it, and their songs are the type of material which can stand (and occasionally actually benefit from) a bit of roughhousing, so, true to form, they simply barrelled through it, delivering an American Hi-Fi-esque set of ragged, rampaging rock. “Sand In The Petrol” was thunderous (Si introducing it with, “here’s a ballad – we can do punk rock and ballads!”), “All The Gear” and “Troubled Minds” an old-fashioned power-packed one-two punch Rock Marciano would have been proud of, and after “Poison Air” required a couple of takes, Si losing the vocals completely first time around, closer “Back To The Fall” (“this is our last song – maybe you’ll hear me singing it, maybe you won’t…” deadpanned Si, ironically) was it’s usual roaring, soaring self. So despite the sound troubles, this was again a typically raucous set from Raze!

A chat with Si afterwards confirmed that this would likely be Raze’s last gig for awhile, Si also commenting that their return would ideally coincide with some new material to freshen the set up from the band’s perspective, some new numbers being in a very embryonic stage and needing considerable work before being gig ready. Fair enough, I guess, although personally I’m not getting tired of hearing this particular set of numbers! Towards the end of the set, it had also dawned on me just how busy my day (and week!) had been, so I, tiring fast, reluctantly decided against sticking around for the Monkeys and headed off home. At least I’d got the chance to see Raze*Rebuild one last time before a likely pause in proceedings – let’s see what they emerge with next time… and hopefully we’ll be able to hear it too!

1,149 WICKHAM FESTIVAL (Saturday only), Saturday 3 August 2019

I’d been looking for an opportunity to take nascent gig-goer Logan along to his first Festival – we’d considered a day at Reading this year but he wasn’t too keen – and this small-to-mid size event seemed a perfect opportunity to start. A well-established 3-day event down near Portsmouth, this one has its’ roots firmly in the traditional folk and blues genres and still majorly catered for those styles on its’ bill, but a few enticing acts peppered the Saturday bill, none more so than headliner Frank Turner, popular folk/punk troubadour, live favourite of ours and (given the proximity of his home town Winchester to this venue) homecoming hero! Another advantage was that research indicated the 2 main stages were both under big top cover, thus allaying any fears Logan particularly had about weather. The weekend also coincided with a visit from Evan, my now grown-up son; he’d accompanied me to a Reading Fest slight return in 2013 (gig 884) and was happy to subject himself to unfamiliar music for another day, so it turned into a Boy’s Day Out!

So we set off promptly just after 10, looking out for holiday getaway traffic but avoiding a chunk of New Forest-bound stuff thanks to Evan’s navigation skills taking us cross-country to Wickham village. Parked up therefore just before 12 in the hay field opposite the Festival site, wandering around to the entrance. A compact, 7,000 capacity site clinging to the side of a small hill overlooking a picturesque Hampshire valley, a quick wander revealed a bohemian collection of Festival stalls and small side stages, and a wide variety of eats. The clientele reflected this too; a wide spread of ages, families and styles giving the Fest a relaxed and inclusive feel. After sorting the boys with Festival sunnies (not much use early doors as it was overcast, but still…), we set folding chairs up on the skirts of the smaller Village Stage tent for an initial base camp. First act proper (we’d popped briefly into a side tent where a makeshift band from local college St. Vincents’ music department – featuring a female vocalist with an impressive strident range – were stomping over some rock covers) were THE WILSONS, an acapella trio delivering some charming lunchtime folky sea shanties. Nick Parker showed up, shaking my hand and remembering Logan, and we also chatted to a fellow Nick fan Claire, who was there for the weekend with her kids and who remembered Logan from his Gaz Brookfield Southampton onstage antics! Second act WINTER WILSON, with their more sparse and baroque, and occasionally almost medieval feeling, pastoral folk, provided the background to our conversation, but thereafter Logan and I were bound for the stage, front and centre!

Our first act of interest, at 1.45, was indeed the aforementioned Mr. P, with his full band. The first time, shamefully, that I’d seen NICK PARKER AND THE FALSE ALARMS in all their glory, and they were great, the full band adding an extra dimension to Nick’s easy folky-pop melody and wry observational lyricism, “Never Been To Dublin Before” proved an apposite opener, Nick remarking, “all the people mentioned [in the chorus] have played here!” the rendition featuring some excellent sawing from fiddle player Ben Wain (also of Gaz’ Company Of Thieves), much to the delight of a woman behind me, who’d recognised Ben from school music lessons! “Down With The Yoof” was rambunctious and ramshackle fun, an oldie “Jerusalem” (“from an earlier album – I found 250 copies of it and they’re all over by the merch stand!” deadpanned Nick) featured a yearning and soaring chorus, and “Departures” was my set favourite, slow burn and slow building, the excellent lyric reflecting the glorious mundanity of an airport departure lounge. Overall, cracking, joyous and uplifting stuff with huge smiles all around; definitely not the last time I catch the full band, and I also appreciate a performer such as Nick who sweats profusely for his art!

Congrats afterwards, then whilst the boys went off to check out other attractions (Logan to the bouncy castle laser tag, Evan to watch some circus jugglers), I caught THE NEWCRANES set from base camp, as the sun attempted to break through the hazy cloud cover. Festival veterans, they played a raucous and upbeat, slightly punky fiddly-diddly set of the type which, post-Gaz, I’m much more kindly disposed to these days. Shades of Pele and Mick O’Toole in a diverting set, my favourite number being one which started slowly and funereally, but then sped up to raucous moshpit catnip. The boys returned and we checked out LIL’ JIMMY REED AND THE “A” TEAM, next up. Reed, an 80 year old old school Mississippi delta bluesman, alongside his virtuoso pianist sidekick, played a mix of piano and guitar-led tears-in-the-beers blues, proto-rockabilly and impressively groovy and more upbeat honky tonk material. The first number reminded these admittedly uneducated (in this genre, at least) ears of The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues”, and others recalled the likes of Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” and suchlike. Not my normal cup of tea, but I enjoyed this and could appreciate a master craftsman at work; as could not only a large crowd assembled in the tent, but also Evan, who disappeared in after 2 numbers and emerged at set-end, declaring Jimmy, “awesome!” So much so, if fact, that the next step was to join a large queue to pick up a Jimmy Reed CD, for Evan to get signed, and to meet the great man to exchange some words about the blues. Awesome, indeed!

This led us to a relative lull in proceedings, so we grabbed some tea (nice Thai green curry for me!) and plonked ourselves by the main Valley Stage tent overspill, chowing down with DERVISH’s more traditional and plaintive Irish folk as a pleasant background. A trip back to the car to dump foldaway chairs, and we were ready for the evening’s mainstage festivities. Back into the Valley Stage tent just as the Dervish crowd were dispersing, so we got some splendid viewing spots in front of the speaker stack, house right, for GRACE PETRIE, on at 6.30. A soloist, political (personal and party) activist singer-songwriter, she’d impressed mightily during her Frank Turner support slot earlier this year (gig 1,121) not only with an excellent clutch of thought-provoking folk/Americana tinged numbers, but also some passionate yet easy repartee and connection with her audience. More of the same tonight with some witty yet barbed comments (“[I’ve released] 6 albums about how not to vote for the Tories; another one out next year – I’ve got a good feeling about this one!” and “I’ve noticed a number of nippers in the audience; I’m sorry, but I’ll be using bad words – I’ll be saying “Tories” a lot…!” were a couple of early rejoinders), an anti-Theresa May tirade, and an excellent early “Farewell To Welfare”, committed, impassioned and riveting. The one “happy” song, about her niece, was dispensed with early so she could concentrate on the other 2 aspects of her oeuvre – angry and sad! – yet most of the material was as uplifting as it was pointed, “Black Tie” (preceded by the comment, “I’m dressed like this [in black tie and waistcoat] because… I’ve got a snooker match after the gig!”) being a case in point, a letter to her 15-year old self to say everything’s gonna be OK. “Northbound” rounded off another fine set from Grace, after which I noticed (during a quick loo trip) that she was utterly besieged at the merch stand, having clearly resonated with a large part of this audience.

I was back in, however, for my 2 highlights; firstly THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, 80’s folk-tinged political punk rockers and class struggle historians, on at 8. I’d been playing TMTCH stuff to Logan for years but this was the first opportunity to subject him to a live performance (their clutch of 2010-13 Swindon gigs coming too early, and their more recent SLF O2 support slot falling on a school night), and thankfully they delivered in spades. “Ghosts Of Cable Street” was a brilliant singalong opener, pointedly dedicated by vocalist Stefan Cush to, “Tommy Robinson and his ilk… it’s like Hitler never existed!” and even more relevant now than ever, reflecting the tension of these troubled political times. “Wishing Well” and “Coventry” was a superbly rocking double salvo, “Bounty Hunter” slightly understated but still a raucous singalong, and “Smugglers” likewise, Logan gleefully pogoing on his barrier spot. “Green Fields Of France” was a gut-wrenching and poignant reminder of the horrors of war, however “Ironmasters” was the brilliant highlight, the boys cutting loose with a rabid and rattlingly good rendition, during which I conducted the crowd behind me in the singalong chorus. (Evan had taken a loo break halfway through the set and claimed he couldn’t get back… I suspect he didn’t want to hear his dad singing embarrassingly loudly!).

Brilliant stuff overall from The Men! A friendly roadie scrunched up the set-list and tossed it over to me, and a quick loo break revealed a small queue at the merch stand, so I got it signed by The Men, along with a hasty selfe with Stefan and fellow vocalist Phil Odgers. Result! Back in to the increasingly busy stage-front – Evan took a wander, deciding the Frank crush wasn’t for him, but Logan and I stayed on out bit of barrier for the prompt entrance of FRANK TURNER AND THE SLEEPING SOULS at 9 to a huge roar from the biggest crowd of the day. Punk rock for starters; Frank led the band through rip-roaring versions of “Get Better”, “1933” and a punky “Long Live The Queen”, racing around the stage and standing on the bass drum to emphasise his already impressive height. A breather thereafter allowed him to introduce us to, “show 2,372!” along with the usual rules (“don’t be an asshole, sing along), and “If Ever I Stray” and “The Road” really got the crowd roaring along, shaking this tent to its’ foundations.

Frank was his usual buoyant and riveting self, a consummate performer, making light of an early, erm, wardrobe malfunction during “Photosynthesis”, and declaring, “My mum is here tonight!” thence organising a hardcore circle pit (“not a Dorset circle, a proper Hampshire circle!”) in her honour. Frank introduced stand-in bassist Cahir O’Doherty, covering from new dad Tarrant before a poignant yet rocking “Polaroid Picture” and a funky “Blackout” which, as usual saw Frank in the photog pit, communing with the faithful. A touching “Don’t Worry” was preceded by an interesting exposition from Frank (“we were worried about bringing out an album called “Be More Kind” – we thought it might be out-of-date quickly as things might get better…  but it’s all turned to shit!”), and, as ever, a brilliant “I Am Disappeared” was my highlight.

An hour in, Frank paused for his usual solo interlude and we took a wander out for a loo trip, catching another couple of numbers from the outskirts of the tent, “Where I Tend To Be” and a manic “Try This At Home” being late-set highlights. Logan was tiring after a big Festival day, so when Evan reported in at 10.45, we took the opportunity for a quick getaway, those 10 minutes allowing us quick egress from the car park and environs, a swift drive getting us home for 12.20, reflecting on the day. Well done Wickham Festival, you were everything it said on the tin; relaxed and inclusive with excellent facilities, and all the bands we came to see delivered big time. A splendid first Festival for Logan and a great Boy’s Day Out!

1,148 MARKY RAMONE’S BLITZKRIEG, The Blunders, Bristol Fleece, Saturday 27th July 2019

I only grabbed 1/3 of the list this time... but here's a pic of the full shebang...!

Here's another opportunity to go gigging with my little man Logan, this time at the all-ages friendly Fleece, and once again we’re indulging his predilection for old school punk rock; after The Skids and Stiff Little Fingers, here’s none other than Marky Ramone! The Ramones, seminal 70’s NYC punk rockers and one of the absolute root metaphors for any music I’ve loved since then, the band responsible for my first “rock” t-shirt (a “Rocket To Russia” special in 1979) and a band whom I’ve pretty much always owned a t-shirt by since then, a band whom I got to see 4 utterly magical, mental, manic times back in the day, but a band I’d of course never see again, due to the untimely deaths of all 4 original members. However, first replacement drummer Marky Ramone (who took over the drum stool ceded by Tommy for the 4^th album “Road To Ruin” and enjoyed 2 subsequent lengthy stints with da Brudders) is thankfully still in rude health, and gigging with his own iteration of the band, a revolving door of CBGB’s casualties and NYC punk acolytes including (although sadly not tonight) Andrew WK! So a nearby gig sounded intriguing, and Logan (for whom The Ramones were one of his first introductions to music – quite right too!) was well up for it too!

So, shorts and kneestrap clad (me, not my son!), we hit the road at 6.15, parking up handily around the corner and queueing for doors, which were late at 7.30. Logan liked the “No Dickheads Policy” Fleece sign, and also the fact we got a barrier spot, house right. A short wait, and support The Blunders were on. A trio of old punk lags, I wasn’t expecting much – particularly when they mentioned to the early couple of dozen folks in the venue, “this is a lot of people for us!” – but they were pretty good, impressing with some strongarm, socially aware street punk, recalling not only The Ruts and Theatre Of Hate, but also newbies like Autobahn and Idles. The cockernee vocalist sounded like an angry Jim Bob, “Fireproof” was an impressive and more upbeat early number, and “Human” a good slab of anthemic popcore. A final call to arms, “Legion” rounded off a decent and better than expected set, although they squeezed in an encore as they were running early!

A bit of a wait between acts as the place filled up, but Logan and I kept our front row spot. Then Marky Ramone arrived (as is his wont, apparently, turning up 10 minutes before showtime for gigs!), older but still the legendary figure of old, rock-star skinny with an utterly massive mane of dyed black hair, undertaking some last drum adjustments before departing the stage to cheers. Not for long, however, as The Blitzkrieg joined us at 9, all black-clad and NYC 70’s street cool, kicking off with surf-punk classics “Rockaway Beach” and “Teenage Lobotomy” in short order. From the outset they sounded great, ripping through this hallowed material apace but never so fast as to render the tracks unrecognisable. Former Circle Jerks/ Black Flag guitarist Greg Hetson did an exemplary job keeping the riffs chugging along, low-slung bassist Alejandro Viejo pulled Jaret Reddick-style gurns and kept the gig rattling along with the obligatory, “waunchewfreeFOUR!!” song introductions, and rangy, preying mantis-like vocalist Inaki “Pela” Urbizu was a cross between Joey Ramone himself and The Horrors’ “Goblin King” Faris Badwan, towering over and into the crowd and striking wide-legged rock poses. But all eyes were on Marky, hunched over the drumkit, economical of movement and drum style, drumming from the wrist and chewing gum 19 to the dozen. Just one of those times when you feel privileged to be in the same room as a true rock’n’roll legend.

Highlights? Wow, so many… a brilliant early trio of “Sheena”, “Havana Affair” and “Commando” (first rule…IS!!); Pela pointing out all the girls in the front rows during “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend”, accompanied or not (!) then pointing at Logan during “Beat On The Brat” (!!), later handing him a discarded pick (!!!); Logan going utterly batshit mental during “Surfin’ Bird”: Marky’s dynamic drum rolls during the excellent “Chinese Rock”’s chorus; a quite brilliantly singalong “I Wanna Be Sedated”; a manic “Spiderman” with Pela miming shooting webs around; the poignant encore of “Wonderful World” (Joey’s last record before his untimely demise); and then the cherry on the icing on the cake of final number “Blitzkrieg Bop”, which fittingly closed out a great 1 ½ hours and 40 (yes, 40!) numbers.

Caught our breath then a swift drive home. Great night out, and great to know that Marky Ramone is keeping the Ramones fire burning brightly, doing complete justice to their legendary legacy. Only one way to end this write-up… Hey Ho, Let’s Go!

1,147 ROLLING BLACKOUTS COASTAL FEVER, Our Girl, Reading Sub89, Tuesday 23rd July 2019

Of late, post-Swindon Shuffle July has tended to be a fallow period for gigs, with bands eschewing national tours in favour of playing one or more of the myriad of outdoor Festivals that are increasingly dotted around our sceptered isle. Kudos then to this lot, Antipodean jangle-rabble Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever (henceforth, again, RBCF!) for not only circumnavigating the globe to do a UK club tour for the second time in a matter of months (see gig 1,107, my October ’18 pre-hols Portsmouth jaunt), but also choosing to do said tour in July! After a fine showing in Pompey, last time out, I was up for more, and this interest was shared not only by Aussie rock aficionado Rich May, but also Tim, Rich Carter and his sister in law Laura!

So, a full carload on the hottest day of the year required not only an early start for pickups (we finally hit the M4 at 10 to 7, a full 50 minutes after I’d initially set off for Tim’s!), but, thanks to a lack of air-con fluid, open windows along the M4! We parked up in the usual close but expensive NCP, then ventured into Reading town centre so Rich C could hit a Brewdog for a craft beer sampling before the gig (that’s a thing these days… not drunk for 16 ½ years now, so I wouldn’t know!). No great loss, as it turned out… we arrived back at the venue for 8.30, midway through Our Girl’s set; a 3-piece featuring Soph Nathan of (inexplicably) Mercury Prize nominees The Big Moon, they were playing some third-rate loud-quiet sub-grungy mess which sounded incredibly dated, making me think old Soph had been rummaging through Pillbox’s dustbin for ideas, rather than through Sleeper’s bin, as TBM evidently did…!

We’d wormed our way to the front, house left against a handy pillar but with our heads practically in the left speaker stack… this was going to be noisy as well as very sweaty…! RBCF joined us at 9.15 to a cheesy synth disco backing track, swarthy main vocalist Fran Keaney leading the charge into racy, pacy opener “Colours Run”, sawing furiously away at his battered acoustic whilst his 3 other guitar (+bass) wielding bandmates whirled feverishly around the stage like clockwork models affected by centrifugal force. I started bopping in my spot, but was immediately joined by 2 blokes who leant against the pillar (my pillar!!), shrinking my dancing spot considerably. Fuck ‘em, I thought, and just kept on bopping…!

Luckily I had the right band for that tonight; RBCF’s material falls pretty squarely into 2 distinct camps, namely fast and frantic upbeat and jangly indie-powerpop, and, erm, not so fast and less frantic more of the same (!), all underpinned by intricate, intertwining guitar grooves and that trademark resonant and insistent indie jangle-reverb. So “Hammer” was a swayalong groove with a singalong hook, sung in a more laconic Noo Yawk 70’s street drawl by co-vocalist Tom Russo, and a more upbeat “Sick Bug” with an undulating riff distinctly reminiscent of “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” (!) initiated a sweaty moshpit at the front, much to the consternation of a) a steward in the pit, who reacted as if he’d never seen a moshpit before, immediately eyeing up anyone dancing too vigorously as if to throw them out (!) and b) some over made-up woman in a mustard dress, who reacted as if she’d never been to a gig before, treating everyone who as much as bumped into her as if it were a personal affront. Hate to break it to you both, but that’s what happens at gigs…!

In fact, the band positively encouraged such wild and reckless behaviour, Keaney expressing incredulity at the mosh, at one point commenting, “Tuesday’s a lame night [for a gig] but we like this [audience reaction]!” A yearning “Bellarine” nearly got me in, but the excellent, effervescent “Talking Straight” actually did, the mosh breathless and a bit violent but overall good natured. The surf-pop of “Mainland” was groovy as all hell with a looped, building chorus, and “Fountain” was a slightly uncharacteristic Real Estate-like slow-burner with stream of consciousness vocals from bassist Joe White. A fine set was capped by a couple of typically frantic encores (including Rich May’s favourite “Cappuccino City”), after which everyone emerged, soaked but happy (I think even mustard dress woman eventually took the stick out of her ass and enjoyed herself!

A wrong turn saw us tramping around Reading town centre awhile (and stopping at every! Single! Fucking! Red! Light!) before we eventually hit the road for a swift drive home, lit up on the way by nature’s own pyrotechnic display on the horizon. Luckily into bed before the thunder and torrential rain joined the lightning party; I’d already been soaked in the moshpit by RBCF – once was enough tonight, thanks!

1,146 THE 2019 SWINDON SHUFFLE (Friday only), Swindon The Hop and the Victoria, Friday 12th July 2019

One day later than planned, thanks to last night’s impromptu White Lies gig, I’m finally out Shuffling! This, the 13^th annual celebration of all things fertile and creative in Swindon’s musical scene, represented the 5^th time that I’d sampled its’ delights, yet (as per last year) due to family commitments over the weekend, also represented a Friday night only “one and done” Shuffle experience for me. If that were so, I’d picked the right night, with the Mighty Raze*Rebuild headlining events at The Victoria, this time in their full-on amped-up band mode. So, after medical considerations conspired against my dancing to their recent Regent set, tonight also represented an opportunity to rock out to da Raze once again!

Preparations were duly made, so it was a be-shorted, knee-strapped and lenses-clad Sheriff that rocked up the hill just after 8, after watching an absorbing Wimbledon men’s semi-final, to meet with the Raze boys early doors at The Vic. This wasn’t my initial musical destination, however; the band schedule at tonight’s 2 venues seemingly fell into 2 broad categories, namely jaunty indie pop at The Hop, and grunting rock piggery at The Vic! As my musical tastes arguably fall Midway (Still?) between these 2 generic categorisations, I was planning to split my time between the 2, so it was first off to The Hop, a new venue this year, to catch the last knockings of ABSTRACTION ENGINE’s early set. A droney, haunting and morose US alt-rock/ indie influenced final number, with suitably doleful lyics (“falling by the wayside” and suchlike) made me hark back to late 90’s Boston band Wheat for comparisons, and make me regret staying at home for the tennis, particularly when I ran into Beef in this amply-attended upstairs room, who informed me that this final number was a fair representation of their set. D’oh! Anyway, I was now here, and seated near the front for next band up, introduced by Shuffle co-promoter and Hop compere Ed Dyer as, “the band who change their name every 10 minutes!” – no longer Shore or Rainy Day Fund, this was now STAY LUNAR. They pretty much epitomised this stage with some, well, jaunty indie pop, falling between the Byrdsian C86 gauche yet bright and breezy jangle of the likes of The Razorcuts, and slightly blander, more anodyne Haircut 100 type fayre. Nonetheless, it drew quite a crowd, who were all prepared to groove out; “you may have noticed I’ve got a lot of family here,” commented the curtain-haired blond vocalist which was true, most of them dancing in front of our seats!

After a few numbers, I noted very little variation in Stay Lunar’s material so cried enough, and popped back to The Vic. The rather excellently-named COBALT FIRE were about to kick-off; apparently the new project of local veteran chanteuse Ells Ponting, and if so this was quite a departure from my previous viewing (back at Treefest 2012, gig 854!), Ells swapping low-key acoustica and Postal Service covers for more strident, operatic dark rock. Some dirty, grungier moments appealed to the early 80’s Goth in me, but at times it felt a little overblown, plodding and operatic, making me think of Evanescence which for me is never a good comparison. Still, I really liked her final number, a dark and dramatic manifesto number called “Fuck Pretty” with some spot-on lyrics, and kudos to Ells for challenging herself and her audience with a dramatic new direction.

Back to The Hop, for TALK IN CODE’s funky and slightly baggy indie pop last knockings in front of an appreciative and mobile crowd; then I was faced with my Shuffle clash dilemma of the night… how much of WYLDEST’s set could I catch before I needed to bail out for the Raze set? Luckily, consultations with Ed revealed The Hop had a strict 11pm curfew and The Vic was running late, and I was also buoyed by the presence of Raze drummer Jamie behind me, Jamie partaking of Wyldest’s early numbers whilst waiting for the shout from Si at The Vic. So I was able to avail myself of most of Wyldest’s set, and I was glad I did; Zoe Mead’s dreampop vehicle have developed commensurably since my last band encounter (when, as Wildest Dreams, they opened the 2014 Shuffle for me), the 3-piece plying a very beguiling blend of woozy, hazy and ethereal dreampop, some darker, atmospheric and chiming guitar driven shoegaze (second number “Rolling Waves” reminding me of 90’s indie soundscapers Kitchens Of Distinction, no less) and some shinier, poppier yet quirky material recalling Belly (viz. later number “Alive”). Zoe herself was a charming if slightly nervous frontperson, commenting on my Death Cab For Cutie t-shirt after a rambling song intro, and pointing out her parents, both rocking new album t-shirts!

I’d managed to catch most of the set, but time was now bumping up to 10.55, Jamie having left 10 minutes earlier, so I handed a watching Shuffle co-conspirator Dave Franklin a tenner, with strict instructions to get me the Wyldest CD – and the setlist! Hotfooting it over to The Vic, I had time to get a drink in before RAZE*REBUILD kicked off their headlining set in front of the hardy and appreciative Shuffle faithful. The initial couple of numbers felt controlled and confident, particularly a rather splendid actually yet almost laid-back “Face For Radio”, but the boys really cut loose with the rock after an epic “Kat, I’m Sorry”, the subsequent “New Leaf” powerful, potent and punk-tastic, compelling me to really rock out down the front.

As ever, Raze were an awesome rock beast tonight; less ragged and ramshackle than the recent Regent gig, tonight it all felt well-honed, well-practised and precision-delivered. Well paced too; “Sand In The Petrol” giving this whirling dervish a necessary mid-set breather, before “Jaded Heart” slowly picked up the pace, Raze again cutting loose with a brilliant anthemic double of “All The Gear” and new single “Troubled Minds” (look out for that video, folks!). The boys made light of tonight’s one slip-up (well, the only one I noticed, anyway…), Si commenting to Matt, “you’ve ruined my slickness!” after a counting-in error to final set number “Poison Air”, but made up for it for me, introducing a brilliantly swooping, soaring and rocking encore “Back To The Fall” with, “this one’s for Dave… to be honest, they’re all for Dave…!”. I didn’t even mind the punctuation point of their Queen cover of “Don’t Stop Me Now”; this was a triumphant set, the essence of Raze*Rebuild, and more than worthy headliners tonight.

An end to proceedings then, but not the end of the night, as Ed and I enjoyed a late-night Mr. Cod and chat before I wearily headed off, home for 1. One and done again, but thanks to Wyldest and particularly Raze, it was well done again, Swindon Shuffle!

1,145 WHITE LIES, Al O’Kane, Frome Cheese And Grain, Thursday 11th July 2019

This one proves, without a doubt, that if an opportunity to take my little man Logan to a gig suddenly presents itself, even the most trenchant of plans can quickly become very mutable…! This particular evening had long been pencilled in my gig “Dance Card” as “Swindon Shuffle 2019 Day 1”, and more specifically a headlining gig, to really kick the ‘Don Fest into gear, by old Swindonian Gaz Brookfield and his Company Of Thieves, a set which would see Gaz take sole possession of my “Most Seen Act” accolade with 23. However, other opportunities presented themselves when I discovered Logan would be off school on Friday thanks to a teacher training day; we initially pondered over a one-evening trip to Cheltenham’s “2000 Trees” Festival to see Frank Turner headline, but (ultimately unfounded) forecasts of inclement weather dampened my gig buddy’s enthusiasm for that. Then, on Monday morning, this gig re-appeared in my FB feed; I’d knocked it back when I’d first heard about it, but it became infinitely more attractive now I had Logan – a self-confessed big White Lies fan – in tow! We’d missed out on their early 2019 tour thanks to the lack of nearby U14 venues, so this was a chance to put that to rights for Logan’s sophomore White Lies gig!

So, a late shout, but, tix secured, we headed off down the twisty Wiltshire country roads, rocking up in a sunny early evening Frome town centre at 7.30, and parking up in the old Market Hall’s ample car park. Logan managed to squeeze into a bit of barrier, front and centre, and we chatted with fellow front-row punters (one guy who’d seen ‘da Lies over 20 times, who was apparently standing next to a lady who’d seen ‘em 100+!) while availing ourselves of support Al O’Kane and his sharkstooth-adorned bowler hat-clad sidekick Andy Hill. The duo kicked off with a couple of understated and wistful, pastoral late 60’s acoustic numbers before veering into broodier, more bluesy C&W stuff, some of the more stripped back material being entirely suited for a “Firefly” episode soundtrack! “Animals”, a call-and-response final number with an environmental message, was about the best of a diverting and decent local support set.

More chats with folks down the front – including Dave and Collette, a lovely couple who ponied up £10 for Logan’s Diabetes UK “Million Step Challenge”; thanks guys! – before White Lies took the stage promptly at 9. This, a one-off to keep their hand in, in anticipation of some upcoming Festival appearances, saw White Lies nonetheless well road-tested from their early 2019 tours in support of splendid new album “Five”, itself a further development towards a synthier-driven, smoother sonic template. Poppier and more accessible than their pseudo-gothy post-punk days of yore, yes, but as long as White Lies continue their knack of writing humungous, soaring and uplifting hooks and scattering them liberally around their material, I’m all over it like a cheap suit! Case in point; opener “Time To Give”, a slow burner harking back to those synth-propelled early 80’s new romantic days, but then building to a mesmeric looped outro belying its’ near 7-minute duration. An impressive start, lapped up by this devoted audience, and reciprocated onstage, particularly by mustard-shirted vocalist Harry McVeigh, who clearly relished his job tonight, a face-cracking smile never far from his youthful, bearded features.

White Lies were excellent tonight; “on it” from the off, they delivered a relaxed, confident and utterly accomplished performance. “Farewell To The Fairground” saw them slow the hook for greater emphasis (a neat trick they were to replicate later, to greater effect); an early “There Goes Our Love Again” galloped, swooped and soared, and saw the boys compliment a local Frome chippy at its’ conclusion (!), and “Getting Even” was an early, darker and more menacing highlight. “Take It Out On Me” was immense, Harry letting his dark, earthy baritone soar for the hook, and the robotic synth workout of “Big TV” was an absorbing beast. However, their best number, “Death” was the undisputed highlight tonight; tucked late-on into the set rather than at the end, it built to a crescendo, the band slowing the hook down to a dissonant, funereal crawl before, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, releasing the tension in an immense euphoric gush. The ridiculously hooky Tears For Fears-isms of newie “Tokyo” (which saw host town Frome get a mention!) and an angular, dark “To Lose My Life” closed out a stellar set as good as I’ve seen this increasingly impressive band, Harry happily glorying in the adulation from the crowd.

Encores of a distinctly grungy, almost Nirvana-esque “Fire And Wings” (hinting at a new direction, perhaps? Who knows?) and a superb, soaring and singalong “Bigger Than Us” brought the night to a thundering end, Harry gathering his bandmates for a deserved bow and pointing out Logan to his drummer Jack. Logan had been bouncing furiously down the front pretty much all gig (so much so, that his FitBit step counter registered an extra 6,000 steps for his challenge!) and Jack rewarded him with a well-worn set of drumsticks. Nice touch! This buoyed Logan to stick around outside while the car park cleared, and patience was rewarded ½ hour later with pics and a fully signed set-list for my gig buddy from an appreciative and very friendly band. Thanks guys!

A swift hurtle home chatting about the gig and spotting wildlife (which actually started with a bat flying around the car park!) saw us home at midnight. A superb night out – sorry Gaz, but there’ll be other opportunities to break the record. This might have been a late shout, but thanks to an exemplary performance from White Lies, it was a great shout – and the right shout!

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!