1,206 and 1,208 GAZ BROOKFIELD, Jake Martin, B-Sydes, Southampton 1865 and Swindon The Victoria, Friday 21st January and Thursday 3rd February 2022

 

Gaz is on the road again! Punky folky storytelling wandering minstrel and “live” favourite (indeed, currently my most-seen “live” act going away) Gaz Brookfield initially held back from his usual seemingly perpetual programme of gigging following the easing of Covid restrictions last July, poking his head above the parapet for a select few appearances (“My Dad’s” Festival and his own Christmas Fleece gathering, my gigs 1,187 and 1,204). But then, following the release of his new album “Idiomatic” at the arse end of 2021, the man announced a New Year tour with his 2 besties and analogues, Jake Martin and Ben Sydes. Mainly centring around weekend dates, our only shot initially seemed to be the Southampton 1865 gig, so Logan and I booked for this. However, following the postponement of the Dean Wareham gig (for about the 9^th time!), the clashing Swindon Vic date opened up, so I booked for that too (no Logan as it’s 18+; boo!).

 So, a new South Coast venue on a Friday night for starters then; an easy drive down got us parked up before doors directly outside the venue (next to their bins!), a returning Gaz greeting us on arrival. First in then to this unexpectedly large ballroom style venue, half carpeted and with tables and chairs, so we got seats and drinks and passed the time listening to their soundtrack of earnest emo before Ben took the stage for his opening set. Opening with a splendid, rollicking “Crutches”, his performance was slightly softly spoken and understated, yet heartfelt and emotive. Falling more on the emo side of the one-man-plus-battered-acoustic oeuvre (and admitting that tonight’s pre-gig soundtrack sounded like the inside of his head!), Ben nonetheless enticed a couple of singalongs from the early gathering, during “Good Times” and the plaintive “This Was My City Once”. Clearly happy to be back onstage after, “2 years playing to my phone and getting drunk on the internet!”, Ben was also clearly still shaking off some ring-rust for this, the 4^th gig of the tour, and earned a shot of sambuca from a fellow punter for each lyric ricket, eventually downing 4! Donning the harmonica for “The Desperate Dance”, Ben coaxed another backing singalong from us early punters (“if you’re not [warmed up] for Gaz he beats us!”), and a final, off-kilter and dissonant “Still In Saigon” rounded off a fine opening set.

 “Sydes is much nicer than me, I’m going to abuse you for the next half hour!” proclaimed Jake Martin as he bounded onstage, prompting me away from my merch-stand chat with the opener and joining Logan down the front again. A more overt, potty mouthed and in-your-face performer, Jake was nonetheless as full of good fooling and effusiveness as opener Ben, prompting singalongs for an excellent early “Mountains”, and the, “you’re an asshole!” hook of “For Fuck’s Sake Jake”, Jake commenting beforehand that his therapist advised him not to play that anymore, but remarking afterwards that it, “never fails to bring a room full of people together!” “Posters In Picture Frames” was pre-empted by a fun if meandering explanation about growing up (all my posters are in frames – does that mean I’m old??!!) and featured some “la la” singalongs, as Gaz had said all Jake’s songs have “whoa-oh”s in them (!). Then closer “We Sing The Words All Wrong” reverted to type for the inclusive, “whoa oh,” hook (“my grandfather said always end on a singalong; mind you he was a truck driver…!”), again rounding off another entertaining Jake set.

 Logan and I kept our front-centre spot as Gaz set up, Logan telling him about our intended post-gig dirty kebab plans which prompted an appreciative fist bump from the man, before he eased into the almost ballad-like opening of first number “Pantomime” before picking up speed for the second verse. Pointing out his lyric stand, Gaz admitted that following the near-2 year layoff, “I’ve no longer retained the ability to remember lyrics!”, although he had no such problems for an early highlight, his “most requested livestream song” (no surprise there) “The Tale Of Gunner Haines”. Newie “Monochrome” was introduced as being, “about loving where you live – even if you live near Swindon!”; I mimicked being stabbed through the heart at this, which prompted a chuckle from Gaz, then the next number, a rocking singalong “Diabetes Blues” was dedicated to Logan, “my diabetes bro!” An unexpected “Godless Man” was taut and tense, then Gaz bolted on his harmonica (“unlike Sydes, I never apologise for [doing this]!”) for a slower burn “Art Of Falling” and sway-along “Under The Table” mid-set double. “Idiomatic” was another highlight, Gaz explaining the song’s meaning – “about my anxieties on normal life – not this [being onstage]; this is my comfort food, my… dirty kebab!” “Lostfolk” and “Land Pirates” finally got the Southampton crowd, who’d been very reserved and respectfully quiet throughout all the performers, properly warmed up, and another excellent Gaz set rounded off with the headliner bringing the 2 supports onstage for a bonding “Aged Revolt” and a rousing “Great Minds Drink Alike” to round off an evening full of singalongs, good humour and general bonhomie.

 A quick chat with Jake at the merch stand (re-introducing him to Logan, 4 ½ years after my then-9 year old son got all up in his face at “All Roads Lead To Frome”, gig 1,036!), before a swift blast up the inky black A34 and a late kebab rounded off another fun boys night out and part 1 of my triple-header double-header (!).

Part 2 came 13 days later, one night after the Chameleons’ Fleece gig (gig. 1,207, hence the gap in the count!), as I trundled up the hill, meeting tonight’s promoter Ed Dyer, plus Rich and Ady in The Vic for some pre-gig rock chat. We were however well ensconced in the old back room for B Sydes opening set at 8.30, Ben running through the same set as Southampton, this time with extra added piss-taking from the side-stage Jake after a lyrical slip-up during the otherwise excellent opener “Crutches”, and of course the ubiquitous penance shots! Ben however fired back at his tour buddy whilst exhorting the audience to sing the “woah-oh” fill during “This Was My City Once”; “it’s easy, it’s like one of Jake’s songs!”, prompting an entertaining bitchy exchange between the two, which continued throughout both their sets! The Placebo-esque, tense and taut “Still In Saigon”, featuring an impressively held final note, ended another fine opening set – he’s up The Tuppenny in April; so are we!

 “I said to Gaz and Sydes I might be the drunk one tonight, but then Sydes got a little bolshy!” announced Jake at the outset of his set, continuing the pseudo-feud, but then admitting, “I’ve proved by mocking my best friends that I’m a bit of a twat!” So following a raucously sung-along “For Fuck’s Sake Jake” (during which he nonetheless changed the hook to, “Sydes, you’re an asshole!”), the boys all made peace with an onstage hug-in. Again, motormouth Jake’s set followed the same lines as Southampton, with the Frank Turner-esque closer “We Sing The Words All Wrong” my favourite of his well-received set.

 This bumped us up to 10 and an amply full room; Gaz took the stage to little fanfare, quietly strumming the opening bars of “Pantomime” whilst prowling the stage and eyeballing the chatty crowd until they paid attention! Gaz also followed the same set structure as a couple of weeks ago, but from the outset you could tell there was something extra tonight… “You have no fucking idea how much it means to be here!” he announced at the end of the opener, “let’s not dwell on it or I’ll get all teary…” his comments making us realise that he was playing with the spirit of his old friend Dave Young, former proprietor of this very venue and sadly lost to us last year, looking over his shoulder. That being the case, he did his old friend full justice with a splendidly delivered set. The early “Gunner Haines” was again amazing; “Monochrome” was again preceded by his sad lyric-forgetting lament, although this time his phone served as prompter (“I’m actually playing “Doom”!”), and the excellent “Godless Man” was referred to as, “one from my wedding set!”

 A mid-set break to raid Jake’s fish supper (“I love Mr. Cod! I used to live around the corner from [there]…”) preceded a loudly accompanied “Under The Table”, then, after checking in on the crowd (“how we all doing? Thought I’d check… I’ve been rabbiting on… scruffy cunt with a guitar, what’s he doing…”), the rest of the set passed in an inclusive and raucous singalong blur, my highlight being a splendid “Lostfolk”. Jake and Ben again joined him onstage for the communal manifesto of “Aged Revolt” and the three-handed drinking song “Great Minds Drink Alike”, Gaz leaving us with a heartfelt comment of, “it means even more [than usual] to be playing here… this is my fucking town!” to appreciative roars.

 That wasn’t it, however, as Ed took the stage and persuaded Gaz to come out for another couple of clearly unplanned numbers. Gaz, seemingly reluctant at first, ran through a savagely bolshy “Be The Bigger Man” and an emotionally charged “West Country Song”, murmuring between songs, “this is the first time I’ve been back [to The Vic] since…” his voice then tailing off. By the end he was an emotional mess, heading off backstage in short order, with both Ben and Ed following to check on him, after a performance which would have done his old friend proud.

 Not much else to say on that… I left pretty promptly too, as my knees were aching, home at 11.30 in reflective mood. Strange how a performer can play the exact same set over 2 shows, but for the mood and atmosphere of those shows to be completely different. One relaxed and full of good humour, the next a poignant tribute to an old friend. Either way, 2 splendid nights out from Gaz and his besties. Here’s to Dave Young… and the Original Trilogy!

1,205 DESPERATE JOURNALIST, Shoun Shoun, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 15th January 2022

 

Finally! The 2022 Gig Year gets under way! And, following the postponement of the first 2 dates on my 2022 “Spring Dance Card” (one because a band member tested positive for Covid, and the other due to more nebulous “Covid concerns” – there’s no restrictions at the moment, people, so bloody well get out and gig!!!), we really couldn’t have a better combo in prospect to kick the year off than Britain’s best band, Desperate Journalist, at the wonderfully evocative “Dirty Boat”! 2021’s “Maximum Sorrow”, whilst not being up there with the absolute cream of DJ’s album releases, still was one of last year’s best, repeated listens revealing an extra dimension to their spooky goth-inflected rockist 80’s sound, the bass and drums combo of Caz and Simon taking a more sonic lead, underpinning Jo Bevan’s as-ever insouciant, detached yet captivating vocal, with Rob Hardy’s Sargeant/ McGeoch-esque guitar licks providing more textural background patterns. Whether that would filter through to the “live” setting, however… well, let’s see!

 It being a weekend, Logan was keen to join uber-fan Stu and myself for an early drive down to the “Dirty Boat”, hitting the venue before doors and thereby requiring a trip across the road for a loo break! Stu got the round in and Matt joined us at the bar whilst Logan grabbed his (our!) usual front-and-centre spot, and we joined him for local openers Shoun Shoun at 7.30. Late replacements for the scheduled support, they kicked off with a racey, pacey opener “Much Sweeter”, with a detached and dissonant vocal from German expat Annette, which variously recalled Kleenex’s Astrid, PJ Harvey (Stu’s shout) and Drugstore’s Isobel! Subsequent numbers were variously paced, with grungy guitar riffs sharing centre stage with keyboard and violin embellishments, threatening to burst the seams of their oft-teutonic and regimented song structures, like a prisoner squirming at the restraints of their straitjacket! “Stuck”, their lockdown number, featured a fiercely yearning vocal from Annette, adding gravitas to the hook “we’re stuck together through good and bad”, and closer “Toxic” was a four-tender alarm metronome, again with thrillingly angsty vocals. Occasionally a little overwhelming sonically with too many moving parts (less is more sometimes, folks!), this was nonetheless a fine, dark and moodily mysterious set from very promising newcomers.

 We kept our stage front spots as the place filled up, whilst some way short of capacity tonight. No mind, hopes were high as Simple Minds’ sweepingly expansive euro-synth instrumental “Theme For Great Cities” heralded the entrance of the band at 8.30. Easing in with a couple of newies – the gloomy, haunting “Was It Worth It?” and the poppier yet deceptively confessional “Personality Girlfriend” – they then went all old school on our asses with a triad of utter vintage bangers. “Cristina”, breathless and taut, “Hollow” soaring and resonant, then a stunning “Why Are You So Boring”, Jo deadpanning the final verse lyrics for extra added snark and dismissiveness, and eliciting a shout of, “that was brilliant!” from a bloke at the back, Jo firing back with, “you have exceptional taste!”

 

He was spot on. Desperate Journalist were, as ever, quite brilliant tonight. The rest of the set was largely based on the new album, with bassist Simon, low slung and imposing, like a younger, gothier Peter Hook, sharing centre stage with the as-ever riveting presence of singer Jo. The sprawling, lugubrious “Everything You Wanted” was underpinned with a powerful, undulating and articulate bass riff which – and I’m sorry for not making the connection earlier, given their walk-on music – recalled Simple Minds’ virtuoso player Derek Forbes, and a later “Fault” was propelled by a rolling riff which prompted TBATB to again chip in with, “that’s proper bass playing!”. Then there was “Cedars”… the high watermark of their canon, the one that would be played on constant repeat on the radio if the tour bus ever went off a cliff (!), this is simply one of the, if not THE, greatest songs written in the last 10-15 years, and could be played on kazoos and tin cans and still sound utterly majestic. The fact they put all their collective heart, soul and tense, kinetic energy into it, as per their entire performance, was all for the better. Just wonderful.

 Encores of “Control” and the excellent “Satellite”, plus uncharacteristically fulsome compliments from Jo (“this is the most verbose crowd I’ve ever experienced in my life!” and a final “Love you!” – whaaaaat!!!) rounded off tonight’s utterly sparkling performance, Logan meeting Simon at the merch stand afterwards while picking up a singularly appropriate t-shirt (“Never Apologise, Never Explain” – excellent!). Farewells to Matt, then home early via the kebab van. What a brilliant night. The 2022 gig year is well under way, and it couldn’t have gotten a better kickstart than Desperate Journalist!

1,204 GAZ BROOKFIELD AND THE COMPANY OF THIEVES, Jess Silk, Acrustic Badger Band, Bristol Fleece, Sunday 20th December 2021

 

The last one of a late-starting 22-gig 2021 – considering my first wasn’t until 28^th July, thanks to this bloody Covid shitstorm, I’ve got to be happy with that – and fittingly, and for the 27^th time of asking, it’s “live” folk/ punk raconteur favourite Gaz Brookfield, this time accompanied by his Company, for his annual Christmas bash! It’s back at The Fleece this time, but also against the troubling backdrop of increasing cases of a new Covid variant seemingly impervious to 2 vaccine doses, although less efficacious against a booster. I’m boosted, me, so me and Logan were happy to go along, although Matt, Ady and Rich all dipped out at the last minute due to concerns about any subsequent quarantine period disrupting Chrimbo plans.

 Anyhoo, Logan and I tiptoed down a foggy M4, finding a parking spot a stones throw from the Fleece entrance but enduring a bit of a phone parking payment-mare (since when does “C” sound like “A” when I say it?), before hitting a quiet early doors venue at ¼ to 8 and easily slotting into Logan’s preferred viewing space – front and centre! My first time back at this much-visited venue since lockdown, and weirdly, it appears they’ve installed what looks like urinal troughs on the front of the stage! Didn’t have much time to ponder this before the Acrustic Badger Band, an acoustic guitar/ violin/ ukulele trio, joined us at 8, the vocalist immediately breaking a string which required extensive post-song rework, the ukulele player deftly filling in with an impromptu singalong cover of old Labi Siffre staple “It Must Be Love”! Their usual oeuvre consisted of fiddly diddly numbers which all sounded like a cross between The Wonder Stuff’s “Golden Green” and The Wurzels’ “Combine Harvester”! Couple that with the vocalists very pronounced (affected?) West Country accent and their subject matter – lots of songs about badgers! – meant that I didn’t see them as anything more than a bad novelty act. But they got the crowd singing along, so what the fuck do I know, eh?

 Main support Jess Silk, on at 8.45, was much more palatable. An earnest, left-wing Grace Petrie-alike (another pretty obvious comparison, but, hey, clip-clop = horse, and all that…), albeit darker and more serious, and actually with a touch of the doleful yearnings of Mr. Carraba, she kicked off with a couple of confrontational political anthems delivered in a distinctive, almost rasping voice, then changed tack considerably with a well-received cover of The Pogues’ “Fairytale Of New York”! A haunting “If We’re Damned” (her attempt to write a hopeful song of defiance after the dreadful December 2019 election result) and a more plaintive road song, “Home Is Where The Heart Is”, rounded off a short but impressive set tinged with some melancholy, as she put it, “it feels like this is the last time for awhile that we’ll do this…”

 That being so, we were looking for Gaz to send us into an uncertain Yuletide and potential post-Christmas/ New Year lockdown in good cheer, and he and his merry men duly delivered. From the opener “March Of Progress” (with its telling hook, “what is going on!?”), through an early “Logan-double” of “Gunner Haines” and a rocking “Diabetes Blues” (which got us both unmasked and singing along down the front), Gaz was in determined mood, giving it his all and (also a little out of practice with this “live” malarkey at the moment) clearly putting great effort into his performance. Newie “Pantomime” was a breathless rocker, “World Spins Round” featured some excellent fiddle breaks courtesy of Ben Wain, and a later “Lostfolk” (preceded by Gaz commenting, “two years on [from this album] and we still feel pretty lost!”) was my set highlight, a brilliantly ragged anthemic call-to-arms. Not note- or word-perfect by any means (Gaz messing up his words in a couple of different numbers), but nobody cared, the audience (probably ¾ full tonight, with my mates not the only Covid-cautious absentees tonight) just wanted to sing along to Gaz’ easy folk/ punk hooks and choruses, and have a great time, make the most of it before the next inevitable lockdown…

 After a raucous singalong to “West Country Song” and “Let The East Winds Blow”, Gaz remarked, “it’s a difficult time to be a musician or music fan [so] it means the fucking world to us that you came along tonight!”, before one final roof-raising “Thin”, Gaz taking a bow and handing Logan his set-list at it’s conclusion. Quick farewells to Gaz and his uke player Nick Parker, before a 20 minute circuitous nightmare just trying to get out of the road closure-affected city centre without traversing a bus-lane (I had to, in the end!), then home for midnight in increasing fog. So that’s 2021 done and dusted for gigs, then, but a great send-off provided by Gaz and his boys!

1,203 WE ARE SCIENTISTS, COACH PARTY, Bristol Trinity, Tuesday 7th December 2021

 

This one feels like a new discovery of a veteran act… I’d been mightily impressed by Isle Of Wight newcomers Coach Party and their spritely, slightly bratty take on indie pop, and was on the lookout for gigs down our way – The Louisiana in January was one (sadly postponed from an earlier tour, in conjunction with equally promising newcomers Francis Of Delirium), but an earlier opportunity presented itself when they were named as tour support for veteran NYC indie rabble We Are Scientists, a tour including a date at evocative old Bristol former church The Trinity. I’d picked up their debut “With Love And Squalor” back in 2006, liking it fine but finding it slightly formulaic of the staccato one-note school of “post-punk” back then (Bloc Party, Futureheads et al), subsequently blanking on future releases. However, a quick YouTube trawl revealed the error of my ways, 2021 album “Huffy” (their 7^th!) in particular leaping out of the blocks with some sparkling hooky powerpop. Hmmm, some lost time to catch up with this band then, methinks…

 Tix were duly booked for myself, and, later, for Logan, who enjoyed “Huffy” too. So we took a drive down a blustery M4, hitting traffic going into Brizzle, but parking up securely in Cabot and hitting the venue in good time for Logan to grab his usual spot – leaning on the stage (no barriers), front and centre! Introduced him to a proper Bristol gig rite of passage – meeting Big Jeff (!) – before Coach Party joined us at 8, bursting out of the blocks with the effervescent yell of “Oh Lola” and the deadpan chugalong riffery of “Everybody Hates Me”, both recalling the flippant 90’s Britpop of early Sleeper… A pretty obvious comparison for this young band, maybe, but, first, if I hear clip-clops, I’m yelling “horse”, and second, that’s no bad thing, as Sleeper in their early pomp were a cracking band… Anyway, back to Coach Party… “no word of a lie, We Are Scientists are the funniest people we’ve ever met!” gushed vocalist Jess effusively before the Pixies-ish growl of their “bad break up song” “Crying Makes Me Tired”, and an abortive attempt to engage the kids down the front in their Tik Tok video! “Breakdown” featured a splendid if truncated mid-song noise-fest, Jess kneeling in a very David Line style, before some punters complimented her on her trousers! Her reply was, “it’s my ass,” then some wag down the front (ok, me…) remarked, “that’s the Isle Of Wight’s ass!”, Jess thankfully getting the Captain America reference! A bright, sparkling set concluded with the double whammy of a punky, in-your-face “Feels Like A Girl” and set highlight, the propulsive undulating riff of “Can’t Talk, Won’t”. Excellent set, and now I’m really looking forward to that January Louisiana date…!

 The place, quiet early doors, filled up properly as Logan asked the friendly roadie (more on him later) how much he earned! In short order, the walk-on music of Aerosmith’s cheesy power ballad “Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” kicked in, the 3-piece We Are Scientists conducting the audience singalong before launching into breathless opener “You’ve Lost Your Shit” (which variously recalls The Wannadies “Hit” and Kim Wilde’s “Kids In America”!), which segued into oldie “Inaction”. The modus operandi for this gig was pretty soon established; dynamic slabs of laconic but upbeat NYC cool indie powerpop with, yes, that post-millennial taut post-punk staccato riffery, but with repetitive hooks aplenty for this engaged crowd to sing along to raucously. As a newbie, I did my best, but this was one for the devoted, some “deep cuts” (vocalist Keith announcing at one point, “know your deep cuts or you’re gonna get cut!”) delighting the faithful. And vocalist/guitarist Keith was a dynamic stage presence; energetic, kinetic, double denimed and constantly on his toes, he and bassist Chris shared a considerable amount of sardonic, savage and self-deprecating between song banter (“I wrote this song (“Kit”) about my cat but he won’t reciprocate [my feelings]”; “your cat just looks at you as a heat source!” being one, and “your tuning up sounds like a ukulele!” another). The brilliant helium chorus of “Contact High” and subsequent backbeat big hook of “It’s A Hit” were early highlights, and I liked the pregnant pause during the itchy, angular and Devo-esque “I Cut My Own Hair”, the crowd nonetheless filling in the hook line. Some problems with pushy fellow punters distracted me mid-set, but the louche, almost funky “Sentimental Education” brought me back into the room, the band then finishing strongly with more fun banter and an almost hauntingly emo-esque “After Hours”, after a slight mid-set sag.

 A four song encore concluded an at-times excellent but always intriguing and entertaining 1 hour 20 minute set, before we obtained the drummer’s list thanks to that friendly roadie, hit the merch stand for some chat with Coach Party drummer Guy and a tee for Logan, then back to the ‘don by 11.30 in drizzle. I’ve clearly got some work to do on We Are Scientists, but they did more than enough tonight to dispel my dismissive first impressions. As for Coach Party, that Louie gig will be a proper firecracker, no doubt…!

1,202 STEADY HABITS, Black Sheep Apprentice, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 2nd December 2021

 

From strident gloomy post-punk Goth to mellow, understated alt-Country and Americana in the space of 4 days; who’s to say I don’t have diverse musical tastes then? This one was actually quite the late call; local promoter and gig impresario extraordinaire, Mr. Ed Dyer, posted on the Tuppenny Facebook feed positively slavering about tonight’s Thursday Night Music Club hosts, Oxford’s Steady Habits, so I clicked on the link and found some nice pedal steel and enticing harmonies, just about enough to entice me away from my sofa and “Professional Masterchef”, at least…!

 So, a quick drive up the hill and into the Tuppenny at 8, whence landlady Linda advised me things were running a little late, so I took a good viewing pew and watched the 5-piece Steady Habits soundcheck, chatting with support band main man Rich “Skiddy” Skidmore before his lot Black Sheep Apprentice followed suit. As their check finished just after 8.30, they just went straight into their set, with an ominous “High Noon” ringing bell heralding the barren neo-psych Tex-Mex flavoured strumalong of opener “Let It Go”, which could’ve easily walked off Side 1 of Love’s seminal “Forever Changes”. Skiddy, as ever resembling the Western B movie villain from Central Casting, all black-clad, wearing a Stetson hat and sinister beard, promised to keep chat to a minimum (“I don’t want to sound like Kermit the Frog!”), instead concentrating on firing off the likes of “Re-Awakened To Danger” (a perfect soundtrack for that moment in a Coen Brothers movie where the protagonist meets his untimely end, most likely over a woman) and “Solitary Man (a Neil Diamond cover, sounding entirely in place in this set) from his metaphorical low-slung holster. “Born To Walk Alone” (“despite my usual happy chirpiness this is quite a miserable song,” quipped Skiddy), was a parched paean to lost love, thematically typical of the BSA “lone rider” oeuvre, and whilst newie “A Reason To Smile” was a slightly upbeat yet disjointed (3 verses or 4?) work-in-progress, the cantering “Phoenix” was my highlight of another fine BSA set of set of dusty and desolate truckstop Americana. And Skiddy thinks they’re not “Americana”…? Hmmm…!

 I was joined by young Mr. Paul Carter at my table before Steady Habits took the stage, led on by their cherubic main man, vocalist Sean Duggan. “Good evening, we’re Steady Habits, all the way from Oxford… as you can tell I’m a born Oxonian,” deadpanned Connecticut native Duggan in his authentic US drawl, with an early “Half” setting the tone for their set, a beguiling pedal steel-powered West Coast US Summery driving number featuring excellent undulating guitar work from former Greasy Slicks axeman Jack Kendrew. “Hold In Your Breath” was a slower-paced and understated number with a tumbling harmonic chorus, before Duggan delivered a solo “Archer Street”, an evocative tribute to small town America, in his clear, yearning and plaintive voice.

 “Garden State” (“another road song!”) referenced Main Street and Chesapeake and featured an almost 70’s folky, Fleetwood Mac choral feel, whilst “Stay” was a chunkier effort, with duelling guitar and pedal steel riffery. All the while, Duggan was a charming, self-effacing yet charismatic frontman, inviting us all to the Jericho Tavern for their hometown gig next week (Ed replying, “we’re not allowed into Oxford – we’re all from Swindon!”) and constantly praising the audience for their attention. Set closer “Borrowed Time” was my favourite of the set; the most upbeat number on show tonight, a Gin Blossoms-esque slab of sturdy backbeat Countrified rock with a smooth choral melody, ending an understated yet intelligently crafted and meticulously delivered alt-Country set on a high note.

 That wasn’t it though, as Ed persuaded the band on for an encore, Duggan revisiting his former fraternal duo Loud Mountain’s catalogue for a more strident finale, then I swiped the sole list, caught up with a late-arriving Si Hall (playing here early next year – I’ll be back for that one!) and had a chat with a personably young Mr. Duggan about Boston and baseball (2 of my favourite subjects!). Home for 11 after another fine evening up the Tupp!

1,201 WHISPERING SONS, Rose’s Diary, Southampton Joiner’s Arms, Monday 29th November 2021

 

After a run of more “retro” acts of late (I much prefer “retro” to the current favoured nomenclature of “heritage” or “nostalgia” – that makes them sound like they’re ruined old castles!), here’s a trip down to my favourite venue on the South Coast for a fairly new band… Brussels post-punk lot Whispering Sons had inveigled themselves into my consciousness with their sophomore effort, “Several Others”, earlier this year. However, whereas “post-punk” seems to currently define itself as a bloke shouting the odds over a fast-paced but monotonous one-note beat (see Fontaines DC and their ilk), da Sons offered something different; spooky, mysterious, bass-led build-ups to startling crescendos, very early Bauhaus/ Killing Joke art school pseudo Goth, and the voice… well, the overlaying vocals were the real distinguishing feature; so deep, angst-ridden, resonant and almost morbid, like Bela Lugosi reading an eulogy to the damned. So, an intriguing – if gloomy – one in prospect here, no doubt…

 A swift drive down in inky blackness parked me up a few feet from the door at 8 as usual (love the Joiners!!!). Only a dozen or so folk in early doors – poor turnout, I thought, which then became poorer as 4 of them took the stage! The support band Rose’s Diary (for so they were), kicked into some bright if slightly unrehearsed and raw 90’s indie and dreampop, recalling the likes of Belly and The Cardigans, in front of family and friends (including the blonde vocalist’s dad, recording it all. Aptly named too, as each song lyrically felt like a teen confessional diary excerpt, presumably from said vocalist (Rose?), whose voice, whilst also unpolished and lacking projection, had a fey nasal charm, recalling the excellent Basement Revolver’s Cristy Hurn at times. Also currently possessing a clear paucity of material (2 covers in a 7 song set, including a Strokes one, 2^nd number in!), there was nonetheless definite promise there, and one good, more robust and uptempo number in set highlight “Cougars”. Early days for them, but not bad…

 They cleared out, and by 9 o’clock the place was still a crypt! OK, chilly Autumn Monday and all, but still… Southampton, where are you? So, 13 forlorn souls were present to greet Whispering Sons onstage, the boys kicking into the “Passion Of Lovers” beat of opener “Deadend”, the sound dominated by this big bold bass, full of tension and fear. Then the source of the “voice” joined us onstage – just a young, skinny, baggily dressed blond kid! Wow! Where do those mournful tones – like Ultravox-era John Foxx, or The Sisters’ Andrew Eldrich with a heavy cold – actually come from??? I really don’t understand!

 Be that as it may, it was there; the proclamations from the “other side”, from this slight figure with an agitated, at times almost frenzied stage presence, overlaying a dramatically, bleak, dark soundscape, played with strident power and purpose, all the more impressive given the tiny crowd. “Heat” was faster, itchier and more angular than the opener, like a vampiric Bloc Party; “Got A Light” all odd angles and time signatures, and stripped back to that sinister, creepy bass; and “Alone” was probably my set highlight, more conventional pseudo-Goth post punk but again with a bleak, insistent mood. Music for “B” Movie vampire flicks or 80’s black and white arthouse movies set in a decadent but decaying Europe, this, certainly not a soundtrack for walking home late at night through an unfamiliar part of town…

 After the slow burn of “Surface” built to a resonant climax, the subsequent “Tilt” was the set outlier, elegiac and almost pretty, the stormclouds clearing for a moment, before the strident and relentless punk rock fire alarm clatter of “Surgery” brought a taciturn but impressive hour’s performance to a close (in front of a crowd which by now had swelled to 20 – whoop whoop!). Grabbed a list and complimented the merch stand-bound bassist afterwards on an at-times outstanding set (him taking my comment about my having not heard such an impressively bass-dominated sound since early New Order as a compliment), before I asked, “is your vocalist coming out after the set?” and received the reply, “no, she doesn’t normally do that…”

 Hold on; she? SHE???? Now I’m even more confused about where that voice comes from!! After a quick drive home, getting me back to the ‘don at 11.30, I did some internet research, and sure enough, Whispering Sons vocalist is the clearly female Fenne Kuppens, who “sings in a dramatic and distinctive low register”. No fooling! Well, on reflection on tonight’s fine performance, maybe it’s more Patti Smith with a heavy cold…!

1,200 THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, Gerard Starkie, Bristol Thunderbolt, Friday 19th November 2021

 

Another key landmark reached in my gigging days; the big 1,200, and prospective fine hosts in long-time “live” favourites, folk-punk veterans The Men They Couldn’t Hang, only this time a potential triumph laced with sadness… The Men, like so many bands, had had tour plans disrupted by Covid 19, but more tragically, founder member, co-vocalist and chief “live” rabble rouser Stefan Cush sadly passed away in February this year of a heart attack, aged only 60. Heartfelt consideration was understandably given as to whether these pre-Covid dates would be honoured when possible; indeed, whether The Men They Couldn’t Hang could or should continue as a going concern without Cush’s towering presence in the band. Thankfully, the answers to both questions were ultimately decided in the affirmative, although this might prove a somewhat different “live” experience to that originally anticipated. Hopefully one which honours the life and contribution of a true working class rebel and spokesman, with dignity and humour…

 

I’d of course been playing TMTCH songs to the kids in the car from the get-go, and had been able to expose Logan to their unique brand of folk-punk tomfoolery at Wickham Festival in 2019, so my 14 year old gig buddy was well up for a rousing singalong in a small Bristol pub, particularly if there was a kebab on offer at the end of it…! My first time at The Thunderbolt, then, and on arrival, after being expertly navigated in by Logan, I was gratified to see it was just as advertised – a dingy, run-down small pub venue, capable of holding about 150 souls, and understandably sold out tonight. We took a spot near the front of the stage for opener Gerard Starkie, on at 8. He played some dark, baroque and typically English sounding folky stuff initially recalling the 70’s likes of Cat Stevens and even pre-Glam David Bowie; then “Closing Up”, a song from his old band Witness sounded a proper old school Britpoppy anthem and was the best of his set by miles; then he followed that up with a number he used to play when he was a member of Blue Aeroplanes – he lives in Bristol, he owns a guitar, of course he used to be a member of Blue Aeroplanes!

 

His lilting, melancholy and alright-actually set rounded off at 8.45, after which things got a bit crowded on the postage stamp dancefloor, but we held our spots, front and centre, as Phil “Swill” Odgers led the 6-piece band onstage, understandably looking quite cramped up there! A jolly “Raising Hell” opened the show, after which the elephant in the room was quickly and elegantly dispensed with, Swill eloquently paying tribute to Cush, advising us that the band intended to continue for this tour at least, and quip, “this feels like the first soundcheck Cush has turned up to [in spirit] – he’s having a mojito across the road!”

 

Thus informed, band and audience visibly relaxed and proceeded to go about the business of having a bloody good time, celebrating life, music and Cush’s memory the right way. “Going Back To Coventry” (“part of [songwriter Paul Simmonds’] folk rock trilogy? Or even quadrilogy?”) was powerfully rousing and rocking, Swill subsequently commenting on the song’s fast pace with a story of how, early in their career, an A&R man thought all their songs were that fast, and ended up playing “Ghosts Of Cable Street” at the wrong speed! Then, an emotive, heart-cracking “Green Fields Of France” was next up, Swill doing “Cush’s song – and his dad’s song” stark, beautiful justice and respect, vocalising off-mic to lead the crowd in a genuinely emotional and affecting singalong. Just lovely stuff.

 

A rollicking “Smugglers” singalong served as an upbeat mood changer, before the acoustic interlude saw Logan (front and centre, remember…) hold up the lyric sheet to “Pieces Of Paradise” for Swill to sing! Thus followed more road stories about Cush (including one where he interrogated Swill about breaking a tour taboo – no shitting on the tour bus!), a couple of unexpected gems (including the languid Spanish Stroll of “Salutations” and “Gold Rush”, a personal favourite), and raucous, rousing singalongs to the fist-pumping, blue-collar class struggle likes of “Cable Street” and set highlight “The Colours”. A frantic “Ironmasters” closed out a celebratory set, before encores including “Walking, Talking” saw Swill ask the by-now raucously dancing crowd to, “step back, 75% of you probably have knee problems already!”

 

A merch stand visit, a quick chat and pic with Swill, and home via the kebab kiosk around the corner from home as promised for two happy boys. This was done beautifully well, The Men They Couldn’t Hang delivering a superbly fun evening’s entertainment and honouring their fallen comrade in exactly the right way. I can just picture Cush raising a glass to them, in thanks and salutations…