1,273 DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE, Slow Pulp, London Royal Albert Hall, Wednesday 29th March 2023

 

This one should have made perfect sense… Death Cab For Cutie, enduring Seattle alt-rock veterans and the black jeans-wearing, thinking US indie-fan’s second favourite band (after The National, of course…!), have recently inveigled their way back into the forefront of my listening fashion, their plangent return-to-form 2018 effort “Thank You For Today” being followed by 2022’s splendid “Asphalt Meadows”, possibly their best effort since those halycon early 00’s days of “Transatlanticism” and the seminal “The Photo Album” (still easily their finest work for me). “Asphalt Meadows” is an altogether more upbeat and immediate effort, whilst still replete with DCFC staples as intelligent songcraft and introspective confessional lyricism, and I confess I had difficulty picking a favourite track to represent them on my “Best Of” 2022 mix CD! So, an initial announcement of a one-off date at the Royal Albert Hall piqued my interest enough to cough up the rather steep ticket price, in the hope of hearing DCFC’s trademark clear, melancholy melody and musicianship displayed to best effect in these ornate and opulent surroundings…

 I hit the road at 4, and, as per the recent Killing Joke gig here (gig 1,269), parked up at Osterley and tubed to Gloucester Road for the hike to the venue, albeit in anticipation of a slightly less visceral and brutal (and hopefully better-sounding) experience than that one! Sorted out some family stuff on the phone after grabbing a central spot a few rows back, but my head was back in the game for openers Slow Pulp at 7.30. Beloved by DCFC’s main man Ben Gibbard (a point he made frequently during their set), Slow Pulp weren’t a plodding version of Jarvis’ 90’s lot, rather an alt/dreampop/ Americana collective from Wisconsin. After a wistful and wispy opener, “I Don’t Get” was a little more upbeat and robust, the set subsequently switching between these 2 paces of material. It was all pleasant enough, smooth and dreamy indie-lite but nothing really stuck; even a later, grungier number with Pixies-esque power riffery seemed, well, polite, the blonde vocalist even breaking out a harmonica for the full-on hushed Americana closer “Backwoods Man”…

 I shuffled back to 3 or 4 rows back to let some tiny girls in front of me, but even approaching showtime there was still fairly ample space to move around in my position. Sell-out? Didn’t feel like it… Ben led the troops on at 8.30, easing into opener “I Don’t Know How I Survive” under a single spotlight. The quiet opening to this number should have led to the startling riff underpinning the hook, but unfortunately it sounded too echoey and bassy on arrival, with not enough of Ben’s more nuanced vocal (made more notable by Ben’s predilection to go slightly off mic for his delivery) or guitar sound in the mix. Oh dear, here we go again…

 The anticipated pounding strident backbeat of “The New Year” was drowned out by even a polite singalong from my fellow punters, and despite Ben’s obvious energy, kinetic enthusiasm and clear pleasure at playing here (“sometimes we say we’re happy to be places but we’re not; but we’re really happy to be here!”), the sound never lived up to his/ the bands performance levels or my expectations. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed their performance in large part; an early “Movie Script Ending” was plaintive, understated and quite lovely, the undulating riff of a groovy “Here To Forever” was splendid, and an acapella outro to the slightly menacing “Black Sun” was sung back reverentially by the crowd. However, like that House Of Love 2018 Roundhouse gig (gig 1,110) I just wanted it to sound better, fuller, clearer, more…

 “After the last month [on tour] I swear we should be sponsored by Boots!” quipped Ben before the metronomic chug of “I Miss Strangers” , actually the best and fullest sounding number thus far. Further nostalgia stories followed about their first London dates at the Dublin Castle in 2001 (“the [house] mic smelled like it had been in somebody’s ass!”) before a suitably melancholy, piano-embellished “Rand McNally”; then a solo acoustic “I Will Follow You Into The Dark” was a beautiful, heartbreaking paean, wonderfully observed and accompanied by the crowd and easily the highlight of the main set. “Asphalt Meadows” was another highlight, building to a layered crescendo, before Ben drew the DCFC “recital” to a close with “a prayer to the American West”, the talking verse and chiming riffery of “Foxglove Through The Clearcut”, almost a companion piece to Clem Snide’s excellent “I Love The Unknown”.

 

A 4-song encore featured an almost jolly, strumalong “Soul Meets Body” and gushing thanks from Ben (“never mind a career highlight; this is a life highlight”) before “Transatlanticism”; comfortably the best and best sounding number of the night, the solo piano opening ceded to the rhythm rolling in like the tide, before the cymbal crashed in like breakers on the shore as the repetitive hook built to a crescendo. Great way to finish an ultimately enjoyable, if uneven and frustrating, near-2 hour performance. A slow walk back to the tube, then a maddening drive home down a roadworks- and speed restrictions-riddled M4 got me home for a tired 12.45. Ugh! So, it should have made sense, but kind of didn’t – 2 poor sounding gigs in a row at such a prestige venue as the Royal Albert Hall is, frankly, a bit shit really. But none of those issues were down to Death Cab For Cutie; they did their best to put on a fine performance, so fair play for that, but next time I see them I’ll hope to go somewhere that the sound works properly…

1,272 MIKI BERENYI TRIO, Stroud Sub-Rooms, Saturday 25th March 2023

 

Something slightly different, this one, but there’s a musical performance involved, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s a gig! I was a huge fan of Miki Berenyi’s former band Lush from the off, falling hard for their immediate potent blend of Throwing Muses jagged rhythms, MBV-style wall-of-sound guitar effects and otherworldly dreaminess, seeing them “live” 4 times in 1989-1990 and declaring their imminent superstardom to all and sundry. Checked out on them a tad as subsequent releases became wispier and more ethereal (defining the “shoegaze” genre in the process), although I loved their final flippant, more upbeat and melody-led album “Lovelife”, and likely would have caught them a few more times “live” had it not been for the shocking suicide of drummer Chris Acland and Lush’s subsequent (and understandable) dissolution. A reunion gig in 2016 (gig 987) was an uneven yet welcome full stop to the Lush story, the band knocking it on the head, likely for good, shortly afterwards, and seemingly returning to their day jobs (a couple of releases from Miki’s subsequent hobby band, Piroshka, notwithstanding). However, Miki then tried something different; she wrote her memoirs! The book, “Fingers Crossed”, is a cracking read, as raw and turbulent yet thrillingly entertaining as the band’s early material, throwing light on a fascinating life and well deserving of its’ plaudits. I’d missed Miki’s book signing in Bristol at the back end of last year, but was up for any subsequent event close by; so, a Saturday matinee one at nearby Stroud? Thanks, I do!

 So, I took a mid-afternoon drive through the winding South Cotswolds, parking up and killing some time in the Sub Rooms café chatting with a couple of gents who’d been to an earlier event, and who were fascinated about my Gig Book No. 1, which I’d brought along to show Miki my setlist from Lush’s March 1990 Reading gig (no. 157, and my 100^th list!). Eventually joined the queue, then took a front row seat in this small side-room space, bathed in pink light and adorned with 90’s memorabilia, as Miki and her 2 back up gents finished setting up the raised stage. Miki then organised seating for the sold-out crowd “like a school mistress!”, before introducing “The Miki Berenyi Trio” and kicking off the performance just after 5. Three guitars, so synth effects and drum machine beats were played through a laptop, the metronomic beat underpinning a haunting opening reading of “Light From A Dead Star”, which, stripped of the shimmering effect-led wall of sound, felt raw and intimate, setting the tone for a relaxed, low-key yet absorbing set.

 

“Leaves Me Cold” from the “Mad Love” EP, was next up, again shorn of the recorded version’s growling guitar menace but giving more emphasis to Miki’s lovely, descending yet mainly high-register lilting vocals. “I left my pedals on the train!” she remarked before the more baroque, almost madrigal feel of the dreampoppy “Covert”. The soft synth pitter patter of a light, summery “Vertigo” followed, before Miki then introduced the more robust “Kiss Chase” tongue-in-cheek as, “[one] about child abuse… always brings the house down”… “Baby Talk” (“a very very old song – “Scar” old… [Camden] Falcon old!” according to Miki) was my set highlight, the most strident number in the set, with an underlying hint of menace emphasised by Miki’s lower, more atonal Sioux-alike vocal, before “Big I Am”, a funky newie (“Because I feel like it!” – and why not?), concluded a thoroughly charming half hour’s performance.

 

Set over (and set-list kindly provided by guitarist Olly – whom I mistook for Miki’s partner Moose; whoops, that was the other guy!), BBC presenter and journalist Samira Ahmed joined Miki onstage, engaging the singer in conversation about her life and times, upbringing and heritage, via the lens of “Fingers Crossed”. This was actually very entertaining and revealing, Miki coming across as self-effacing, honest and as entertainingly deadpan, matter-of-fact and (still!) profane as her absorbing memoir. A brief Q&A followed, and I got to ask about Lush’s treatment by the now-defunct weekly music press and whether we’re missing something with said press no longer existing, which prompted further debate between Miki and Samira.

 

Miki then decamped to the back of the room, signing copies of her book and anything else. I’d gotten the boys to sign my list so Miki completed the “Trio” set, and I showed her the landmark 100^th setlist from my book to her general amusement. I also presented her with a framed photo I took of her and Tanya Donelly at Belly’s first UK gig (November 1992, gig 226!). She was lovely, gregarious and very accommodating to my ramblings, and seemed genuinely pleased with my gift. I eventually hit the road, back home for 7.30 and chip shop chips for tea. So, something slightly different, but something very worthwhile, and so glad to meet Miki again after all this time!

1,271 SUEDE, Sprints, Southampton Guildhall, Friday 24th March 2023

 

Ah, Suede, 2022’s other Comeback Kings (along with Editors)…!

Their last “big gig” (ironically here, back in April 2019, gig 1,134), was a slightly disappointing affair, with substandard (then) new material leading me to consider 90’s glam pop auteurs and Bowie acolytes Suede somewhat past their recorded best (a few dickheads in the audience also pissing me off a tad). However their stunning 2022 release “Autofiction” seriously put paid to any thoughts that they might be a spent force, roaring back with a swaggering, punkish vim and vigour largely absent since that irresistibly vital first 2 album salvo back in the early 90s. A roaring, in-your-face CD release show at Bristol Fleece (gig 1,242; and yes, that does say The Fleece!) last September put them securely back on our “Dance Card” – in fact, at the end of the first Fleece number “She Still Leads Me On” (a track that ultimately proved my favourite of 2022), I turned to Rachel and said, “so we’re booking tix for the main tour, right?”, her immediate response being, “hell YEAH!”

 Unfortunately, after securing tix for a return to Southampton, family circumstances conspired against Rachel joining me for this one, but luckily old 90’s friend Robynne was able to step in at (very) short notice. So we hit the road for a swift drive to the South Coast, running into Robynne’s friend Katie and her daughter Madelaine in the main queue before decamping to the O2 Priority for easier entrance, pitching up a couple of rows back, house left and passing the time with some 90’s Level 3 chat! My favourites Desperate Journalist had been added as part-tour support, but not for this gig (D’oh!), so instead we had Sprints, hot off the plane from their native Dublin this afternoon. However, it didn’t take long before they made me not miss Jo and Co. so much, setting to their task with impressive urgency, vitality and dynamism. Opener “Ticking” featured a Mysterines-like eerie backbeat intro launch into a full-on roaring punk rock “take it away!” hook, roared by the stridently larynxed vocalist Karla Chubb; “Heavy” was all creepy seething Goth-lite post-punk with a Bauhaus “Dark Entries”-esque descending opening riff, and “Modern Job” showed an A House-like penchant for circular, repetitive lyricism over its’ careering base. “How Does The Story Go?”, the more sedate outlier of the set with a nonetheless squalling feedback outro, ceded to “Literary Mind” (“It’s been A-Listed on Radio 6!” boasted Karla, before commenting about the small cheer, “my imposter syndrome really needed that mediocre [response]!”) which upped the ante again, an urgent dark powerpop build to a hurtling, nagging choral hook, and my highlight of an overall rather excellent set. This lot’d utterly slay at, say, The Joiners…!

 

More chat took us up to (and just past!) 9, a white noise soundtrack heralding the entrance of Suede, vocalist Brett Anderson on last, already exhorting the crowd to clap along to the metronomic backbeat of glam sleaze opener “Turn Off Your Brain And Yell”. By the soaring hook of a strident “15 Again” Brett was atop his monitor, offering the crowd his mic, and by 4^th number, Bowie-esque debut “The Drowners”, he was in the photo pit (not for the last time!), getting right in the faces of the front rows, ourselves included. “You’ve had a couple of gin and tonics; it’s time to release the animal!” he announced by way of intro to the anthemic “Animal Nitrate”, the devoted replying in kind to the soaring hook. The man’s up for it tonight, no messing!

 

This was a considerably better showing than their last gig here, 4 years ago; “Trash”, their manifesto number, was all inclusive and soaring, the hook practically raising the roof. Brett was everywhere, prowling from side to side onstage like a caged wolverine, constantly beckoning for more noise from the crowd, sweating profusely and really putting in a shift. That said, the set mid-section lulled a little for me, a stately slow-burn “Invisibles” and a “communal moment” plaintive voice/ piano only “Everything Will Flow” notwithstanding, and I was hoping for something to really kick the gig on. We got it – and how! – with an incendiary “She Still Leads Me On”, coupled with the creepy proto-goth atmospherics and tense, echoey hook of “Shadow Self”. Brilliant! Back in the room then, with Brett commenting their 1992 Joiners gig, “felt like something was happening,” (I was at the Old Trout the night before, me! Gig 211…) before a fiery end to the set, featuring an impassioned, “Sweet Thing”-like “Wild Ones” and the angular slashing riffery of “Metal Mickey”. “New Generation” capped the set, before a lengthy encore of “Beautiful Ones”, Brett leading us in the “la la la-la la-la-la” refrain, rounded off an overall refreshing and redemptive 1 ½ hour performance.

 Lists too for Robynne and myself (I thought we’d missed out as we were being moved on, but a roadie brought out some spares just in time!), then a slight diversion through Winchester still saw us making good time home. Despite a mid-set lull, then, this was a splendid gig from Suede; the comeback is complete!

1,270 THE PIXIES, Slow Readers Club, Cardiff International Arena, Saturday 18th March 2023

(Calm down, it's the support's list!)

“You can’t go too far wrong with the Pixies!” Those were my words to Logan, as my son was mulling over the purchase of a green army shirt from a Camden street vendor, during a quick shopping trip immediately prior to the “Rick Astley/ Blossoms do The Smiths” gig in October 2021 (gig 1,191). Yes to the shirt, but which back design? Ultimately, heeding my fatherly advice, Logan went for the “Monkey Gone To Heaven” design (over SLF and Dead Kennedys, as I recall…), and when I then played him that track on my phone, he immediately knew his decision was the right one. Since then, Logan’s been jonesin’ to see The Pixies “live”, so when Boston’s veteran and cutting-edge acerbic late 80’s alt-indie noiseniks and grunge pioneers announced UK arena shows, ostensibly promoting 2022 album “Doggerel”, we were in like a shot. Not their best work, this one, but given Black Francis’ penchant for leading the band, setlist-less, through whatever the hell he fancies playing from their now-extensive and stellar canon at any given time, who cares?

 Making an afternoon of it, we hit the road at 2ish for a very swift hurtle along the M4. Shopped until Cardiff started closing around us (at an early-feeling 5!) so we grabbed cola and cake in Bru, next to the Arena, joining the queue just after 6 and chatting with a father/ son combo who’d driven from Stoke for this one. Stoke! Fair play fellas! Despite the hordes in front of us, we still grabbed a barrier spot, house right, under the large bank of ceiling-hung speakers. This is gonna get loud…! Greeted Shannon, Rachel’s cousin’s daughter, who was a few along from us on the barrier (!) before the support joined us at 7.30. Happily, this was Slow Readers Club, fine hosts of gig 1,268, again kicking off with the robotic synth and fist-pumping hook of “Modernise”. “It’s an honour to be supporting Pixies tonight!” proclaimed vocalist Aaron Starkie before the taut, clipped “All I Hear”, but, time pressure notwithstanding, the Readers were men on a mission tonight, to win over as many of the Pixies massive as possible with another splendid performance. “We’re going to play [another] new one… but I guess they’re all new to you,” deadpanned Starkie before a marvellously morose and melancholy “Lay Your Troubles On Me” built to a crescendo; “I Saw A Ghost” saw a receptive crowd handclap along; and by the stentorian march of the penultimate “Forever In Your Debt” there were more than a few new Readers converts in evidence. An urgent “Lunatic” ended a splendid 7 song vignette of a set in which Slow Readers Club firmly established their own future arena credentials, a nice footnote being bassist James hearing my shouts and sorting his list for me. Nice!

 Quick loo trips and brief chats with fellow punters saw an easy passage to the appointed hour of 8.30. The lights then smashed to black and the Pixies sauntered onstage, waving nonchalantly at the crowd as they set up, then David Lovering’s unmistakable drumbeat and Joey Santiago’s sinister descending riff heralded opener “Wave Of Mutilation”, and we were away, flying into a cascading and thunderous version of this classic. Newie “Human Crime” followed, all jagged and seething power with a soaring middle 8, then a stentorian “Monkey Gone To Heaven” saw Black Francis deliver an insouciant verse vocal before savagely roaring the “then God is Seven!!!” hook from the depths of his black soul. Quite brilliant, but incredibly this level was maintained with a pounding and relentless early salvo of old school Pixies moshpit catnip, the hurtling “Broken Face”, the squalling surf-punk paean “Head On” and a gravelly, growling “Planet Of Sound” prominent in this early barrage of gut punches. Hell of a start!

 

The Pixies were simply quite, quite brilliant tonight, the set perfectly paced, veering off after this initial clutch into somewhat calmer waters, showcasing the new album material which nonetheless soared above its’ recorded versions by some considerable distance. “Vault Of Heaven” harked back to the singer’s own solo oeuvre with its understated backwoods menace and “Dregs Of The Wine” was discordant and dissonant, before a lengthy intro to metronomic oldie “Gouge Away” then ceded to the almost joyous, change-of-pace “Nomatterday”, for me the best of the newer material on display tonight.

 But as ever, the oldies won the day, and Francis threw plenty in, regularly retreating to the dumb mic by the drumkit to plan out the next clutch of numbers with the band (ah, so that’s how they do it!). “Caribou” saw another leonesque roar from the depths of hell (or Francis’ larynx… whichever is more evil!); the crowd singalong to the slow-burn “Hey!” resounded around the whole arena; “Bone Machine” was all flesh-tinglingly creepy and seething backbeat sleaze, as was a later, almost yearning “Cactus”. A crazed superfast “Vamos” saw Francis’ gabbling Esperanto subsumed by Santiago’s undulating and stretched fiery middle 8 riffery, and the joyously profane “Nimrod’s Son” was a late highlight, segueing into and out of “Motorway To Roswell”, seemingly at random. All too soon, a mammoth 36-song (!) 2 hour plus set concluded with the elegiac “Winterlong”, nonetheless still overlaid with some squalling Santiago guitar, before the band took a lengthy and well-deserved curtain call, the band rather uncoordinatedly bowing together(ish), after Francis surveyed the adoring masses from each corner of the stage.

 A quick exit via the merch stand and an equally breathless hurtle home got us back just after midnight, 2 happy boys, thrilled to have caught this fabled band on such epic form. Listen to your dad, son; you can’t go too far wrong with The Pixies!

1,269 KILLING JOKE, London Royal Albert Hall, Sunday 12th March 2023

(Should've been mine! But at least she let me get a pic of it...)

The hosts of my first ever gig, the brutal, uncompromising force of nature (think earthquakes, hurricanes, that type of force…) that are original primal punk survivors Killing Joke, announced a special performance at London’s prestige Royal Albert Hall, showcasing their first 2 albums, the eponymous primal assault of “Killing Joke” and the industrial sheet-metal synth and tumbling tribal rhythm of “What’s This For?” (the second of which, of course, they were promoting as a new release, waaaay back at that landmark June 1981 gig no. 1!), so I was in like a shot! Having seen them do this exact same thing at Kentish Town Forum back in 2008 (gig 756), I was hoping that time hadn’t diminished their fire, and this would be another “savage yet euphoric” celebration of two of the most influential albums of that immediate post-punk era. Floor standing for me for this one too; this music deserved to be experienced, not just heard, Wardancing in the melee with the other Joke acolytes…

 Knowing that I could take a battering, I prepared in advance; so, lenses and shorts firmly in place, and otherwise held together with neoprene and painkillers, I set off mid-afternoon, the usual Osterley parking and tube seeing me at Gloucester Road tube for 5.30. Went to the wrong pub first (!) but met up with friends Steve and Caz in the Gloucester Arms, also happily bumping into old punk buddy “Plum”, whom I’d not seen for donkey’s years! Some catching up and reminiscing of our misspent punk youth later, I left them in the pub (they had balcony seats so could rock up anytime) and wandered round, being sent round to Door 6 (the longest queue, of course…) but still in just before 7 and snagging a decent spot a row or 2 back from the barrier, house left. Had a phone call from old friend Doug too, and waved at him in his first tier box seat, in this ridiculously grand and opulent venue. No proper support, just DJ James Lavelle (who he?) unfortunately playing some annoying ambient dance. Whiled away the time chatting to a couple of affable blokes all the way from Norwich; this was truly a tribal gathering!

 Floor space was at a premium and anticipation palpable as showtime neared; finally, the lights dimmed and The Joke took the stage, the original line-up tonight, with wild-haired, black boiler-suit clad madman-in-chief Jaz Coleman last on. The strident, startling synth pulse of “Requiem” kicked in, the place popping like a cork from a bottle as the mosh surged forward enthusiastically. But then, there’s always one dickhead…

 I was swept forward by the mosh tide and into the back of a flat-capped guy on the barriers, whom we shall henceforth refer to as The Twat In The Hat… Rather like that idiot at the Hold Steady gig in 2018 (gig 1,076), TTITH reacted as if I’d assaulted him, raped his mum and kicked his cat all at once, turning on me, wild-eyed and furious and aiming a punch which happily missed… when it happened again, he leant on the barriers and donkey-kicked at me, luckily missing my bad knee. I moved to the right to get away from TTITH, as he furiously lashed out at anyone within punch-throwing distance (not just me, then…). A bouncer intervened, which calmed matters for a short while, but when the moshpit-catnip 5^th number “The Wait” kicked in, TTITH again lashed out at random folks, at which point an unidentified hand divested him of his hat and threw it behind into the mosh…! TT (no longer) ITH then went utterly nuclear, upon which the bouncers finally removed him to cheers from all and sundry. 

Meanwhile, a gig was going on…! The band were “on it”, sounding tight and together; Jaz’s stentorian roar, wild-eyed manic stare and jerky hand gestures were a feature; however, from my mosh vantage point, the sound mix was a little muddy, indistinct and not so stridently loud and powerful as I’d hoped, particularly on the slower, less synth-based numbers such as an early “Tomorrow’s World” or “SO36”. No matter, I was still enjoying myself, immersed in a frenzy of furiously rocking Joke devotees, 16 again in my head, and back at Under 18 Brunel… “The Wait” was stunning; getting seven shades of shit kicked out of me never seemed so euphoric! And despite occasionally bordering on the violent and brutal, the mosh was largely good-natured and thoroughly inclusive, cheers responding to my occasional between-song shouts of, “everyone OK?”

 The sound actually improved for Joke’s “What’s This For?” run-through, the pounding beat of “Tension” and tribal/industrial tumbling drums of “Unspeakable” a feature, Jaz on the lip of the stage, all St. Vitus Dance dramatic shakes, as the backdrop screen showed old Godzilla movie scenes and apocalyptic footage, augmenting the tense, claustrophobic mood of the material. The synth-snap of “Follow The Leaders” was a rampaging singalong, and “This Is Madness” saw a roaring call and response, before the manic slashing riffery of the cranked up, amped up maelstrom of “Exit” drew this utterly immersive set to a close.

 

The 4-song encore also chose from that late 70’s era; the taut, underlying repetitive funk riff of “Change”, an unfortunately thin sounding yet still jet-propelled “Are You Receiving?”, then a seethingly angry and embittered “Psyche”, the final verse couplet of “look at the controller, a nazi with a social degree” written over 40 years ago yet horrifyingly prescient to these troubled times, all but referencing the vile likes of Sunak and Braverman by name… The slogan “Killing Joke Confirm Your Worst Fears” played across the screen as the band took their bows, Jaz roaring his approval as he left the stage, then I, sweaty and dishevelled, caught my breath and checked I still had all my limbs, before just missing out on a list (drummer Paul Ferguson, who’d really put in a shift, returned to the side of the stage and heard my entreatments for his final list, unmooring it and giving it to the girl in front of me. Bah!). Met up with Steve and Caz in the lobby for a ride back to the car and quick blast home, back to the ‘don for a red-eyed 1.20. Yikes! Battered and sore for a couple of days afterwards, but glad I immersed myself in the mosh; as I mentioned, this was one to be experienced. So I did. The Joke’s still on you!

1,268 THE SLOW READERS CLUB, Andrew Cushin, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 11th March 2023

 

Finally taking notice “live” of a band whom I’d overlooked before… I’d first “seen” Manchester’s Slow Reader’s Club when they headlined here in November 2017 (gig 1,063), the band making the mistake of having the brilliant Desperate Journalist as tour support, and thereby being blown into the weeds by Jo and Co. However, I subsequently revisited them a couple of years later, thoroughly enjoying the strident, dark post-punk guitar noise of their 2020 “The Joy Of The Return” CD (their 4^th!), and booking tix for their 2020 tour, which of course, due to Covid, got postponed… and postponed… and postponed again... Said date was eventually rescheduled for an Autumn 2021 date which clashed with a whole-family gig elsewhere, which ultimately I didn’t go to either, due to my having to isolate as I’d tested positive myself! D’oh! So, I grabbed tix for this Thekla return, supporting hookier, more anthemic new album “Knowledge Freedom Power”, only for SRC to then be added as The Pixies’ support in Cardiff next weekend! Famine to feast, as they say…!

 Anyway, “The Dirty Boat” first… again cognisant of grabbing a parking spot, I hit the road at 5.45 for a drizzly drive, parking up outside relatively easily and joining the queue of devotees. Said queue included facebook friend and Readers fanatic Adrian, whom I’d met at the Chameleons Fleece gig a couple of years back (gig 1,207), plus his charming wife Claire who was celebrating her birthday! In at 7 p.m. doors and grabbing a spot near the front, house left, in time for painfully young solo acoustic guy opener Andrew Cushin, on at an early 7.15. An affable and confident young Geordie, his buoyant banter (“this is the 3^rd time I’ve played The Thekla; every time I think we’re gonna sink!”) and upbeat audience interaction (plenty of hugs with the front rows) was slightly at odds with his darker, almost macabre material, some of which would have fit nicely on the soundtrack to “Peaky Blinders”… His strident vocal projection was heard to best effect in the anthemic singalong “Wor Flags” (“about going to the match!) and, conversely, the plaintive and personal, Verve-like closer “Where’s My Family Gone.” Decent set from a talented young man.

 A quick loo trip (bumping into my Editors goth friend from gig 1,261 on the way!) saw me squeeze back in a few rows back, as anticipation grew and the devoted masses chanted, “Readers! Readers!” Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” (a pre-set regular number, now restored to the schedule, according to Adrian) heightened the party atmosphere, before 8.15 saw the lights smash to black, and an eerie backing track and backlit strobe/ strip lights herald the band onstage. Opener and new album leadoff track “Modernise” immediately set the tone, its clipped, dark post-punk riffery and robotic synth blare overlaid with a strident, anthemic “it’s time to modernise!!” hook, lustily sung back by the devoted, hands aloft already in celebration and worship. “Bristol, you sound in good spirits!” remarked angular vocalist Aaron Starkie before a brilliant, Taxpayer-esque “All I Hear”, coaxing higher levels of response from the crowd, although he needn’t really have bothered…

 

As I said, this was my first time of properly taking notice of Slow Readers Club “live”, and it was evident from the outset that the connection between band and crowd was like few others, the band unable to do any wrong in the eyes of the audience. And they played up to it, delivering a blistering performance of seething power and underlying menace, so it was easy to see how they engender such devotion. “The Wait” featured a shimmering guitar pattern and a soaring hook, before a White Lies-esque slow burn and synth-powered “How Could You Know”. “Plant The Seed” saw Aaron reach for the Jimi Somerville falsetto before another mass singalong, quipping, “our 4^th time on the Thekla! I don’t know if we upgrade to a cruise liner next time…!”, before a stripped back, sinister “Everything I Own”. Then, “Afterlife”; almost a companion piece to The Sheila Divine’s “Modern Log”, this eased in with a similar undulating opening guitar pattern, building like steam to a frankly massive soaring chorus. For me, easily their best number, and brilliantly executed.

 Penultimate number “On The TV” saw the entire crowd dancing along and singing the hook, even after the song ended… so the band started it up again! Planned? Maybe, but impressive nonetheless. “Feet On Fire” ended a 1 hour 15 set, before a 3 song encore which highlighted the new album’s title track, a racey,pacey synth hurtle reminding me of Our Daughter’s Wedding (!). Finally, Aaron abandoned the stage for closer “Lunatic”, delivering his strident, impassioned vocal from the belly of the moshpit. Impressive stuff. Set-lists went quickly to the devoted (fair enough, really) and I said farewells to Adrian, running into old footy friend Ben Ford on the way out, a quick M4 blast and kebab stop getting me home before 11. Overall, an excellent gig from Slow Reader’s Club; I won’t make the mistake of overlooking them again!

1,267 THE HOLD STEADY, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Thursday 9th March 2023

 

I’d been a pre-pandemic regular for The Hold Steady’s recent run of London Weekenders, joining the worshipping throng at the Electric Ballroom in the Marches of 2018 (gig 1,076), 2019 (gig 1,125) and 2020 (gig 1,178) to celebrate the finest raw, ragged rock’n’roll band of the 21^st century. However, their 2023 post-lockdown reactivation of said regular jaunt, from Brooklyn via Minneapolis to the UK, had somehow escaped my notice, and by the time I realised, I’d already booked a trio of big-ticket gigs for this month (see future blog posts for those!). I’d therefore resigned myself to missing out on Craig Finn and his ragged rabble’s “live” shenanigans this year, but then this cropped up; a midweek lunchtime “live and signing” sesh, promoting hopefully-better-than-the-last-two new CD “The Price Of Progress”, at Bristol’s splendid Rough Trade! Woah! I snapped tix up immediately, buoyed at the prospect of seeing THS at such close quarters…

 My boss very kindly allowed me to shift my working patterns, so after an early work start, I logged off and hit the road mid-morning for a drizzly drive down. Nosed around in the Rough Trade racks on my early arrival, getting a tap on the shoulder from gig buddy Stuart, who’d given this one a late call and took the train down! We got our wristbands in short order, and grabbed spots down the front, house right, as the place filled up (by no means a sell-out, this, however, the lunchtime scheduling possibly mitigating against that?). The band took the stage prompt at 1 p.m., vocalist Craig Finn promising something, “a little different for the lunchtime crowd!” Sure enough, oldie “Multitude Of Casualties” was all understated melancholy, heralding not only a set selection considerably off their usual beaten track, but also a performance of urbane, relaxed late-night bar-room restraint, far removed from the usual seething rock beast this band can be, but instead demonstrating style and musicianship. Having said that, by the song’s denouement, Finn was all expansive hand gestures and twitchy feet – he just can’t help himself! 

This relaxed occasion also gave Finn the opportunity for voluble and loquacious explanations as to the songs’ geneses; thus, we discovered the sway-along newie “Grand Junction” was written about a turbulent couple, whilst stranded in said town, the slow-burn, tears-in-beers ballad “Distortions Of Faith” concerned a manager/ performer married couple, and macabre set closer “Oaks” was about youthful trips to the local car wash to buy LSD! Finn also informed us that a previous trip to Bristol had resulted in him, “behaving like an asshole,” and bursting a blood vessel in his eye! Yikes!

 First album deep cut “Sketchy Metal” featured an excellent undulating riff outro from guitarist Tad Kubler, making recourse to his impressive array of effects pedals directly in front of me, and rather oddly reminding me of Ultravox!’s “Young Savage” riff! “Death Of The Punchline” was comfortably my set highlight, a roaring rocker which could have walked off “Stay Positive”, but which apparently was recorded for the new album then left off it! You contrary bunch, you…! The aforementioned “Oaks” featured a lengthy outro and again some splendid fretwork from Tad Kubler, rounding off another excellent set from The Hold Steady, albeit somewhat different than usual, demonstrating a different dimension to their music-making.

 

(above pic from The Hold Steady's own FB site. Well, I AM in it...)

Tad kindly handed me his and drummer Bobby Drake’s shared list, and we joined the rapidly-moving queue for a meet and greet with a band I’d been dying to shake hands with and say thanks to, since that heady first discovery of “Boys And Girls In America” in 2007. However, this didn’t turn out as expected… Despite the boys signing a poster (the album not being ready for release yet…) and copies of 2 earlier set-lists from my physical Gig Book 13 (Tad and Bobby in particular showing quite an interest in my journals, asking me questions about both that and my XTC shirt) we were unceremoniously hurried along by an overzealous and officious bloke (minder/ roadie? Probably… RT employee? Bloody hope not!) who shouted, “that’s excessive!” at me when I simply answered the boys’ questions about my blog by handing over my blog card, and refused any suggestions for a photo with the band. Sure, I get you’ve got a job to do, and another in-store in Nottingham that evening, but no need to be so bloody rude about it, and it totally spoiled what should have been a special moment for me. Thanks a fucking bunch pal. 

(The best I could get in the circumstances. Thank you Stuart!)

No time to argue though, as I was “on the clock” so I calmed myself down, and Stu and I hit the road, home about 3-ish and back to work! Despite the jarring ending, this was still a fine way to spend a lunchtime in good musical company on and off stage. Looking forward to that new album now…!