1,275 PETER HOOK AND THE LIGHT (2 Sets), Frome Cheese And Grain, Saturday 29th April 2023

 

A slow gig month of April is nonetheless ending on a high note, with the welcome return of a bona fide rock legend… having run the gamut of the entire Joy Division/ New Order canon of releases that he was involved in, it seems Mancunian post-punk icon Peter Hook is circling right back to the beginning, going through the dark, dramatic goth-tinged moody post-punk of his first band once again! Happy with that, the man’s always been more than good value whatever he chooses to play… and given that this fell on a Saturday night, this gave me the currently rare opportunity to bring my full-on GCSE-mode teenage son along for a break in his studies, to further an altogether different kind of education. When I first played Logan “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, his response on hearing this seminal all-time classic was, “so this song wasn’t so much written, more like handed down from God…” so I think the boy gets it…!

 Also joining us were old friends and fellow JD/NO devotees Colin and Paul, Colin picking us up at 6 for the first gig we’d travelled to together for nearly 40 years (Orange Juice at Golddiggers in 1984, gig 22!). Mused about this disgraceful state of affairs and other topics, during a meandering yet pleasant drive through Wiltshire’s backroads, parking up and grabbing a drink in this old corn market hall’s beer garden. Popped into the venue 10 minutes before the support, happily finding a pocket of space near the front, house right. As is his wont, Hooky was supporting himself, leading the band onstage at 8 and proclaiming, “we’ve tried something different on this tour; we’ve let each one of the band pick [the support] set-list! This is Paul’s turn…” Said list was a New Order selection, and Paul absolutely nailed the choice, with the pounding backbeat and change of pace of opener “The Him”, followed by the clattering synth pattern and eerie melodica overlay of “Movement”’s “Truth” and a beautifully plaintive and understated “Leave Me Alone”. Things really ramped up a few gears thereafter, though, with an unexpected “Blue Monday”, a stately “True Faith” and a bubbling, buoyant and singalong “Temptation” to round off a splendid half hour vignette, all delivered with sweeping authority by Hooky and the lads. Superb stuff… and that was just the opening set…!

 Our spot down the front got busier and more sauna-esque, as we were also joined by gig buddy Paul (from last year’s War On Drugs gig, no. 1,219); I took a comfort break at 8.45 and got caught out by Hooky re-taking the stage for the “Unknown Pleasures” rendition, powering into a fast, frantic and frankly incendiary “Disorder”. “Day Of The Lords”, next up, was replete with seething menace, Hooky growling the, “when will it end,” hook with imperious command, conducting the crowd with outstretched arm. The widescreen dark epic “New Dawn Fades” was however my highlight, Hooky raising his usually low, gravelly and stentorian vocals one octave for the genuinely affecting second verse. “Shadowplay” and “Interzone” were tense, taut proto-punk thrashes, with closer “I Remember Nothing” (a track I often struggle with, finding it a leaden plod) faring better “live”, all morose claustrophobia, reflecting those uneasy cold war 70’s times.

 Another brief break before the band returned, the tumbling drum pattern of “Atrocity Exhibition” heralding the “Closer” run-through. This was actually the first time I’d seen Hooky do Joy Division’s sophomore effort, an album I confess I know less well than its’ predecessor, and I was surprised how more synth-based the sound was, particularly on the expansive twinkling Eurodisko of “Isolation”, the regimented, almost funky stomp of “Means To An End” and the church organ wall of sound of “Closer”’s closer, the elegiac “Decades”. Definite nods towards the direction New Order were to ultimately take, although my “Closer” highlight was the taut, jagged and razor-sharp “Colony”, ironically the one track which would have fit most aptly on “Unknown Pleasures”… And, of course, all were delivered with superb purpose and conviction by Hooky and Co., the man turning his back to the crowd at “Decade”’s climax, signalling his approval with one arm aloft, before leaving the band to a lengthy and rapturously-received crescendo.

 They’d saved the best until last, however; the encore saw Hooky thank everyone on this, the last night of the tour, before an undulating, punky “Digital” ceded to the bass riff opening of a brilliant “Ceremony”, Hooky stripping the sound right back for the middle 8 breakdown before the haunting denouement, A hurtling “Transmission” followed, before the inevitable highlight of the night, a gloriously skyscraping rendition of “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, handed down by God and his strafing bass. Just magnificent. Hooky then cast his t-shirt to the masses before departing, then Logan and I grabbed a list and met the boys back at the car, home at midnight. A high note to end April, indeed, with the enduring legend that is Peter Hook!

1,274 OCTOBER DRIFT, The Pleasure Dome, Newport Le Pub, Tuesday 18th April 2023

 

It’s been a tough couple of weeks since my last gig, due to my Dad passing away, which itself was preceded by a period of hospitalisation and hospice care for him. As he always used to say, though, you just have to get on with it, so I was grateful for this pre-arranged gig to finally crop up in my schedule, so I could get on with doing what I love; seeing bands! And in tonight’s hosts, excellent post-punk/ shoegaze noiseniks October Drift, an increasingly special band in my books… A family holiday in Crete had unfortunately clashed with their October 2022 tour promoting their sophomore album “I Don’t Belong Here Anymore”, although I had managed to see them do a “hipster bistro” acoustic performance at Rough Trade Bristol before boarding the plane (gig 1,249). Said album was comfortably in the upper echelons of my Top Ten of 2022, replete with shimmering soundscapes, strident power-riffs and skyscraping choral hooks, so tonight represented a great chance to hear that new material, hopefully with no horses spared, as it were…

 This tour took in the Thekla, albeit in an already busy gigging May, so I’d instead booked for an early-tour trip over the bridge to the little-visited Newport, to Le Pub, a new venue on my dance card. After a quick trundle down the M4 I found it quite easily, close to the railway station and directly opposite an NCP! The venue itself was a small Vic-sized room to the side of a bigger pub, and wasn’t open on my arrival, but I passed the time chatting with a local lad about a £20 note which he’d lost! Eventually wandered in for openers The Pleasure Dome, kicking off dead on 8 p.m. A trio of ginger mullets, rock tattoos, hair and shirtlessness, they looked like a poor man’s Biffy Clyro, which was quite an apposite comparison musically too, with plenty of changes of pace, strident screamy vocals and general grungy noise featuring in their set, albeit also with a bit of Kings Of Leon-esque Southern boogie thrown in. At best, their punked-up set recalled that “difficult” early Biff and Primus; at worst it veered uncomfortably towards incoherent and irritating Nu-metal. Still, seen worse, and I liked the vocalist’s logic; “this is [October Drift’s] first time in Newport; it’s up to you to make it a good one… or it’s up to them as well, maybe… joint responsibility!” 

Bumped into October Drift’s wide-eyed, enthusiastic vocalist Kiran Roy by the merch stand for a between-set chat; the tour has been going really well to date, but they were anticipating tonight to be one of the quieter dates on the tour. Not wrong there, as there were probably about 30 or so hardy folks present as the band took the stage at 9… well, three-quarters of the band, anyway… I’d wondered why the OD roadie had set up the lead mic to the back of the dancefloor, but here was where Kiran delivered the opening number “Ever After”, solo at first before the band bled in with low-key embellishment. However, things blasted off good and proper when Kiran joined his compatriots onstage for an utterly incendiary version of “Lost Without You”, the guitar boys all kinetic power and movement, sawing away as if their lives depended on it, backed up more than ably by drummer Chris, wild-eyed and pounding away mercilessly. Woah, what a start!

Perhaps taking their support’s advice to heart, October Drift were quite brilliant tonight, affected by the disappointing attendance not a jot, instead setting to their tasks with fearsome power, energy and clear-eyed conviction. By “Lost”’s strident, dramatic middle 8, Kiran had already abandoned the stage for an excursion into the crowd, the first of many tonight! Metronomic rocker “Webcam Funerals” upped the pace further, “Don’t Give Me Hope” was a slower-burn shimmer, highlighting their shoegaze side at least until the inevitable cacophonous climax, and “Bleed” was a ticking countdown into a roaring stadium rocker, all thunderous riffery and sky-scraping anthemic choral hook. The swaggering, Pixies-ish “Insects” was another highlight, and the strident “Forever Whatever” saw the front rows sway along to another brain-hugging hook.

 “Thanks for coming out! This is our first time in Newport; the first time we come to a town or city there’s usually about 10 people there!” remarked drummer Chris before the penultimate “Oh The Silence”, to which I couldn’t resist firing back, “come to Swindon, there’ll be 11 of us!” “Silence” was another hard-riffing, fist-pumping anthem to finish the set proper, at which point Kiran and Chris took to the middle of the crowd to deliver a largely acapella and quite beautifully heart-rending version of “Like The Snow We Fall” in the round. A lovely way to end a stellar and dynamic 1 hour performance from a band rapidly becoming one of the best “live” prospects around. A quick chat with the boys, then a tired and slightly diverted (through Bristol) drive home saw me back in the ‘don just after midnight. So, as Dad said, get on with it, and I’m glad to get back on the gig trail, particularly with this marvellous October Drift performance!

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!