1,291 THE WONDER STUFF, Ian Prowse, Southampton The 1865, Wednesday 26th July 2023

 

Quite an eventful one, this, and not all for the right reasons, but first, here’s my intro blurb…

The Wonder Stuff’s recent original album celebration odyssey reaches a conclusion with this “ID30T” tour, commemorating the 30^th Anniversary release of their 4^th and final first-time-round album, “Construction For The Modern Idiot”… Hot on the heels of their most commercial (and arguably successful) release, “Never Loved Elvis”, this one toned down “Elvis”’ flippant fiddly diddly indie pop tuneage just a tad, in favour of a more studious, streamlined and rockier sound evidenced on darker, more dynamic leadoff single “On The Ropes”, which remains my favourite Wonder Stuff track, and was supposed to catapult them to arena (and possibly higher) status. Unfortunately, it did the opposite, the subsequent 1994 mega “Idiot Manoeuvres” tour (on which I saw them 3 times, largely due to the presence of my favourites Gigolo Aunts as support act) sadly precipitating the band’s initial breakup later that year. Happily, though, they’re now back with us, and have of late established themselves as one of the most reliable and thrilling “live” acts of the past few years (particularly at “Shiiine On”, where main-man Miles Hunt is a regular presence, either with the band or solo). Plus, we’ve seen them do the other 3 albums, so we’re not about to miss this one, right?

 A minor wrist operation earlier today, requiring both regional (block) and general anaesthesia (more on that later!) precluded me from driving, so Rachel took the reins, the 3 of us (Logan in tow for two gigs in two nights!) picking up fellow Stuffies devotee Robynne for the usual swifter than expected drive down to the South Coast, parking up just round the corner from the venue and heading in for 7.30, just as the support took the stage. Not the Gigolo Aunts this time, sadly; however Ian Prowse, frontman of 90’s Celtic-tinged folky rockers Pele and a man who humorously (I hope!) called me a cunt at Shiine On 2017 (!) admirably stepped up, duetting with virtuoso violinist Laura McMillan (AKA the Great Macca of Stirling, according to Prowsey). Sandwiched between a couple of jaunty, fiddly-diddly Pele numbers (“Fair Blows The Wind For France” and “Fireworks”) was an excellent “My Name Is Dessie Warren”, an upbeat yet hard-hitting old school class struggle anthem reminiscent of The Men They Couldn’t Hang, plus plenty of chat and bonhomie from a voluble Prowse (including a fine tribute to tonight’s headliners; “how the hell do you open up for one of the greatest UK bands of all time?”). A splendid vignette ended with the usual barbed anti-Sun comment (“I can see by your kindly beautiful faces that none of you would stoop so low as to read that fucking rag”), before a heart-rending final singalong to “Does This Train Stop On Merseyside?”. Lovely stuff, once again!

 The Stuffies themselves were due on in short order thereafter at 8.30, however technical issues delayed their arrival until 8.45, by which the place (surely sold out on the night) was fit to burst. They opened with a jaggedly rhythmic “Change Every Lightbulb”, Miles taking the stage last and bellowing the hook through a bullhorn, then “I Wish Them All Dead” was strident, savage and utterly superb. “We’ve got the dark ones out of the way; now let’s have some fun!” quipped Milo before a boisterous “Cabin Fever” (announcing at its’ conclusion, “that should have been a hit single – you’ll be hearing THAT from me a lot tonight!”) and by this point I’m already thinking, these “Idiot” songs sound absolutely blistering “live”! How the hell is it that more of them don’t feature as part of their regular set???

 Well, apparently not everyone shared my views, according to Miles, who later referenced, “two assholes on the internet who have pissed me off,” by complaining about The Stuffies playing, “awful songs from their worst album,” on this tour. Well, bunkies, you couldn’t be more wrong! “Full Of Life” fully lived up to its title, as celebratory and life-affirming as anything on display tonight, and a frankly astonishing “On The Ropes” totally blew the doors off, with a rendition as good as I’ve ever – EVER – seen The Wonder Stuff play my favourite Wonder Stuff song. A later, poignant “Sing The Absurd” was also a surprisingly emotive highlight, before a couple of overlooked yet still excellent “B” sides rounded off the “Idiot”-centric first set splendidly, completely underlining the validity of doing this tour.

 Then things unfortunately went a little South for me… I suddenly realised that the mixture of a packed sweaty rock venue and double anaesthesia isn’t necessarily a good one, and, feeling distinctly faint, sought some fresh air, ultimately propping myself outside in the rain in the care of the doormen… Rach grabbed me some sugary drinks and I ultimately ventured back inside, but only just, and I was firmly installed on the cloakroom girl’s stool, right at the back of the venue, as The Stuffies returned for set 2 of the night. Running 20 minutes late at this point, Miles eschewed the chat to concentrate on the rock; a galloping “No For The 13^th Time” was followed by the sweeping hometown paean “Caught In My Shadow” and fiddle-tastic singalong “Golden Green”, the tumbling circular violin riff of “Here Comes Everyone” was a late highlight, then The Stuffies ploughed through the encores to keep to curfew with a rambunctious “Unbearable” and shuddering “Ten Trenches Deep”. The band were clearly on absolute top form; a shame I wasn’t!

 We all met up afterwards, Logan having enjoyed himself in the mosh, and I chatted briefly with facebook friend Pete Cole outside before a difficult journey home up an utterly awash A34 and M4. Still groggy, I spent most of the next day in bed! So, an eventful one indeed, although an inescapable conclusion from tonight is that “Construction For The Modern Idiot” is a great album fully worthy of its’ place in the Wonder Stuff canon, and of being deservedly given its’ time in the spotlight on this tour. As for the rest, I’ll just have to make sure I’m fully fit for when The Stuffies doubtless smash it all up at Shiiine On in November!

1,290 THE DICKIES, Violent Hearts, The Human Error, Bristol Fleece, Tuesday 25th July 2023

 

Finally, the last of my pre-scheduled Covid-affected gigs to actually happen! Well, sort of… I’d booked tix in January 2020 for myself and Logan to see influential veteran US West Coast cartoon punks The Dickies at Bristol Fleece in July that year, only for the damn bug to get in the way, shunting the gig forward to July 2021, and then (given restrictions were still in place) to July 2022! I was rather hoping that that date would happen, but a month beforehand they cancelled their full UK tour, citing ongoing Covid effects and increasing touring costs. So I conceded defeat at this time and got tix refunds, reacting with skepticism at subsequent news that the tour was rescheduled a further year forward! However, the closer it got, the more it looked as if the dates would actually happen this time, so earlier this month I re-booked our tix, to further Logan’s musical education with some seminal goofy and thrashy helium-voiced old school punk!

Swindon’s own punk rock Queen Debby was also up for this one, so we picked her up at 6.30 for the usual entertaining chatty drive down the M4, squeezing into a parking spot just around the corner. Grabbed barrier spots house left, as is our wont, before openers The Human Error joined us early doors. A painfully young trio, this; the peroxide vocalist/ guitarist and baby Billie Joe Armstrong clone looked barely out of his teens, and his flailing, Animal from “The Muppets”-esque drummer little brother was actually still only 15! They tore through a set of embryonic and slightly unrehearsed yet entertaining pop-punk, with a smattering of aptly chosen covers (Buzzcocks’ “Fast Cars”, The Ramones’ “Chainsaw” and The Clash’s “Complete Control”) to pad it out. Awed at their situation (Billie Jr. inquiring, “how the fuck did we get on this bill?”), their youthful verve and enthusiasm carried them through. Here come the young men; decent job, boys!

 

Main support The Violent Hearts were however a different kettle of fish. Fronted by an angular, shape throwing vocalist resembling Brett from Suede and backed by a couple of strong-armed, black clad desperado guitar wielders, they were much more accomplished, with a sleazoid, riff heavy yet surprisingly hooky and melodic style somewhere between Goth-tinged post-punkers Flesh For Lulu and post-grunge Mojave Desert nomads Urge Overkill (!). “Burning” was a slower-burn yet hookily anthemic mid-set number and my favourite of the set, the subsequent amphetamine rocker “Porcelain” nicked an intro from The Ramones’ “You’re Gonna Kill That Girl”, and, by robust, air punching closer “Everything And Nothing” I was making plans to buy their CD at the merch stand afterwards. Shame I ultimately got there just as they ran out, but I found out, on discussion with vocalist James Mattock, that they’re supporting Desperate Journalist at Dareshack in October, a combination that makes much more sense. I’ll be there – as I’m there already!

The Dickies took the stage at 9 in front of the expectant gathering of punks both young and old. with bowl-haired preying mantis vocalist Leonard Graves Phillips joining us last, announcing the opener as, “the song I sang at my audition [for this band]… I thought I had the job anyway, I mean, look at me…!” before a surprisingly straight version of The Sex Pistols’ old school punk classic “Anarchy In The UK”. The subsequent opening salvo was relentless speed punk, featuring a breathless, yelping “Give It Back”, a tremendous “Nights In White Satin” (making much better sense at 1,000 mph!), a surprisingly tuneful and hooky “Fan Mail” and a soaring “Pretty Please Me”, featuring some impressive stick-work from smart, bow-tie wearing drummer Adam Gomez, before everyone paused for breath. Phillips then introduced a couple of newies which apparently tipped their hat to groundbreaking new wave all-girl act The Go-Go’s and disgraced ex glam rocker Gary Glitter! Typically perverse stuff from the good taste vacuum that is Mr. Phillips…!

 

That said, and despite the hurtling punk rock bullets blasting by, this seemed a slightly less full-on show than previous Dickies gigs; no “If Stuart Could Talk” so no penis puppet, so we made do with a brief outing for the blow-up doll during “Waterslide” and the good boy glove puppet for “Doggie Do”. Maybe their veteran status had a hand in this (Phillips quipping, “I’ll soon be 67 – this is what happens when you don’t die!”) but I’ve certainly seen them crazier, zanier, more unhinged. Don’t get me wrong, though, this was still a great cartoon punk rock gig, which was capped with set closer “Gigantor” and a brilliant encore of “Eve Of Destruction” before an inevitable “Banana Splits” brought a swift 50-minute performance to a close.

Burly guitarist Stan Lee handed me a list and I grabbed a pic with him before we headed off, home at an early 11. So, a couple of gears lower tonight, maybe, but the Dickies were nonetheless worth waiting for!

1,289 MIDWAY STILL, Falling Stacks, The Setbacks, Bristol The Crown, Wednesday 12th July 2023

“Because Midway Still aren’t coming back…” There’s a Facebook fan site thusly named, celebrating the early 90’s (post-Grunge, pre-Britpop) underground indie scene, when bands such as Mega City Four, Senseless Things and our titular heroes The Still would load up in a van, drive the length and breadth of our green and pleasant land and ply their usually raw, ragged and ramshackle punkish mess in front of any group of long lank-haired, big-shorted indie-kids who’d ‘ave ‘em. For various reasons, sadly, we’re no longer likely to see the Things or the Megas, but it just seems that recently, Midway Still just keep coming back… An utterly incendiary set at Shiiine On 2021, despite initial collywobbles, not only won “Band Of The Weekend” for this returning rabble, but on reflection is currently my favourite Shiiine On set evah! So, two years later, more of the same? Hell fucking yeah!

 

Tim of course is also a Still acolyte, having put them on twice at Swindon’s Vic (May 2010, gig 788 being the most recent time), so he was up for this one too, picking me up at 6.30 for a drive down the M4 to the first of 3 new Bristol venues for me in the next couple of months. This one was a down and dirty tiny beer cellar downstairs room, complete with bitumen-black painted brick curved ceiling, below a ramshackle and sprawling city centre pub. This one might get sweaty…! But first, after checking out opening act The Setbacks (a veteran 5-piece playing basic and formulaic unfocussed poppy punk, all pounding drums, power chords and shouty vocals) and deciding they weren’t for us, Tim and I got a drink and sat in the alley outside the front, catching the last of the evening sun. Good thing we did, in fact, as the good gentlemen of Midway Still sauntered up, greeting us like long-lost comrades, and joined us for a drink and chat! I was happy to share the news of my brother’s full recovery from Covid (he’d just gotten out of ICU when we last spoke, at Shiiine On 2021) and we chewed the Cud (pardon the pun – first time I saw the Still, waaay back in 1991’s gig 196, was supporting The Cud Band!) as other friends and fans wandered by, or joined us briefly. Maybe not the 90 attendees at last night’s Birmingham gig, but still plenty of love in Brizzle tonight for The Still!

 Eventually wandered down for the late-running last knockings of main support Falling Stacks (who were an improvement on the openers, but still just background noise to my and Tim’s bar chat). Took a spot down the front as The Still plugged in, Dec Kelly’s eye-catching kinetic rolling drum style and Russell Lee’s driving bass and Ramones-esque wide stance thereafter underpinning a ragged, powerful opening “Note To Self”, pretty much setting the tone for the set. “I’m 55 – time I sorted my fucking life out,” deadpanned guitarist/ vocalist Paul Thomson before the Lemonheads-like laze rock of “Jamie And Gigi”, then the frantic luge hurtle of “Counting Days” was introduced with a pithy; “this next song is 32 years old; only a little bit younger than me! [Mind you,] Dec’s been in this band since he was 12 – he’s now 70!”

 

The Still were in fine fooling tonight, then, their snarky and sarky comments and self-deprecating humour as much a feature as the rock, which was fast, fierce and elemental, and, with the “Handle With Care” labels long faded, delivered with a raw and ramshackle vigour and enthusiasm belying their “veteran” status. And, belying my own advancing years and dodgy knees, I rocked out down the front as best I could, happily working up a sweat (Full Cleo! Yay!) to The Still. An early string breakage (“that hasn’t happened for fucking years!”) necessitated Paul’s borrowing of the support’s guitar, the man giving us a “Back in Black” riff (“it’s our new single – Back and Shite!”) to tune up. The driving Dinosaur-esque verse and pounding, descending hook of “Me In You” was tremendous; the “juxta-fucking-position” of “Miss You” and the breakneck “Fuck You” a thrilling double-whammy; and whilst “Better Than Before” was looser and relatively sedate, the subsequent “What You Said” brought the heavy riffery roaring back with a vengeance. However, they saved the best for last; after getting the 5-minute time warning, Paul thanked the hardy yet enthusiastic souls (“it’s amazing you’ve all come to see this shambolic fucking wreck of a band!”) before letting loose with a rip-roaringly brilliant “You Made Me Realise”, once again including the whole of “Come Down” in the middle-8 feedback fest before a lengthy thrilling riff-heavy outro. Great stuff!

 Grabbed some air and more chats and compliments with the boys outside afterwards, before bidding farewell and heading off for a drive home punctuated by idiot lorries on the M4. I’ll ache in the morning, but as always, well worth it… If they’re going to deliver such incendiary performances as this, as far as I’m concerned Midway Still can keep coming back… and back… and back!

1,288 CHAMELEONS, Whistleblowers, Holmfirth Picturedrome, Saturday 8th July 2023

 

Another gig centring around renewing acquaintances with an old friend, albeit this one being intentional and pre-arranged… Earlier this year, I’d re-connected on Facebook with my old school friend Jennifer, a lady who was largely responsible for keeping me sane during my difficult 6^th Form schooldays, and with whom I’d kept in touch for a subsequent period in the 80’s, visiting her at Warwick University for gigs by The Fall and the Smiths in late 1983/ early ’84 (gigs 10 and 11!). Life got in the way and we lost touch, but it was great to reconnect, and a plan was hatched to visit her in Holmfirth, where she now resides with husband Paul, when a decent enough band was due to play at fabled local gig venue The Picturedrome. And they don’t get much more “decent” than 80’s anthemic post-punk/ goth heroes The Chameleons!

 So, I hit the road early Saturday oop North, clearing Manchester and heading through impossibly scenic windswept vistas on Saddleworth Moor, and equally impossibly winding and near-vertical single track country lanes up to Jen’s hilltop home. Much catching up ensued, the years falling away, before Jen, Paul and I headed down into Holmfirth (which despite prima facae seeming a dour, grey bricked typically Northern town huddled in the base of a valley around the confluence of 2 rivers, was actually quite a happening place, with lots of interesting craft and boutique pubs and upmarket eateries) for a splendid gourmet burger tea at Lou & Joes, before joining the queue at the venue at 7.30. As the name suggests, The Picturedrome is an evocative old mid-sized (I guessed 800?) picture house venue, exuding faded vintage silver screen glamour, and we took balcony seats overlooking house left. Stayed there for veteran support Whistleblowers, on at 8.30. A local trio from Ashton-Under-Lyme, they were sadly very dull in a very dull way (!), plying some low-key, plodding 60’s folky psych Fillmore East fayre which shudderingly recalled Midlake when they hit the flares and double-denims. Later numbers floated into midnight jazz café territory, before returning to the flimsy hippy stuff. Not well played and somewhat off-key vocal-wise to my ears as well, I’m afraid.

 I took a wander down the front afterwards, still pitching up a couple of rows back, joined briefly by Paul and also chatting to India, a lady who’d posted in the Chameleons Facebook fan page about her journey from paraplegic wheelchair usage, to now just needing one stick. Brilliant job, you go girl! The eerie Cocteaus-ish entrance music heralded the Chameleons’ arrival onstage at 9.30, a false start due to technical issues with Reg’s guitar pick-up (“it’s always the newbies!” quipped granite-hewn vocalist/bassist/main-man Mark Burgess) being eventually sorted before the band plunged into the plangent ringing chimes of opener “Paper Tigers” to rapturous applause from the cultish devotees. “I hope it’s not going to be one of those nights,” warned Burgess before the Sophie Lancaster dedication preceded a chilling “A Person Isn’t Safe Anywhere These Days”, delivered with neck-bulging, scary conviction by the man. Sorry mate, I think it is…!

 

Correct. The Chameleons were on fire from note one tonight, delivering a brilliantly passionate, strident performance of their atmospheric and textural yet huge and anthemic post-punk mood music, often deploying both their usual weapons of slowing down the material “live” to give it extra breathing room and gravitas, and throwing in unexpected lyrical references from the likes of Bowie, The Fall, The Clash, The Smiths and predominantly The Beatles. That said, it took until “Monkeyland”, 5^th number in, for the crowd to respond in kind, the eerie slow build of the first verse suddenly bursting into the roof-raising “trick of the light” hook like a cork from a champagne bottle, precipitating a boisterous yet largely good-natured moshpit which remained throughout, where the main rules of engagement were arms-aloft inclusive raucous singalongs and bearhugs from total strangers. Although we’re not really strangers, We Are All Chameleons, after all…!

 “Looking Inwardly” and “Up The Down Escalator” were two fast-paced, brutal mid-set gut punches, the air becoming a scarce commodity in the kinetic sauna the Picturedrome had suddenly become (I actually turned to a fellow punter and remarked, “I think I can forget about breathing for the next hour or so!”); “Soul In Isolation” was a staggering, swaggering affirmation of life (“I’m alive in here!” again a roof-raising terrace chant hook); and a later “Swamp Thing” an undulating, libidinous thing of joy and wonder, the guitar interplay in the build to the first verse just gorgeous. Yet set closer, “Second Skin” topped the lot; preceded by thanks from a drenched Burgess (who’d given it his all tonight) and a sermon about creating experiences and living in the now, this was a lengthy and magnificent all-inclusive manifesto for The Chameleons “live” experience in particular, and rock’n’roll gigs in general. The stuff dreams are made of, indeed!

 A couple of encores (a roaring, none-more-punk “In Shreds” and a sinister, anthemic “Don’t Fall”) before the boys took well-deserved bows and left us breathless and euphoric after another stellar performance. Grabbed a list and a quick chat with keyboard player Daniel afterwards before meeting Jen and Paul outside. A quick taxi back up the hill, then a much-needed breather and fluid intake before towelling myself down and making use of the spare room for the night. More catching up the next morning over a splendid fry-up brunch, before bidding fond farewells and driving to Manchester, meeting my son Evan for a roast Sunday lunch at Mr. Thomas’ Chop House in the city centre, then hitting the road at 3.30 for a difficult roadworks, traffic and thunderstorm-affected drive down South, home for 7. Just a lovely weekend in excellent company, though, both on and offstage. Thanks Evan, The Chameleons, and mostly Paul and Jennifer… hopefully this won’t be the last time we light up The Picturedrome!

1,287 JIM BOB, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 2nd July 2023

 

A chance tonight to renew acquaintances with an old gig face! I was a big fan of Jim Bob’s mid-80’s jangle pop band Jamie Wednesday, and despite numerous false starts I even managed to see them “live” once, in Bristol in May 1987 supporting The Men They Couldn’t Hang (gig 78!). I’d subsequently turned up to meet Jim and Co. before their next gig, again on the undercard for TMTCH, at The Astoria in August later that year (gig 85), only to be informed by the man that the JDubs (as they were known to both of their fans) had split up earlier that week, but that he and bandmate Les were going to play the gig backed up by a drum machine. Thus it was that I unwittingly attended the first ever Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine gig…! Carter USM took awhile to really inveigle themselves into my consciousness, but I eventually became a fan, watching with a mixture of pride and “I saw them first” smugness as they quickly rose to briefly become 90’s Indie press darlings (Steve Lamacq, my favourite NME hack back then, being particularly fulsome in his praise) and Festival headliners. Since their late 90’s dissolution, I confess I’d not kept up much with Jim’s subsequent solo career; however we’d enjoyed his recent performances at Shiiine On, both solo and with his band The Hoodrats, and tonight, a CD release show at Bristol’s splendid Rough Trade for new album “Thanks For Reaching Out”, represented an opportunity not only to catch up with his current works, but also, perchance, to briefly revisit those JDubs days…

 So I packed up my Gigbook No. 1 (featuring the setlist from said JDubs gig) plus a folder-full of newsletters and correspondence I’d kept from those days, and, with a curious Jami joining me at the last minute (Rach and Logan being away for the weekend), hit a sunny M4 about ¼ to 6, joining a queue to get in on arrival. Got drinks and chatted with a chap about US popsters Cheekface before joining Jami, who’d bagged a front and centre spot. Nice work! Jim Bob joined us at 7.30, accompanied by bandmate and Jack Black lookalike Chris, who acted as MC for an entertaining half hour of chat, highlights being the retelling of the infamous Carter USM HMV Oxford Street instore appearance, when manager Jon “Fat” Beast encouraged the crowd to shoplift, and Jacob Rees-Mogg’s (adverse) reaction to being featured in Jim’s recent video for “Sebastian’s Gone On A Ridealong”! Some Q&A’s too (I asked about his appearances at Shiiine On, and Jami asked about his favourite own compositions), but generally an entertaining and funny half hour of easy bonhomie.

 

Finally Jim dispensed with the banter, bolted on his electric guitar and treated us to a half hour performance of selections from the new album, accompanied by Chris on keys. Opener “Thanks For Reaching Out” was a melancholy yet strangely uplifting ballad, “What Goes Around” had a dark and menacing murder ballad feel reminiscent of Nick Cave, and “Sebastian” itself was a snarky and sarky number about politicians paying lip service to good works. All the new material, however, happily featured the usual Jim Bob lyrical gift for highlighting both the mundane minutiae of humdrum everyday existence and the absurdity of current world events, and subverting them into cynical yet memorable pun-like soundbites. More entertaining banter too; a chat with the crowd about cancel culture, a remark about his glasses slipping leading to a terrible Graham Coxon Blur joke, and a story of how Carter USM and Westlife nearly got into a brawl at a Festival!

“Billionaire In Space” was a highlight, slightly recalling Bowie’s “Space Oddity” for me, and “Befriend The Police” featured the ironic hook, “bring on the dancing nurses”… a Bunnymen reference perhaps? “Prince Of Wales” (about a pub, apparently!) rounded off a fine acoustic rendering of some very melodic new songs; I’m happy copies of the record were included in the ticket price, because I can’t wait to hear them on CD…

 

Joined the queue at the end, along with another father/ daughter couple who intended to pitch the idea for a Carter USM musical to Jim! Our turn eventually came, and I shared my Jamie Wednesday stuff with a softly-spoken but incredulous Jim, who claimed to remember me from those days (aah, that’s nice!) and was amazed that I’d kept all that stuff. A brief chat, congrats from me about Carter’s success down the years, pics and signatures with the man later, we gave way to the “pitch” duo, Jami the musical theatre fan earwigging on their plans, before grabbing some food from the Greek takeaway on the corner and hitting the road, home for 10. Lovely to catch up with Jim Bob after all these years, and great to hear some quality new material from an entirely promising new album, which will certainly ensure I keep a closer eye on his exploits in future!

1,286 B SYDES, Old Man Boom, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 29th June 2023

 

A stellar gig June closes out with a local one! Up The Tupp’ for the first time in awhile (my first this year, in fact, the last being Si and Matt’s gig last July, gig 1,239!) to catch a solo acoustic set from “live” favourite Ben Sydes, this time being the 10^th such occasion! Potential for another, more significant landmark as well, but we’ll get on to that later… B Sydes’ set tonight was billed by the venue as “Contemporary and Authentic Folk Punk delivered with power, personality and purpose”; I certainly wouldn’t argue about the delivery, but for me there’s an edgier, angst-fuelled emo element to Ben’s music which differentiates him from his folky solo acoustic guy contemporaries, so I was happy to finally get the man into double figures in my “gigs seen” account tonight…

 Drove up the hill and hit the bar just after 8 for some entertaining rock chat with local gig entrepreneurs Ed Dyer and Dave Franklin, before taking a seat for support Old Man Boom just before 8.30. Opening with a “love letter” to 70’s cheesy crooner Demis Roussos, his set then centred more on darker subject matter such as witches and serial killers (to be fair, the man pre-warned us with, “if you don’t like dark things… this isn’t the set for you”) played with a stark, deadpan delivery and a battered banjo. Unfortunately, it appeared said instrument wasn’t the only battered thing in his set; a sea-shanty esque “Hail Satan” (his clergy grandma’s least favourite song, unsurprisingly) required a few stops for Mr. Boom to remember lyrics, and it appeared an all-day drinking sesh with Ben earlier was taking its' toll. It reminded me of a similar all-dayer in my beer-soaked 20’s, after which I attempted to play badminton in the evening! I held my own for a couple of sets but by the end was helplessly flailing around, and despite a more coherent closer and much goodwill from the audience, it sadly felt Old Man Boom was doing the same. Hopefully next time I catch him (no worries, there will be a next time), he’ll be a little more together…

 

I grabbed another drink then ran into my old footy buddy John, out on a college “do”, before also catching up with gig friend Joanna and re-taking my house left spot for B Sydes’ headlining set just before 9.30. If Ben was feeling the effects of any earlier imbibing with Old Man Boom, however, it certainly didn’t show at all, as from the off he was relaxed, urbane and at ease, interacting frequently and entertainingly with the full and lively crowd, particularly the front table which included his tour mate (and of course another “live” favourite of mine) Gaz Brookfield, his lady wife Angela and guests. This one was a rescheduled show from last November (“I got the big bad”, according to Ben), and he was in the mood to make up for lost time; openers “5 Minutes” and “Crutches” were both tense and taut, an angular “All At Sea” saw Gaz and mates circle moshing in their seats (!), and “This Was My City Once”, despite Ben being distracted by boy racers outside, was a melancholy and understated singalong, Ben ramping up the passion for a more strident middle 8.

 However, a new number completely stole the show for me; unnamed at present (“B.O.B” on the list – Ben did mention what the initials stood for, but discretion prevents me from telling you), it was a fast paced, sinister and dramatic exposition about the post-Covid reclamation of “live” events, bringing out Ben’s best and most impassioned vocal delivery of the night. Great stuff, a number I’d really love to hear with a full band (hint, hint…). Ben then bolted on the harmonica, snarkily quipping, “first time at a gig is it?” at Gaz, who knocked his mic-stand on his way outside for a smoke (!) before another singalong to “The Desperate Dance”. Then the dissonant and menacingly moody “Still In Saigon” ended the set proper, Ben subsequently returning to big up Mr. Brookfield’s merchandise (Ben having sported a “Land Pirate” cap for this gig instead of his standard woolly tea cosy) prior to an entirely apposite “Good Times”, another rousing singalong closing out a performance full of great tunes and good times.

 

As for the more “significant” landmark, that came afterwards as Ben handed me his set and signed it with a gold sharpie I’d brought along for the occasion – said occasion being my 1,000^th set-list! Ben seemed genuinely pleased that his list achieved this honour, but after his performance tonight it was well deserved. Brief chats with the man, plus Gaz, before I bade farewell to all and sundry before heading off down the hill and home. A damn fine evening up the ‘Tupp, courtesy of B Sydes, to round off a splendid gigging June!

1,285 SIOUXSIE, Wolverhampton Civic Hall, Wednesday 21st June 2023

 

I get an unexpected chance tonight to right a 30-year gig wrong… I’d initially discovered Siouxsie And The Banshees in my early teens, of course, in that heady rush of late 70’s punk, enjoying their short, snappy singles (particularly the dramatic cascade of “Love In A Void” and circular fairground dervish dance of “Spellbound”, both excellent to dance to at Under 18 Brunel nightclub!), but oddly never delved further into their album material, even as they and I morphed into a mid-80’s Goth phase. So by their performance at Reading Festival 1993 (gig 248) they were well and truly out of step with my then largely US alt-rock dominated tastes; I gave them a few numbers, got bored, and walked away…

 My mistake. My 2016 post-redundancy re-evaluation of a few bands that had previously passed me by included The Banshees earlier albums, and I fell hard for their intricate, introspective post-punk pseudo-Goth sound and particularly the unique and inspired fretwork of the late John McGeoch on the excellent “Juju”. I immediately regretted I hadn’t paid more attention back then, and lamented the fact that I’d likely never get to see any of that material played “live”, given iconic lead singer Siouxsie’s apparent retirement to the wilds of rural France. So when scarcely believable news broke earlier this year that la Sioux was breaking a 15-year retirement to play a couple of European Festivals, I hoped against hope for a UK non-Fest date and was duly rewarded with this one, booking tix immediately. Wolverhampton? A bit of a trek, but who cares?

 Also joining me were old school buddy Keith Turner, with whom I’d bonded over punk rock back then, and his lovely wife Jen. Hit the road North at 4, hitting slow traffic off the M5 but parking up next to the venue just after 6 and wandering into the city centre for Thai curry tea! Back about 7.30, eventually squeezing into a house left spot, about 10 rows back, in this large and recently expensively refurbished auditorium. It didn’t feel like a gig venue; the toilets were clean and there was no queue at the bar! The place filled up in anticipation of Siouxsie’s arrival – no support tonight– and I noted with dismay a proliferation of 2 kinds of irregular gig goers; the entitled “5 to 3” late arrival types trying to shove in front of everyone, and conversely the “won’t move a muscle” folks usually prevalent in Boston! As I’m used to a bit of ebb and flow in the audience, this all felt a bit unnecessary, and made for a tense and uncomfortable atmosphere…

 Purporting to start at 8.30 prompt, the lights however didn’t dim until 20 to 9, the black clad backing band taking the stage to a baroque pastoral backing track. Finally la Sioux appeared… dressed (nay, draped) in flowing powder blue dress and sporting Cruella streaks of grey, she was immediately the focus as the band eased into the gloomy grunge growl of opener “Nightshift”. Mid-sixties now, but her charismatic stage presence was immediately apparent, grandiose of gesture, and The Voice of legend as inscrutable, insouciant and aloof as hoped, and dominant in the mix. A few flat notes, but hey, 15 years offstage is a loooong time…

 

That said, the early stages of the set drifted for me a little, an early, plangent “Arabian Nights” (which was preceded, oddly, by Siouxsie complimenting the local football team’s badge; “Black wolf’s head, what’s not to fucking love about that?!”) and the descending carousel twirl of “Dear Prudence” notwithstanding. Also, Siouxsie seemed a little unhappy with the onstage sound (commenting, “it’s swampy up here” and later challenging the venue to, “get your priorities right!”). However, things started looking up with “Cities In Dust” which was elegiac, sweeping and stately, and the Burundi style tribal percussion of a subsequent “But Not Them” was a dramatic and absorbing beast. The subsequent “Sin In My Heart” however really kick-started the set into life, the careering and seething punk rock thrill-ride of one of “Juju”’s highlights being overlaid by easily Siouxsie’s best vocal performance of the night for me, strident and powerful.

 After that, it was brilliant! The moody, bass-led “Christine” was followed by the terrific skeletal backbeat pitter-patter of “Happy House” and the hard-edged, heavy set closer “Into A Swan”, Siouxsie leading the band offstage briefly, only to re-emerge for the taut and tense “Switch” and an excellent rendition of “Spellbound” before exiting with a huge bouquet of flowers. We were then treated to a second encore, the wonderful oriental chimes of debut “Hong Kong Garden”, then the haunting slow-burn of “Israel” to close out a 1 hour 40 overall performance, Siouxsie leaving us with thanks and a flourish. I’d have liked a little more, particularly given the lack of support, but I couldn’t deny the old girl had put in a shift, ably backed by a very proficient if slightly anonymous band. And (unlike la Sioux) I had no complaints about the sound!

Managed to grab a list (my 999^th!) before a difficult drive home, involving 2 lengthy diversions off the M5 and A419, eventually getting back at 1 a.m. after dropping Keith and Jen off. A slowish start to the set, maybe, but definitely a strong finish, and fine company both on and offstage. I’m glad I got the chance to right this ancient gig wrong, so thank you Siouxsie!