1,353 OCTOBER DRIFT, Car Park, Bristol Thekla, Thursday 24th October 2024

 

Hoo boy, did I really need this…!

The last couple of weeks have been undoubtedly the most emotionally fraught of my entire life, following my dear lady wife’s lung cancer diagnosis. An absolutely horrendous time, with no real appetite for doing anything “fun” ever again… However, Rachel’s first oncology appointment revealed a new, targeted and so far successful tablet-based drug to tackle her specific cancer mutation, giving us hope that this treatment might be effective for “several” years. So, thus buoyed, and with Rach’s blessing (nay, encouragement), it’s business as usual for the Rose household… which means, spend time together, do this family event, buy those tickets, go to that gig, live life! I’d honestly booked tix late for this gig more in hope than expectation, but was happy that prevailing winds allowed my attendance, to see one of the finest young British bands for years open their latest tour in support of their third (and frankly outstanding) album, “Blame The Young”, one which comes closest to capturing the vibe and atmosphere of their incendiary “live” performances.

So, a quick drive down and a messy stop-start trudge through Friday rush-hour Brizzle still got me parked up just before 7. Doors were already open, so I trotted down the front for a brief chat with Scouse OD Uber-fan Dazza, before looking around for intended gig buddy Matt, who I found was unfortunately stuck in Nottingham with work. Bah! So, back down the front, house left, for all-girl power trio openers Car Park, who kicked off with a couple of heavy-riffing grungy openers, the racey “MIA” recalling Auf Der Maur, and “Blown Out Of The Water” a more jagged stompy L7 groove. Some nice contrasting choral harmonies but an oddly dated sound, I thought, but then “Happy On Mars” changed my mind; a softer outlier to the beetle-crushing grungy riffs, this, with a melancholy and almost delicate feel underpinning it’s lyric about an ex-partner who’s fucked off to the red planet (“might be relatable one day!” quipped the blonde vocalist), this was rather lovely and my set highlight. A couple of pop-punkier tracks in the flippant, hooky “Born To Be Average” and a taut, pacey “Suburbs Of Hell” capped off an energetically delivered and promising, if a little schizophrenic set from an embryonic yet promising band finding their feet. One to watch, perhaps…

An entertaining chat down the front with fellow OD devotee Liz, a teacher from Chandlers Ford (so, much chat about our school-averse daughter ensued…), enlivened the wait until the lights smashed to black prompt at 8.30, and the synth swell of newie “Demons” formed the intro backdrop for the band’s entrance. No fucking about, they were straight into it, attacking this dark, dramatic and anthemic opener with their usual purposeful and kinetic ferocity. Vocalist Kiron shouted, “how you doing, Bristol!” before plunging straight into the strident choral hook of “Tyrannosaurus Wreck”, and we were away… 

For a first night, this was no less than an utter triumph. No first night nerves on show (despite comments from the band that, “we’ve not done this since May…”); instead, this was as seamless and inclusive a performance as I’d hoped for, the audience responding in kind with crowd singalongs to the guitar riff (!) of “Webcam Funerals”, and frankly losing their collective shit to the squalling intro (thanks to excellent guitarist Dan) and inexorable build of the thrilling hell-ride of “Blame The Young”, possibly OD’s best number yet. “You guys are the best!” exclaimed Kiron at its conclusion, following a mid-song excursion into the crowd, again proving there’s no real discernible join between October Drift and their devoted massive. “Everybody Breaks” was a heartfelt and elegiac lighters-aloft Stadium power ballad in waiting, then a crowd-bound Kiron was boosted up to the outside of the overhanging balcony (H&S? What H&S??!!) before falling backwards into the welcoming crowd’s arms and crowdsurfing back to the stage. Yikes! 

“Imagine nothing exists beyond this boat – and all we do is dance,” announced a breathless Kiron, before an utterly incendiary “Cherry Red”, followed by the Adorable-like slow-burn of “Wallflower”. “Not Running Anymore”, a song of “hope and love” delivered by Kiron in the middle of the crowd, was a poignant and entirely appropriate set closer, and totally on the nose for me, encapsulating an utterly redemptive show. Shortly thereafter, drummer Chris took centre stage (“don’t fuck with a guy with a tambourine!”), challenging Bristol to up their game for the traditional acapella closing number, a brilliantly observed “Like The Snow We Fall”, again delivered by Chris and Kiron from the floor. Simply a perfect and fitting finale.

Caught my breath afterwards, having bagsied Dan’s list earlier, then chatted with OD’s soundman – only James from Indoor Pets! Cool! Caught up with Chris as well – at their recent Rough Trade in-store (gig 1,350), I’d alluded to him that I was dealing with family issues, so felt it only fair to relay my story to a sympathetic ear. Thanks Chris. A quick chat with a young lady who approached me and said, “are you David? My dad reads your blog!” which was weird but nice (so, hi dad!), then I hit the road, home for 11. Like I said, I really needed this, something to restore my appetite for life and for music, and October Drift delivered big time. Thank you so much, boys!

1,352 IST IST, Cucamaras, Bristol Exchange, Thursday 10th October 2024

 

A quick return to the scene of the crime, this… just 2 days after leaving the Exchange early due to the awful sound at the Redd Kross gig, I’m back again, hoping for something better from Mancunian post-punk gloom merchants Ist Ist. As with fellow Mancs and loose contemporaries Slow Reader’s Club, they’re a band for whom I’m very late to the party, just picking up on their current, 4^th (!) album “Light A Bigger Fire” on release a couple of months ago, immediately finding an excellent slab of brooding guitar-led (with odd synth embellishments) tuneage, featuring redolent growling bass and clipped, understated yet authoritative vocals adding appropriate and atmospheric gravitas. Sounds familiar? Well, maybe, but a) as a Manchester band, they’ll inevitably get tagged as “Joy Division-esque”, b) this dark, menacing gothy post-punk itch is one I’m happy to scratch over and over again until I bleed, as long as the vocalist is actually singing rather than hectoring me as if from Speaker’s Corner (yes, Fontaines DC, I’m talking about you…) and c) Tunes? On the evidence of “LABF”, Ist Ist got ‘em, dude. Big towering choral hooks aplenty. What’s not to like?

Set off about 7 and parked up in a free spot directly opposite the venue, in just before 8. Result! Nottingham lot Cucamaras were on in pretty short order, opening up with some speedy, taut and angular guitar based indie punk, with an almost spoken word ranting and gabbling delivery from the tousled vocalist. Just when I was ready to dismiss them as Yard Act’s “B” team, however, they delivered a literal “Clothesline”, said number featuring a buoyant, catchy Vaccines-like tune and an excellent descending choral hook. Nice! Next single “Laughing” was an insistent groove with a slightly harsh C86 jangly vibe, recalling for me my 80’s faves Close Lobsters, and by the glam stomp and big Britpop terrace chant choral hook of closer “Spoken Word” I was on board. Skeptical at first, but they ultimately won me over, and I’d like to catch them again…

Took a loo trip then took a spot near the front, house left, noticing the plethora of Ist Ist tees around me (the Ist Ist massive, like Slow Readers’ fans, seem a seriously devoted lot) and chatting with Paul, a fellow punter taking a night off from his preferred symphonic metal (!) tonight! Ist Ist took the stage at 9, and with the minimum of fuss, launched into the taut, tense gallop of new album opener “Lost My Shadow”, vocalist Adam Houghton’s doomy, resonant vocals and Andy Keating’s undulating, Hooky-like bass already propelling the sound along. Fears of a repeat of Tuesday were immediately dispelled; it sounded great, the building Interpol-esque “The Kiss” and sweeping, brooding oldie “Stamp You Out” following in very short order. Nary a moment to catch breath between numbers; Ist Ist were on a mission tonight, no messin’! 

“There’s fucking loads of you! Thanks for coming down!” exclaimed Andy after the lighter, more haunting and ephemeral “Black”, and that was pretty much it, as far as chat went, for the first half of the set, the black-clad band staying firmly in moody, taciturn character, delivering their material with clipped determination and purpose, although an early highlight was the more buoyant backbeat synth fanfare and contrasting vocal lines of an excellent, White Lies-like “I Can’t Wait For You”. However, the seriocity was well and truly skewered after the tumbling drums of the mid-set “Fools Paradise”; Adam finally addressed us with a deadpan, “are you having a nice time? I am – it doesn’t look like it, I’ve got one of those faces...!”, thereafter announcing Andy’s birthday today and bringing on the roadie with a chocolate caterpillar cake! 

Candles blown out, “Happy Birthday” sung (and, inexplicably, Belinda Carlisle’s “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” turned off the p.a) later, Ist Ist were back to business, with a towering “Repercussions”; a later lighters-aloft anthemic “Dreams Aren’t Enough” recalled the widescreen epic sweep of old 90’s faves Adorable; and “Emily” was an eerie, stripped back gothy beast with an audience-powered singalong hook. They eschewed the pantomime of an encore, instead ploughing through with a rip-snorting “Your Mine” and an elegiac “Ghost”, to top an impressive, surprisingly varied 1¼ hour, 20 song set. Excellent stuff! 

Missed out on a list, as they were snagged by or handed out to the front-row disciples rather than this Johnny-come-lately. Fair enough really! That wasn’t it for me though, as an intended brief chat with bassist and birthday boy Andy outside the venue turned into an entertaining and animated near-half hour discussion on post-punk, band influences, Bowie, Bunnymen and that fine line when a gig becomes a “show”, with a voluble and very knowledgeable young man, completely smashing that taciturn onstage persona in the process. Honestly, I could’ve chatted a whole lot longer, but after a pic with the man and his jovial (offstage at least!) vocalist Adam, I tore myself away for a circuitous and M32 closure-affected drive out of Bristol which eased when I hit the M4, home just before midnight. That was way better than I’d anticipated; it seems I’ve clearly got a bit of catching up to do with Ist Ist, but I’m glad I’m now on board with this talented and highly promising band!

1,351 REDD KROSS, Dale Grover, Bristol Exchange, Tuesday 8th October 2024

 

(not mine - I didn't stick around long enough to make a grab for it...)

This one, sadly, represented the first time I actually voluntarily left before the end of a headliner’s set that I’d actually come to see, since the Drive-By Truckers’ gig in 2011 (gig 815, over 13 years ago!). And it really should have been a triumphant return for Redd Kross, California’s veteran exponents of 60’s psychedelia-tinged, melodic powerpop delivered through an early 90’s grunge filter and with soaring helium harmony overlay, thanks to the main-men MacDonald brothers. Our paths had crossed infrequently down the years, their last time crossing the pond being back in 2007 (a thoroughly entertaining if slightly self-indulgent gig 720), and I’d actually booked for a 2020 RK gig at this very venue, which inevitably was postponed multiple times then cancelled due to the dreaded Covid. So I’d happily booked for this, a subsequent return in support of a sprawling but typically grunge/glam infused and buoyant new self-titled double album release.

A bad day and poor weather almost made me think twice, but I nonetheless set off just before 7, splashing down an utterly awash M4 and finding a parking spot half in, half out of a loading bay up the road from the venue. Doesn’t matter, it’s free now anyway! Quiet early doors (maybe I wasn’t the only one having second thoughts), but the venue filled up as support Dale Grover joined us at 8. A “performance” of 2 parts from the erstwhile drummer of 90’s grunge punkers The Melvins (and subsequently guesting with da Kross on sticks on this tour), the first being an eclectic DJ set of 50’s doo-wop and 60’s surf-psych (Big Bopper’s “Chantilly Lace”, and “The Stripper” by my namesake The David Rose Orchestra being notable selections), before he then delivered a short set of morose proto grunge/ bluesy stuff aided by a battered acoustic. Could’ve been Melvins songs, I dunno! I must say I enjoyed his friendly and deadpan demeanour (“thanks for coming early to see me – not many bands would let the drummer open up the show!”) better than the material, though…

Ran into old Level 3 face Mark Carter, recovering well after recent spinal surgery and already out gigging. Good man! Popped down the front, house left; busier now, but still plenty of room to move around. Redd Kross took the stage prompt at 9, all in matching paint-splattered white suits, kicking into the thunderous strutting glam stomp of opener “Switchblade Sister”, and it was unfortunately immediately apparent that tonight would be quite the test of endurance. The. Sound. Was. Awful!!! “Sister” sounded like an avalanche, the huge guitar noise rumble completely overwhelming the nuances of the material and particularly those helium harmonies, and the subsequent “Stay Away From Downtown”, such a thrilling amphetamine luge ride on CD, sounded as if said luge was being channelled down a steel pipe lined with barbed wire. 

I initially thought that said sound issues may have been due to my being right near the lead guitarist’s monitor, so when the sound hadn’t improved after a couple more numbers, I moved across to a couple of rows back, house right, between vocalist Jeff MacDonald and his bassist brother Steven. T’was little better there, though, and the vocals were still submerged, so I tried right at the back of the venue, only for the sound to be echoey and reverb-heavy there. An airing of my frustrations to the lady on the front desk elicited an offer of foam earplugs, so I tried these out and ventured back into my house right spot. Thus “plugged”, the sound was muffled but at least not overwhelming, and to be fair the band were giving it loads throughout, Steven in particular rabble-rousing between numbers with comments such as, “[Kiss’] Paul Stanley hopes we have a rock’n’roll part-aaaay tonight!” A mid-set “Mess Around” was easily the best sounding number of the night for me, the guitars being turned down in the mix for this one, and my one earplug in, one out arrangement at least enabling me to hear the brothers’ sublime and melancholy harmonies. 

Unfortunately, “Mess Around” was the outlier for tonight; “Jimmy’s Fantasy” was again a guitar-smothered noise-fest, and after my favourite Redd Kross number, the sweeping clarion call of “Lady In The Front Row” was thoroughly roughhoused, I frustratingly called it, back in the car before 10 and splashing home by 11. A real shame, this one; I don’t blame Redd Kross (well not entirely… a further chat on departure with the desk lady revealed that they’d brought their own sound-guy over, and seemingly wanted the volume set to full-on-rock, so I guess they’re not totally blameless), but this was just possibly the worst sounding set I’d endured since that ill-fated Bob Mould set at “Shiiine On” 2019 (gig 1,161), itself another relentless onslaught of noise. I guess I was due a clunker, just didn’t want it to be da Kross after so long… but tonight, in the words of one of their new numbers, was, for me at least, a Candy Coloured Catastrophe…

1,350 OCTOBER DRIFT, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Thursday 3rd October 2024

 

An early evening jaunt down to Bristol’s Rough Trade, this, for another of those in-store CD release thingies from Taunton’s splendid October Drift. If this sounds familiar, it’s because it is… twice before I’ve seen da Drift do CD release in-store gigs at this venue; a full-on electric show – in more ways than one – for debut album “Forever Whatever”, gig 1,172, and a much lower-key, bistro-tastic acoustic affair for the sophomore “I Don’t Belong Anywhere”, gig 1,249, this one in the store itself rather than the excellent back-room venue. So, it seemed churlish not to make it a 3-for-3 for this increasingly special band of shoegaze/ goth/ grungy post-punkers, for their highly promising new album “Blame The Young”. They’d premiered a couple of new tracks at their May Joiner’s gig (gig 1,325), the title track in particular sounding an absolute banger, so this one may well be their best yet. Let’s see…

This one also promised to be a lower-key acoustic showing, so I set off slightly later, a 6.15 departure getting me parked up just after 7 and in time for a chat with occasional gig buddy Adrian, who’d coached it over from Wales on a last-minute tip. Popped into the unfortunately sparsely populated back room just before 7.30, the Drift boys nevertheless wasting no time in promptly taking to the stage and installing themselves on their high barstools. Straight away this promised to be a little more… energetic, let’s say, than these usual acoustic affairs, drummer Chris commenting, “despite not being able to lob ourselves around the stage [on this CD release tour], we’ve been [compensating by] drinking a lot more – so this is going to be full-on energetic acoustic!” And he was true to his word, the hectic and relentless build of excellent opener “Blame The Young” generating more overt energy than most bands’ electric performances, despite being allegedly “unplugged”! The stately, lower-key “Demons” recalled Echo and the Bunnymen or Adorable in its’ widescreen use of space, and the elegiac “Hollow” was preceded by a game of “Guess The Drumbeat”, Adrian (standing next to me) guessing correctly and winning a percussive shaker! 

This was a fun and much-needed performance from October Drift. Lacking the fierce intensity of their usual dynamic plugged-in “live” events, the band instead showed a different dimension, with relaxed and witty urbane banter entertainingly filling the gaps between songs. And the new material, to a song, was absolute bloody quality, no messin’… After the story of “Hollow”’s inception was told (the song apparently coming out of a particularly chaotic Guinness-fuelled recording session), the subsequent more upbeat “Tyrannosaurus Wreck” was preceded by a discussion of the video, which featured vocalist Kiron walking around the town of Chard looking forlorn and wearing a knitted T-Rex suit (“for those of you who’ve been to Chard, [you know] it’s not the type of place to [do that in]!”) “Everybody Breaks” was another excellent newie, a proper lighters-aloft stately stadium ballad featuring some wonderfully textural and resonant guitar effects from Dan, and preceded by Chris’ story of telling his dad, on leaving university, that he’d give the band one year to make it – “that was 15 years ago!” 

“It’s strange to do a tour where you’re not dripping with sweat and there’s been no physical accidents!” joked Chris, before the band took requests from the small but perfectly formed (and very enthusiastic) crowd. An initial “Forever Whatever” was however somewhat haphazard, prompting the band to, “end on something better,” the big singalong chorus of “Waltzer” and the Kiron/ Chris vocal duet of a wonderful singalong “Like The Snow We Fall” doing the trick in that regard. Quick chats and CD signings with an affable band afterwards, Kiron and Chris particularly recognising me from previous gigs and bigging up their forthcoming Thekla gig. Let’s hope I can make that! Home at 10 after another fine showing from a band rapidly becoming one of my favourites of the moment, and a band seemingly at ease in any “live” setting. Acoustic, electric, forever, whatever… October Drift deliver!

1,349 BUFFALO TOM, London Lafayette, Monday 30th September 2024

After a brief pause following my Barcelona adventure, I’m back on the gig trail… and again with a Boston lot, with the return to this side of the pond for 90’s “Hub” post-grunge rock stalwarts Buffalo Tom. Their first time muddying these shores since December 2018 (gig 1,115, although I did catch the first part of a solo show by Tom main-man Bill Janovitz on my own most recent pond hopping trip to the US, at Boston’s Burren in November 2019, gig 1,163), this return is behind a new album “Jump Rope” which, in all honesty and (TBF) on initial listens only, seems to be a mellow, low-key and very trad-rock sounding effort, with nods to their own 60’s heroes The Who and The Rolling Stones. Still, the Tom never disappoint “live”, so tickets were duly booked for myself and fellow Tom devotee Tim for their sole London date, unfortunately at The Lafayette, a venue which was considerably less than impressive during my only previous trip there (for Desperate Journalist, gig 1,211). And, given that I wore a BT “Birdbrain” t-shirt to the Gigolo Aunts Barca gig last time out, it seemed only fair that I rock an Aunts tee tonight for the Tom!

So, duly Aunt-ed up, I drove over to Tim’s to facilitate an early departure, a quick drive to the usual Osterley Car Park getting us on the tube for an intended meeting with London-domiciled friend and Tom fan (and friend of Bill’s) Lisa, for some eats before the gig. Unfortunately, she texted us on the tube to inform us she was running late, so our restaurant bite instead turned out to be Greggs at St. Pancras International! We then wandered over to the venue just after doors and chatted in the bar, before grabbing spots near the front, house left, briefly spotting our late-running friend Lisa as this sold-out venue filled up.

Without much ado, and slightly later than advertised at 20 to 9, the support-less Tom took the stage, Bill announcing, “we’re Buffalo Tom from Boston, Massachusetts,” thereafter easing into the descending riff of opener “Staples”, which segued into herky-jerky old favourite “Sodajerk”. Bill’s furious and purposeful shredding was already the main feature, particularly on “Jerk”’s mid-8 break and vast chunks of the subsequent, proto grunge oldie “Fortune Teller”. “That was an old one,” quipped Bill, “they’re all old!” 

Old the songs may be, but any thoughts that the Tom might treat their material with due care and attention was soon dispensed with; if anything, this was an even rawer, ragged and more elemental performance than usual, from a band who usually defer towards the rougher path “live” anyway. And, despite Bill’s lamentations of not being in peak physical condition (“was I ever?”), he put in a shift worthy of a man half his age, arms regularly whirling in Pete Townsend fashion as he gave both his battered electric guitars a serious workout (in the process also working his guitar tech Buffo hard!). That said, the mix balance of the sound was a little variable, Bill’s shredding regularly dominating the mix, with bassist Chris’ softer, more nuanced voice being lower and less decipherable on his lead vocal duties than Bill’s throaty drainpipe rasp.

An early “Frozen Lake”, with a lyrical nod to Galaxie 500’s “Tugboat”, was a hushed, plaintive outlier; “Dry Land”’s great descending hook was the best – and best sounding – number of the mid set; then the jagged, incendiary “Birdbrain” topped that, the mix balance finally sounding sorted. Bill swigged some water (“gotta be properly hydrated for these ones!”) prior to the usual absorbing excellence of “Larry”; then a breathless “Tangerine” rounded off a ragged yet enjoyable set proper, the Tom reappearing for a 5-song encore featuring a squalling “Torch Singer” and an impromptu cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Under My Thumb”.

A chat with Lisa, before she popped backstage to see Bill and suss out whether we could do so as well. However, before she returned, we were ushered unceremoniously out to the lobby by an overzealous security bloke. Bah! Still, I then chatted at the merch stand with Michael Healey, travelling as tech for the Tom on this tour, away from his day job at Boston’s Q Division! He’d commented on my Aunts tee with, “a proper old Q band!” so tales of mine and Rachel’s early 2000’s “Hub” travels, “Hot Stove” downpours, Gravel Pit tattoos etc. were told to friendly and receptive ears, before I nipped to the loo, intending to return and continue the conversation, only again to find a locked door barring my way. Fucking security again, the officious ass-hats! A quick tube and drive home then saw me dropping Tim off just after 1, contemplating the night. Shit venue, variable sound, absolute wanker security… but a good catch-up with old friend Tim, a nice chat with a Q guy, and a good effort from the raw and ragged Buffalo Tom rescued the evening overall!

1,348 GIGOLO AUNTS, Lost Tapes, Sala Upload, Barcelona, SPAIN, Tuesday 24th September 2024

 

Wow, how to sum that up with something as wholly inadequate as words…!

Gigolo Aunts were undoubtedly my 1990s musical obsession, and still remain one of my all-time favourite bands. I was utterly blown away by their irresistibly melodic and harmonic guitar-propelled, grunge-tinged powerpop set opening up the Reading Festival Saturday main stage in 1993 (gig 248), marching straight over to the merch stand on its conclusion to buy a GA tee, which I still own to this day. On subsequently picking up their “Full On Bloom” EP, I then discovered this Boston-out-of-Potsdam 4-piece had referenced another all-time fave of mine, the Hub’s late 80’s indie heroes Big Dipper, in one of their songs. I confronted them with that knowledge later that year in Kidderminster (gig 253) and boom! instant and enduring friendships were forged. Between that Reading appearance and their final supporting date on The Wonder Stuff’s “Idiot Manoeuvres” tour, I saw them 7 times in the space of 9 months, before record company wranglings and personnel changes forced a 5-year hiatus. Four more shows in 1999, in the UK and US and in support of the mellower “Minor Chords And Major Themes” album, seemed sadly to cap my Gigolo Aunts “live” experiences, the boys thereafter winding down and variously disappearing to day jobs in the States, with only the occasional date or two down the years, usually in Spain where, inexplicably, the fire still burned for them, or in the US (my usually finding out about these shows after the fact). Until…

Thirty years after those halcyon 90’s days (and barely 12 months after they’d announced some US East coast dates in support of fellow Bostonians Letters To Cleo’s usual Thanksgiving homestand, gigs I would definitely have flown over to see, were it not for the clashing – and already booked – “Shiiine On”), the Honey-Throated Boys of Summer announced a “farewell tour”, one seemingly final shlep around their second home Spain, original line-up and all...! Discussions were had in the Rose household, my dear lady wife’s views on the subject essentially being, “so which one are you going to then?” and “give [Aunts guitarist, and friend we met up with on our 2005 LA honeymoon] Phil Hurley a hug from me!” Time and finances dictated that a single fly-in to Barcelona was my best bet, so bird, hotel and (unnecessary, as it turned out) gig tickets were duly booked for a proper and long overdue gig adventure! 

Which started Monday evening… I drove down in nasty fog/ rain to our friend Sarah’s place, 10 minutes from Bristol airport, stayed there overnight, then she kindly drove me to the airport, a prompt and on-time morning flight getting me into Barca early afternoon. A quick navigation of the metro got me to my hotel, whereafter, showered and ready, I headed up the hill to the gig about 4. My hotel was a 10-minute walk from the venue, but nobody mentioned said walk was practically vertical! The venue itself was in the corner of “Poble Espanyol”, an enclosed square of museums and artisan shops (plus a beer festival today!) which I had to pay 15 euros to get into. Bah! Wandered around the square then settled down by the venue next to Junko, legendary fellow 90’s Aunts fan, who’d flown from Japan for this tour! Yikes! Puts my little hop over to shame…! Still, we compared notes until ¼ to 6, when Phil texted, saying they’d just arrived but the front door was padlocked, so we wandered round to the back! Vocalist Dave Gibbs helped us up the rather large step into backstage, hugging us both like long-lost friends, and we also greeted the rest of the band, including my giving Phil an extra hug as instructed by the missus! The years (over 30, in the case of original drummer Paul Brouwer, whom I’d not seen since those Stuffies support days) fell away as I hung out and caught up with this absolutely lovely band of gentlemen, also being introduced to the extra touring “Aunt” Alex Vangellow, apparently the owner of the Potsdam NY music store that the nascent Aunts used to hang out in! 

Wandered into the venue itself to watch the boys soundcheck (Phil giving us a snatch of “Birdbrain” in honour of my Buffalo Tom t-shirt), introducing myself to Phil’s pregnant wife Carrie, who’d just flown in earlier today as well! More chat and pics afterwards, then I grabbed a pulled pork roll from the galley as the late (8.30) door time approached, at which time the band disappeared backstage, and Junko and I became punters, securing a front spot house left as the placed filled up. Openers Lost Tapes were on in short order at 8.45; Dave had compared their 80’s synthpop soundcheck to the likes of The Blue Nile and Microdisney, but their set, once it kicked into gear from an initially very lilting, pastoral start, had stronger shades of the Cure for me in its more stripped-back, taut and haunting vibe, particularly mid-set highlight “Lost In Youth”. The more robust descending riff of “Nueva” with its dreamier, proto-goth 4AD vibe recalled Modern English, and closer “Going Home” totally appropriated its’ hook from New Order’s “Ceremony”. A decent start, though, all sung in English (and in very soft, mellow tones) by this local Spanish 3-piece!

Chatted to Junko and Manuel, a friendly local punter who’d flown over to the UK in the late 70’s to see The Jam (!) and who also elaborated on the popularity of Gigolo Aunts in Spain (apparently the catalyst was their cover of local song “The Girl From Yesterday”. OK, that makes sense!) to pass the time and assuage my nerves. Weirdly, I had plenty of butterflies about this one; just hoping the mix was as clear and balanced as at soundcheck, and that the band, 30 years on, could do justice to their legacy and to my fondly held memories… I needn’t have worried; Gigolo Aunts bounded onstage at 10 to 10, Dave buoyantly announcing, “Hola Barcelona! 30 years of coming to Spain, and all I know is “hola!”,” before Phil kicked into the utterly glorious sounding opening riff to the clarion call-to-arms that was opener “C’mon C’mon”. it sounded great, robust, full, clear as a bell, and with the choral hook, amazingly, already sung back by an enthusiastic and knowledgeable crowd. Amazing start, but it then got better… oh, so much better…! 

“We’re going to play some songs you may not know,” announced Dave at the opener’s conclusion, “like this one…” Indicating me, he continued, “He knows it! David Rose! I promised him 33 years ago [not quite, but hey…] I’d play it and we’ve just got round to it! This is for you David!”, thence leading into an utterly stellar version of “Walk Among Us” my favourite Aunts number (hell, one of my all time favourite songs by anyone ever), the song bearing the Dipper reference, so a number as meaningful to me as any. A proper emotional, lump-in-the-throat moment, this, and an indelible gig memory… yet one which was almost matched by the subsequent “Everything Is Wrong”, the opening lines of which Dave had asked for a singalong to, this wonderful and fully engaged crowd delivering in full voice. Wow. I mean, wow.

No messin’, this was one of the all-time greats tonight. It was simply wonderful to hear these dearly-loved songs “live” one more time, delivered with such love and care, and received with such devotion by this awesome crowd. Truly, this was a night when band and audience came together so closely you could barely see the join, revelling in the sheer effervescent joy of the music. “Where I Find My Heaven” was another celebratory moment, the harmonies in full force, before a slower mid-section triad from that “Minor Chords” album showcased the Aunts’ understated melancholy melody. Dave then introduced Alex, to a chorus of “ole!”s from the crowd before a rambunctious, off-kilter “Rest Assured”, again featuring a soaring harmonic hook; then before the joyous circular hook of set closer “The Big Lie”, Dave fulsomely thanked the crowd again with, “Spain has been amazing for us! I appreciate more than anything in this crazy world that we’re in this moment together!” Wholly appropriate words to sum up this open-hearted celebration of a show. 

A couple of encores as well, including a big surprise; before the “Confetti”-sprinkled laze-grunge of “Serious Drugs”, Dave offered a “long distance dedication” to Clive, my 90’s gig buddy and the guy Dave filmed my duetting with on this very number, back at that Kidderminster gig. Wow! A final round of thanks before fist-pumping singalong closer “Super Ultra Wicked Mega Love”, the band taking a well-deserved bow following a truly legendary showing. Caught my breath and chatted to both Manuel and another local Luis, as various Aunts appeared from backstage to sign stuff for this thankful audience. Eventually sneaked backstage for chats and reflections on the joyous inclusive nature of the gig, Phil in particular keen to know if it actually sounded like Gigolo Aunts. Hell, yes it did! More chat – including a welcome catch-up with bassist Stephen Hurley, who’d eluded me up to that point – before time wore on and Phil and Carrie decided to head off, which seemed an appropriate time for me to bid fond farewells to the boys and do so as well. 

The next day started with a rooftop swim in my hotel; then I checked out and explored the city, hitting la Sagrada Familia, Park Guell and Las Ramblas, before visiting “Poble Espanyol” again via the Montjuic Olympic Park for some family souvenirs. A lot of walking around a hot city; I’m not sure if I was sweatier doing that, or at last night’s gig! A trip to the building site that currently passes for Barcelona FC’s Nou Camp stadium, before back to the airport and a lengthy wait for my delayed flight. Back in for 1, so I crashed at Sarah’s again, getting home 9ish Wednesday morning, wiped out both physically and emotionally.

I’ve deliberately left this one a few days to see if some reflection would enable me to sum this up more appropriately. Not even sure whether that’s worked, but this was one that mere words couldn’t adequately convey. This was one of the all-time greats, an evening well worth flying to Spain for. So, I’ll round this one off with a Big Star quote – again, seemingly inadequate but conversely also appropriate - Thank You, Friends!

1,347 BIG COUNTRY, Mike Peters, Swindon MECA, Saturday 21st September 2024

 

The Big Man and I had already done this tour earlier this year in Bristol (gig 1,323), but I guess you don’t refuse when they’re playing a stone’s throw from your house… So, second time this year then for 80’s post-punk Scots rockers Big Country, continuing the 40^th (!) Anniversary tour of their sophomore effort “Steeltown” with a second leg, including a rare gig at the criminally underutilised MECA. As mentioned in that Bristol report, “Steeltown” marked a departure from the upbeat and windswept bagpipe riffery of Big Country’s debut “The Crossing”, ploughing a darker, more politically oriented lyrical furrow paired with a suitably murkier, almost heavy machinery musical feel. From Big Country to Big Industry, perhaps (!), but either way still a quality listen, with strident terrace chant hooks aplenty, so a much-loved album for me. 

Ironically my last MECA gig was fellow Scots The Skids last Autumn (gig 1,298), a band which latterly featured Big Country mainstay Bruce Watson and his son and gunslinging partner-in-crime Jamie, and tonight was another father and son outing, as Logan joined me for the stones-throw drive into town. Met the posse in the venue, plus other Swindon folks, before the support at 8. Happily, it was Mike Peters, vocalist of 80’s contemporaries The Alarm, the guest singer in the early 2010’s Big Country reunion shows (gigs 812 and 841), and latterly the recipient of treatment for a recurrence of his cancer. Thankfully, he was in fine form tonight, striding between 3 mics onstage and generally stadium rabble-rousing the crowd (“raise your hands, raise your voices!”), whilst bashing away at a fat acoustic accompanied by backing tapes fleshing out the full band sound (not usually to my liking, but I’ll forgive him this time). The set itself was a run-through The Alarm’s finest flag-waving 80’s post-punk moments, with a fist-pumping “Strength”, the slow-burn intro into a rather epic actually “68 Guns”, and the hymn of working-class hope and redemption that is “Spirit Of 76” all highlights. But the real highlight was the ovation for his impassioned speech about his cancer charity, and simply the fact he’s still with us. “I will never give in…” indeed!

Took a wander around the venue with Logan – plenty of room to move, but very few large empty spaces, denoting quite a decent turnout for this one. Well done, Swindon! We were back in our house left spot, half a dozen rows back, as the lights dimmed and the eerie pulsing opening to “Flame Of The West” heralded the band onstage, immediately ploughing into this “Steeltown” opening track. From the off, the sound was big, powerful and strident (if a little muddy early doors, with the more intricate riffery taking a while to become fully established in the sound), and the Watson boys in particular were a kinetic onstage presence, sawing furiously away on their guitars, swapping positions and back to back rock poses, and generally having a ball and challenging the initially static Swindon crowd to do the same. Side one of “Steeltown” was dispensed with in a heady rush, the dark, dramatic title track and a turbocharged, anthemic “Where The Rose Is Sown” early highlights, before Bruce told us the story of how the album was recorded (in Abba’s Sweden studio, apparently!) and introduced new vocalist, tribute band Restless Natives’ frontman Tommie Paxton, a serious Stuart Adamson look- and sound-alike who, “jumped in to save the day, 3 ½ months ago!” 

A couple of technical hitches (“thwarted by technology! Bastard!” bemoaned Bruce) interrupted the flow of “side 2”, Jamie lightening the mood by leading the “Broooce!” chants, some wag (ok, me…) shouting, “that’s “Dad” to you!” The broody, morose “Just A Shadow” rounded off the album run-through, after which the soaring singalong of “Look Away” and a melancholy yet roof-raising “Chance” saw the Swindon crowd finally in full voice, Paxton reflecting on a point Adamson made at a gig the vocalist attended in 1986 – “you should hear what that sounds like back here!” A tremendous and still fresh sounding “In A Big Country” and a rousing “Wonderland” segue into a hard-hitting “Fields Of Fire” (featuring a snippet of old staple “Whisky In The Jar”) rounded off a punchy, energetic and powerful set, the snaking and weaving guitar interplay between Watson father and son a highlight throughout. Angular B side “Restless Natives” rather appropriately capped things off, after which I grabbed a list then saw a breathless Jamie Watson emerge from backstage. So I doorstepped the man to show him a pic of him and dad Bruce with me and Logan, from the 2017 Skids Oxford gig (gig 1,040); after incredulously realising my teenage son was the same wide-eyed little man in the pic, he not only insisted on re-enacting the photo, but then grabbed Logan and marched him over to the merch stand, instructing the merch lady (his mum!) to sort him out with a free t-shirt. Chap! Thus loaded up, we then grabbed some food and headed home. So, a great night out with son and old friends, and plenty of familiar, singalong tunes. “Fields of Fire”? Tonight, Big Country were on fire!