Saturday 5 October 2024

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!


Sunday 29 September 2024

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!

Monday 23 September 2024

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 40th (!) 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!

Thursday 19 September 2024

1,346 RIDE, Junodream, Portsmouth Guildhall, Tuesday 17th September 2024

 

A bit further to go than I’d have liked for this one, but needs must when gig schedules clash; I’ve been on board with the post-reunion journey of Oxonian 90’s shoegaze innovators Ride, making up for lost time to a certain extent with a band I should have really liked and seen more back in the day. Since their 2016 reformation, they’ve been full-on noses to the grindstone, this tour pushing their third second-coming album “Interplay”. A fine collection of well-constructed tuneage with distinct nods to their history, this, striking a delicate balance between their effects-led shimmering wall-of-noise material and their difficult yet more song-focussed proto-Britpop/ post punk, so I was up for the tour. Unfortunately, their Bristol SWX date clashed with last Saturday’s Men They Couldn’t Hang Thekla gig, last time out, and I’d already booked tix for that, so this ticket to Ride came with a ride down to the next-nearest venue, down on the South Coast!

Happily, I had company in Ride uber-fan and 90’s Lev friend Robynne, whose husband wouldn’t take her! I picked her up just after 5 for a sunny South Coast drive, taking a wrong turn but eventually finding an open air car park near the venue. Got in 20 minutes after doors to find the auditorium almost deserted, and a house right barrier spot very easy to come by! Yikes! Chatted with fellow front-rower Chas, over from Singapore (!) to visit his Kent-domiciled parents and catch this one, before openers Junodream, on an 8 to a small smattering of folk. I’d picked up their debut album “Pools Of Colour”, finding it pleasant but unmemorable, and for me this set largely followed suit; opener “The Beach” was a meandering piece of unobtrusive dreampop, “Kitchen Sink Drama”, next up, was a more urgent drum-propelled early Death Cab-esque brooding US alt-bedsit pop number, and “Death Drive” a looser-limbed 80’s slice of baggy trip hop. To be fair, vocalist Ed Vyvyan regularly attacked his task with impressive gusto, particularly on the crescendo outros, although his claims of being the best band in the world (or second best to Ride) seemed somewhat far fetched. Closer “Nobody Wants You”, with its intricate upbeat strumalong recalling Real Estate or Rolling Blackouts, was the best of a nice enough set. Damning them with faint praise, I know, but there you go…

Unfortunately, the place still hadn’t really filled that much, and the auditorium seemed only half full (with the balcony shut and blanked off as well!) by the time Ride themselves took the stage at 9 to a suitably dramatic fanfare music backdrop. The straightahead indie rock stylings of newie “Monaco” kicked things into gear, although initially it seemed that the mix was a bit too polished and crystal clear, at the expense of the “sonic cathedrals of noise” that Ride were/ are so renowned for. An early “Dreams Burn Down” suffered particularly, its’ usual ball-crunching post-hook crescendo sounding sadly sedate, the thin sound rendering this usually mighty number a little ponderous, and I pondered this during the properly epilepsy-inducing strobe assault of a nevertheless dramatic “Killswitch”; have Ride eschewed their usual pedal-stomping modus operandi to accentuate the songcraft of the new material, but in the process lost that thrilling sonic assault? 

Happily, after an eerie, stripped-back reading of morose newie “I Came To See The Wreck”, the upbeat groove of “Twisterella” marked an ironic turning point, the balance between the crispness of sound and full-on thrilling wall-of-sound much better, as the hitherto taciturn band, initially playing within themselves, seemed to really warm to their task. The clipped, undulating hook and hypnotic krautrock beat of “Lannoy Point” was easily the best thus far, but that was eclipsed in short order by the crashing intro and sweeping strident hook of a brilliant “Taste”, seeing me give it loads in my front row spot. That’s what we’re here for!

The set denouement maintained this quality control; “Cool Your Boots” was all shimmering oscillation and cascading drums, “Vapour Trail” superbly widescreen and windswept as ever, and “Seagull” a barnstorming psych workout to close out a proper set of two halves. First encore “Light In A Quiet Room” featured a juxtaposition of the delicate choral harmony between main men Mark Gardener and Andy Bell and the noisy crescendo outro, before the lugubrious and meandering “Leave Them All Behind” required 2 takes (Bell labelling the short abortive first start as the “Tik Tok, short attention span” version! The embryonic heady rush of “Chelsea Girl” rounded off a damn fine overall set, the impressively bearded roadie then handing me a list, then we bade farewell to Chas and fellow front rower Ian, there with his son, before a quick and chatty drive up the A34/ M4 beat route saw me dropping Robynne back just after midnight. So, a slow burner, this, but one that really built up a head of steam and finished strongly, and was definitely worth the lengthy trip!

Monday 16 September 2024

1,345 THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, Headsticks, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 14th September 2024

 


Dust has blown, years have flown, yet The Men They Couldn’t Hang are still going strong, and this tour marked the Magnificent 40th Anniversary of this enduring and pioneering folk/ punk band. I’d been on board “live” for 38 of those years (my first being November 1986’s Bierkeller gig, no. 63!), that and the other even dozen occasions I’d seen this band of desperados since being inclusive, raucous, singalong and wholly entertaining affairs, so of course I was up for a 14th for their 40th! 

So was Logan, so we made plans for a boy’s night out, donning sunglasses and riding into the evocatively low setting sun; well, we drove down the M4 westward into Bristol, at least! Squeezed into a dockside parking spot about 10 minutes before doors, then grabbed a front of stage spot, house left, right next to increasingly frequent Bristol gig friend Louise! So, some lively chat filled the short time before openers Headsticks took the stage at 7.30. I’d not come across this veteran folk/ punk rabble before, but after a couple of numbers it became apparent that my 20-year-old, Red Wedge gig-going, anti-Thatcher political march attending, radical young post punker self would have liked this lot very much, and in all honesty, so did my current loony lefty Green party/ Greenpeace member 59-year-old conscientious dad self! Led by an impassioned, in-your-face manic (eyed) street preacher in Andrew Tranter, they recalled the fervent anti-establishment politico-punk of The Clash, New Model Army and tonight’s headliners, with the strident early 80’s dark anthemic guitar feel of Spear Of Destiny and even (on the snaking riffery of opener “Cold Grey English Skies”) Big Country, topped with an ample helping of ramshackle and high-octane Dropkicks folky jiggery pokery. Buoyed to be on this tour (“it’s nice to be in Bristol! Mind, when you’re from Stoke, it’s nice to be anywhere!” quipping Tranter), they delivered their set with conviction, their message powerful yet never hectoring, even eliciting a loud audience participation for their early Dead Kennedy’s-like (especially Tranter’s vocals, raising an octave for this number and strongly recalling Jello Biafra) penultimate best-of number “Apocalypse”. Fine forceful stuff; something tells me our paths may cross again “live”…

Not long to wait for the main event, either; in fact, the time rather sneaked up on us before the sweeping orchestral intro saw the 6-piece Men take the stage prompt at 8.20. “It’s our 40th Anniversary,” announced vocalist Phil “Swill” Odgers; “we’re gonna raise some hell!” then easing into aptly named opener, “Raising Hell”, which, if a little too low-key to rouse Lucifer, was then totally eclipsed by the subsequent double of a ragged, acerbic and anthemic “Going Back To Coventry” and a stirring roof-raising singalong to “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, both of which sent soundquake shudders down through all the nine circles. Here we go, boys! 

The Men They Couldn’t Hang were magnificent tonight. Shorn of the more in-your-face rabble-rousing approach of their sadly missed co-founder Stefan Cush, lost to us in 2021, Swill, Simmo and co. relied on their innate musicianship, easy band-crowd repartee and obvious connection with their audience, plus the timeworn familiarity of their material to deliver a consummate performance. Newie “Red Kite” (preceded by some, erm, well-refreshed punter nicking Swill’s pint and Swill calling him out for it) was a folksy yet poignant tribute to their fallen comrade, the subsequent off-mic audience singalong to Cush’s number, the anti-war paean “Green Fields Of France” being genuinely heartfelt and affecting. Thereafter, as WWE wrestler Sheamus would say, it was “banger after banger”… “Smugglers” highlighted deep-voiced Bobby Valentino’s virtuoso violin mid-section; Swill namechecked all the venues they’d played in Bristol before a rousing “Bounty Hunter”, also quipping about going out in Bristol earlier then realising how old they all are (!); “Shirt Of Blue” was dramatic, slow-burn and still uncomfortably relevant; and the quite brilliant “The Colours” saw Logan and myself sing along raucously to this affirming story of working class validation. But my highlight was the rollicking rambunctious reading of “Ironmasters”, as ever a potent clarion call to arms.

A couple of encores of “Night To Remember” and “Walkin’ Talkin’ ” rounded off a right proper night to remember. Swill kindly sorted Logan with a list, then a brief word with him and Simmo at the merch stand about their forthcoming “Shiiine On” debut (I’ll be down the front singing along!) and a chat with “gig life crisis” buddy Jeremy, before heading off into the murk, home at 11 via Jimmy’s Kebab (of course!). A night to remember indeed, and here’s to many more for this enduring and treasured band!

Friday 6 September 2024

1,344 MARTHA, Former Champ, Hamburger, Bristol Strange Brew, Thursday 5th September 2024

 


After yesterday’s shlep up that Big Smoke, here’s a closer one, down to Bristol’s relatively new Strange Brew for Durham’s own bouncy anarcho-punk popsters and queercore warriors Martha. A relatively quick return for Martha-punx, this, gig 1,254 at The Exchange in support of their spunky 4th album “Please Don’t Take Me Back” being barely 22 months ago, and also one where prima facie they seem to have nothing in particular to push or promote. Still, that last one was a bit of a barnstormer, so I’m always up for more from this bunch of effervescent helium indie punk popsters!

 A pretty crappy day saw me nearly blow this one off, but I eventually hauled my ass into the car for a solo trip down a drizzly mood-matching M4, parking in Nelson Street and meeting Stu, Andy and Nigel in the venue about 10 to 8. First support Hamburger were already squeezed onto the stage at this bohemian Arts Centre-esque space; they ploughed a similar furrow to tonight’s headliners, some gauche 80’s-influenced DIY indie tuneage getting my toes tapping early doors before they diverted into more understated, slower-burn (and slightly dull actually) Weezer-esque proto-emo stuff. My best memory of them was their thanks to the early comers before their closer; “I know Thursday is a premium night for “Settlers Of Catan”…!” 

Much better was to come though, with main support Former Champ; a female fronted 5-piece, opener “Beginner’s Luck” was a splendid robust piece of indie powerpop, and an early newie “Big Surprise!” recalled current faves The Beths with it’s undulating and accelerating guitar groove. A later “Sunday Morning” showed a different dreamier side with a more crafted, expansive and widescreen mid-paced vibe, before they switched up gears again for the final few numbers, finale “Hold On” the pick of the bunch with a Summery strumalong Smiths/ early Byrds feel. The fact they packed 11 numbers into a half-hour support slot as well, most of them economical and fat-free, was great value, so I could even forgive the slight verse structure steal from 60’s staple “Got To Get You Into My Life” for their nonetheless highly melodic “Porcelain”, plus vocalist Claire’s tones being a little understated and occasionally lost in the mix. Nope, Former Champ were ace, happily continuing the run of excellent Martha supports initiated last time out by Bigfatbig (gig 1,254), and prompted me to grab a list and buy a tshirt off Claire on the merch stand.

A quick loo trip and a chat with a visiting Gareth from Los Campesinos! who remembered our chat at their recent Exchange gig (gig 1,338) and complimented my This Mortal Coil tshirt, before back with the boys in their spot, halfway back for Martha’s arrival in short order at 9.15 to the backing music of Rush’s “Spirit Of Radio!” As ever, the PityMe DIY punksters were in no mood to fuck about, setting the tone for their set with the rampant amphetamine gabble and snaking riffery of “Beat Perpetual” and the quickfire, acerbic “Every Day The Hope Gets Harder”, featuring that Clash “Tommy Gun” drum outro. Pow pow, take that, Bristol!

The reason for this tour then became evident, drummer Nathan announcing, “10 years ago we released an album called “Courting Big”… it’s good you [the audience] whooped at that as we’re going to play 6 songs from it… here’s 4!” So, an impromptu celebration of their debut (despite their later mentioning one theme of 2022’s aforementioned “Please Don’t Take Me Back” was about not romanticising the past!) featured that album’s pounding “Cosmic Misery”, Naomi’s helium Minnie Mouse vocals on “1997 Passing In The Hallway” and the overlaid call and response and undulating riff of a later “1967 I Miss You I’m Lonely”, rebadged as a “Horny” sexy number tonight! In between, the joyous hook of an effervescent “Heart Sink” and the irrepressible singalong hook and descending riff of “Goldman’s Detective Agency” were highlights of a set which galloped along at a cracking pace, like wild ponies on a windswept Whitby beach. 

An overheating Naomi joked about changing her undies (!) before the hobnail boot-stomping “Chekhov’s Hangnail” and the “Silver Lining”-esque guitar of set closer “Love Keeps Kicking”. Drummer Nathan then made an impassioned plea on behalf of 2 charities, Pro Palestine and anti-Fascist group Red Flare (highly worthy and necessary causes both), before the pointed “Flag Burner” and a dark, dramatic “Void” rounded off another breathless, buoyant yet (at its’ conclusion) politically charged Martha set. I’d moved forward and seen the last half dozen numbers from nearer the front, hanging with 2000 Trees friends Jamie and Marc; then patience eventually got me Nathan’s set list, before I hit the road for a swift drive, home at 11.30, kebab in tow. Glad I went, as Former Champ and Martha provided the perfect antidote for my crappy day!