Finally we get to take advantage of the recent slew of gigs at the nearby Oasis; Fratellis, Kings Of Leon, Ting Tings, no thanks; Enemy, yes please! This is also notable for being the first gig since my recent knee op, and the last with Rachel before the birth of our second child! And ironically, it's the Enemy again, the last band Rach saw before Logan was born!
Wandered over the Oasis for 8 and made our way into an already-packed main hall just as Kid British were finishing off their popular, rabble-rousing ska-based set. We however weren't looking for a viewing spot, as we'd booked places on the disabled platform, thanks to my still-pronounced limp, and Rach's extreme pregnancy! So we took our seats and Soke popped over for a chat, before Twisted Wheel came on at 8.15. They endeared themselves to us with an intro reminiscent of American Hi-Fi ("we're Twisted Wheel, we're a rock'n'roll band from England") and played some down'n'dirty punky rock. A couple of their numbers recalled the old school punk of SLF, a couple were unnecessarily fast, and another slower number recalled the Hi-Fi's "Another Perfect Day". Overall, they left a noisy and favourable impression.
The lights stayed off until the Enemy came on at 9. Since our last encounter, back in March 2007, they've taken their rabble rousing punk/modish swagger out of the indie ghetto and into the big venues, their debut album hitting No. 1 in the process. Their stage set-up incorporated a high screen which flashed tour venues quickly, ending on "Swindon" to a huge roar from the very young crowd. Easy pop, but hey... The equally young band powered competently and confidently into their set of smalltown teen disaffection and youthful protest, set to their uninhibited power-rock. A little too near to lad-rock for my liking on this scale, but one can't deny the genuine connection between band and audience here. "Away From Here", anthemic and rousing, was an early highlight, as was new single "No Time For Tears", which despite featuring a totally incongruous female backing vocalist, seemed to be a departure, a more thoughtful song construction and possibly a newer direction. Best of the newies, however, was "Sing When You're In Love", a huge chorus and possible Summer anthem.
"It's Not OK", crunchily riff-tastic, and "We'll Live And Die In These Towns", an acoustic singalong reminiscent of the Jam's "That's Entertainment", were the other highlights of an exceedingly short but sweet set - 45 minutes, with a few encores still barely hitting the hour mark. Nevertheless, a fine gig, a promising new album, and we both liked the disabled platform!
Friday, 30 October 2009
766 ULTRAVOX, Bristol Colston Hall, Saturday 18 April 2009
Another act hitting the reunion gravy train - this time it's Ultravox, post-punk art types turned New Romantic electropop pioneers in the early 80's, and hosts of a very early gig in 1986, an astonishing performance on their last go-round, over 22 years ago. Would they - and their very era-specific music - stand the test of time?
Either way, I was all over this one, booking tix in November, 5 minutes after they went on sale, so was perturbed that they only arrived 2 days before the gig! Even more perturbed to find the "unreserved standing" tix I'd ordered had somehow morphed into stalls seats! Bah!
Anyway, I picked up some fellow 80's casualties and hit the road, parking up in Trenchard as usual and hitting the bar, completely ignoring the support act and heading into the hall just before the 5 minute warning at 8.30. First off - no standing area at all! Ticket sales must've been slow. Secondly, we're in the rear stalls? How the fuck did that happen? I ordered these tix 5 minutes after they went on sale, fuck you very much. Why are we so far back and when did this lot in front of us order their goddamn tickets??
However, I had little time to articulate my indignation before the lights dimmed and four shadowy figures took the stage, building into a synthy moody intro. "Passing Strangers", the bouncy single from the first Ure album "Vienna" was next up, but that was all worthy of note for the first 45 or so minutes, as the Vox delved into the more moody, morose side of their canon, which was often dirge-like and frankly bored me rigid. A stunning "Lament" offered better things, after which Midge - on one of only 2 addresses to the crowd all evening - asked whether we had permission to dance! Well, sure the bouncers were stopping people from taking pix on their phones or going to the front, but half the fault lay with the Vox for playing such a tedious set thus far!
Anyway, we were all up for the subsequent "One Small Day", my favourite Ure-travox number, a rocking 80's anthem, and suddenly - finally! - the gig took on a different complexion. The crowd were engaged, up and dancing, the band looked interested rather than dialling in the music from their laptops, and we were away. "All Stood Still", a soaring "Dancing With Tears In My Eyes" and set closer, the epic "Hymn" kept the momentum, before "Sleepwalk" and "The Voice" sent us home happy after a definite set of two halves, part dull bookish sub-Krautrock boredom, part electropop party.
Either way, I was all over this one, booking tix in November, 5 minutes after they went on sale, so was perturbed that they only arrived 2 days before the gig! Even more perturbed to find the "unreserved standing" tix I'd ordered had somehow morphed into stalls seats! Bah!
Anyway, I picked up some fellow 80's casualties and hit the road, parking up in Trenchard as usual and hitting the bar, completely ignoring the support act and heading into the hall just before the 5 minute warning at 8.30. First off - no standing area at all! Ticket sales must've been slow. Secondly, we're in the rear stalls? How the fuck did that happen? I ordered these tix 5 minutes after they went on sale, fuck you very much. Why are we so far back and when did this lot in front of us order their goddamn tickets??
However, I had little time to articulate my indignation before the lights dimmed and four shadowy figures took the stage, building into a synthy moody intro. "Passing Strangers", the bouncy single from the first Ure album "Vienna" was next up, but that was all worthy of note for the first 45 or so minutes, as the Vox delved into the more moody, morose side of their canon, which was often dirge-like and frankly bored me rigid. A stunning "Lament" offered better things, after which Midge - on one of only 2 addresses to the crowd all evening - asked whether we had permission to dance! Well, sure the bouncers were stopping people from taking pix on their phones or going to the front, but half the fault lay with the Vox for playing such a tedious set thus far!
Anyway, we were all up for the subsequent "One Small Day", my favourite Ure-travox number, a rocking 80's anthem, and suddenly - finally! - the gig took on a different complexion. The crowd were engaged, up and dancing, the band looked interested rather than dialling in the music from their laptops, and we were away. "All Stood Still", a soaring "Dancing With Tears In My Eyes" and set closer, the epic "Hymn" kept the momentum, before "Sleepwalk" and "The Voice" sent us home happy after a definite set of two halves, part dull bookish sub-Krautrock boredom, part electropop party.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
767 U2, Elbow, The Hours, Wembley Stadium, Friday 14 August 2009
A notable gig this, for a number of reasons: my first gig since my daughter Kasey was born, breaking my longest gig hiatus since 1983 (at 3 months 27 days, it was even 5 days longer than my 2002/03 illness layoff); my first gig at the reconstructed Wembley Stadium; and, thanks to my U2 fanatic brother sorting himself out a hotel for tomorrow's gig as well, my first gig on a coach since... ooh, who knows when!
Times have changed since I, an innocent and starry-eyed 22 year old then, proclaimed 1987's U2 the best live band on the planet. A disappointing, "gig tourist" filled experience at Twickenham on the last tour had been followed by an uneven new album, bringing back uncomfortable memories of their self-indulgent "irony" period of the 1990s. However, the U2 "live" legend, combined with the promise (?) of a "different" live experience thanks to "The Claw", a huge 4-legged stage set-up with circular videoscreens suspended from the apex, putting the band almost "in the round", persuaded me to part with the steep £60ish ticket price, along with coach fare.
Left at 1.30 and got a reasonably good run, hitting the stadium at 4. Pretty impressed with the new Wembley and the huge arch, and everything seemed pretty well organised. Joined the queue a little behind my brother, then got in about 1/4 to 5, taking a wander toward the c.100 foot tall "Claw", immediately (and accidentally) getting entry to the "inner circle" between the circular stage and the band's outer runway. However, this was so overcrowded - already! - that even my superfan brother didn't fancy it, so I caught up with him at the left leg of "The Claw".
Openers The Hours joined us at 6. A young spunky band, obviously in thrall to (early) U2 - so much so that their opener had us Rose boys singing "Electric Co." along to it! However they had some passion and fire, despite their youth, and the Jim Adkins lookalike vocalist obviously relished the occasion. You're playing at Wembley, guys - enjoy it!
A damn sight better than main support Elbow. Their popularity (particularly their recent upsurge) has eluded me and they were as grey, dour and depressing as the suddenly leaden slate skies. Their final number was kind of alright, thus making it head, shoulders, torso, groin and thighs above the rest of their set.
Lights out at 8.15 and the intro music of the haunting David Bowie classic "Space Oddity" (sounding fresh as ever, now 40 years old, and, though I knew it not then, as good as it was going to get tonight) heralded the entrance of U2. The opening salvo was actually terrific - the sinewy "Breathe", the jagged "No Line", the brash glam stomp of "Get On Your Boots" and the more trad-U2 soaring rock of "Magnificent", new numbers all, before a fine, anthemic "Beautiful Day". Bono complimented how London had been good for U2, before the best moment of their night - a full-stadium singalong of the mesmeric "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", lovely and spine-tingling.
Thereafter it all went South in a hurry. The best 4 numbers from the new album were already done, throwing the remainder of the newies in a very poor light. The set selection was ropey at best, with an "Unforgettable Fire" wasted, sluggish and emotionless, and as a substitute for the missing passion and intensity of old, we had the kind of overblown stadium theatrics I thought we fought the punk wars to eradicate. And the thing that made me so angry and disappointed (so much so that I left my brother to it at this point) is that these boys were there then, so they know.
Sure, "The Claw" was impressive, and when the screen descended it was breathtaking - my brother said of "The Claw" that it was so captivating you almost forget there are 4 guys playing music onstage, which for me is missing the point - if I want to see a "show" I'll get tix for "Starlight Express". I'm always here for the music, first and foremost, and it was on this point, crucially, that U2 failed to deliver tonight. Even the likes of "Pride" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday" sounded workmanlike, flat and obligatory.
Sorry boys, a big disappointment tonight.
Times have changed since I, an innocent and starry-eyed 22 year old then, proclaimed 1987's U2 the best live band on the planet. A disappointing, "gig tourist" filled experience at Twickenham on the last tour had been followed by an uneven new album, bringing back uncomfortable memories of their self-indulgent "irony" period of the 1990s. However, the U2 "live" legend, combined with the promise (?) of a "different" live experience thanks to "The Claw", a huge 4-legged stage set-up with circular videoscreens suspended from the apex, putting the band almost "in the round", persuaded me to part with the steep £60ish ticket price, along with coach fare.
Left at 1.30 and got a reasonably good run, hitting the stadium at 4. Pretty impressed with the new Wembley and the huge arch, and everything seemed pretty well organised. Joined the queue a little behind my brother, then got in about 1/4 to 5, taking a wander toward the c.100 foot tall "Claw", immediately (and accidentally) getting entry to the "inner circle" between the circular stage and the band's outer runway. However, this was so overcrowded - already! - that even my superfan brother didn't fancy it, so I caught up with him at the left leg of "The Claw".
Openers The Hours joined us at 6. A young spunky band, obviously in thrall to (early) U2 - so much so that their opener had us Rose boys singing "Electric Co." along to it! However they had some passion and fire, despite their youth, and the Jim Adkins lookalike vocalist obviously relished the occasion. You're playing at Wembley, guys - enjoy it!
A damn sight better than main support Elbow. Their popularity (particularly their recent upsurge) has eluded me and they were as grey, dour and depressing as the suddenly leaden slate skies. Their final number was kind of alright, thus making it head, shoulders, torso, groin and thighs above the rest of their set.
Lights out at 8.15 and the intro music of the haunting David Bowie classic "Space Oddity" (sounding fresh as ever, now 40 years old, and, though I knew it not then, as good as it was going to get tonight) heralded the entrance of U2. The opening salvo was actually terrific - the sinewy "Breathe", the jagged "No Line", the brash glam stomp of "Get On Your Boots" and the more trad-U2 soaring rock of "Magnificent", new numbers all, before a fine, anthemic "Beautiful Day". Bono complimented how London had been good for U2, before the best moment of their night - a full-stadium singalong of the mesmeric "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", lovely and spine-tingling.
Thereafter it all went South in a hurry. The best 4 numbers from the new album were already done, throwing the remainder of the newies in a very poor light. The set selection was ropey at best, with an "Unforgettable Fire" wasted, sluggish and emotionless, and as a substitute for the missing passion and intensity of old, we had the kind of overblown stadium theatrics I thought we fought the punk wars to eradicate. And the thing that made me so angry and disappointed (so much so that I left my brother to it at this point) is that these boys were there then, so they know.
Sure, "The Claw" was impressive, and when the screen descended it was breathtaking - my brother said of "The Claw" that it was so captivating you almost forget there are 4 guys playing music onstage, which for me is missing the point - if I want to see a "show" I'll get tix for "Starlight Express". I'm always here for the music, first and foremost, and it was on this point, crucially, that U2 failed to deliver tonight. Even the likes of "Pride" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday" sounded workmanlike, flat and obligatory.
Sorry boys, a big disappointment tonight.
768 THE MEN THEY COULDN'T HANG, Swindon 12 Bar, Friday 18 September 2009
After the last couple of gigs, in which I discovered a couple of 80's icons were wearing badly in the 2000s, we had a chance to see how another 80's fave was faring. This time The Men They Couldn't Hang, last seen by myself at 2001's Fleadh and seemingly in rude health then, were, amazingly, booked to play at the 12 Bar, 20 minutes walk from my house! So far that place hasn't yet stepped up for me as I'd hoped, but this was a definite bullseye, so I wandered down, hitting the venue at 8.15 and running into various friends who'd accompanied me on those drunken jaunts to see The Men at Bristol Bierkeller back in the 80s, particularly Phil, who was like a kid in a sweet shop at the prospect of this gig. Obviously he gets out less right now than I do!
Hung out and chatted in the bar while the support (unimpressive, Rich said, after a cursory glance) were on, and ran into Men co-vocalist Stefan Cush. I'd brought along gigbook No. 1 and showed him a couple of those 80's Bierkeller setlists, to his surprise! "Well done, that's what you should do with them," was his response to my having hung on to them for 20 years!
Took a wander in for the entrance of The Men at 9.30. By no means a sellout, this was however a well-attended and enthusiastic crowd to welcome a well-worn but energetic band. As befitting their veteran status, they were totally at ease onstage, joking and anecdoting for all they were worth in between numbers. But this was all about the music - tunes as old as time and as familiar as old bedsocks, songs I've not played for years but still remember all the words to. The Men They Couldn't Hang ploughed a unique furrow in the 80's with a blend of London punk attitude, Irish folk music roots and supreme songcraft, depicting class struggles through the ages, from 1930's fascist uprisings (the brilliant early singalong of "Ghosts Of Cable Street"), through the days of the British Empire ruling the Seven Seas ("Smugglers" and "Colours") via the inevitable 80's Miner's Strike, lived-through and still raw in the memory (a spooky "Shirt Of Blue"). Although my tastes had evolved and I'd lost touch with their more recent recorded output, I still cherished their early material, and it was wonderful to see it done full justice tonight. New material rubbed shoulders easily with the oldies as co-vocalists Cush and Phil "Swill" Odgers, amazed by the crowd reaction ("Swindon! Where have you been all our lives?") exchanged both banter and acoustic interludes (Swill's a capella "Barratt's Privateer" particularly haunting and memorable) and the 4-guitar plus banjo attack evoked the atmosphere of those storied songs.
A marvellous 1 3/4 hours was climaxed by a manic, breathless "Ironmasters" before "Going Back To Coventry" and the Clash's sinewy, reggae number "Bankrobber" closed the night out perfectly. I'll go to better gigs this year, but none more fun, a point I made to appreciative songwriter Paul Simmonds, after I'd shown him and an incredulous Swill ("fuckin' hell!" being his response) those 80's setlists. Restoring my faith in live music after a couple of bad 'uns - God bless The Men They Couldn't Hang!
Hung out and chatted in the bar while the support (unimpressive, Rich said, after a cursory glance) were on, and ran into Men co-vocalist Stefan Cush. I'd brought along gigbook No. 1 and showed him a couple of those 80's Bierkeller setlists, to his surprise! "Well done, that's what you should do with them," was his response to my having hung on to them for 20 years!
Took a wander in for the entrance of The Men at 9.30. By no means a sellout, this was however a well-attended and enthusiastic crowd to welcome a well-worn but energetic band. As befitting their veteran status, they were totally at ease onstage, joking and anecdoting for all they were worth in between numbers. But this was all about the music - tunes as old as time and as familiar as old bedsocks, songs I've not played for years but still remember all the words to. The Men They Couldn't Hang ploughed a unique furrow in the 80's with a blend of London punk attitude, Irish folk music roots and supreme songcraft, depicting class struggles through the ages, from 1930's fascist uprisings (the brilliant early singalong of "Ghosts Of Cable Street"), through the days of the British Empire ruling the Seven Seas ("Smugglers" and "Colours") via the inevitable 80's Miner's Strike, lived-through and still raw in the memory (a spooky "Shirt Of Blue"). Although my tastes had evolved and I'd lost touch with their more recent recorded output, I still cherished their early material, and it was wonderful to see it done full justice tonight. New material rubbed shoulders easily with the oldies as co-vocalists Cush and Phil "Swill" Odgers, amazed by the crowd reaction ("Swindon! Where have you been all our lives?") exchanged both banter and acoustic interludes (Swill's a capella "Barratt's Privateer" particularly haunting and memorable) and the 4-guitar plus banjo attack evoked the atmosphere of those storied songs.
A marvellous 1 3/4 hours was climaxed by a manic, breathless "Ironmasters" before "Going Back To Coventry" and the Clash's sinewy, reggae number "Bankrobber" closed the night out perfectly. I'll go to better gigs this year, but none more fun, a point I made to appreciative songwriter Paul Simmonds, after I'd shown him and an incredulous Swill ("fuckin' hell!" being his response) those 80's setlists. Restoring my faith in live music after a couple of bad 'uns - God bless The Men They Couldn't Hang!
769 THE TEMPER TRAP, Oxford O2 Academy 2, Saturday 19 September 2009
Well, after a run of old bands, it's now time for a new one! And here we have for general perusal The Temper Trap, a young Australian lot who caught my attention with an MTV2 video for their enchanting "Sweet Disposition" single. This prompted me to hunt down their debut album "Conditions", which revealed a similar merging of delicate, haunting melody and intricate guitar interplay, causing me to describe them on a recent Facebook update as "early U2 snogging with The Kissaway Trail in a snowglobe full of vigorously fornicating otters". So possibly, a 2009 band to get excited about, rather than mildly diverted?
So I headed down on my own, parking up at 8.30. My first time back at the old Zodiac room since the O2 takeover, and little had changed really; a new bar and repositioning for the merch stand, but effectively the same old place, grotty bogs and all! This gig, however, was a sellout and the place was totally heaving; this was an early one and I'd already missed the support!
Took a good viewing spot stage right, and the band arrived promptly at 9 in a swathe of dry ice and obligatory moody backing track. They opened with a salvo of thrillingly noisy jagged guitar strafing, prompting me to think a guitar noise-fest at the home of the likes of Ride was like carrying coals to Newcastle somewhat! However, once into their first actual number, the pounding "Rest", they stamped their own identity into an authoritative and strident set. Like most new bands, their influences are easy and fun to spot; the shimmering guitar atmospherics of the shoegazing crowd, the early U2-like anthemic yet intricate riffery, even a touch of Arcade Fire-esque triumph/tragedy and Americana, particularly in the epic "Down River", with its dusty opening building to a huge crescendo. However, like the potentially great, they've already distilled these influences into something unique and their own, and with high-pitched and handsome young vocalist Dougy Mandaji, they have a singer of haunting, soulful, delicate power.
Indeed, this set was more strident and powerful than on record, always a good sign, and "Sweet Disposition" was stylishly delivered mid-set, a powerful build up before the sweet release of the best chorus of this year, soaring and beautiful.
A triumphant 45 minutes, delivered enthusiastically and heralded rapturously by an extraordinarily amped crowd (for often sedate Oxford), underlined that yes, here is, finally, a 2009 new band to get excited about. I was also happy, afterwards, for my 20-odd years goalkeeping experience, as the set-lists were scrunched up by the roadie and hurled into the crowd. Hey, I can catch, me!
So I headed down on my own, parking up at 8.30. My first time back at the old Zodiac room since the O2 takeover, and little had changed really; a new bar and repositioning for the merch stand, but effectively the same old place, grotty bogs and all! This gig, however, was a sellout and the place was totally heaving; this was an early one and I'd already missed the support!
Took a good viewing spot stage right, and the band arrived promptly at 9 in a swathe of dry ice and obligatory moody backing track. They opened with a salvo of thrillingly noisy jagged guitar strafing, prompting me to think a guitar noise-fest at the home of the likes of Ride was like carrying coals to Newcastle somewhat! However, once into their first actual number, the pounding "Rest", they stamped their own identity into an authoritative and strident set. Like most new bands, their influences are easy and fun to spot; the shimmering guitar atmospherics of the shoegazing crowd, the early U2-like anthemic yet intricate riffery, even a touch of Arcade Fire-esque triumph/tragedy and Americana, particularly in the epic "Down River", with its dusty opening building to a huge crescendo. However, like the potentially great, they've already distilled these influences into something unique and their own, and with high-pitched and handsome young vocalist Dougy Mandaji, they have a singer of haunting, soulful, delicate power.
Indeed, this set was more strident and powerful than on record, always a good sign, and "Sweet Disposition" was stylishly delivered mid-set, a powerful build up before the sweet release of the best chorus of this year, soaring and beautiful.
A triumphant 45 minutes, delivered enthusiastically and heralded rapturously by an extraordinarily amped crowd (for often sedate Oxford), underlined that yes, here is, finally, a 2009 new band to get excited about. I was also happy, afterwards, for my 20-odd years goalkeeping experience, as the set-lists were scrunched up by the roadie and hurled into the crowd. Hey, I can catch, me!
770 SCARCE, Coy Tosa, London Luminaire, Saturday 17 October 2009
I very nearly didn't bother going to what will be undisputably my No. 1 Gig of 2009 - a general horror of London shows (mainly for the travel) combined with a clash of Evan visit weekends nearly put paid to this one. But when Evan rescheduled his birthday party for this weekend, I took the opportunity. Glad I did!
Hit the road just after 6, hoping for a fairly easy Saturday night trundle up the Smoke. All seemed well until I hit nose to tail traffic going past Heston, first gear all the way to Chiswick, then an "event" at Neasden Temple which rendered the 3-lane North Circular choc-a-block from Wembley onwards. Eventually parked outside the venue at 1/4 to 9. Easy to find, impossible to get to...!
Hit the venue, a new 1st floor room with a wide space and a step just before the stage, as support Coy Tosa were on. Obviously early 90's US alt-rock fans, their sound was held in thrall to the likes of Pavement, Superchunk etc. Quite good really but sounding oddly dated.
Took a little wander around this fine little venue before taking a spot for the showing of a Scarce "documentary", tracking the history of this band from inception, brink of stardom, brink of disaster with singer Chick Graning's near-fatal brain aneurysm, dissolution and eventual reincarnation in current no-strings, no-pressure, "see what happens and enjoy the ride" format. A fine documentary with a few surplus characters, although it was totally cool to see the likes of Kristen Hersh on the subject of Scarce.
The time stretched to 10.30 as final set-up prep was made for the entrance of Scarce, and I took a position down the front, just behind the step for a good view and, incidentally, just behind Debbie Smith of Echobelly and Curve fame!
Scarce hit the stage at 20 to 11, white clad, stomping through a sleazy new number before "Glamourizing Cigarettes" burst into anthemic life, followed by the even more soaring, singalong yet personal and strangely affecting "Days Like These". After the slight return of the Heather Nova support a year ago, a "Scarce sampler" if you will, this was the band in full-on mode, taking no prisoners and having a whale of a time in the process. I don't know what it's about, this thing with bands from New England, but once onstage they're TRANSFORMED, transcending their material and the sum of their parts with breathtaking passion. Scarce, tonight, were the "force of nature" Boston scribe Brett Milano alluded to - their music, primal, raw Stooge-y rock'n'roll with a somehow accessible "pop" twist, took flight. Maybe because of the poor sound, they seemed to be even more committed to get their music across; maybe the reaction of the devoted, who'd waited 10 long years to see this band again, galvanised their efforts; either way this was as raw, ragged, passionate, committed and downright magnificent a set as I've seen in ages. Joe, pounding with might and energy; Chick, the coolest rock star on the planet, a rejuvenation and revelation; and Joyce, stomping, kinetic and attention-grabbing.
For "Freakshadow" the audience, as one, raised their arms to sing, "I wouldn't miss... a minute of this!" before a raise-the-roof ovation which even startled the band and moved Joyce to say, "we love you so much, London, we may even move here!"
After a swift set, a 4-song encore highlighted the Pixies-ish slow stomp of "All Sideways" and a pleading "Sense Of Quickness", before an amphetamine-fast "Hope" ended a truly brilliant set. Ironic really, as hope is what this band provides, after their trials and tribulations, to still be this good.
This however took us to 1/4 to 12, so after a quick chat with roadie and Joyce's husband Matt, I hit the road for a difficult journey back, thanks to a hold-up at Ealing prompting a U-turn. Elated, however, at the rejuvenating powers of rock'n'roll, made manifest in this band. Scarce, you can have it now... Best Gig of 2009. By a country mile!
Hit the road just after 6, hoping for a fairly easy Saturday night trundle up the Smoke. All seemed well until I hit nose to tail traffic going past Heston, first gear all the way to Chiswick, then an "event" at Neasden Temple which rendered the 3-lane North Circular choc-a-block from Wembley onwards. Eventually parked outside the venue at 1/4 to 9. Easy to find, impossible to get to...!
Hit the venue, a new 1st floor room with a wide space and a step just before the stage, as support Coy Tosa were on. Obviously early 90's US alt-rock fans, their sound was held in thrall to the likes of Pavement, Superchunk etc. Quite good really but sounding oddly dated.
Took a little wander around this fine little venue before taking a spot for the showing of a Scarce "documentary", tracking the history of this band from inception, brink of stardom, brink of disaster with singer Chick Graning's near-fatal brain aneurysm, dissolution and eventual reincarnation in current no-strings, no-pressure, "see what happens and enjoy the ride" format. A fine documentary with a few surplus characters, although it was totally cool to see the likes of Kristen Hersh on the subject of Scarce.
The time stretched to 10.30 as final set-up prep was made for the entrance of Scarce, and I took a position down the front, just behind the step for a good view and, incidentally, just behind Debbie Smith of Echobelly and Curve fame!
Scarce hit the stage at 20 to 11, white clad, stomping through a sleazy new number before "Glamourizing Cigarettes" burst into anthemic life, followed by the even more soaring, singalong yet personal and strangely affecting "Days Like These". After the slight return of the Heather Nova support a year ago, a "Scarce sampler" if you will, this was the band in full-on mode, taking no prisoners and having a whale of a time in the process. I don't know what it's about, this thing with bands from New England, but once onstage they're TRANSFORMED, transcending their material and the sum of their parts with breathtaking passion. Scarce, tonight, were the "force of nature" Boston scribe Brett Milano alluded to - their music, primal, raw Stooge-y rock'n'roll with a somehow accessible "pop" twist, took flight. Maybe because of the poor sound, they seemed to be even more committed to get their music across; maybe the reaction of the devoted, who'd waited 10 long years to see this band again, galvanised their efforts; either way this was as raw, ragged, passionate, committed and downright magnificent a set as I've seen in ages. Joe, pounding with might and energy; Chick, the coolest rock star on the planet, a rejuvenation and revelation; and Joyce, stomping, kinetic and attention-grabbing.
For "Freakshadow" the audience, as one, raised their arms to sing, "I wouldn't miss... a minute of this!" before a raise-the-roof ovation which even startled the band and moved Joyce to say, "we love you so much, London, we may even move here!"
After a swift set, a 4-song encore highlighted the Pixies-ish slow stomp of "All Sideways" and a pleading "Sense Of Quickness", before an amphetamine-fast "Hope" ended a truly brilliant set. Ironic really, as hope is what this band provides, after their trials and tribulations, to still be this good.
This however took us to 1/4 to 12, so after a quick chat with roadie and Joyce's husband Matt, I hit the road for a difficult journey back, thanks to a hold-up at Ealing prompting a U-turn. Elated, however, at the rejuvenating powers of rock'n'roll, made manifest in this band. Scarce, you can have it now... Best Gig of 2009. By a country mile!
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Introduction
My name is David Rose, I live in Swindon, UK, and for 30-odd years I've been going to gigs and keeping a gig diary of my experiences at said events. This started out as a scrapbook in which to keep set-lists, tickets etc. I'd accumulated on the way, with gig reports being a secondary feature (in those early days, often even only one sentence long!). However, since about gig 150 I've been expanding these reports and using them as an outlet for my frustrated music journo tendancies.
I've long since meant to set up a blog to share my scribbles, but I've only just gotten the impetus to do so.
Hope you enjoy my reports. Please note that any views expressed are my own inflated opinion only! Please also note that by and large, I'm going to be complimentary of the bands I've seen, as I'm a fan, I've paid my hard-earned cash for tickets to go to these shows. When I'm critical, it's because I've been genuinely disappointed, as I wanted them to do and be better than they were. (Unless you're a support band, in which case you're fair game...!)
I've long since meant to set up a blog to share my scribbles, but I've only just gotten the impetus to do so.
Hope you enjoy my reports. Please note that any views expressed are my own inflated opinion only! Please also note that by and large, I'm going to be complimentary of the bands I've seen, as I'm a fan, I've paid my hard-earned cash for tickets to go to these shows. When I'm critical, it's because I've been genuinely disappointed, as I wanted them to do and be better than they were. (Unless you're a support band, in which case you're fair game...!)
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