The Wonder Stuff? Well, yup. After a few lean years, Miles Hunt has finally decided to get the old crew together again for a few shows. This one sold out in days, and was the first of 5, so tonight we were in with the true Stuffies die-hards! Heck, I travelled up with 2 of them, namely Rachel and Prov, as well as the Big Man. But first, we had to get there! Prov picked me up at 1/4 to 4, and we got Rach and Rich from work, hitting the road proper at 5 after Rich's Hungerford pickup. It then took over 2 1/2 hours to get as far as the Chiswick Flyover at M4 Junction 2, after a nightmare jam, with an overheating car. D'oh! So we thought better of trekking it across town, dumping the car in Ealing Common and hitting the tube, then getting over to Kentish Town and into the venue at 9 - just as The Stuffies were finishing their set opener "Red Berry Joy Town" to a rapturous reception from the sell-out crowd. Rach and I immediately ploughed through into the dancefloor melee, moshpit bound and pissing off so many people in the process (sorry!), and ending up 2 rows from the front, stage right, in front of Stuffies guitarist Malc Treece's set-up. Not bad for late arrivals!
The Stuffies had evidently been rehearsing their comeback, as they were in fine form after 6 years away. Miles was his usual flippant self, dissing the music press and asking the audience to embrace the rock star cliché stuff, i.e. lighters held aloft and suchlike, as, "we couldn't do that when we were trying to be cool!" And the band, with a new bassist in tow, were tight as a gnats chuff. All the faves were trotted out; "Cartoon Boyfriend", "On The Ropes" (my own Stuffies fave and finally given due credit by Miles) and a rambunctious sing-along "Golden Green", all met with hysterical rapture from the rosy-eyed Stuffies massive. I've never been the world's biggest fan of this lot and their slightly-delic, fiddly (as in - with fiddles) knockabout cartoon indie-pop, so I could see the flaws - "Caught In My Shadow" was thin and needed much more oomph, for example, and the Vic Reeves encore was simply an embarrassment (of which the less said, the better) - but I was probably the only one who felt that way!
Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed this set, and I'd certainly much rather have the flippancy and irreverence of the Stuffies and Miles Hunt than the po-faced miserablism of the Radiohead impersonators or the misogynist US date rape rock bunch. A bit of life being brought back into rock, you never know. Welcome back, the Wonder Stuff!
Thursday, 27 May 2010
477 MIDWAY STILL, Gallus, Mobster, London Kings Cross Water Rats, Thursday 14 December 2000
And here are more 2000 comeback kids!I dunno, recently it's been The Wonderstuff, The Posies and now the Still; tonight I'm gonna party like it's 1993! So, Tim picked us up at 5, bearing in mind recent travel nightmares, and the traffic was so much better that we parked up in Kings Cross just before 8. Who'd have thunk it! So we hit the Water Rats bar - which had obviously had a lick of paint and a polish since our last trip - and stayed there while Mobster, a messy US sports metal shouty sound-alike, were on. We did, however, trot into the venue for Gallus, who were better and recalled The Fat Lady Sings and Hothouse Flowers with their mid-paced, acoustically charged sweeping epics. The long maned vocalist was an Eddie Vedder sound-alike, yet they left a favourable impression overall.
However, we were there for some Xmas Punk! And we certainly got that from The Still, who kicked off at 10 with a rollicking new number, then into the thrashy Husker Du groove of "What You Said". I got the jumping about really started during the brilliant "Better Than Before", their one brief flirtation with indie-pop stardom, and subsequently rocked out to this messy yet enthusiastic set of retro thrashy yet tuneful and hook-led rock. A smattering of newies coloured the set, and final number "Since You've Been Gone" ran roughshod over the Rainbow soft-metal original, before they were booted off stage for running over time. Bugger!
Grabbed a couple of quick words with vocalist Thompson afterwards; with some new numbers, Midway Still are very much a going concern again, and Tim left promising to get the Still a show in Swindon. Now, that'd be something...
However, we were there for some Xmas Punk! And we certainly got that from The Still, who kicked off at 10 with a rollicking new number, then into the thrashy Husker Du groove of "What You Said". I got the jumping about really started during the brilliant "Better Than Before", their one brief flirtation with indie-pop stardom, and subsequently rocked out to this messy yet enthusiastic set of retro thrashy yet tuneful and hook-led rock. A smattering of newies coloured the set, and final number "Since You've Been Gone" ran roughshod over the Rainbow soft-metal original, before they were booted off stage for running over time. Bugger!
Grabbed a couple of quick words with vocalist Thompson afterwards; with some new numbers, Midway Still are very much a going concern again, and Tim left promising to get the Still a show in Swindon. Now, that'd be something...
478 YOU ARE HERE, Cold Fusion, Swindon Victoria, Thursday 21 December 2000
So my good friend Tim has finally got his shit together and formed a band of his own, also featuring occasional gig buddies Andy Belcher and Mark Hawkins. I'd missed their debut gig in July thanks to my peritonitis recovery, so I wasn't about to miss this one! So I picked Rachel and her friend Aaron up, hitting the Victoria in Old Town for the first time for a gig, surprisingly so as the Vic is local, and owned by Kev and Nicky Fitzgerald, 2 old friends of mine. Nice to gig in Swindon again, even if this means having to put up with sub-standard local supports such as Cold Fusion, who admittedly started off well with a spritely pop/rock number which recalled Power Of Dreams, but then degenerated into sub Bon Jovi pseudo anthemic stadium dirge, with a few twiddly prog rock flirtations along the way.
Mark had said beforehand that for this, YAH's 2nd only show ever, he was feeling seriously nervy. They took the stage at 10.15 to a busy crowd in this small back room venue, and also to a volley of, "rock cliché!" catcalls from myself, as I'd noted they'd put their single last on their set-list! However - and I'm not saying this because they're mates, I like to think I'm more objective and honest than that, and I've certainly slagged off bands Tim has been in before (Ish!) - they were bloody good straight from the off. Unsurprisingly, given the influences at work, You Are Here have a very American rock sound, but in an intelligent, low-fi way rather than the current power riffery and shouty rap nonsense that passes for US alt rock these days. Surprisingly jangly, prompting thoughts of early REM and their Brummie impersonators Onionhead, they came across as tight, together, well practised and even confident. "Feeling Confused", their Cold Water Flat sound-alike, and self-consciously understated yet almost jolly single "Not A Summer Song" were highlights of the set, and Mark, despite clutching to the mikestand for dear life throughout, didn't seem overly nervy at all.
A thrilling punk rock demolition of Wham's "Last Christmas" was a fun encore, but an odd juxtaposition for a band who have craft, intelligence and lots of potential, and who we should all take more seriously. You Are Here - guys, you are almost there!
Mark had said beforehand that for this, YAH's 2nd only show ever, he was feeling seriously nervy. They took the stage at 10.15 to a busy crowd in this small back room venue, and also to a volley of, "rock cliché!" catcalls from myself, as I'd noted they'd put their single last on their set-list! However - and I'm not saying this because they're mates, I like to think I'm more objective and honest than that, and I've certainly slagged off bands Tim has been in before (Ish!) - they were bloody good straight from the off. Unsurprisingly, given the influences at work, You Are Here have a very American rock sound, but in an intelligent, low-fi way rather than the current power riffery and shouty rap nonsense that passes for US alt rock these days. Surprisingly jangly, prompting thoughts of early REM and their Brummie impersonators Onionhead, they came across as tight, together, well practised and even confident. "Feeling Confused", their Cold Water Flat sound-alike, and self-consciously understated yet almost jolly single "Not A Summer Song" were highlights of the set, and Mark, despite clutching to the mikestand for dear life throughout, didn't seem overly nervy at all.
A thrilling punk rock demolition of Wham's "Last Christmas" was a fun encore, but an odd juxtaposition for a band who have craft, intelligence and lots of potential, and who we should all take more seriously. You Are Here - guys, you are almost there!
479 YOU ARE HERE, Steerpike, Stretchmark Vixen, Swindon Victoria, Sunday 31 December 2000
Amazingly this is the first New Year's Eve gig I've ever been to! So I was happy to welcome in the New Millennium (oh yes, its' this year, not last one...) with some live rock for once! Drove up to the George where the usual suspects were gathering for a night on the piss there and at the boring old Savoy. Yawn. Surprisingly, only Rachel fancied the rock instead, so we left and hit the busy Vic at 9, meeting Tim and crew in the back room, Tim particularly impatient for this set to be over so he could get bladdered!
But this being Swindon, we had to endure some sub-standard local stuff before the cream of the crop. This meant a PJ Harvey wannabee, all light and shade but appropriated and fake screeching angst, and also a bewigged Swedish "Doctor Of Love" laying down some misogynist nonsense even Barry White would've been embarrassed to sing. The appropriation of a Bill Hicks line merely showed him up as mutton dressed as Goat Boy. Main support Steerpike, featuring landlord Kev Fitzgerald on mandolin, at least kicked up some style and talent, but the Levellers politico-fraggle gravy train left this particular station some time ago.
So, to 11, and the main dish of the day. You Are Here kicked the place - and the New Year festivities - off to a T with a great set which was looser and more chaotic than the tight-as-a-gnats-chuff dynamics of 10 days ago, but actually benefitted from it. Mark even let go the white knuckle grip of his mikestand once or twice and indulged in some self-conscious but expressive shapes! And as for the rock, well the understated strum was veering more towards mutant howl tonight, but the tunes and the fun still shone through, as a moshpit, including myself and Rach, frugged our way towards 2001. We had "Not A Summer Song" mid-set this time, following my shouts of "rock cliché!" 10 days ago, and it benefitted from its' new placement (but then I would say that, wouldn't I?). As for the encore, this time we were treated to a new number allegedly written, "last Thursday," but which had a huge American Hi-Fi style riff and hook. One for a single, perhaps, when they finish it!
The guys headed to the bar afterwards for powerful amounts of beer, and I danced in 2001 to some vintage punk rock over the PA. And a bizarre end to the evening as well; after an abortive trip to a New Year's Eve party, we ended up helping Tim take his wildly drunk girlfriend home. After the entertainment You Are Here provided tonight, though, it was the least I could do!
But this being Swindon, we had to endure some sub-standard local stuff before the cream of the crop. This meant a PJ Harvey wannabee, all light and shade but appropriated and fake screeching angst, and also a bewigged Swedish "Doctor Of Love" laying down some misogynist nonsense even Barry White would've been embarrassed to sing. The appropriation of a Bill Hicks line merely showed him up as mutton dressed as Goat Boy. Main support Steerpike, featuring landlord Kev Fitzgerald on mandolin, at least kicked up some style and talent, but the Levellers politico-fraggle gravy train left this particular station some time ago.
So, to 11, and the main dish of the day. You Are Here kicked the place - and the New Year festivities - off to a T with a great set which was looser and more chaotic than the tight-as-a-gnats-chuff dynamics of 10 days ago, but actually benefitted from it. Mark even let go the white knuckle grip of his mikestand once or twice and indulged in some self-conscious but expressive shapes! And as for the rock, well the understated strum was veering more towards mutant howl tonight, but the tunes and the fun still shone through, as a moshpit, including myself and Rach, frugged our way towards 2001. We had "Not A Summer Song" mid-set this time, following my shouts of "rock cliché!" 10 days ago, and it benefitted from its' new placement (but then I would say that, wouldn't I?). As for the encore, this time we were treated to a new number allegedly written, "last Thursday," but which had a huge American Hi-Fi style riff and hook. One for a single, perhaps, when they finish it!
The guys headed to the bar afterwards for powerful amounts of beer, and I danced in 2001 to some vintage punk rock over the PA. And a bizarre end to the evening as well; after an abortive trip to a New Year's Eve party, we ended up helping Tim take his wildly drunk girlfriend home. After the entertainment You Are Here provided tonight, though, it was the least I could do!
480 Striptwister, Tangible Fruit Squad, YOU ARE HERE, Woking "Boston Experience", Sunday 14 February 2001
Joining an eclectic bunch of bands (Del Amitri, Kingmaker and The Railway Children!) whom I've seen 3 gigs in a row (but still short of U2's 4 in a row record), we're off to see You Are Here again! This is also the first time since his former band 101 days that Tim's managed to persuade me to see one of his bands out of town. Actually he didn't need to do any persuading - I was there like a shot! So Rachel and I headed cross-country to Woking, a less arduous journey than thought - 1 1/2 hours through Bracknell and Bagshot. Easy! Less easy was finding the venue, as we'd parked over the opposite side of the station, then once over the right side, we ignored the venue's dirty great neon sign outside. D'oh!
Met the boys in the venue, a first floor wine bar wannabee with polished beige floor panelling and windows all along one side, giving it the feel of a nouveau riche youth club. Weird! The "Boston Experience" element extended to a smattering of pictures on the wall of Beantown and "The Bruins" Ice Hockey team, including one of their old ground "The Garden". Soundchecking came and went, as we chewed the cud with the boys, and the place filled with a suspiciously older looking clientele. I felt quite young really!
You Are Here were first on, getting the tap on the shoulder at 9. Taking the stage (or corner of the room, as it were), they bounded into their increasingly familiar jangly US-inspired intelligent rock. Despite their criticisms afterwards of not hearing the sound very well "onstage", the mix from where we were was pretty much spot on, clean and clear, with no one instrument dominating. The boys did it full justice with a committed and flaw-free performance. "Not A Summer Song", again mid-set, got me and Rach really throwing shapes with gay abandon, and the triumphant finale, "Trying To Write", with the insistent "On A Rope" grooved riff, the descending bassline and the strident, "yeah yeah" yelp of the chorus, surely must be polished up as their next single. And their increasing stage confidence showed, with Mark actually cutting loose from his mikestand for the "yeah yeah"s!
And we sussed out the true meaning of the "Boston Experience", because, as in Boston, Rach and I were the only ones dancing here as well! Despite that, YAH were very well received, particularly by the vocalist of Cranberries wannabees Striptwister, who gushed approval as we helped the guys pack gear up afterwards.
Stood at the rear for the second band, a bunch of baggy chancers with good musical technique but no togetherness whatsoever, who showed YAH's set up for the fault-free jewel it was by also being beset with technical and sound problems. We didn't stay for Striptwister - we'd heard their soundcheck! Bade farewell then had an equally swift and trouble-free drive home, again extolling the virtues of You Are Here!
Met the boys in the venue, a first floor wine bar wannabee with polished beige floor panelling and windows all along one side, giving it the feel of a nouveau riche youth club. Weird! The "Boston Experience" element extended to a smattering of pictures on the wall of Beantown and "The Bruins" Ice Hockey team, including one of their old ground "The Garden". Soundchecking came and went, as we chewed the cud with the boys, and the place filled with a suspiciously older looking clientele. I felt quite young really!
You Are Here were first on, getting the tap on the shoulder at 9. Taking the stage (or corner of the room, as it were), they bounded into their increasingly familiar jangly US-inspired intelligent rock. Despite their criticisms afterwards of not hearing the sound very well "onstage", the mix from where we were was pretty much spot on, clean and clear, with no one instrument dominating. The boys did it full justice with a committed and flaw-free performance. "Not A Summer Song", again mid-set, got me and Rach really throwing shapes with gay abandon, and the triumphant finale, "Trying To Write", with the insistent "On A Rope" grooved riff, the descending bassline and the strident, "yeah yeah" yelp of the chorus, surely must be polished up as their next single. And their increasing stage confidence showed, with Mark actually cutting loose from his mikestand for the "yeah yeah"s!
And we sussed out the true meaning of the "Boston Experience", because, as in Boston, Rach and I were the only ones dancing here as well! Despite that, YAH were very well received, particularly by the vocalist of Cranberries wannabees Striptwister, who gushed approval as we helped the guys pack gear up afterwards.
Stood at the rear for the second band, a bunch of baggy chancers with good musical technique but no togetherness whatsoever, who showed YAH's set up for the fault-free jewel it was by also being beset with technical and sound problems. We didn't stay for Striptwister - we'd heard their soundcheck! Bade farewell then had an equally swift and trouble-free drive home, again extolling the virtues of You Are Here!
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
481 THE WEBB BROTHERS, I Am Kloot, Oxford Zodiac, Friday 26 January 2001
Set off for this early one in the snow! Yup, a seriously slushy snowstorm greeted us as we headed out onto the A420 to trundle over to Oxford. Poor visibility as well! The guy at the venue door had apparently "lost" our tickets, but let us in anyway (same surname, you see!). Wandered up the stairs where I Am Kloot were onstage, peddling their acoustic stories of doom and gloom. Not too bad really, but not gripping my imagination enough to pay serious attention. The sparse crowd felt the same way, given the fair percentage of them at the bar.
Took a stroll down the front of the venue for the Webb Brothers themselves, in a headlining role for the first time. Since their fine, swirling and vastly 60's influenced (no surprise there, given their parentage) set supporting Eels, I'd picked up their debut CD proper, "Maroon", finding it similarly moody, bleak and deliciously heart-cracking. So I was expecting a quiet, thought provoking set. What we got, however, was 5 enthusiastic Californians bounding onstage and pumping straight into a couple of upbeat jaunty, summery pop numbers, the second of which, "Summer People", was deliciously raucous. Hey, The Webb Brothers rock! They're upbeat about the shitty weather and relatively poor turnout, and also took the opportunity to diss new US President George W Bush ("fucking wanker!"). Yes! The moodier numbers, interspersed through the set, were played forcefully, coming across as wildly discordant, and were juxtaposed with some lovely 4-point harmonies. One early number, "Cold Fingers" was dynamic and swirling, and brought to mind The Gravy (!), especially Christiaan's rock'n'roll poses. The "sales pitch" before angst-ridden new single "I Can't Believe You're Gone" was also fun.
A couple of well-deserved encores rounded off an unexpectedly in-your-face performance from an evidently chameleonic bunch. On record moody, 60's influenced and introspective, but "live" jaunty, overt, bouncy and entertaining. Good gig, despite the snow!
+
Took a stroll down the front of the venue for the Webb Brothers themselves, in a headlining role for the first time. Since their fine, swirling and vastly 60's influenced (no surprise there, given their parentage) set supporting Eels, I'd picked up their debut CD proper, "Maroon", finding it similarly moody, bleak and deliciously heart-cracking. So I was expecting a quiet, thought provoking set. What we got, however, was 5 enthusiastic Californians bounding onstage and pumping straight into a couple of upbeat jaunty, summery pop numbers, the second of which, "Summer People", was deliciously raucous. Hey, The Webb Brothers rock! They're upbeat about the shitty weather and relatively poor turnout, and also took the opportunity to diss new US President George W Bush ("fucking wanker!"). Yes! The moodier numbers, interspersed through the set, were played forcefully, coming across as wildly discordant, and were juxtaposed with some lovely 4-point harmonies. One early number, "Cold Fingers" was dynamic and swirling, and brought to mind The Gravy (!), especially Christiaan's rock'n'roll poses. The "sales pitch" before angst-ridden new single "I Can't Believe You're Gone" was also fun.
A couple of well-deserved encores rounded off an unexpectedly in-your-face performance from an evidently chameleonic bunch. On record moody, 60's influenced and introspective, but "live" jaunty, overt, bouncy and entertaining. Good gig, despite the snow!
482 GRANDADDY, Bristol University Anson Rooms, Friday 2 February 2001
The current traffic craziness is getting worse, as 2 lots of roadworks on the M4 and a totally ludicrous parking space search around the top of Park Street conspired to make us very late for this sell-out gig, as we walked into the Anson Rooms just as support Lowgold were finishing their set. Bugger! So, we headed straight for the scrum at the bar instead, and tried to chill and chat amongst all the brand new Grandaddy student massive, before decamping into the main hall at the first audible signs of life from the stage.
Grandaddy are certainly striking while the iron is hot, following up their biggest gig to date (Shepherd's Bush Empire, gig 474) with a trawl around some good sized provincial venues, accompanied with a re-release of their stunningly delicious "The Crystal Lake" single from last year. It seemed odd in a way then, that this set was eerie and low-key, and took awhile to settle in to. No animals nonchalantly patrolling the stage either, although the green-lit stage set, resplendent with leaves and branches decorating the monitors, banks of keyboards and instruments, was cute and evocative. Nevertheless, despite the desolate and haunting "Miner At The Dial A View" early on, it took until a superb "Crystal Lake" to really shunt things along from eerie introspectiveness to glittering woodlands psychedelia. A subsequent, almost raucous "AM180" and a Ramones-like punkish blast through "Summer Here Kids", really got the crowd good and warmed up, but tonight's true highlight was the set finale "He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot", which had previously struck me as somewhat cumbersome, but tonight soared in it's stark and beautiful simplicity. Saving the best until last tonight, and no mistake!
An encore run through "Non Phenomenal Lineage" and "So You'll Aim Toward The Sky" bookended this ultimately utterly splendid and totally worthwhile Grandaddy performance, which was rapturously received. Grandaddy, stumbling upwards and onwards!
And, of course, the drive home was quick and delay-free, which made missing Lowgold all the more galling. Bugger! Again!
Grandaddy are certainly striking while the iron is hot, following up their biggest gig to date (Shepherd's Bush Empire, gig 474) with a trawl around some good sized provincial venues, accompanied with a re-release of their stunningly delicious "The Crystal Lake" single from last year. It seemed odd in a way then, that this set was eerie and low-key, and took awhile to settle in to. No animals nonchalantly patrolling the stage either, although the green-lit stage set, resplendent with leaves and branches decorating the monitors, banks of keyboards and instruments, was cute and evocative. Nevertheless, despite the desolate and haunting "Miner At The Dial A View" early on, it took until a superb "Crystal Lake" to really shunt things along from eerie introspectiveness to glittering woodlands psychedelia. A subsequent, almost raucous "AM180" and a Ramones-like punkish blast through "Summer Here Kids", really got the crowd good and warmed up, but tonight's true highlight was the set finale "He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot", which had previously struck me as somewhat cumbersome, but tonight soared in it's stark and beautiful simplicity. Saving the best until last tonight, and no mistake!
An encore run through "Non Phenomenal Lineage" and "So You'll Aim Toward The Sky" bookended this ultimately utterly splendid and totally worthwhile Grandaddy performance, which was rapturously received. Grandaddy, stumbling upwards and onwards!
And, of course, the drive home was quick and delay-free, which made missing Lowgold all the more galling. Bugger! Again!
483 ...AND YOU WILL KNOW US BY THE TRAIL OF DEAD, Rocket From The Crypt, THE STROKES, Peaches, London Astoria, Saturday 3 February 2001
A seriously early start for this one - first act at 6.30, so bearing in mind the current traffic chaos, off we set at 3 pm! And of course we had no problems at all, ending up parking at that bloody expensive Hammersmith car park (not so bad split between 4 of us) at 4.30, and having a little time for a trip to Forbidden Planet (haunt of, "nerds and perverts!" according to Ady, who we dragged in kicking and screaming) and a beer in my old haunt "The Tottenham" on Oxford Street! Grabbed a couple of beers to cushion myself for my anticipated participation in the moshpit. Little did I know how things would turn out in that direction...
Got in just after 6, in time for another beer before first "act", Peaches, came on. I was immediately confused as I thought I was at a rock show, only to be confronted by some wailing PVC-clad ropey old slapper from Canada via Berlin, slagging the audience for taking no notice of her whilst "playing" the most god-awful Sigue Sigue Sputnik-esque stilted electronics from her beatbox. It got worse as she ended up divesting herself of the PVC, ending up prancing around in skimpy pink undies. Oh dear Lord. Thankfully this didn't last too long, and she was off by 7!
Took a trip through the already crowded venue, bumping into ...TOD's Neil Busch (again!) who remembered me from previous such meetings and popped back for a chat with my crew. Good of him to take time out, just before his band were due to play to undoubtedly their biggest audience to date! Good also that he described the ritual ...TOD stage trashing as "cathartic", as that's how I've always described it myself!
Next band on, The Strokes, joined us at 7.30. They've been mentioned in the same breath as ...TOD and At The Drive In as being at the vanguard of meaningful US rock as an alternative to this shouty date rape nonsense, so I was expecting something between Sonic Youth and Nirvana. What we were presented with, however, were 5 skinny Noo Yawk boys in skinny ties, drainpipes and too-small suit jackets, and when they kicked off their set they were nothing less than brilliant, immediately recalling a whole host of spiky angular 70's new wave bands, from Joe Jackson to The Embarrassment, from Television to Wire. They had the great pouts and angular streetwise suss of a band that could have walked out of New York's new wave birthplaces Max's Kansas City and CBGBs circa 1977, and in singer Julian Casablancas (!), they had a frontman with the lips of a young Ian McCulloch and the attitude of a younger Iggy Pop, singing about New York cops and street urchins. And just as I was starting to really grin from ear to ear thanks to their spiky effervescence and resemblance to The Figgs, they then played a song which completely appropriated the circular hook from The Sheila Divine's "Automatic Buffalo"! Totally blatant, but I could forgive them for that after a great set.
The place, already full to brimming, seemed to get fuller still, so Ady and I took a wander up the balcony to watch Rocket From The Crypt from a distance. Not really my cup of raucous San Diego gangster punkabilly, but I appreciated the strident dynamics of their performance and also their matching black silk outfits with red trim. Very fetching! Wandered back to the heaving dancefloor after da Crypt had finished, bumping into our fellow travellers Rachel and Thom, and also an old rock hero of mine, namely Tara Milton of Five Thirty! Nice of him to remember me as well, and stop for a brief chat.
Piled into the moshpit for the arrival of ...Trail Of Dead, fully intending to immerse myself in their "cathartic" live experience. For a couple of numbers it went well too; "Mistakes And Regrets" was a strident squalling beast of a song, second number in, and really set the mosh afire. Then it started going wrong for me... Firstly, instead of chucking our bottles or paper cups of water into the crush at the front, some fucking idiot steward thought it'd be a good idea to fire a water gun into the audience. His first salvo caught me straight in the eyes, dislodging a flippin' contact lens in the process! Then, just after I'd checked my eyes out in the gents and revisited the mosh, locating fellow moshers Thom and Rach, I got whacked severely hard in the back of the head by the sturdy thigh of an idiot crowdsurfer, which totally dazed me and left my head throbbing for the rest of the night. A real shame, as ...TOD were on totally top form, justifying their biggest ever gig status tonight, with an incredibly intense and passionate performance. However after my trials I wasn't feeling it, and was further disappointed by their omission of "A Perfect Teenhood" as finale. The instruments were duly trashed in a fit of rock'n'roll catharsis, though, and found their way into the frenzied moshpit, particularly the drumkit which was followed by the drummer Jason! We then followed Jason into the back alley behind the Astoria, where he duly gave the bass drum to a group of moshers to trash into firewood. Phew, rock'n'roll; shame about my head!
Got in just after 6, in time for another beer before first "act", Peaches, came on. I was immediately confused as I thought I was at a rock show, only to be confronted by some wailing PVC-clad ropey old slapper from Canada via Berlin, slagging the audience for taking no notice of her whilst "playing" the most god-awful Sigue Sigue Sputnik-esque stilted electronics from her beatbox. It got worse as she ended up divesting herself of the PVC, ending up prancing around in skimpy pink undies. Oh dear Lord. Thankfully this didn't last too long, and she was off by 7!
Took a trip through the already crowded venue, bumping into ...TOD's Neil Busch (again!) who remembered me from previous such meetings and popped back for a chat with my crew. Good of him to take time out, just before his band were due to play to undoubtedly their biggest audience to date! Good also that he described the ritual ...TOD stage trashing as "cathartic", as that's how I've always described it myself!
Next band on, The Strokes, joined us at 7.30. They've been mentioned in the same breath as ...TOD and At The Drive In as being at the vanguard of meaningful US rock as an alternative to this shouty date rape nonsense, so I was expecting something between Sonic Youth and Nirvana. What we were presented with, however, were 5 skinny Noo Yawk boys in skinny ties, drainpipes and too-small suit jackets, and when they kicked off their set they were nothing less than brilliant, immediately recalling a whole host of spiky angular 70's new wave bands, from Joe Jackson to The Embarrassment, from Television to Wire. They had the great pouts and angular streetwise suss of a band that could have walked out of New York's new wave birthplaces Max's Kansas City and CBGBs circa 1977, and in singer Julian Casablancas (!), they had a frontman with the lips of a young Ian McCulloch and the attitude of a younger Iggy Pop, singing about New York cops and street urchins. And just as I was starting to really grin from ear to ear thanks to their spiky effervescence and resemblance to The Figgs, they then played a song which completely appropriated the circular hook from The Sheila Divine's "Automatic Buffalo"! Totally blatant, but I could forgive them for that after a great set.
The place, already full to brimming, seemed to get fuller still, so Ady and I took a wander up the balcony to watch Rocket From The Crypt from a distance. Not really my cup of raucous San Diego gangster punkabilly, but I appreciated the strident dynamics of their performance and also their matching black silk outfits with red trim. Very fetching! Wandered back to the heaving dancefloor after da Crypt had finished, bumping into our fellow travellers Rachel and Thom, and also an old rock hero of mine, namely Tara Milton of Five Thirty! Nice of him to remember me as well, and stop for a brief chat.
Piled into the moshpit for the arrival of ...Trail Of Dead, fully intending to immerse myself in their "cathartic" live experience. For a couple of numbers it went well too; "Mistakes And Regrets" was a strident squalling beast of a song, second number in, and really set the mosh afire. Then it started going wrong for me... Firstly, instead of chucking our bottles or paper cups of water into the crush at the front, some fucking idiot steward thought it'd be a good idea to fire a water gun into the audience. His first salvo caught me straight in the eyes, dislodging a flippin' contact lens in the process! Then, just after I'd checked my eyes out in the gents and revisited the mosh, locating fellow moshers Thom and Rach, I got whacked severely hard in the back of the head by the sturdy thigh of an idiot crowdsurfer, which totally dazed me and left my head throbbing for the rest of the night. A real shame, as ...TOD were on totally top form, justifying their biggest ever gig status tonight, with an incredibly intense and passionate performance. However after my trials I wasn't feeling it, and was further disappointed by their omission of "A Perfect Teenhood" as finale. The instruments were duly trashed in a fit of rock'n'roll catharsis, though, and found their way into the frenzied moshpit, particularly the drumkit which was followed by the drummer Jason! We then followed Jason into the back alley behind the Astoria, where he duly gave the bass drum to a group of moshers to trash into firewood. Phew, rock'n'roll; shame about my head!
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
484 JACK DRAG, Monkey Steals The Drum, Morbius, Camden "Barfly at the Monarch", London, Monday 5 February 2001
A ferocious recent gig pace is maintained, as I met Rachel from work and we hit the M4 for our 3rd gig in 4 days. This time I'm pretty much guaranteed nobody landing on my head, though... Took a relatively leisurely drive along the beat route to Camden, given a bit of cold floating around my head, parking up in the High Street just before 1/4 to 8 and having a drink in the Monarch downstairs bar. John Dragonetti, boy genius and inspiration behind Jack Drag, wandered in at 8 with girlfriend and new Jack Drag keyboard player Blake Hazard, both of them greeting Rachel and I like long lost friends, which was nice. Spent 1/2 hour or so chilling and chatting with the softly spoken but very sweet and open Mr. Dragonetti, also meeting touring bass player and old Jack Drag hand Joe Klompus, a real frizzy haired rock throwback and a total gent, in the process. Shame old Gigolo Aunts buddy Steve Hurley wasn't still touring with John, as he'd been recently doing in the US, but excellent to meet another Boston rocker!
Had a wander upstairs to catch the first 2 acts of this eclectic Shifty Disco showpiece. Morbius, a couple of DJs resembling dodgy accountants, pounded out migraine-inducing hard house on banks of battered keyboards, before the splendidly named Monkey Steals The Drum regaled us with some unfortunately clumsy zeitgeist-chasing shouty hard and heavy US rock. Not really impressed by either!
Luckily, we had a trip from the ridiculous to the sublime, with the new Jack Drag threesome. A step forward in live potency from my previous experience, Jack Drag's low-key yet lip-smackingly delicious and assiduous pop benefitted greatly from the flush of live bass and keyboard sweep augmenting John's instinctive colourful guitar lines. Merrily laid-back, summery and easy-going, yet not afraid to punch you unexpectedly with a strident sample or chunky guitar riff, the hour-long set was absorbing, evocative, emotive and mighty fine, with the shimmering psychedelic rumble of "At The Symphony" my set highlight.
A lovely set, and a nice chat with John afterwards before hails and farewells, and home via the Camden Grilled Chicken sandwich. Delicious - but not as delicious as the sounds of Jack Drag!
Had a wander upstairs to catch the first 2 acts of this eclectic Shifty Disco showpiece. Morbius, a couple of DJs resembling dodgy accountants, pounded out migraine-inducing hard house on banks of battered keyboards, before the splendidly named Monkey Steals The Drum regaled us with some unfortunately clumsy zeitgeist-chasing shouty hard and heavy US rock. Not really impressed by either!
Luckily, we had a trip from the ridiculous to the sublime, with the new Jack Drag threesome. A step forward in live potency from my previous experience, Jack Drag's low-key yet lip-smackingly delicious and assiduous pop benefitted greatly from the flush of live bass and keyboard sweep augmenting John's instinctive colourful guitar lines. Merrily laid-back, summery and easy-going, yet not afraid to punch you unexpectedly with a strident sample or chunky guitar riff, the hour-long set was absorbing, evocative, emotive and mighty fine, with the shimmering psychedelic rumble of "At The Symphony" my set highlight.
A lovely set, and a nice chat with John afterwards before hails and farewells, and home via the Camden Grilled Chicken sandwich. Delicious - but not as delicious as the sounds of Jack Drag!
485 KRISTIN HERSH, London Camden Underworld, Thursday 8 February 2001
Fourth gig of 4 in 7 days, and the pace finally told. Picked up an emotionally wrought Rachel after work; she'd been unwell during the morning but had shaken it off, seemingly by taking her motorbike proficiency test! I on the other hand had been shivering and chucking paracetemol down my neck all day. So, in these weakened states we ventured on, hitting Camden at 8 and parking up. By this time, however, Rach had taken a turn for the worse and I wasn't feeling too pukka myself. Got into the run-down underground Underworld and got a drink in, noting a cockroach crawling along the bar ("a paying customer," said the flippant barmaid) and sat down in the corridor, after noting that all available floor space and viewing space around the stairs and mixing desk in this very strangely shaped and poor sight-lined venue had already been taken.
Kristin came on at 9; she apologised for being, "in 1,000 comas," due to flu, heavy cold, jet lag and so on, and mentioned that she was struggling to, "do the chair thing," i.e. even sit down properly! We couldn't see squat, and, fading fast, retreated to our bench in the corridor, where Kristin's acoustic little beasts of songs, dark, shredding and mysterious, were sadly drowned out by people talking! Bah! What do you people come to gigs for, f'rchrissakes?
Made one last attempt to gain a vantage point, finding the steps to the floor barred by a bouncer, then took brief pix on the stairs whilst being jostled and elbowed. Kristin was playing a fine rendition of the Throwing Muses early classic "Rabbits Dying", but neither Rach nor I were in the mood, health or vantage point to enjoy any more. So at 9.45, we left and went home. Sorry Kristin. Next time?
Kristin came on at 9; she apologised for being, "in 1,000 comas," due to flu, heavy cold, jet lag and so on, and mentioned that she was struggling to, "do the chair thing," i.e. even sit down properly! We couldn't see squat, and, fading fast, retreated to our bench in the corridor, where Kristin's acoustic little beasts of songs, dark, shredding and mysterious, were sadly drowned out by people talking! Bah! What do you people come to gigs for, f'rchrissakes?
Made one last attempt to gain a vantage point, finding the steps to the floor barred by a bouncer, then took brief pix on the stairs whilst being jostled and elbowed. Kristin was playing a fine rendition of the Throwing Muses early classic "Rabbits Dying", but neither Rach nor I were in the mood, health or vantage point to enjoy any more. So at 9.45, we left and went home. Sorry Kristin. Next time?
486 FRANK BLACK AND THE CATHOLICS, Oxford Zodiac, Monday 19 February 2001
Ady got me as last pick-up, so piled in the already full car and off we did trot to Oxford, thankfully avoiding the pea-souper fog of yesterday. Parked up in a double-yellow lay-by opposite the venue - Ady does like to take risks! This gig was a sell-out, but Rachel had sorted tix on the door. In through an odd route - the bottom bar - and for a brief second I thought the gig was there! Weird! Soon sussed it out and scooted upstairs to the venue proper and to the bar, passing the mixing desk on the way and noting tonight's running times - no support, and Frank due on in 10 minutes (8.30) and due to play for 2 hours!
Just time to get the round in before Frank and the band took the stage, so we snuck through to a good vantage point at the front, stage right, as the big guy eased into this set with a few slow numbers ("I'm in a slow mood, but don't worry, we've got louder and faster numbers on the way...") Actually, Frank was obviously in a nostalgic mood tonight, because 5 numbers in, we had the first of a smattering of Pixies numbers, "Gouge Away", whose slow-burning rhythm nevertheless got a serious jumping moshpit going. Then, an incredible "Monkey Gone To Heaven", possibly The Pixies' sexiest, sleaziest and best-known moment, really fired the crowd up and sucked me into the jumping melee. As I said to Rachel immediately after, "from now on (until the end of the set), anything is possible!"
Thence followed a cracking selection of Sir Rockaby's finest, most enduring moments, laid down in an incredibly scorched-earth incendiary manner by a brilliantly tuned-in band. An incredible "All My Ghosts", the sleazy grunge shapes of "Los Angeles", a bounce-along "Mr. Grieves", a frantic "Nimrod's Son" featuring the crowd rapturously screaming, "you are the son of a Mother-fuckerrrr!!!", an excellent "Fu Manchu" and the hillbilly rock of "Robert Onion", the new single. The hits just kept on rolling! Interspersed with these better known numbers were selections from new CD "Dog In The Sand", a slightly more countrified (nice bit of pedal steel here and there) but no less rocking record, featuring Frank's usual tales of Americana's sleazy underbelly. And all this was played with such vim, venom, passion and intensity that I could, just from the corner of my eye, catch Frank and bassist David McCaffrey and imagine I was watching Jed and Ed from The Gravel Pit!
The final denouement came as Frank struck up a familiar sounding riff on the guitar, and the entire audience appeared to reply with an eerie "Oooh oooh", denoting the Pixies' epic "Where Is My Mind"! Sure enough, they played a blistering version, and at the end, the band were line astern at the front of the stage, soaking up the rapturous reception. Two hours it surely was, yet it seemed like less than half that. A fun encore as well - Frank came back to a standing ovation, then demanded that the house lights be switched on so he could take a good look at the crowd! This duly happened, and kind of gave the impression of dancing in a 70's youth club! Frank and the Catholics then raced through a couple of encores, finishing with, "A Brian Ferry number" according to Frank (not one I recognised, though), to conclude a 2 1/4 hour performance! The Big Man hit the spot more often than not tonight; a superb show!
Just time to get the round in before Frank and the band took the stage, so we snuck through to a good vantage point at the front, stage right, as the big guy eased into this set with a few slow numbers ("I'm in a slow mood, but don't worry, we've got louder and faster numbers on the way...") Actually, Frank was obviously in a nostalgic mood tonight, because 5 numbers in, we had the first of a smattering of Pixies numbers, "Gouge Away", whose slow-burning rhythm nevertheless got a serious jumping moshpit going. Then, an incredible "Monkey Gone To Heaven", possibly The Pixies' sexiest, sleaziest and best-known moment, really fired the crowd up and sucked me into the jumping melee. As I said to Rachel immediately after, "from now on (until the end of the set), anything is possible!"
Thence followed a cracking selection of Sir Rockaby's finest, most enduring moments, laid down in an incredibly scorched-earth incendiary manner by a brilliantly tuned-in band. An incredible "All My Ghosts", the sleazy grunge shapes of "Los Angeles", a bounce-along "Mr. Grieves", a frantic "Nimrod's Son" featuring the crowd rapturously screaming, "you are the son of a Mother-fuckerrrr!!!", an excellent "Fu Manchu" and the hillbilly rock of "Robert Onion", the new single. The hits just kept on rolling! Interspersed with these better known numbers were selections from new CD "Dog In The Sand", a slightly more countrified (nice bit of pedal steel here and there) but no less rocking record, featuring Frank's usual tales of Americana's sleazy underbelly. And all this was played with such vim, venom, passion and intensity that I could, just from the corner of my eye, catch Frank and bassist David McCaffrey and imagine I was watching Jed and Ed from The Gravel Pit!
The final denouement came as Frank struck up a familiar sounding riff on the guitar, and the entire audience appeared to reply with an eerie "Oooh oooh", denoting the Pixies' epic "Where Is My Mind"! Sure enough, they played a blistering version, and at the end, the band were line astern at the front of the stage, soaking up the rapturous reception. Two hours it surely was, yet it seemed like less than half that. A fun encore as well - Frank came back to a standing ovation, then demanded that the house lights be switched on so he could take a good look at the crowd! This duly happened, and kind of gave the impression of dancing in a 70's youth club! Frank and the Catholics then raced through a couple of encores, finishing with, "A Brian Ferry number" according to Frank (not one I recognised, though), to conclude a 2 1/4 hour performance! The Big Man hit the spot more often than not tonight; a superb show!
Sunday, 23 May 2010
487 EVAN DANDO, Ben Lee, Ben Kweller, London Camden Dingwalls, Tuesday 20 February 2001
This one sold out within days of being announced, and having actually seen Dando in Boston recently, I a) wasn't surprised, and b) didn't hang around with getting the tix! So, taking time off work, Rachel and I booked a hotel (covering tomorrow's Emetrex gig as well!), taking a train up the Smoke and grabbing some shopping and a Thai meal before the gig. Crispy duck, yum...
Joined the queue at 7.30 prompt, and got in pretty quickly, getting a good vantage point near the front and pretty much staying there all night! Baby Ben Kweller took the stage just after 8.30, the former lead singer of Radish still a very youthful slip of a lad. Ben's solo slot was a rambunctious affair, with lots of oomph, passion and foot-stomping throughout. The songs themselves veered from well-constructed grungy pop - a little like Radish, in fact - to some corny country, and one appallingly bad number about travelling to Texas to visit his sick mom and worrying about his girlfriend behind (!). A bit uneven, but a well-delivered set with Ben's nervous energy well to the fore.
Next up; Ben Lee. A name I was vaguely familiar with but no more, and I don't think I was expecting the hirsute yet pitifully young (again!) waif who took the stage. What happened next, though, was a revelation. A clutch of superbly constructed numbers delivered with soul and power from this diminutive Australian boy genius, a lovely opener "Nothing Else Happens" setting the tone for the rest of the performance. I'd never really heard of the guy much before, but I'm going to know more, hunting down a couple of his CDs in Soho the next day for starters! Varying between deliciously touching and splendidly uplifting, this was a very fine set, and Ben 2 won the battle of the Bens tonight!
Evan was next up, spot on time, kicking off with a superbly delivered "Its A Shame About Ray". Once again, Evan's performance was utterly exemplary; the voice superb, strident and pure, the guitar note-perfect, the songs delivered acoustically and once again showing themselves for the laconic pop diamonds they truly are. Evan himself was in more voluble mood that in Harvard in October; "for anyone who was at Glastonbury in 1995, I'm sorry I didn't make the show," was a surprise, and a revealing confession from a man much more at ease with himself than the media-haunted and pharmaceutically-challenged "Dippy Dando" of yore. And the performance reflected it. Relaxed, he delivered brilliantly, drawing heavily from the country-tinged grungy pop periods of "Ray" and follow-up "Come On Feel The Lemonheads", with the fun, quirky little gems of "Divan" and "Being Around" highlights. A brilliant "Great Big No" revealed the reverence in which Dando is held, with the sold-out crowd filling in the "whoh oh oh" harmonies, and a touching "Frank Mills", sung in full by the audience, was my personal highlight.
Evan was joined by both Bens for the encore, before, once again solo, he delivered a great "Stove", burbled on about David and Victoria Beckham (?), then played a spoof "Feel Good Hit Of The Summer" ("Nicorette, Listerene, Head and Shoulders, Albasam, c-c-c-c-c-Colgate!!") before calling it a night. The perfect voice, the perfect showman; another brilliant Evan Dando evening!
Joined the queue at 7.30 prompt, and got in pretty quickly, getting a good vantage point near the front and pretty much staying there all night! Baby Ben Kweller took the stage just after 8.30, the former lead singer of Radish still a very youthful slip of a lad. Ben's solo slot was a rambunctious affair, with lots of oomph, passion and foot-stomping throughout. The songs themselves veered from well-constructed grungy pop - a little like Radish, in fact - to some corny country, and one appallingly bad number about travelling to Texas to visit his sick mom and worrying about his girlfriend behind (!). A bit uneven, but a well-delivered set with Ben's nervous energy well to the fore.
Next up; Ben Lee. A name I was vaguely familiar with but no more, and I don't think I was expecting the hirsute yet pitifully young (again!) waif who took the stage. What happened next, though, was a revelation. A clutch of superbly constructed numbers delivered with soul and power from this diminutive Australian boy genius, a lovely opener "Nothing Else Happens" setting the tone for the rest of the performance. I'd never really heard of the guy much before, but I'm going to know more, hunting down a couple of his CDs in Soho the next day for starters! Varying between deliciously touching and splendidly uplifting, this was a very fine set, and Ben 2 won the battle of the Bens tonight!
Evan was next up, spot on time, kicking off with a superbly delivered "Its A Shame About Ray". Once again, Evan's performance was utterly exemplary; the voice superb, strident and pure, the guitar note-perfect, the songs delivered acoustically and once again showing themselves for the laconic pop diamonds they truly are. Evan himself was in more voluble mood that in Harvard in October; "for anyone who was at Glastonbury in 1995, I'm sorry I didn't make the show," was a surprise, and a revealing confession from a man much more at ease with himself than the media-haunted and pharmaceutically-challenged "Dippy Dando" of yore. And the performance reflected it. Relaxed, he delivered brilliantly, drawing heavily from the country-tinged grungy pop periods of "Ray" and follow-up "Come On Feel The Lemonheads", with the fun, quirky little gems of "Divan" and "Being Around" highlights. A brilliant "Great Big No" revealed the reverence in which Dando is held, with the sold-out crowd filling in the "whoh oh oh" harmonies, and a touching "Frank Mills", sung in full by the audience, was my personal highlight.
Evan was joined by both Bens for the encore, before, once again solo, he delivered a great "Stove", burbled on about David and Victoria Beckham (?), then played a spoof "Feel Good Hit Of The Summer" ("Nicorette, Listerene, Head and Shoulders, Albasam, c-c-c-c-c-Colgate!!") before calling it a night. The perfect voice, the perfect showman; another brilliant Evan Dando evening!
488 EMETREX, Econoline, London "Poptones Radio 4 Club" at Notting Hill Arts Centre, Wednesday 21 February 2001
A notable first, this; the first time we've seen Boston friend Michael Paulo actually play "live" in a band! But first, Rachel and I, staying in London after last night's Evan Dando gig, meet up with Michael for pre-lunch coffee before he and Emetrex disappear for a Radio session. Rach and I then hit the record shops all afternoon, before heading over to Notting Hill before 6. We were told by Michael's Seriously Groovy record company people this morning that "Poptones", an Alan McGhee-run extravaganza, was pretty hip and therefore open at 6, sold out by 8. When we got there and found the doors open but no-one attending them, though, we just slipped in, meeting up with the band in the venue! Stayed there in this odd-shaped and run-down venue when they went off for food, as we'd both found comfy seats, and watched the place fill up around us, before the Emetrex chaps returned and bassist big Dave McGlynn wanted to know the whole story behind my love of Boston rock. So I told him!
Econoline, Emetrex' label-mates and tour buddies, took the stage first. We were warned to expect a junior Built To Spill, but they were unrehearsed, discordant and harshly loud, so I wasn't really sure what to make of them as the songs kind of got buried under the noise. The jury is out on them...
Emetrex, who took the stage just after 10.30, were a different proposition. Michael had warned us against high expectations, the band having only just arrived in the UK so being tired and slightly under-rehearsed, however we suspected he'd been sandbagging and thus was the case. Emetrex put on a fine show of superbly shimmery and shiny mood music, with Wheat being an obvious (and lazy) influence and comparator, sharing a love of touching melancholy and haunting, chiming guitars and undulating basslines (as well as a rehearsal space in Taunton, MA!).However, I'd be hard-pushed to imagine Wheat coming up with something as aggressively fuzzy as "Staring At The Stone" or as swaggeringly jolly as set finale "King Of Animals". A damn fine set from this deliciously beguiling new Boston band, during which drummer Ben Hedlund took pix himself!
More congrats and socialising with the band and their record company afterwards, before heading back to our hotel. But hey, Emetrex were bloody good tonight, and after a few shows round the UK they should be well up to speed when they hit Oxford and London (again) next week. We'll be there!
Econoline, Emetrex' label-mates and tour buddies, took the stage first. We were warned to expect a junior Built To Spill, but they were unrehearsed, discordant and harshly loud, so I wasn't really sure what to make of them as the songs kind of got buried under the noise. The jury is out on them...
Emetrex, who took the stage just after 10.30, were a different proposition. Michael had warned us against high expectations, the band having only just arrived in the UK so being tired and slightly under-rehearsed, however we suspected he'd been sandbagging and thus was the case. Emetrex put on a fine show of superbly shimmery and shiny mood music, with Wheat being an obvious (and lazy) influence and comparator, sharing a love of touching melancholy and haunting, chiming guitars and undulating basslines (as well as a rehearsal space in Taunton, MA!).However, I'd be hard-pushed to imagine Wheat coming up with something as aggressively fuzzy as "Staring At The Stone" or as swaggeringly jolly as set finale "King Of Animals". A damn fine set from this deliciously beguiling new Boston band, during which drummer Ben Hedlund took pix himself!
More congrats and socialising with the band and their record company afterwards, before heading back to our hotel. But hey, Emetrex were bloody good tonight, and after a few shows round the UK they should be well up to speed when they hit Oxford and London (again) next week. We'll be there!
489 MY VITRIOL, Mo-Ho-Bish-O-Pi, Thirteen:13, Bristol Fleece, Wednesday 28 February 2001
Sandwiched between all the Emetrex shows was this intriguing triple-header, featuring 2 of the most promising UK bands of the moment, plus a genuine wild card. So I persuaded Ady to drive, and myself, himself and Rachel set off early! This one was a sell-out and was already busy when we hit the Fleece at 8.30. Thirteen:13 were due on 15 minutes previously but were running late, so we had time to shoehorn ourselves over to the bar, get drinks and wade to the front before they came on.
Thirteen:13 are a bunch of optimistic young bucks with guitars in their hearts and melodic influences worn prominently on their sleeves. Thus, when they're sharp and poppy, like lovely harmonic single "Perfect Imperfection", they come across like early Teenage Fanclub arm-wrestling with bouncy Seattle popsters Super Deluxe, their set then varying from this touchingly melodic high to some reasonable but slightly dated sounding knockabout cheeky chappie Britpop. Nevertheless, considerably more good moments than bad from a band I'd happily pay to see in their own right.
Moving swiftly on afterwards were a frankly motley looking trio, our wild cards Mo-Ho-Bish-O-Pi. Wearing sun-visors with flashing lights, Hawaiian shirts and self-mutilated jeans, they looked as if they'd had some disagreements on image so decided to go with everyones' ideas! They immediately kicked into a smart, attention-grabbing set, full of some intelligently put together yet still dirty and self-consciously quirky glam thrashy pop. Shades of Chicago's finest, Number One Cup, mashed and clashed with other influences such as Glitterbox and Placebo to make for an intriguing noise, whilst they were visually dynamic, swapping instruments (except for the fretless bass player) and revealing some seriously freaky eye make-up!
Also well made-up was My Vitriol's vocalist Som Warner, whose liberal application of foundation and mascara was obvious. Significantly more obvious was the quantum leap forward this band have made since their nevertheless impressive Reading 2000 set. An instrumental opener, which sounded like the cracking of the Earth's crust (honestly!) segued effortlessly into a brilliant "Losing Touch", and I felt spookily as if I was watching one of the most significant British rock acts of the next 5 years. My Vitriol tonight were simply awesome; the power, focused aggression and primal yet perfectly articulated rock recalled Sugar, and I piled into the mosh with a strangely unreceptive crowd and showed them how to do it! My Vitriol have a shimmering substance to their music which also recalls Ride or The Pale Saints, with their segues and loops from one titanic slab of rock into the next. But most of all, this band knows how to rock, and seriously clean house whilst doing so. New (and heavily rotated on Radio 1) single "Always: Your Way" was awe-inspiring, a mightily anthemic yowl of a track. Great stuff from a band who surely are future Reading Festival headliners, if there's any justice. We'll be hearing a great deal more from My Vitriol!
Thirteen:13 are a bunch of optimistic young bucks with guitars in their hearts and melodic influences worn prominently on their sleeves. Thus, when they're sharp and poppy, like lovely harmonic single "Perfect Imperfection", they come across like early Teenage Fanclub arm-wrestling with bouncy Seattle popsters Super Deluxe, their set then varying from this touchingly melodic high to some reasonable but slightly dated sounding knockabout cheeky chappie Britpop. Nevertheless, considerably more good moments than bad from a band I'd happily pay to see in their own right.
Moving swiftly on afterwards were a frankly motley looking trio, our wild cards Mo-Ho-Bish-O-Pi. Wearing sun-visors with flashing lights, Hawaiian shirts and self-mutilated jeans, they looked as if they'd had some disagreements on image so decided to go with everyones' ideas! They immediately kicked into a smart, attention-grabbing set, full of some intelligently put together yet still dirty and self-consciously quirky glam thrashy pop. Shades of Chicago's finest, Number One Cup, mashed and clashed with other influences such as Glitterbox and Placebo to make for an intriguing noise, whilst they were visually dynamic, swapping instruments (except for the fretless bass player) and revealing some seriously freaky eye make-up!
Also well made-up was My Vitriol's vocalist Som Warner, whose liberal application of foundation and mascara was obvious. Significantly more obvious was the quantum leap forward this band have made since their nevertheless impressive Reading 2000 set. An instrumental opener, which sounded like the cracking of the Earth's crust (honestly!) segued effortlessly into a brilliant "Losing Touch", and I felt spookily as if I was watching one of the most significant British rock acts of the next 5 years. My Vitriol tonight were simply awesome; the power, focused aggression and primal yet perfectly articulated rock recalled Sugar, and I piled into the mosh with a strangely unreceptive crowd and showed them how to do it! My Vitriol have a shimmering substance to their music which also recalls Ride or The Pale Saints, with their segues and loops from one titanic slab of rock into the next. But most of all, this band knows how to rock, and seriously clean house whilst doing so. New (and heavily rotated on Radio 1) single "Always: Your Way" was awe-inspiring, a mightily anthemic yowl of a track. Great stuff from a band who surely are future Reading Festival headliners, if there's any justice. We'll be hearing a great deal more from My Vitriol!
490 EMETREX, London Camden "Barfly at the Monarch", Thursday 1 March 2001
Afternoon off! Hooray! Had stuff to do first but Rachel and I left at 4.30 and parked up in Camden High Street at 6.30. Did some record shopping before getting to the venue early. Emetrex walked in just as Rach and I were playing table football, so a "Transatlantic Challenge" was set up, with big Dave McGlynn proving as adept on the bars as he is on bass, pretty much single-handedly squashing our pitiful challenge!
Heard about the tour hi-jinks and poor weather before decamping upstairs for tonight's early set. Emetrex were on at 8.30 and immediately on the case. Guitarist Michael had indicated that they had a weird vibe about this show, as they anticipated playing to a less enthusiastic crowd than out of London, nevertheless they were tight and together, showing an intuitive feel for their music. Opener "Left 63", a slow, drawn out affair, flowed into "So Bright" then the effortlessly melodic "Birds Your Brothers" before "Staring At The Stone" really kicked the set off with its' startling power and dynamism. Emetrex then took the sound down with care and precision, and some delicious pedal steel adding to the haunting and occasionally eerie melody, before a swaggering "King Of Animals". The real highlight for me, however, was set closer "Saturn With The Rings", a slow burner which just builds and builds before soaring breathtakingly away, similar to Wheat's "Death Car" or "Raised Ranch Revolution".
Rach hit the tiredness button shortly afterwards, as we're setting a cracking gig pace at the moment, so we bade our farewells and hit the road at 9.45, getting home at midnight. No worries, there's more Emetrex on the way!
Heard about the tour hi-jinks and poor weather before decamping upstairs for tonight's early set. Emetrex were on at 8.30 and immediately on the case. Guitarist Michael had indicated that they had a weird vibe about this show, as they anticipated playing to a less enthusiastic crowd than out of London, nevertheless they were tight and together, showing an intuitive feel for their music. Opener "Left 63", a slow, drawn out affair, flowed into "So Bright" then the effortlessly melodic "Birds Your Brothers" before "Staring At The Stone" really kicked the set off with its' startling power and dynamism. Emetrex then took the sound down with care and precision, and some delicious pedal steel adding to the haunting and occasionally eerie melody, before a swaggering "King Of Animals". The real highlight for me, however, was set closer "Saturn With The Rings", a slow burner which just builds and builds before soaring breathtakingly away, similar to Wheat's "Death Car" or "Raised Ranch Revolution".
Rach hit the tiredness button shortly afterwards, as we're setting a cracking gig pace at the moment, so we bade our farewells and hit the road at 9.45, getting home at midnight. No worries, there's more Emetrex on the way!
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
491 EMETREX, Econoline, Oxford The Point, Saturday 3 March 2001
The last of 3 in 4 gigs for Emetrex, and the last date of their tour before they flew back to the US - tomorrow morning! - so we had to be there! The fact that this one was only 30 miles down the road made it easier too. So Rachel and I scooted down the A420 and parked in the usual car park, bumping into Emetrex outside the dodgy eaterie opposite The Point, sampling their dubious wares! Hit the downstairs pub briefly, meeting Tim and crew there, then up to the venue for 8.30. Hung out with the Emetrex guys and their Seriously Groovy UK label people, boring the pants off Lorraine from Seriously Groovy about other Boston bands, and about You Are Here! Connections, connections...
Chilled out listening to bassist Dave McGlynn's stories of the tour, particularly a superb show in Limerick, before Econoline came on. The sound was better and hung together more coherently, but Econoline were still harsh and abrasive and not my cup of tea. Back to the bar then!
Emetrex were on at 10.30, starting so quietly that they caught Rachel and myself (chatting to Dave from Seriously Groovy at the time) totally on the hop! Popped into the reasonably well attended venue as Emetrex eased into their set with "Left 63" and "So Bright" before a blistering "Staring At The Stone" set the show alight. There was a real end of term feel to this show, with the practised confidence of a band totally attuned to each other and relieved to be heading home (Ben mentioned beforehand, "I want to go home, I miss my mom - and my truck!"), but wanting to leave on a high. And they delivered.
Another set of haunting, moody yet magnificent shimmering and soulful guitar rock and tasteful, touching balladry which solicited a great reception from the crowd, who were really being won over. A touching "Thunderstruck" was again the precursor to a magnificent finale "Saturn", a potential Boston classic in the style of "Winona" and "Island". Plangent magnificence!
Hung out afterwards for ages, collecting band signatures on Set List No. 300, then hit the road. Thus endeth the Emetrex tour, an excellent 3 shows from an embryonic yet evolving band with boundless potential. Good Boston friends too!
Chilled out listening to bassist Dave McGlynn's stories of the tour, particularly a superb show in Limerick, before Econoline came on. The sound was better and hung together more coherently, but Econoline were still harsh and abrasive and not my cup of tea. Back to the bar then!
Emetrex were on at 10.30, starting so quietly that they caught Rachel and myself (chatting to Dave from Seriously Groovy at the time) totally on the hop! Popped into the reasonably well attended venue as Emetrex eased into their set with "Left 63" and "So Bright" before a blistering "Staring At The Stone" set the show alight. There was a real end of term feel to this show, with the practised confidence of a band totally attuned to each other and relieved to be heading home (Ben mentioned beforehand, "I want to go home, I miss my mom - and my truck!"), but wanting to leave on a high. And they delivered.
Another set of haunting, moody yet magnificent shimmering and soulful guitar rock and tasteful, touching balladry which solicited a great reception from the crowd, who were really being won over. A touching "Thunderstruck" was again the precursor to a magnificent finale "Saturn", a potential Boston classic in the style of "Winona" and "Island". Plangent magnificence!
Hung out afterwards for ages, collecting band signatures on Set List No. 300, then hit the road. Thus endeth the Emetrex tour, an excellent 3 shows from an embryonic yet evolving band with boundless potential. Good Boston friends too!
492 KEN STRINGFELLOW AND JON AUER, London Highbury "Upstairs at the Garage", Tuesday 6 March 2001
The wrong gig on the wrong night! Left at 4.30 after a half day, but then took ages to get over to the Garage after our usual left turn at the Angel Centre, thanks to Arsenal's Champion's League game just round the corner, metaphorically speaking. Then, after Tim and crew turned up to meet up with Rachel and myself, he told us that the previous night's "Posies" show at Dingwalls, which we'd not bothered with in favour of tonight's show, was a full-blown band affair, which lasted for a crazy old 2 hours! D'oh!
This one, however, was always going to be 2 individual acoustic sets from the Posies 2 singers, songwriters and main inspirations. Jon Auer, the shorter, bulkier and slightly more pure pop oriented of the two, was first up, strumming a blood covered guitar, a legacy of the "carnage" (his word for it!) of the previous night. Jon's set was a splendid and spangly affair of mainly new material, but with the characteristic chord structures which were always a staple ingredient of the Posies poppier moments. A lovely "Perfect Size" and another startling rendition of the Psychedelic Furs' "Love My Way" climaxed a set full of fine pop moments and tequila-fuelled stories.
Bumped into Jon himself on my way back from the gents afterwards, taking the opportunity as an old P-Furs fan to thank him for reviving "Love My Way" and asking him to say "hey" to old friend and fellow Seattle resident Phil Hurley. Enjoyed a brief chat with a friendly and personable guy.
Ken, the tall, angular and more emotive Posie, joined us at 10. Wearing an "Expectant Father" t-shirt, Ken regaled us with a heartfelt and emotional set of his more bittersweet pop melodies. Switching between a trusty sparkling 6-string guitar and a laptop keyboard (the Hammond Organ, all 1,200 pounds of wood, wouldn't fit in the overhead bins of the 737, apparently!) and also regaling us with some fun stories, particularly about Joe "Bass" Skyward's plans for that very same evening (!), Ken juxtaposed his achingly raw melodies with an irreverent style. However, after one particularly emotional track, Ken left the stage briefly and on returning, it was clear he'd put a great deal of himself into the delivery, and needed to vent in private.
A splendid "Find Yourself Alone", prior to which he dealt efficiently with a couple of drunken hecklers, was the highlight of the evening for me. 2 fine sets from 2 very talented tunesmiths, well worth the nightmare journey there - and home too, with terrible rain and even worse roadworks delays on the A40M!
This one, however, was always going to be 2 individual acoustic sets from the Posies 2 singers, songwriters and main inspirations. Jon Auer, the shorter, bulkier and slightly more pure pop oriented of the two, was first up, strumming a blood covered guitar, a legacy of the "carnage" (his word for it!) of the previous night. Jon's set was a splendid and spangly affair of mainly new material, but with the characteristic chord structures which were always a staple ingredient of the Posies poppier moments. A lovely "Perfect Size" and another startling rendition of the Psychedelic Furs' "Love My Way" climaxed a set full of fine pop moments and tequila-fuelled stories.
Bumped into Jon himself on my way back from the gents afterwards, taking the opportunity as an old P-Furs fan to thank him for reviving "Love My Way" and asking him to say "hey" to old friend and fellow Seattle resident Phil Hurley. Enjoyed a brief chat with a friendly and personable guy.
Ken, the tall, angular and more emotive Posie, joined us at 10. Wearing an "Expectant Father" t-shirt, Ken regaled us with a heartfelt and emotional set of his more bittersweet pop melodies. Switching between a trusty sparkling 6-string guitar and a laptop keyboard (the Hammond Organ, all 1,200 pounds of wood, wouldn't fit in the overhead bins of the 737, apparently!) and also regaling us with some fun stories, particularly about Joe "Bass" Skyward's plans for that very same evening (!), Ken juxtaposed his achingly raw melodies with an irreverent style. However, after one particularly emotional track, Ken left the stage briefly and on returning, it was clear he'd put a great deal of himself into the delivery, and needed to vent in private.
A splendid "Find Yourself Alone", prior to which he dealt efficiently with a couple of drunken hecklers, was the highlight of the evening for me. 2 fine sets from 2 very talented tunesmiths, well worth the nightmare journey there - and home too, with terrible rain and even worse roadworks delays on the A40M!
493 YOU ARE HERE, plus terribly ham-fisted support, London Kentish Town Bull And Gate, Monday 26 March 2001
Took a late call on this one, hot-footing it up to Kentish Town with Rachel, missing the turning on Camden High Street and taking a lengthy diversion in the process. D'oh! Got there, however, in time to meet up with Tim and co, and chill in the Bull And Gate pub, before scooting through at 9 to see a totally ham-fisted lot play some terrible hackneyed punk metal posturing noise which I have to confess featured one reasonably good Therapy?-ish number.
This is the first time YAH have played in the capital (although not for 101 veteran Tim) and they were obviously keyed up to make an impression. Sometimes, though, this has a habit of backfiring on you, and unfortunately this turned out to be the case tonight. From the moment they took the tall Bull And Gate back room stage they looked nervy and unassured, and made a real hash of the mid-point of opener "Hard To Stop". The next few numbers were subsequently affected, and didn't display the usual You Are Here brightness or dynamism. A couple of new numbers also need rework to turn them into proper YAH songs, as "Confidence In Me" currently sounds too much like an attempt to write a Midway Still song, and "Sick Of It All" like a Chris Colbourn Buffalo Tom track.
However, I'm happy to report they pulled it back at the end. "Happy" had its' usual tension, choppy guitar verses and strident chorus; final newie "Far Cry" was the best (and most YAH-ish!) of the new numbers, and they couldn't mess up "Trying To Write" with its' insistent punk rock guitar groove and insanely jolly "yeah yeah" choral yelps, if they tried! Especially as Andy had introduced a descending bass-line into the fadeout, as per my recommendation!
Afterwards, they were all apologies, and realistic that this one was a bit of a duff show, but took heart during my chats with them (individually and collectively) that they can learn and improve from it. After all, they've been top notch before, so it's easy to get back there! This one then turned out to be somewhat surreally like Seafood's Fleece gig last year, insofar as people who'd seen them for the first time tonight were still impressed, but we know they're better than this, and that's a good thing!
This is the first time YAH have played in the capital (although not for 101 veteran Tim) and they were obviously keyed up to make an impression. Sometimes, though, this has a habit of backfiring on you, and unfortunately this turned out to be the case tonight. From the moment they took the tall Bull And Gate back room stage they looked nervy and unassured, and made a real hash of the mid-point of opener "Hard To Stop". The next few numbers were subsequently affected, and didn't display the usual You Are Here brightness or dynamism. A couple of new numbers also need rework to turn them into proper YAH songs, as "Confidence In Me" currently sounds too much like an attempt to write a Midway Still song, and "Sick Of It All" like a Chris Colbourn Buffalo Tom track.
However, I'm happy to report they pulled it back at the end. "Happy" had its' usual tension, choppy guitar verses and strident chorus; final newie "Far Cry" was the best (and most YAH-ish!) of the new numbers, and they couldn't mess up "Trying To Write" with its' insistent punk rock guitar groove and insanely jolly "yeah yeah" choral yelps, if they tried! Especially as Andy had introduced a descending bass-line into the fadeout, as per my recommendation!
Afterwards, they were all apologies, and realistic that this one was a bit of a duff show, but took heart during my chats with them (individually and collectively) that they can learn and improve from it. After all, they've been top notch before, so it's easy to get back there! This one then turned out to be somewhat surreally like Seafood's Fleece gig last year, insofar as people who'd seen them for the first time tonight were still impressed, but we know they're better than this, and that's a good thing!
494 THE SHEILA DIVINE, Ivory Coast, The Paradise, Boston MA USA, Thursday 29 March 2001
Another quick trip to my favourite rock'n'roll bolt hole, namely Boston, MA! This gig, the first in a double-header of CD release shows by The Sheila Divine was ostensibly the reason for the trip this time, although the real reason was to get away from my unhappy marriage for a few days on my own, talk things through with good Boston friends, and get the impetus to do what needed to be done. So, a direct flight then over to my digs, then walking to the Paradise via a circuitous route from Coolidge Corner!
Get there and have to queue up; my "guest list" status apparently means squat to the bouncers! However, I get in for 8, at which point there were only 10 tickets left; this is going to be one hell of a show! Meet up with TSD bassist Jim Gilbert as soon as I get into the club, a large (for Boston) hall resembling the Bristol Studio or old Hammersmith Palais in layout if not in size. Jim's pleased I made it over, but keyed up for the "showcase" homecoming show. The support, Ivory Coast, do their job well with some vaguely emotive pop and choppy powerpunk, an appropriate combination considering they feature a vocalist who is the spitting image of Sebadoh's Lou Barlow!
Make my way to the front, annoying some locals in the process but Jim, setting up onstage, notices my location and stops for a quick chat, which prompts another nice chat with a fellow punter. The Sheilas then come on with a swagger and a strut (mainly from big Jim, over 6 feet tall but looking double that size onstage!) to a rapturous welcome, kicking off a clutch of newies from the CD "Where Have My Countrymen Gone?", the release of which these 2 shows celebrate. The opener, "Sideways", is an insistent groover, but it's 3rd number in, "Every Year" which is the gem, a true Sheilas classic with power, emotion and a brilliant hook. Jim is massive onstage, all movement and huge rock gestures, circa mid 80's U2, drummer Shaun Sears wrestles with the rhythm like an angry octopus, and new boy Colin Decker throws angular shapes. But it's vocalist Aaron Perrino who is the real star. Pale, McCulloch red-lipped and innocently boyish, Aaron's voice is choirboy pure one moment, and grizzly-bear angry the next, but always huge, resonant and capable of filling the hugest venue on it's own, never mind The Paradise! The voice perfectly fits the Sheila's brilliantly emotive, soaring powerful rock, so reminiscent of 80's pop geniuses Kitchens Of Distinction, early Buffalo Tom or even my late teen "home team" Echo And The Bunnymen, but mainly all their own work.
"Opportune Moment", which just builds and builds to a pressure-cooker intense crescendo, is superb, but it's "Hum", with its' towering hook, and Aaron's bulging red-faced vocal intensity, which is the real highlight of a set packed full of them! After a couple of newies, The Sheilas encore with a frankly appalling version of Kim Wilde's "Kids In America" which Aaron needs a lyric sheet for (!), and is frankly out of step with the rest of this awesome set, but I can forgive them that.
I hang out afterwards with the crew, meeting the rest of The Sheilas for the first time, or so I think; Shaun tells me he remembers my name from his time at Q Division, mailing out their stuff to me! Aaron reveals himself to be a huge Kitchens fan (surprise, surprise) and fends off a comically drunk fan, but is pleased to sign my list and talks about his ambitions to bring The Sheilas to the UK, as do they all! Before heading off, I also meet up with Michael Creamer (TSD and Pit manager), and Mike Deneen (ace Q producer and also nicknamed "Sheriff"!) for the first time!
Get there and have to queue up; my "guest list" status apparently means squat to the bouncers! However, I get in for 8, at which point there were only 10 tickets left; this is going to be one hell of a show! Meet up with TSD bassist Jim Gilbert as soon as I get into the club, a large (for Boston) hall resembling the Bristol Studio or old Hammersmith Palais in layout if not in size. Jim's pleased I made it over, but keyed up for the "showcase" homecoming show. The support, Ivory Coast, do their job well with some vaguely emotive pop and choppy powerpunk, an appropriate combination considering they feature a vocalist who is the spitting image of Sebadoh's Lou Barlow!
Make my way to the front, annoying some locals in the process but Jim, setting up onstage, notices my location and stops for a quick chat, which prompts another nice chat with a fellow punter. The Sheilas then come on with a swagger and a strut (mainly from big Jim, over 6 feet tall but looking double that size onstage!) to a rapturous welcome, kicking off a clutch of newies from the CD "Where Have My Countrymen Gone?", the release of which these 2 shows celebrate. The opener, "Sideways", is an insistent groover, but it's 3rd number in, "Every Year" which is the gem, a true Sheilas classic with power, emotion and a brilliant hook. Jim is massive onstage, all movement and huge rock gestures, circa mid 80's U2, drummer Shaun Sears wrestles with the rhythm like an angry octopus, and new boy Colin Decker throws angular shapes. But it's vocalist Aaron Perrino who is the real star. Pale, McCulloch red-lipped and innocently boyish, Aaron's voice is choirboy pure one moment, and grizzly-bear angry the next, but always huge, resonant and capable of filling the hugest venue on it's own, never mind The Paradise! The voice perfectly fits the Sheila's brilliantly emotive, soaring powerful rock, so reminiscent of 80's pop geniuses Kitchens Of Distinction, early Buffalo Tom or even my late teen "home team" Echo And The Bunnymen, but mainly all their own work.
"Opportune Moment", which just builds and builds to a pressure-cooker intense crescendo, is superb, but it's "Hum", with its' towering hook, and Aaron's bulging red-faced vocal intensity, which is the real highlight of a set packed full of them! After a couple of newies, The Sheilas encore with a frankly appalling version of Kim Wilde's "Kids In America" which Aaron needs a lyric sheet for (!), and is frankly out of step with the rest of this awesome set, but I can forgive them that.
I hang out afterwards with the crew, meeting the rest of The Sheilas for the first time, or so I think; Shaun tells me he remembers my name from his time at Q Division, mailing out their stuff to me! Aaron reveals himself to be a huge Kitchens fan (surprise, surprise) and fends off a comically drunk fan, but is pleased to sign my list and talks about his ambitions to bring The Sheilas to the UK, as do they all! Before heading off, I also meet up with Michael Creamer (TSD and Pit manager), and Mike Deneen (ace Q producer and also nicknamed "Sheriff"!) for the first time!
Saturday, 15 May 2010
495 THE SHEILA DIVINE, plus support, The Paradise, Boston MA USA, Friday 30 March 2001
After a day doing some seriously brain dumping with a sympathetic ear in EdV - I know what I've got to do, I just have to do it now - and avoiding the rain, we're up for the second of this 2 night TSD CD release stand. "The Peach", Pete Stone, EdV's "date" for this evening (his "+1" on the TSD guest list!), picks me up from my digs at 1/4 to 8. He's his usual acerbic self and Ed keeps rolling his eyes and saying, "aah, the Peach!" We hit the venue early for this advance sell-out to get good viewing places, only to find it packed out already and the punkish but unfocussed unnamed support act already assaulting the crowd's eardrums.
Hit the bar upstairs and EdV introduces me to barman Bill Guerra, new Senor Happy guitarist and roommate to James Horrigan! Take a wander to the balcony, stage left, where I chat to Fly Seville vocalist Jesse Blatz. The Sheilas come on at 9, opening with familiar slow-burner "Automatic Buffalo", then really kick-start things with strident newie "Every Year", which I remember clearly from the previous night. In fact, all the new "Countrymen" numbers in this rejigged and reshaped set are instantly memorable and recognisable from last night, starting with the title track, 3rd number in, which is similarly slow-burning and features serious vocal gymnastics from an in-form Aaron.
By this time I've eschewed my balcony spot and I'm once again pissing off the locals by barging my way forward, stage left, and trying to get this sell-out and supposedly rapturous local crowd to dance! The Sheilas do their best too; "Awful Age" is a brilliantly angry growl of a song, newie "Kiss Army" is a thrilling rush, and "Like A Criminal", with its dramatic guitar slashes, is an excuse for bassist big Jim Gilbert to jump about like a scalded cat, arms flailing Pete Townshend style around his pitifully small-looking bass. But my own personal favourite "I'm A Believer", and "Hum", two absolute top drawer slices of emotive, spine tingling dynamic guitar rock, are the superb climaxes to the set, "Hum"s middle eight vocal line being seemingly sung by the whole crowd. Passionate, haunting and brilliant!
A couple more encores, including a surprisingly superb "Eleanor Rigby" which features some almost scat-vocalising from Aaron, are followed up by champagne onstage, and an unscheduled last "Modern Log". Brilliant stuff, but my night's not over yet; I meet up with EdV and Pete and we're off to gig 496!
Hit the bar upstairs and EdV introduces me to barman Bill Guerra, new Senor Happy guitarist and roommate to James Horrigan! Take a wander to the balcony, stage left, where I chat to Fly Seville vocalist Jesse Blatz. The Sheilas come on at 9, opening with familiar slow-burner "Automatic Buffalo", then really kick-start things with strident newie "Every Year", which I remember clearly from the previous night. In fact, all the new "Countrymen" numbers in this rejigged and reshaped set are instantly memorable and recognisable from last night, starting with the title track, 3rd number in, which is similarly slow-burning and features serious vocal gymnastics from an in-form Aaron.
By this time I've eschewed my balcony spot and I'm once again pissing off the locals by barging my way forward, stage left, and trying to get this sell-out and supposedly rapturous local crowd to dance! The Sheilas do their best too; "Awful Age" is a brilliantly angry growl of a song, newie "Kiss Army" is a thrilling rush, and "Like A Criminal", with its dramatic guitar slashes, is an excuse for bassist big Jim Gilbert to jump about like a scalded cat, arms flailing Pete Townshend style around his pitifully small-looking bass. But my own personal favourite "I'm A Believer", and "Hum", two absolute top drawer slices of emotive, spine tingling dynamic guitar rock, are the superb climaxes to the set, "Hum"s middle eight vocal line being seemingly sung by the whole crowd. Passionate, haunting and brilliant!
A couple more encores, including a surprisingly superb "Eleanor Rigby" which features some almost scat-vocalising from Aaron, are followed up by champagne onstage, and an unscheduled last "Modern Log". Brilliant stuff, but my night's not over yet; I meet up with EdV and Pete and we're off to gig 496!
496 HEAVY STUD, The Kirkland Cafe, Somerville, MA USA, Friday 30 March 2001
EdV, Pete "The Peach" Stone and I head off to this gig from Ed's girlfriend's band, after tonight's Sheila Divine show at the Paradise; I'm buzzing from the Sheila's show, "The Peach" is on lecherous top form, and Ed is singing the Zamboni's "Hockey Monkey". A weird combination as we arrive in deepest darkest Somerville, to a venue which is even more dilapidated than the Linwood Grill in Fenway! Jon Lupfer had beaten us here from the TSD show and has grabbed a table, and the Stud are preparing to go on as we arrive at 11 pm.
I grab a seat and a beer as The Stud, featuring Ed's girlfriend Melissa Gibbs and Fly Seville drummer Jason Sloan, kick off. They lay down a fun set of simple but effective Ramones-ish punky pop tunes, and come across like early Muffs or The Slingbacks. The locals however only react when Melissa's co-vocalist Meredith offers some free CDs out. EdV joins them on bass onstage for their last number.
From the reasonably sublime to the ridiculous; the unnamed (I forgot, OK?) headliner features an ageing rock chick on vocals, and the mainman is a Jerry Garcia lookalike acid casualty who's celebrating his 45th birthday tonight but looks 20 years older. I find that my only way to humour them is to drink lots of tequila, so I'm primed when their poor bluesy set hits the Rolling Stones covers, and I sing along raucously to "It's All Over Now"!
We (that is, me, EdV, Melissa, Lupfer, the Stud, Ana etc) then head over to nearby Q Division for some after hours drinking, myself sensibly hitting the coca cola as I've necked far too much tequila. We eventually decamp, after singing American Hi-Fi numbers all evening, at about 2 am, a very tired and somewhat drunk Jon Lupfer driving me back to my digs on his way to Jamaica Plain. An odd end to a superb evening, thanks to gig 495!
I grab a seat and a beer as The Stud, featuring Ed's girlfriend Melissa Gibbs and Fly Seville drummer Jason Sloan, kick off. They lay down a fun set of simple but effective Ramones-ish punky pop tunes, and come across like early Muffs or The Slingbacks. The locals however only react when Melissa's co-vocalist Meredith offers some free CDs out. EdV joins them on bass onstage for their last number.
From the reasonably sublime to the ridiculous; the unnamed (I forgot, OK?) headliner features an ageing rock chick on vocals, and the mainman is a Jerry Garcia lookalike acid casualty who's celebrating his 45th birthday tonight but looks 20 years older. I find that my only way to humour them is to drink lots of tequila, so I'm primed when their poor bluesy set hits the Rolling Stones covers, and I sing along raucously to "It's All Over Now"!
We (that is, me, EdV, Melissa, Lupfer, the Stud, Ana etc) then head over to nearby Q Division for some after hours drinking, myself sensibly hitting the coca cola as I've necked far too much tequila. We eventually decamp, after singing American Hi-Fi numbers all evening, at about 2 am, a very tired and somewhat drunk Jon Lupfer driving me back to my digs on his way to Jamaica Plain. An odd end to a superb evening, thanks to gig 495!
497 KAY HANLEY, A baton twirler (!), The New Theater, Harvard Square, Cambridge MA USA, Saturday 31 March 2001
Last day of this short sharp trip to Boston. I grab late lunch with Mike Paulo and Mark Kraus before chilling at the Jr. Corduroy recording sessions at the Longhouse in Allston. Then off to EdV's, watching the end of some weird campus film with Ed and Josh before Josh drops us off in Harvard, on his way out to a blues gig he's playing in Somerville. Ed and I head for a restored theater opposite Tower Records (whose name eludes me, hence "The New Theater") for quite the strangest gig venue! This is definitely "guest-list only" territory; even ligger-about-town James Horrigan has been unsuccessful getting on this list! Luckily I'm with one of the band, EdV being part of Kay's back line, so I get into this sumptuously renovated and decorated theater hall. Very posh indeed, and the clientele - the glitterati of Boston's art world, bedecked in evening ball gowns and black tie - reflects this. I'm feeling very scruffy in my black jeans and red velvet shirt!
The evening gets more surreal as we hit the first floor for the promised food, which turns out to be pasta aperitifs and crudités with dips, laid out for display and attended by monkey suited waiters with silver trays. I feel like I'm at a society wedding reception! Ed and I chat and people-watch until company arrives, in the shape of Creamer, Lucky Jackson and "The Peach" Pete Stone, bringing much-needed levity and sarcasm to the stuffed-shirt proceedings. Then Kay and hubby Michael show up, both apparently remembering me from the Letters To Cleo shows in London back in 1996! Michael confirms this by saying he delivered a "Wilson" t-shirt I'd given him at the Powerhaus show (gig 321!) to Dave Gibbs!
So, after a few self-congratulatory speeches from various dignitaries and key players in the re-opening of this theater, the support act comes on; a scantily clad baton twirler! Shurely shome mishtake? Nevertheless, she's not on for long - just long enough to drop one of her batons! Arf arf (sorry, schadenfreude's not polite).
Kay leads the band on at 10.15 for 10 songs oozing class and songcraft, played with just the right amount of deference and understatement for the occasion and the less than 10% interested crowd. Nevertheless, the quality of the material shines through, being poppier and more low-key than the brash upfront bounciness of former band Letters To Cleo, but still beautifully crafted and catchy. "Mean Streak" bounces along like a spacehopper, but "Galapagos" (which I was warned to look out for by "The Peach", this being his favourite ever Kay song) is slow-burning and heart-wrenchingly lovely, as melancholy as my mood, which itself prompts a few words of incisive wisdom from Mr. Stone which I'll never forget. All in all, though, Kay and her new band are in fine fettle, judging by this performance.
I then head off after the gig and a few "thanks", particularly to Kay and Michael for the cool show, Creamer for being my free ticket this trip, and EdV for once again being a true friend when I needed one most. T back, one sleep, then back to Blighty early the next morning, to cap another successful Boston trip!
The evening gets more surreal as we hit the first floor for the promised food, which turns out to be pasta aperitifs and crudités with dips, laid out for display and attended by monkey suited waiters with silver trays. I feel like I'm at a society wedding reception! Ed and I chat and people-watch until company arrives, in the shape of Creamer, Lucky Jackson and "The Peach" Pete Stone, bringing much-needed levity and sarcasm to the stuffed-shirt proceedings. Then Kay and hubby Michael show up, both apparently remembering me from the Letters To Cleo shows in London back in 1996! Michael confirms this by saying he delivered a "Wilson" t-shirt I'd given him at the Powerhaus show (gig 321!) to Dave Gibbs!
So, after a few self-congratulatory speeches from various dignitaries and key players in the re-opening of this theater, the support act comes on; a scantily clad baton twirler! Shurely shome mishtake? Nevertheless, she's not on for long - just long enough to drop one of her batons! Arf arf (sorry, schadenfreude's not polite).
Kay leads the band on at 10.15 for 10 songs oozing class and songcraft, played with just the right amount of deference and understatement for the occasion and the less than 10% interested crowd. Nevertheless, the quality of the material shines through, being poppier and more low-key than the brash upfront bounciness of former band Letters To Cleo, but still beautifully crafted and catchy. "Mean Streak" bounces along like a spacehopper, but "Galapagos" (which I was warned to look out for by "The Peach", this being his favourite ever Kay song) is slow-burning and heart-wrenchingly lovely, as melancholy as my mood, which itself prompts a few words of incisive wisdom from Mr. Stone which I'll never forget. All in all, though, Kay and her new band are in fine fettle, judging by this performance.
I then head off after the gig and a few "thanks", particularly to Kay and Michael for the cool show, Creamer for being my free ticket this trip, and EdV for once again being a true friend when I needed one most. T back, one sleep, then back to Blighty early the next morning, to cap another successful Boston trip!
498 SPARKLEHORSE, Lift To Experience, London Borderline, Wednesday 11 April 2001
Back to reality fairly quickly following a quick trip to Boston, and back to the trek oop the Smoke. Tim drove a band of happy travellers for this one, setting off at 20 past 5 and getting a surprisingly good run into the centre of town, eventually parking in Charlotte Street (prompting a few verses of the Lloyd Cole song from me!) and getting to the venue before 8. The dingy old Tex Mex downstairs bar is still the same, evoking memories of previous trips here - Cleos, Bonham etc.
These were suitably shattered as the place filled up to capacity, and the support band hit the stage. Lift To Experience were a Texan trio with a vocalist with humungous sideburns, a bass player with a beard you could hide a coyote in, and a drummer with a face like a balloon with a face badly drawn onto it. Their postcard biog compared them to Jeff Buckley, MBV and The Birthday Party, but in reality they played a blinding cacophonous noise, interspersed with some moaning "Sturm und Drang" dynamics. Fairly ropey tuneless stuff which merged into one messy noise very quickly.
By the time they'd finished, our vantage point near the bar, which seemed a good idea when we arrived, had become squashed and crowded, so I took to the floor to get a better view! Sparklehorse came on at 9.45 to a rapturous welcome from the sell-out crowd; this was the third of 3 sell-out nights previewing the new CD "It's A Wonderful life", but internet reports of the first 2 weren't promising. No oldies and only low-key slow newies, the reports said. After a couple of newies, however, this seemed like scaremongering, as they were deliciously slow-burning, parched country ballads with grace and beauty. The third number, a newie possibly called "Waiting For The Jets" even kicked the tempo upwards unexpectedly.
"Thanks for your patience through all the new songs," announced a gratified Sparklehorse mainman Mark Linkous, as he launched into the pure beauty of "Hundreds Of Sparrows". "No problem, they're beautiful, man," came the reply, and at this point it was spot on. Unfortunately, the legendary Sparklehorse inconsistency kicked in thereafter, as the final batch of newies was more directionless, low-key and samey, ending the set disappointingly, and only redeemed by encores "Cow" and the bleached soundscape of "Homecoming Queen". A fine evening with a disappointing end, which should I guess mean at least half a good album from this maddeningly inconsistent country genius Linkous!
These were suitably shattered as the place filled up to capacity, and the support band hit the stage. Lift To Experience were a Texan trio with a vocalist with humungous sideburns, a bass player with a beard you could hide a coyote in, and a drummer with a face like a balloon with a face badly drawn onto it. Their postcard biog compared them to Jeff Buckley, MBV and The Birthday Party, but in reality they played a blinding cacophonous noise, interspersed with some moaning "Sturm und Drang" dynamics. Fairly ropey tuneless stuff which merged into one messy noise very quickly.
By the time they'd finished, our vantage point near the bar, which seemed a good idea when we arrived, had become squashed and crowded, so I took to the floor to get a better view! Sparklehorse came on at 9.45 to a rapturous welcome from the sell-out crowd; this was the third of 3 sell-out nights previewing the new CD "It's A Wonderful life", but internet reports of the first 2 weren't promising. No oldies and only low-key slow newies, the reports said. After a couple of newies, however, this seemed like scaremongering, as they were deliciously slow-burning, parched country ballads with grace and beauty. The third number, a newie possibly called "Waiting For The Jets" even kicked the tempo upwards unexpectedly.
"Thanks for your patience through all the new songs," announced a gratified Sparklehorse mainman Mark Linkous, as he launched into the pure beauty of "Hundreds Of Sparrows". "No problem, they're beautiful, man," came the reply, and at this point it was spot on. Unfortunately, the legendary Sparklehorse inconsistency kicked in thereafter, as the final batch of newies was more directionless, low-key and samey, ending the set disappointingly, and only redeemed by encores "Cow" and the bleached soundscape of "Homecoming Queen". A fine evening with a disappointing end, which should I guess mean at least half a good album from this maddeningly inconsistent country genius Linkous!
Monday, 10 May 2010
499 FEEDER, MY VITRIOL, Nuclear Fish, Bristol Colston Hall, Tuesday 17 April 2001
Took a late call on this one as Rachel sorted out the loan of her dad's car for the night, so we hit the road at 6.30, motoring down to Bristol with the intention to go to this gig, but with a back up plan (Cosmic Rough Riders at the Fleece!) if this was a sell-out. Luckily, we joined a surprisingly long queue and got the last couple of balcony seats, getting in in time to catch first band, the excellently-named local lot Nuclear Fish, who peddled a fairly standard okay-ish guitar rock, including a cover of John Lennon's "Working Class Hero" which went over the heads of most of the Feeder audience, comprised mainly of teenage girls! Did I take a wrong turn and end up at a Hockey International or what?
Anyway, we had My Vitriol to distract us from the squeaky hordes, and tonight's packed-out show was an opportunity to suss out how MV might handle the inevitable step-up to headliner status at this size of venue. I'm pleased to report that the lads (and lass) done great. Appearing onstage in a squall of exciting guitar noise, they immediately burst into primal roar mode with the thrilling "Losing Touch", and kept the foot on the loud pedal throughout. I'm not sure what the squeaking hordes made of their predilection for juxtaposing ethereal guitar shimmering and downright ear-splittingly evil rock, but I bloody loved it, and couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at how great this set was, how much it filled this cavernous venue to bulging point. Titanic single "Always: Your Way" was the highlight, before a tempo changing instrumental finale culminated in vocalist Som howling inarticulately into the mic and laying down the squalls of feedback to which they exited the stage. Their "Folk Song Crisis" perhaps?
Chilled out in the bar before taking our seats for headliners Feeder, passing MV guitarist Seth and having a few congratulatory words on the way. After the titanic noise of MV, Feeder were always onto a loser for me, and the 5 minutes after the lights went out that they kept us waiting for, before taking the stage, was a no-no as well. They gave it a real shot, however, and I confess I enjoyed them tonight. After dodgy tuneless beginnings (and dodgy boiler suits, back at Reading a few years back!) Feeder have evolved into a noisier Stereophonics with better tunes, and the attitude of mid-80's Bono from their obvious heroes and emulatees U2. Recent single "Buck Rogers", appropriating the same insistent guitar riff as the late lamented Julie Dolphin's "Birthday", was a goodie, and I also liked a few of the newies from forthcoming CD "Echo Park", but that was about it. They're OK, loud and fast, and I'd much rather the kids listen to Feeder than Eminem, but I'd prefer more invention and originality. Luckily, though, tonight we got that - in spades - from My Vitriol!
Anyway, we had My Vitriol to distract us from the squeaky hordes, and tonight's packed-out show was an opportunity to suss out how MV might handle the inevitable step-up to headliner status at this size of venue. I'm pleased to report that the lads (and lass) done great. Appearing onstage in a squall of exciting guitar noise, they immediately burst into primal roar mode with the thrilling "Losing Touch", and kept the foot on the loud pedal throughout. I'm not sure what the squeaking hordes made of their predilection for juxtaposing ethereal guitar shimmering and downright ear-splittingly evil rock, but I bloody loved it, and couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at how great this set was, how much it filled this cavernous venue to bulging point. Titanic single "Always: Your Way" was the highlight, before a tempo changing instrumental finale culminated in vocalist Som howling inarticulately into the mic and laying down the squalls of feedback to which they exited the stage. Their "Folk Song Crisis" perhaps?
Chilled out in the bar before taking our seats for headliners Feeder, passing MV guitarist Seth and having a few congratulatory words on the way. After the titanic noise of MV, Feeder were always onto a loser for me, and the 5 minutes after the lights went out that they kept us waiting for, before taking the stage, was a no-no as well. They gave it a real shot, however, and I confess I enjoyed them tonight. After dodgy tuneless beginnings (and dodgy boiler suits, back at Reading a few years back!) Feeder have evolved into a noisier Stereophonics with better tunes, and the attitude of mid-80's Bono from their obvious heroes and emulatees U2. Recent single "Buck Rogers", appropriating the same insistent guitar riff as the late lamented Julie Dolphin's "Birthday", was a goodie, and I also liked a few of the newies from forthcoming CD "Echo Park", but that was about it. They're OK, loud and fast, and I'd much rather the kids listen to Feeder than Eminem, but I'd prefer more invention and originality. Luckily, though, tonight we got that - in spades - from My Vitriol!
Friday, 7 May 2010
500 Slap, YOU ARE HERE, London Islington "Red Eye", Thursday 19 April 2001
Another big gig landmark reached - I'm halfway to the thousand now! However, I didn't have too much time to contemplate this landmark, as I was too busy manhandling a hired 12 seater Transit van (which I'd offered to do as a favour for the You Are Here boys) with dodgy locks, a crappy gearbox and a soft brake pedal. D'oh! Still, after anticipating a long journey down, and subsequently meeting everyone at the Footplate for a 4.45 departure, we had a really good traffic-free run to Islington, parking outside the venue at 1/4 to 7! Met the YAH boys as they finished soundchecking, and decamped to the splendidly named "Lark In The Park"!
Rachel joined us after her meeting in Ipswich, and we heard that YAH had got bumped down the bill, so left the pub at 8.30 for their 8.45 start. After eventually getting Mark to take the stage at this scuzzy little venue (the essence of rock'n'roll!), You Are Here got started with upbeat opener "Happy". And from the opening bars, and their general relaxed demeanour, it was evident they'd addressed the nervousness that dogged their recent Kentish Town gig. The old confidence and togetherness was back, and they pretty much nailed the first 3 numbers perfectly, sounding more guitarry, upfront and dynamically rocking than in recent shows. "Not A Summer Song", was however a bit disjointed, but its general bounciness won over, and didn't affect the momentum. "Confidence In Me", now reworked as a Midway Still-esque high adrenaline punkish romp, was much more like it, and "Hard To Stop" sounded hard edged and dynamic. The jewel in the crown, as ever, was closer "Trying To Write", the insistent beat the backdrop for some happy "yeah yeah" yelps delivered by Mark, shorn of his mike-stand comforter, as it had broken a couple of numbers previously!
All in all, a fine, in your face, harder edged set from a band learning from experience and putting it into practice pretty quickly. And well worth the accolade of my 500th gig!
Next band on, Slap, featured a statuesque blonde punkette as vocalist, but peddled a weak jazz/ ska melange. By then, however, I was planning the route home. And we hit the road at 10.30, joined by Rach and vocalist Mark, plus a big amp! I finally hit the hay at 2.30 am, after roadworks in London, toilet stops, dropping my passengers off at their homes, then realising the van's back door wouldn't lock so dragging Tim out of bed at 2 am to come pick his amp up! An eventful - but enjoyable overall - gig 500!
Rachel joined us after her meeting in Ipswich, and we heard that YAH had got bumped down the bill, so left the pub at 8.30 for their 8.45 start. After eventually getting Mark to take the stage at this scuzzy little venue (the essence of rock'n'roll!), You Are Here got started with upbeat opener "Happy". And from the opening bars, and their general relaxed demeanour, it was evident they'd addressed the nervousness that dogged their recent Kentish Town gig. The old confidence and togetherness was back, and they pretty much nailed the first 3 numbers perfectly, sounding more guitarry, upfront and dynamically rocking than in recent shows. "Not A Summer Song", was however a bit disjointed, but its general bounciness won over, and didn't affect the momentum. "Confidence In Me", now reworked as a Midway Still-esque high adrenaline punkish romp, was much more like it, and "Hard To Stop" sounded hard edged and dynamic. The jewel in the crown, as ever, was closer "Trying To Write", the insistent beat the backdrop for some happy "yeah yeah" yelps delivered by Mark, shorn of his mike-stand comforter, as it had broken a couple of numbers previously!
All in all, a fine, in your face, harder edged set from a band learning from experience and putting it into practice pretty quickly. And well worth the accolade of my 500th gig!
Next band on, Slap, featured a statuesque blonde punkette as vocalist, but peddled a weak jazz/ ska melange. By then, however, I was planning the route home. And we hit the road at 10.30, joined by Rach and vocalist Mark, plus a big amp! I finally hit the hay at 2.30 am, after roadworks in London, toilet stops, dropping my passengers off at their homes, then realising the van's back door wouldn't lock so dragging Tim out of bed at 2 am to come pick his amp up! An eventful - but enjoyable overall - gig 500!
501 KRISTIN HERSH, Stephen Hero, London Shepherd's Bush Empire, Thursday 28 April 2001
Is the traffic madness finally calming down? Despite Beef turning up late to pick me up, and possible rumours of problems on the M4, we were parking at 7.20 just round the corner from Shepherd's Bush Green, after a journey time of just over 2 hours - just like old times! However, the night didn't continue in such a smooth vein; we got into the Empire to find seats set up in the normal stalls standing area, with our tickets - ordered early so we could be down the front - only good enough to stand around the bar area at the back of the stalls! Not happy about that, but despite my protestations to the box office about being misled by the ticket agency, we had to lump it. Bugger!
Anyway, we got good (as possible) vantage points on the steps leading up to the seated stalls area, making the best of it. Support Stephen Hero, on at 8, was an intriguing prospect - the hero in question was in fact Patrick Fitzgerald, former Kitchens Of Distinction mainman, plus an extra guitarist. The set was mighty fine, not too dissimilar from the glacially cool shimmering ice castles that were The Kitchens' stock in trade. Patrick's voice was as emotive and soaring as ever, which made for a beguiling mix of nostalgia and anticipation. Good to have him back!
Kristin, solo, joined us just after 9, having been delayed due to her 4 year old son Ryder mixing cocktails backstage! Her set, interspersed with a few offbeat laconic stories which suggest a possible alternative career as a raconteur, was largely based on fine new CD "Sunny Border Blue", an absorbing collection of tunes, if lower-key and mellower than the jagged mutant melodies of her Muses days. The highlights for me however were when Kristen delved back into those days, delivering "Delicate Cutters", "Hook In Her Head" and the excellently touching "Cottonmouth", revealing the stark beauty of the songs via these acoustic interpretations. A couple of encores, including the wonderfully haunting (!) "Your Ghost", capped a splendid set, which I'm glad I was well enough to hear this time! Shame about the ticket cock-up, though...
hasEML = false;
Anyway, we got good (as possible) vantage points on the steps leading up to the seated stalls area, making the best of it. Support Stephen Hero, on at 8, was an intriguing prospect - the hero in question was in fact Patrick Fitzgerald, former Kitchens Of Distinction mainman, plus an extra guitarist. The set was mighty fine, not too dissimilar from the glacially cool shimmering ice castles that were The Kitchens' stock in trade. Patrick's voice was as emotive and soaring as ever, which made for a beguiling mix of nostalgia and anticipation. Good to have him back!
Kristin, solo, joined us just after 9, having been delayed due to her 4 year old son Ryder mixing cocktails backstage! Her set, interspersed with a few offbeat laconic stories which suggest a possible alternative career as a raconteur, was largely based on fine new CD "Sunny Border Blue", an absorbing collection of tunes, if lower-key and mellower than the jagged mutant melodies of her Muses days. The highlights for me however were when Kristen delved back into those days, delivering "Delicate Cutters", "Hook In Her Head" and the excellently touching "Cottonmouth", revealing the stark beauty of the songs via these acoustic interpretations. A couple of encores, including the wonderfully haunting (!) "Your Ghost", capped a splendid set, which I'm glad I was well enough to hear this time! Shame about the ticket cock-up, though...
hasEML = false;
502 JULIAN COPE, London Hackney Ocean, Thursday 10 May 2001
A day out in London today for Rachel and myself, along with Cope-centric former Honda colleague James. He drove and we parked up at lunchtime in Islington, visiting the Tate Modern (never again!) and hitting Camden for CD shopping in the afternoon. Then drove the short distance to Hackney, parking round the corner from this new and spankingly posh and very chrome venue. Somewhat out of the way, but still do-able! Got good seats front-centre, a few rows back, behind a couple from Rhode Island who know Tanya Donelly! Small world!
Cope, bedecked in grey camo, orange of face and huge of hair - and boots! - joined us at 9, taking the stage with a confident and proprietorial swagger. Immediately into the audience banter - recalling an incident at his last London show, with a fan shouting out, "Julian, you're so local!" in tribute to his ferocious provincial schedule of gigs - Copey was immediately joined by his oppo Donald Ross "Donneye" Skinner, who provided drum parts to Cope's clutch of opening numbers. Cope himself thwacked a double neck guitar/bass and brought the noise, laying down some rocking tracks reminiscent of his "Saint Julian" days. One hopes that some of this stuff will end up on the forthcoming Brain Donor CD!
Donneye soon departed the stage for a time, leaving Cope to espouse his theories on the barbarian art form which is rock'n'roll, and also strum a mean looking resprayed spangly orange acoustic ("you don't need to re-invent it, just spray it orange and it'll be all new!"). The angry, vitriolic "Armageddon Blues", the quirky "Julian H Cope" and the touching and tender "I'm Your Daddy" all cascaded out of the magically strung acoustic. "Upwards At 45 Degrees", a stripped back number which built to an emotive crescendo, was an early highlight too, as the banter continued! Then, a totally unexpected treat, as Cope introduced one from, "my ba ba ba days," namely a splendidly rendered "Greatness And Perfection", as wonderfully jolly and sing-along as ever. Cool!
Following a splendid "Sunspots", Donneye rejoined Cope onstage for his usual prowl around the audience; this time however he chose to climb right over the seats and sing to the Rhode Island lady in front of us! Donneye held the beat strong as JC wandered in and out of the hall, kissing and dancing with bewildered fans along the way. Extraordinary stuff - only an amazing showman like Cope could get away with it!
The show rolled to an end and once again the 2 hours seemed like 20 minutes. However, despite not deciding to play any encores but just play through instead, Cope was cheered back onstage to deliver a superb mellotron and synth based version of The Teardrop Explodes classic "The Great Dominions". A brilliant end to a superb show - once again from the fried and utterly mad genius Julian Cope!
Cope, bedecked in grey camo, orange of face and huge of hair - and boots! - joined us at 9, taking the stage with a confident and proprietorial swagger. Immediately into the audience banter - recalling an incident at his last London show, with a fan shouting out, "Julian, you're so local!" in tribute to his ferocious provincial schedule of gigs - Copey was immediately joined by his oppo Donald Ross "Donneye" Skinner, who provided drum parts to Cope's clutch of opening numbers. Cope himself thwacked a double neck guitar/bass and brought the noise, laying down some rocking tracks reminiscent of his "Saint Julian" days. One hopes that some of this stuff will end up on the forthcoming Brain Donor CD!
Donneye soon departed the stage for a time, leaving Cope to espouse his theories on the barbarian art form which is rock'n'roll, and also strum a mean looking resprayed spangly orange acoustic ("you don't need to re-invent it, just spray it orange and it'll be all new!"). The angry, vitriolic "Armageddon Blues", the quirky "Julian H Cope" and the touching and tender "I'm Your Daddy" all cascaded out of the magically strung acoustic. "Upwards At 45 Degrees", a stripped back number which built to an emotive crescendo, was an early highlight too, as the banter continued! Then, a totally unexpected treat, as Cope introduced one from, "my ba ba ba days," namely a splendidly rendered "Greatness And Perfection", as wonderfully jolly and sing-along as ever. Cool!
Following a splendid "Sunspots", Donneye rejoined Cope onstage for his usual prowl around the audience; this time however he chose to climb right over the seats and sing to the Rhode Island lady in front of us! Donneye held the beat strong as JC wandered in and out of the hall, kissing and dancing with bewildered fans along the way. Extraordinary stuff - only an amazing showman like Cope could get away with it!
The show rolled to an end and once again the 2 hours seemed like 20 minutes. However, despite not deciding to play any encores but just play through instead, Cope was cheered back onstage to deliver a superb mellotron and synth based version of The Teardrop Explodes classic "The Great Dominions". A brilliant end to a superb show - once again from the fried and utterly mad genius Julian Cope!
503 ASH, Relish, London WC2 Astoria, Saturday 12 May 2001
Why is it I tend to go see Ash on the hottest day of the year? That furnace of a Bristol Fleece gig the first time, or numerous balmy August Reading Festivals, and now a scorching FA Cup Final day! This one was an early gig so Rachel and I set off just after Liverpool had secured their comeback win (boo!), getting to Shepherd's Bush for 6.30 then street parking and tubing into the Astoria for a ridiculously early 7pm. However, we were right to do so, as we discovered that "early gig" tonight meant curfew at 10 pm! So, a quick drink later, we settled down to watch support Relish. Unfortunately, they were fucking terrible and wholly inappropriate for an Ash support; their first number sounded like all that is bad about early 70's bland prog rock - pompous, twiddly and soulless. The next numbers drifted into awful soul/funk pastiche, like the diluted George Benson-isms of early Jamiroquai, or the BMW-owners wallpaper funk of Seal. By now we'd repaired to the upstairs bar to get away from it all, only to find that the speakers now pipe the bands through to this former sanctuary. D'oh!
Anyway, we knew better things were coming, so we piled into the anticipating throng afterwards, while I noted that their backdrop, advertising new CD "Free All Angels", actually looked like it read "Free All Bagels"! Arf!
Ash joined us at 8.30, but despite the early hour were ready and prepared with some incendiary and powerful poppy punk rock. After a couple of numbers from their new "Bagels" CD (ha!), they hit in with the chiming intro to their tense and taut soaring masterpiece, "A Life Less Ordinary", and I piled into the madding throng to mosh like mad.
Ash now appear to have been around for ages, but thankfully still sound young, fresh and vital. The new material tends more to the naive thrashy optimism of their early stuff than the disappointing rockier dynamics of second CD "Nu Clear Sounds", and their live set benefits from it. "Girl From Mars" sounds as fresh as ever, even with Tim Wheeler stretching out the quiet middle 8, and the dedication to the recently deceased Joey Ramone (RIP) was not only welcome, but demonstrated both an affinity for punk history and the debt that their sound owes to these masters of surf punk. A wonderfully welcome "Jack Names The Planets" and encore "Petrol" capped a splendidly dynamic set from an underrated but important act. Ladeez and Gentlemen, please welcome back Ireland's finest - Ash!
Anyway, we knew better things were coming, so we piled into the anticipating throng afterwards, while I noted that their backdrop, advertising new CD "Free All Angels", actually looked like it read "Free All Bagels"! Arf!
Ash joined us at 8.30, but despite the early hour were ready and prepared with some incendiary and powerful poppy punk rock. After a couple of numbers from their new "Bagels" CD (ha!), they hit in with the chiming intro to their tense and taut soaring masterpiece, "A Life Less Ordinary", and I piled into the madding throng to mosh like mad.
Ash now appear to have been around for ages, but thankfully still sound young, fresh and vital. The new material tends more to the naive thrashy optimism of their early stuff than the disappointing rockier dynamics of second CD "Nu Clear Sounds", and their live set benefits from it. "Girl From Mars" sounds as fresh as ever, even with Tim Wheeler stretching out the quiet middle 8, and the dedication to the recently deceased Joey Ramone (RIP) was not only welcome, but demonstrated both an affinity for punk history and the debt that their sound owes to these masters of surf punk. A wonderfully welcome "Jack Names The Planets" and encore "Petrol" capped a splendidly dynamic set from an underrated but important act. Ladeez and Gentlemen, please welcome back Ireland's finest - Ash!
504 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, Spear Of Destiny, Bristol University Anson Rooms, Wednesday 16 May 2001
And after a bit of thrashy punk rock from a bunch of young Irish bucks (namely Ash, last time out), it's only fitting that the next gig should be a bit of vintage thrashy punk rock from what could be Ash's spiritual ancestors, da Fingers. This one was a second bite at the punk rock cherry, as The Big Man and I had ventured down in March, only to be told when we got here that the gig was off. D'oh! So, we try again, Rich picking me up in his loan car and driving through sweeping rain to The Anson Rooms, hitting the venue for doors and noting how empty the place was early on!
Another surprise was the support act; none other than Spear Of Destiny, Kirk Brandon's epic rock cohorts from the 80's, whom I'd been dragged along to see on a few occasions by a drooling Lynn Mulraney. Kirk hadn't changed a great deal since those days; a little portlier, maybe, and a blond flick where once there was a quiff, but otherwise he'd weathered the years of indifference well. They played a set largely unfamiliar to me, but much in keeping with their usual dour but dramatic rock stylee, with Kirk's strident vocals way to the fore. They then ended with a radically reworked Spear oldie "I Can See", followed by a punky blast through Theatre Of Hate's "Propaganda" and their sleazy, pseudo goth cowboy song "Do You Believe In The Westworld?". Altogether, not too bad at all, Kirk.
Had a brief interlude in the bar with Rich, noting that footballer and old punk rocker Stuart Pearce was in there too, enjoying a quiet drink, before heading back into the by-now full hall for the appearance of the Fingers. On they came to a raucous reception, all sporting matching SLF footy shirts (underlining my theory about goalies and drummers, the SLF drummer had a goalie shirt on - nice touch!), and ripped straight into "Roots Radicals Rockers And Reggae". I dunno, vocalist Jake Burns and his main oppo, former Jam bassist Bruce Foxton, may be in their mid 40's, but they can still kick up some dynamic hard biting punk rock with social comment. "Nobody's Hero", "Fly The Flag" and "Tin Soldiers" got the slamdancing going, and I liked Jake's point about, "5 lads with vests on doing gymnastics and trying to be in a rock'n'roll band" as a put-down to manufactured boy bands before newie "Guitar And Drum". The years of performing in sweaty halls have given Jake a rapport and ease of communication with his moshing punk audience, and each song told a story, or spoke up for an issue or an injustice. Nevertheless, this was too much fun to turn overly preachy, and I joined the mosh for first encore - a cover of the Clash's "White Riot". An incendiary "At The Edge" concluded proceedings on a fine evening. Hopefully, it won't be another 11 years before I catch up with SLF again!
Another surprise was the support act; none other than Spear Of Destiny, Kirk Brandon's epic rock cohorts from the 80's, whom I'd been dragged along to see on a few occasions by a drooling Lynn Mulraney. Kirk hadn't changed a great deal since those days; a little portlier, maybe, and a blond flick where once there was a quiff, but otherwise he'd weathered the years of indifference well. They played a set largely unfamiliar to me, but much in keeping with their usual dour but dramatic rock stylee, with Kirk's strident vocals way to the fore. They then ended with a radically reworked Spear oldie "I Can See", followed by a punky blast through Theatre Of Hate's "Propaganda" and their sleazy, pseudo goth cowboy song "Do You Believe In The Westworld?". Altogether, not too bad at all, Kirk.
Had a brief interlude in the bar with Rich, noting that footballer and old punk rocker Stuart Pearce was in there too, enjoying a quiet drink, before heading back into the by-now full hall for the appearance of the Fingers. On they came to a raucous reception, all sporting matching SLF footy shirts (underlining my theory about goalies and drummers, the SLF drummer had a goalie shirt on - nice touch!), and ripped straight into "Roots Radicals Rockers And Reggae". I dunno, vocalist Jake Burns and his main oppo, former Jam bassist Bruce Foxton, may be in their mid 40's, but they can still kick up some dynamic hard biting punk rock with social comment. "Nobody's Hero", "Fly The Flag" and "Tin Soldiers" got the slamdancing going, and I liked Jake's point about, "5 lads with vests on doing gymnastics and trying to be in a rock'n'roll band" as a put-down to manufactured boy bands before newie "Guitar And Drum". The years of performing in sweaty halls have given Jake a rapport and ease of communication with his moshing punk audience, and each song told a story, or spoke up for an issue or an injustice. Nevertheless, this was too much fun to turn overly preachy, and I joined the mosh for first encore - a cover of the Clash's "White Riot". An incendiary "At The Edge" concluded proceedings on a fine evening. Hopefully, it won't be another 11 years before I catch up with SLF again!
505 YOU ARE HERE, Cold Fusion, Swindon Victoria, Thursday 17 May 2001
You Are Here's triumphant return to gig action in their home town - and I'm late on parade! Domestic issues dispensed with, I hit the venue at 9.45, in time to catch the dying throes of the support band's Bon Jovi-isms. Persuaded the Big Man out of the bar and into the back-room venue by virtue of the DJ playing 3 songs by The Skids in a row over the PA! Cool!
Had more vintage punk over the PA before You Are Here came on at 10.30. They took some time to settle to their task after a surprisingly nervy start and a couple of missed beats from Alan, but worked their way through, and after a shambolic "Summer Song" which saw Alan indulging in completely different drum patterns than usual, much to Tim's surprise, they settled back in and totally nailed next number "Confidence In Me", now sounding the finished article in amphetamine-urgent punky thrashes. "Far Cry" suffered a little from Tim and Alan surprisingly abstaining from backing vocals in the strident chorus, leaving Mark to quickly change octaves and do his own backing vocals! However set closers "Hard To Stop" and the inevitably superb "Trying To Write" were much more like it; melodic, upfront, confident US-alt influenced rock, with Mark on top of his game and untangling himself from the mikestand. Encore "Ordinary Day", despite still being half-formed, was well-constructed and well-delivered, boding well for the future. All in all, not their best, but still an enjoyable and well delivered set which got me up and dancing anyway!
Had more vintage punk over the PA before You Are Here came on at 10.30. They took some time to settle to their task after a surprisingly nervy start and a couple of missed beats from Alan, but worked their way through, and after a shambolic "Summer Song" which saw Alan indulging in completely different drum patterns than usual, much to Tim's surprise, they settled back in and totally nailed next number "Confidence In Me", now sounding the finished article in amphetamine-urgent punky thrashes. "Far Cry" suffered a little from Tim and Alan surprisingly abstaining from backing vocals in the strident chorus, leaving Mark to quickly change octaves and do his own backing vocals! However set closers "Hard To Stop" and the inevitably superb "Trying To Write" were much more like it; melodic, upfront, confident US-alt influenced rock, with Mark on top of his game and untangling himself from the mikestand. Encore "Ordinary Day", despite still being half-formed, was well-constructed and well-delivered, boding well for the future. All in all, not their best, but still an enjoyable and well delivered set which got me up and dancing anyway!
506 CRASHLAND, Saint Rose, The Preservation Society, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Thursday 7 June 2001
Well, the intervening 3 weeks between this and my last gig had been the most hectic and important of my life! I'd left my long-dead marriage, taking Shoemaker's advice that, "it's time to end this six year marriage," and moved in with gig companion and not-so secret lover Rachel. So it was time for a gig to try to return some normalcy to the proceedings! Rach had her parents' car as they were holidaying in Russia (!) so off we did trot, collecting a curious Ady along the way to see fine newcomers Thirteen:13. Or so we thought...
Gaining entrance to the pub attached to the venue, I fumbled with a haphazardly strewn flyer and proclaimed innocently, "hey, Crashland are playing here on 7th June!" I was then reminded that 7th June was in fact tonight, and we subsequently discovered Bristol's finest were late replacements for the otherwise-committed Thirteen:13. D'oh! Nevertheless, after much deliberation, we went in anyway, just as The Preservation Society took the back-room venue stage at 8.45. Jolly good they were too, proving that a band can be mellow without sounding sullen, and melancholy without ripping off Radiohead in the process. Some good, well constructed songs as well, without falling into the clichés of "earnest" songwriters such as, well, you know. With a very late 80's indie feel to their stuff (kind of Trashcan Sinatras), and a couple of surprisingly up-tempo numbers mixed in, they're possibly one to watch...
Saint Rose, next up, were quite the opposite; cliché ridden archetypal Radiohead miserablists, with a vocalist intent on purloining Brett Anderson's vocal quiver. Unfortunately another Sued-io-verve in the offing. Bah!
So, we'd stuck it out till 10.45 to see a band we'd not even turned up to see in the first place, and I for one was getting tired too (poor old get!). This demanded a good show - nay, a performance - and could these 4 Bristolian ruffians deliver? Well, after the first couple of numbers, it was evident the answer was a resounding "yes". Some good honest urgent spiky indie tunes, relatively low-ish on originality but high on energy, enthusiasm and verve (with a small "v"!), delivered with piles of spunk, indicating this lot might be able to fill a few sperm banks if this indie rock lark lucks out. Like an updated Baby Chaos albeit with better songs, Crashland thrashed guitars and warmed the old place up, making me want to hunt down their album and play it a time or two! Good stuff from the late replacements - next time I might show up to see them in their own right!
Gaining entrance to the pub attached to the venue, I fumbled with a haphazardly strewn flyer and proclaimed innocently, "hey, Crashland are playing here on 7th June!" I was then reminded that 7th June was in fact tonight, and we subsequently discovered Bristol's finest were late replacements for the otherwise-committed Thirteen:13. D'oh! Nevertheless, after much deliberation, we went in anyway, just as The Preservation Society took the back-room venue stage at 8.45. Jolly good they were too, proving that a band can be mellow without sounding sullen, and melancholy without ripping off Radiohead in the process. Some good, well constructed songs as well, without falling into the clichés of "earnest" songwriters such as, well, you know. With a very late 80's indie feel to their stuff (kind of Trashcan Sinatras), and a couple of surprisingly up-tempo numbers mixed in, they're possibly one to watch...
Saint Rose, next up, were quite the opposite; cliché ridden archetypal Radiohead miserablists, with a vocalist intent on purloining Brett Anderson's vocal quiver. Unfortunately another Sued-io-verve in the offing. Bah!
So, we'd stuck it out till 10.45 to see a band we'd not even turned up to see in the first place, and I for one was getting tired too (poor old get!). This demanded a good show - nay, a performance - and could these 4 Bristolian ruffians deliver? Well, after the first couple of numbers, it was evident the answer was a resounding "yes". Some good honest urgent spiky indie tunes, relatively low-ish on originality but high on energy, enthusiasm and verve (with a small "v"!), delivered with piles of spunk, indicating this lot might be able to fill a few sperm banks if this indie rock lark lucks out. Like an updated Baby Chaos albeit with better songs, Crashland thrashed guitars and warmed the old place up, making me want to hunt down their album and play it a time or two! Good stuff from the late replacements - next time I might show up to see them in their own right!
507 THE STROKES, Moldy Peaces, Mull Historical Society, Oxford Zodiac, Tuesday 12 June 2001
The Strokes, The Strokes, The flippin' Strokes...you can't pick up a music paper (particularly the NME) without coming across reams and reams of column inches about them. The kids love The Strokes. NME loves The Strokes. They've even left a pretty favourable impression on this cynical old git to date, with an insistent debut single "The Modern Age" currently sitting atop my 2001 singles list so far. But can they cut it "live" when the spotlight is exclusively on them? Let's see...
Our intended number tonight was reduced by one, when Ady got a whack on the head with an iron bar at work, so was told, unsurprisingly, to rest up. Hence we had to call on Rachel's dad's car once again, getting there in good time to park up, have a quick drink in the Bullingdon Arms, sell our spare ticket to an eager punter outside, and still get into this already-heaving venue before first band, on at 8.30! Said band, on this Rough Trade showcase, was newcomers Mull Historical Society. From write-ups I'd read about this lot, I was expecting some kind of quirky, unorthodox bunch of Scottish folky types, like a Scottish Mercury Rev, or even Hobotalk. However, their set was so trad and derivative it was like watching an Oasis tribute band. Rachel even commented that their first number sounded like Robbie Williams - horrible thought! Rach and I headed back to the bar, surprised also by their arrogance - bottom of the bill and they come on to dry ice and backing music!
Ran into former 5.30 frontman Tara Milton at the bar, chatting again about those hectic 5.30 gigs. Indeed, the stars were out tonight; after Rach and I headed out to a vantage point near the gent's loos, we ran in to Kevin from Seafood (always in the loos, eh?), then whilst standing there before Moldy Peaches' set, Rach's foot was trodden on by Radiohead vocalist Thom Yorke! Freaky!
Anyway, back to the music. Or was it? Moldy Peaches, up next, were a very strange duo dressed in Robin Hood and Cat costumes, who strummed some very weird stuff which I can only describe as Jonathan Richman's goofier moments, with added swear words. Sorry, Kimya Cat-woman, I have no desire to lick your puss-yyy, so Moldy Peaches music went straight over my head. But then I guess I was neither drunk or a teen student, so I wasn't their target audience anyway...
So, 2 crap supports over with, it was finally time for The Strokes. They joined the stage, 5 skinny New York punks in ratty t-shirts and scruffy thrift-shop suits, certainly looking the part. And musically, they fitted the bill too, kicking off with the title track "Is This It?" from their forthcoming debut CD, then bursting into the itchy, insistent garage punk of wonderful first single "The Modern Age". Nice touch - get it over with quickly! This really energised the crowd into a frenzied mosh, and The Strokes took that as a cue, delivering a fine, energetic set. They look like they sound; young, brash, angular, punkish, nervous and agitated but confident in their ability and potential. "Barely Legal", with its' evident nod to Boston rock (the verse sounds like Big Dipper's "Wrong In The Charts", and the chorus is a dead ringer for The Sheila Divine's "Automatic Buffalo") was an early highlight, but also spot-on was forthcoming single "New York City Cops", with a big savage riff-led chorus. That said, the set retained the insistent tinniness and scratchiness of the best New Wave bands from the 70's. Fitting that, in a year that we lost Joey Ramone, that New York spits out a young band with the potential to take over The Ramones' mantle. Excellent stuff from a band not yet worth all the hype, but with oodles of potential.
Nice blokes as well! Pretty much as soon as the lights were up after the show, they were out chatting to fans and signing stuff (including my set-list!). All were very humble and seemingly amazed by their current success. So far, they're making the right moves and doing the right things to ensure they deserve it!
Our intended number tonight was reduced by one, when Ady got a whack on the head with an iron bar at work, so was told, unsurprisingly, to rest up. Hence we had to call on Rachel's dad's car once again, getting there in good time to park up, have a quick drink in the Bullingdon Arms, sell our spare ticket to an eager punter outside, and still get into this already-heaving venue before first band, on at 8.30! Said band, on this Rough Trade showcase, was newcomers Mull Historical Society. From write-ups I'd read about this lot, I was expecting some kind of quirky, unorthodox bunch of Scottish folky types, like a Scottish Mercury Rev, or even Hobotalk. However, their set was so trad and derivative it was like watching an Oasis tribute band. Rachel even commented that their first number sounded like Robbie Williams - horrible thought! Rach and I headed back to the bar, surprised also by their arrogance - bottom of the bill and they come on to dry ice and backing music!
Ran into former 5.30 frontman Tara Milton at the bar, chatting again about those hectic 5.30 gigs. Indeed, the stars were out tonight; after Rach and I headed out to a vantage point near the gent's loos, we ran in to Kevin from Seafood (always in the loos, eh?), then whilst standing there before Moldy Peaches' set, Rach's foot was trodden on by Radiohead vocalist Thom Yorke! Freaky!
Anyway, back to the music. Or was it? Moldy Peaches, up next, were a very strange duo dressed in Robin Hood and Cat costumes, who strummed some very weird stuff which I can only describe as Jonathan Richman's goofier moments, with added swear words. Sorry, Kimya Cat-woman, I have no desire to lick your puss-yyy, so Moldy Peaches music went straight over my head. But then I guess I was neither drunk or a teen student, so I wasn't their target audience anyway...
So, 2 crap supports over with, it was finally time for The Strokes. They joined the stage, 5 skinny New York punks in ratty t-shirts and scruffy thrift-shop suits, certainly looking the part. And musically, they fitted the bill too, kicking off with the title track "Is This It?" from their forthcoming debut CD, then bursting into the itchy, insistent garage punk of wonderful first single "The Modern Age". Nice touch - get it over with quickly! This really energised the crowd into a frenzied mosh, and The Strokes took that as a cue, delivering a fine, energetic set. They look like they sound; young, brash, angular, punkish, nervous and agitated but confident in their ability and potential. "Barely Legal", with its' evident nod to Boston rock (the verse sounds like Big Dipper's "Wrong In The Charts", and the chorus is a dead ringer for The Sheila Divine's "Automatic Buffalo") was an early highlight, but also spot-on was forthcoming single "New York City Cops", with a big savage riff-led chorus. That said, the set retained the insistent tinniness and scratchiness of the best New Wave bands from the 70's. Fitting that, in a year that we lost Joey Ramone, that New York spits out a young band with the potential to take over The Ramones' mantle. Excellent stuff from a band not yet worth all the hype, but with oodles of potential.
Nice blokes as well! Pretty much as soon as the lights were up after the show, they were out chatting to fans and signing stuff (including my set-list!). All were very humble and seemingly amazed by their current success. So far, they're making the right moves and doing the right things to ensure they deserve it!
508 CHEAP TRICK, The Quireboys, London The Garage, Wednesday 13 June 2001
We should borrow Rachel's dad's car more often! This, the third gig in a row we've hopped into the big Rover, followed some heroic mileage from Rach, scooting back from a work meeting in London, picking up said motor, picking me up, then driving us back oop the Smoke! The very recent easing of the current traffic chaos was back off the agenda again, though (damn!), as it took 2 3/4 hours to get to our usual parking slot just before Highbury Corner. Had a swift drink in the Old Cock Tavern before heading in, noting the numbers of old rockers out for tonight's show. There's going to be a lot of hair around tonight, and no mistake...!
Took an early wander in to our second sold-out gig in consecutive nights, and sure enough, it was heaving early doors. I dunno, give me Seafood in a half-empty Oxford Point anytime...! I was also right about the clientele. This was the third of a 3 night residency by Da Trick, each night concentrating on one of their first 3 albums, and by the looks of it Rach and myself were the only people who hadn't been to all 3 nights! There was also lots of first time round Trick fans, putting me into the unique position of feeling very very young at a rock show. Plus hair. Hair everywhere. The only excuse for not having long hair seemed to be the vagaries of nature!
So, long hair it was. And as such, we had to put up with a couple of members of recently reformed 80's hair glam metallers The Quireboys, who'd allegedly been "especially invited" by Da Trick to open tonight. A good tactic to make them seem even better, methinks! Sure enough, the acoustic Quireboys were as obnoxious and cliché ridden as they were first time around; husky, pseudo sexy vocals, big empty power riffs and lighters-aloft bollocks. Rach and I headed to the bar and did our level best not to fall asleep to them!
Wandered to a vantage point stage right, by some rather annoying old people standing on the benches down the side of the venue, and not being too welcoming to a bit of jostling. Sorry, but it's a rock gig, not an executive box at the opera...
And rock gig it was, as we got very startlingly reminded, by the entrance of Da Trick. Zander, all suited up and looking like the rock star from central casting, with tan and blond locks; Bun E Carlos, hefty and workmanlike, like Tom Polce's dad (!); Petersson, suited but unkempt, wearing his rock credentials in the lines on his face; and then band leader Rick Nielsen - first a hand, then an energetic entrance from the wild-eyed, becapped but now beardless showman. As this was "Heaven Tonight" night, we knew what was coming, but the Trick built the anticipation, until... the bright lights and thundering riff heralded the start of "Surrender", and the crowd, old boys, hairy boys, everyone, went bat-shit mental. "Surrender", powerful, awesome and with that breathtaking sing-along chorus, was the perfect opener, and the best thing the Trick delivered tonight, by miles.
"Heaven Tonight" was then dutifully played start to finish, although not without incident; Roy Wood being dragged onstage to an ovation, to sing his composition, the strident blues number "California Man"; Zander strapping on a guitar and joining in the mad riffery for "Takin' Me Back"; Tommy Vance (even he!) reading the "On The Radio" middle 8 broadcast, and Chrissie Hynde (even she!) duetting with Zander on one number.
But this was mainly about the Trick. I'd taken some time to warm to them, and for me they still veer too close to plodding rock riffery at times (viz encore "Gonna Raise Hell"), but how can you resist a band who can produce such perfect soaring pop as "Dream Police" or touching balladry like "Voices" (both splendid encores tonight)? But let's face it, I can forgive everything of a band who can produce such a heart-stoppingly classic rock moment as "Surrender". Tonight, it was Heaven Tonight!
Took an early wander in to our second sold-out gig in consecutive nights, and sure enough, it was heaving early doors. I dunno, give me Seafood in a half-empty Oxford Point anytime...! I was also right about the clientele. This was the third of a 3 night residency by Da Trick, each night concentrating on one of their first 3 albums, and by the looks of it Rach and myself were the only people who hadn't been to all 3 nights! There was also lots of first time round Trick fans, putting me into the unique position of feeling very very young at a rock show. Plus hair. Hair everywhere. The only excuse for not having long hair seemed to be the vagaries of nature!
So, long hair it was. And as such, we had to put up with a couple of members of recently reformed 80's hair glam metallers The Quireboys, who'd allegedly been "especially invited" by Da Trick to open tonight. A good tactic to make them seem even better, methinks! Sure enough, the acoustic Quireboys were as obnoxious and cliché ridden as they were first time around; husky, pseudo sexy vocals, big empty power riffs and lighters-aloft bollocks. Rach and I headed to the bar and did our level best not to fall asleep to them!
Wandered to a vantage point stage right, by some rather annoying old people standing on the benches down the side of the venue, and not being too welcoming to a bit of jostling. Sorry, but it's a rock gig, not an executive box at the opera...
And rock gig it was, as we got very startlingly reminded, by the entrance of Da Trick. Zander, all suited up and looking like the rock star from central casting, with tan and blond locks; Bun E Carlos, hefty and workmanlike, like Tom Polce's dad (!); Petersson, suited but unkempt, wearing his rock credentials in the lines on his face; and then band leader Rick Nielsen - first a hand, then an energetic entrance from the wild-eyed, becapped but now beardless showman. As this was "Heaven Tonight" night, we knew what was coming, but the Trick built the anticipation, until... the bright lights and thundering riff heralded the start of "Surrender", and the crowd, old boys, hairy boys, everyone, went bat-shit mental. "Surrender", powerful, awesome and with that breathtaking sing-along chorus, was the perfect opener, and the best thing the Trick delivered tonight, by miles.
"Heaven Tonight" was then dutifully played start to finish, although not without incident; Roy Wood being dragged onstage to an ovation, to sing his composition, the strident blues number "California Man"; Zander strapping on a guitar and joining in the mad riffery for "Takin' Me Back"; Tommy Vance (even he!) reading the "On The Radio" middle 8 broadcast, and Chrissie Hynde (even she!) duetting with Zander on one number.
But this was mainly about the Trick. I'd taken some time to warm to them, and for me they still veer too close to plodding rock riffery at times (viz encore "Gonna Raise Hell"), but how can you resist a band who can produce such perfect soaring pop as "Dream Police" or touching balladry like "Voices" (both splendid encores tonight)? But let's face it, I can forgive everything of a band who can produce such a heart-stoppingly classic rock moment as "Surrender". Tonight, it was Heaven Tonight!
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