The
Rose Boys’ Big Day Out in Ye Olde London Town! Punk rock icon Adam Ant,
surely the comeback king of this decade and one of the finest, most
flamboyant, most iconic rock stars we’ve ever produced
in this island nation, announced a special one-off performance of his
art school punk classic debut album “Dirk Wears White Sox”, so the
Budlet and I were all over that. The fact that it fell on Record Store
Day opened up all sorts of possibilities for in-store
appearance fun and frolics, so I kept my ear to the ground, and when
Adam announced a couple of in-stores to promote the RSD special
re-release of the very album he’d be playing in its’ entirety that very
evening, that pretty much nailed down our plans for
the day!
My
dear lady wife was happy with said plans, so Budlet picked me up just
after 10 for a swift drive up to the Smoke, parking up in a sunny
Hammersmith and taking an easy tube over to the busy and
very pungent – from the various street food vendors – Portobello
Market. We arrived midday at Rough Trade’s tiny West store, noting with
dismay the huge queue to get in, also noting a couple of speakers set up
on the pavement outside. We’d surmised it was
to play the in-store performance to the outside crowd, but no – a chat
with the store techie confirmed the acts would be playing on the
pavement! So there we were and there we stayed!
So,
we stood behind an Ant fan extended family, including a young girl sat
on the pavement in front of us, and 12.30 saw the first act in SLOW
CLUB. A two-piece featuring bearded guitarist and blonde
vocalist, they played some wispy and pleasant alt-country, recalling
Cowboy Junkies. Their best number, “Tears Of Joy” was a bluesy chugalong
with nice choral harmonies: the girl can sing, no doubt. She introduced
the climax of their short set with, “We’ve
got 2 numbers left, then Adam Ant will be here. I never thought I’d say
that!”
Sure
enough, about 1 pm, ADAM ANT arrived, disappearing into the bowels of
the shop (“I’ll just have a coffee then I’ll be up!”), then emerging,
resplendent in black leather and flat cap, along with
a similarly attired cohort. He opened his set with “Cartrouble”, the by
now large crowd blocking the road and singing along to this original
Ants classic, then into a sleazy acoustic blues run-though of “No Fun”,
announcing it with, “without Iggy there’d be
no Ants, without Jonathan Richman there’d be no Ants…”. Fulsome and
chatty throughout, bantering with the crowd with easy confidence, this
was nevertheless a restrained performance, the voice understated, saving
some in the tank for tonight. As befitted the
subject of the day, “Dirk” songs dominated this set; a cheeky
“Cleopatra” (introduced with, “I got into trouble for this one!” and
suffixed with a comment to the family in front of us, “I hope you
covered [the young girl’s] ears!”), a haunting “Never Trust
A Man (With Egg On His Face)”, which benefitted most from the stripped
back rendition, then after a rockabilly and T Rex cover interlude, a
singalong “Physical”, to round off an exemplary if understated
performance, the magic of it simply being that here was
Adam Ant, playing guitar on a pavement, barely six feet in front of us!
Then
he was gone – ushered away by a beefy security man who’d eyed the crowd
up throughout, into a waiting black van and off. Fair enough really. We
grabbed some lunch in a nearby public garden,
then took a walk around the overpriced trinket-fest that is Portobello
Market, returning in time for EDWYN COLLINS. Before his arrival,
however, I had the pleasure of a quick and entertaining chat with 70’s
London punk rock legend Don Letts! A lovely bloke;
having noticed him shopping and approached him for a photo, his reply
was, “of course mate, I’m surprised anyone still gives a shit!”
We then
took a spot on the less crowded pavement for Edwyn, who, aided by a
stick, walked slowly out of the shop and took
a seat between 2 young guitarists to perform. Victim of a horrendous
series of critical illnesses; a couple of brain haemorrhages, bouts of
aphasia and MRSA, it’s remarkable the man is still here, let alone
feeling the urge to perform. Still bearing the ravages
of his illnesses, his speech was slow, halting and deliberate, but
amazingly his singing voice was as deep, rich and resonant as ever, with
astonishingly precise enunciation. “Falling And Laughing” was a
beautiful joy, a playful “Rip it Up” was introduced
with, “it’s a single! Back in the day…”, but the newer “Forsooth” (“a
new song – like the Velvet Underground… so sorry about Lou Reed…”) was
the highlight, a lush “Sunday Morning” lazy wake-up vibe, with the
simple but affecting chorus of, “I’m so happy to
be alive…”
A
similarly affecting “Low Expectations” brought another lump to the old
throatie, then “Bridge”, the inevitable “A Girl Like You” and an
unplanned, bright “Don’t Shilly Shally” rounded off another
understated yet amazing performance from a veteran rock icon. This time
I managed to sneak a few words with the great man, briefly comparing
survivor stories and being simply thrilled, honey, that he’s still here.
This
took us to 4 pm, so we took a wander to the tube, bumping past Paloma
Faith on the crowded thoroughfare, then tubed it over to Tottenham Court
Road so Paul could nose around Tin Pan Alley and
I could hit Forbidden Planet. We’d talked about captivating performers
on the way, and I’d mentioned the riveting performance I’d witnessed
from Savages’ Jehnny Beth recently, so imagine my surprise when I ran
into the lovely Ms. Beth in the Planet! Another
pic and chat, another highlight of the day.
Grabbed
a tube back over to Hammersmith for samosa tea, then joined the queue
at the Odeon, getting into the large, sloping floored, standing hall
early doors. Amazing that this was my first time
at the Odeon since the 80’s and my first time downstairs at all! We
took a spot on the barriers, extreme stage right, for the supports.
Openers Vuvuvultures featured a crop-haired, kinetic and angular female
vocalist in suit and red tie, and a nice line in
angst-ridden 80’s gloomy post-punk rock which wouldn’t have been out of
place on an Editors or White Lies support. Shades also of Flesh For
Lulu in some stomping gothy rock moments, and with some nice hooky
choral droning, I liked them and I’d check them out
again. Definitely a better proposition than main support New Killer
Shoes; they showed signs of dirty rock’n’roll promise, but were all too
often spoiled by unnecessary rawk posturing, unfounded arrogance and an
unwelcome tendency to lapse into ska. After
a clumsy cover of The Police’s “So Lonely” which showed their own
material into sharp relief, their revealed their best number, a less
overt and more considered song which blew the rest of their stuff away. A
message to the boys and their cap throwing, hat
hair, Robert Carlysle in “Trainspotting” lookalike vocalist; don’t try
so hard!
By
this time the place was heaving (surely a sell-out on the night!) and
anticipatory; a false “lights out” start 10 minutes before stage-time
simply adding to the anticipation. Sure enough, the
place plunged into darkness at 9, and the band took the stage to no
fanfare, with Adam still in his Dirk-era leathers, a quickly discarded
tricorne hat the only concession at this point to his later “pop” image.
Straight into the stripped staccato art school
rhythm of “Cartrouble Part 1”, Adam’s yelping vocal style driving this
along. As it segued effortlessly into “Cartrouble Part 2”, the place
ignited, the band totally nailing it, Adam already the focal point,
energetic beyond his years, a real performer at
work.
The
embryonic, confrontational Antmusic of “Dirk” was largely superbly
rendered; Adam transposed verses in some of the lesser played numbers,
but no biggie. Adam was again fulsome and very chatty
advising how the excellent “Day I Met God”, with its’ heady rush
towards a soaring, terrace chant chorus, got him, “banned from WH
Smiths,” and the giggly smut of “Cleopatra” got him banned from
everywhere else! Not that he cared of course; “if you find [“Cleopatra”]
prurient or sexist… I don’t care!”
“I
don’t care” seemed a spoken and unspoken mantra for Adam tonight, he
was doing what he liked and damn anyone who doesn’t like it. A
rambunctious “Catholic Day” saw him acting out the assassination,
with a subsequent comment of, “some people thought that was a sick
song, personally I thought the assassination was sick!” The backwards
tape loop rhythm of “Animals And Men” was a challenge (“I’m acting cool
but I’m thinking – do I have to play this again?”)
met with gusto, and a final ”The Idea” was messy but totally potty, the
sniggering fun element of the song propelling it above any missed
chords.
“Dirk”
over, Adam bizarrely brought a modesty screen onstage, and changed into
his dandy highwayman garb behind it whilst singing “Whip In My Valise”.
The second part of the set was subsequently
variable for me, a tremendous “Antmusic”, prefixed by another rant in,
“I’d rather make the news than take the news!”, and a wonderfully savage
“Beat My Guest” contrasted with throwaway versions of “Wonderful” and a
frankly banal “Strip”. However a cacophonous
“Kings Of The Wild Frontier” (“every time I sing this, it’s like the
first time”), the Burundi drumbeats propelling the song along, was
amazing, possibly the best single number tonight, and I piled into the
mosh for the subsequent “Zerox”, always my favourite
Ants number.
Running
late, Adam and the band – featuring sterling turns from the
first-incarnation Ants rhythm section Leigh Gorman and Dave Barbarossa –
ploughed on through the planned encore, finishing a perverse
yet overall thrilling and stunning 2+ hour set with “Physical”, then
returning simply to take a well-deserved bow. I limped out of the mosh
(I paid for that later!) as my brother got me a set-list from the
lighting rig and we drove home after a great Rose
Boy’s Day Out. Today we’d witnessed excellent performances from a
couple of icons again proving age – and illness, in Edwyn Collins’ case –
is no barrier to class. Just a perfect day!
