1082 NADA SURF, Bristol Fleece, Friday 20th April 2018

Having seen “live” favourites, New York’s Nada Surf, a couple of times in the last 2 years (a superlative Electric Ballroom show in support of most recent album “You Know Who You Are” in 2016, followed by their headline slot on the ACLU Benefit show in a chilly Boston last March) I knew that they were in rare form, even by their own stratospherically high standards. So when I heard they were touring the 15th Anniversary of their “breakthrough” 2002 album “Let Go”, I could but hope there would be at least one such show this side of the pond, even if it were London again (where Nada Surf UK shows had been pretty much confined to, over the last 3 or 4 album tour cycles). So a Friday night gig at the eminently accessible (even with the wanky new Bristol City Centre road layout…!) Bristol Fleece? Hell yeah!

Pounced on tix immediately when they went on sale, and, having researched the format of these shows (2 sets, no support; “Let Go” in its entirety for set 1 and a second, hour-long set of other stuff to follow) Rach and I headed off early, taking the now-customary and thankfully very quiet back route to the Fleece and nearly taking out Nada Surf frontman Matthew Caws as he crossed the road in front of us! Luckily, he seemed not to notice... that would’ve been a gig fail of epic proportions! Parked up, grabbed a spot down the front and chatted away the time to ‘da Surf's prompt arrival at 7.45, Matthew immediately strumming the acoustic opener “Blizzard Of 77” for the hushed crowd to communally sing along.

Whilst “Let Go” might not be my favourite Nada Surf album (still a big fan of their sophomore effort “The Proximity Effect”, and actually, aren’t their last 2 utter corkers as well!?), I confess it marked a sea change in their output, the moment when their initially overtly tortured and angry strumalong US college-pop influenced oeuvre became less frantic, fractured and angsty, developing into a more varied, irresistibly melodic and harmonic and (dare I say) “mature” sound. So whilst rockers like the Cheap Trick-referencing “Way You Wear Your Head”, the breathless and tumbling “Happy Kid” and gloriously soaring and hooky “No Quick Fix” still sparkled with youthful amphetamine pace and vim, the likes of the austere and frankly lovely “Blonde On Blonde”, the eerie, hypnotic circular riff of the red spotlight back-lit “Killian's Red” and melancholic wallow of “Paper Boats” (featuring a lyrical snippet of The Bunnymen's “Ocean Rain” from Matthew in its’ building denouement) demonstrated that greater depth, providing light and shade to the set. Also, quite apart from their almost telepathic musical understanding, all 3 Surf dudes were good form too, Matt recounting, “we were here [at The Fleece] once before and then we opened for The Vines [in Bristol]... Academy, that's right...!”, dreadlocked monolith bassist Daniel suggesting it felt a bit weird to celebrate the 15th Anniversary of their 3rd album (“maybe we’ll play the 3rd Anniversary of our 15th!”), and elastic-limbed drummer Ira, on hearing a “good work!” shout from some wag down the front (OK, it was me...!) following his energetic, propulsive breaks during “Happy Kid”, replied dryly, “thanks Mum!”

The first set flew by, an object lesson in precision and musicianship. The boys then took a bow and a brief recess, and Rach and I chatted with Julian, a fellow Surf devotee with whom I’d rubbed shoulders on the barriers at that Electric Ballroom show. Quickly the band took the stage again, the second set proving to be a run-through of old favourites and some lesser-played curveballs for good measure. Kicking off with the rousing clarion call of “Imaginary Friends”, through the terrific, off- kilter stomp of “Teenage Dreams” and the squalling drama of oldie “Firecracker”, this was a set for the connoisseur, brilliantly delivered, with Matthew keeping lengthy eye contact with the front rows throughout, again making us all feel each song was a personal gift. Some more so than others, indeed; one enthusiastic fellow punter interrupted one of Matthew’s intros, and was immediately rewarded with an impromptu (and almost slightly embarrassed!) rendition of the throwaway but funny “Meow Meow Lullaby”!

Oldie “Stalemate” featured a couple of reverential verses of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” and an unexpected “Amateur” was an introspective yet strident highlight; however set closer “See These Bones” even topped that, the hushed opening building to a circular and absorbing climax hook, building like steam to its conclusion. A pretty damn near perfect end to the set, although final encore “Blankest Year” with its flippant “fuck it” party hook and 2 false finishes sent us home in an upbeat party mood.

Well, I say “home”, but not before a signed set-list and quick chat with the predictably besieged Matthew at the merch stand (who, laudably, announced at the end that he’d be there afterward to sign stuff, and went straight there from the stage). Offered congrats to this most affable of men on his recent new arrival, before achily heading off for a nonetheless early 11 pm return home, reflecting on the night’s events. This was a stellar performance by a band who, for me, currently have very few peers both “live” and on record (indeed, across the aggregate, perhaps only The Hold Steady, who of course are a far more raw and visceral proposition, the ragged flipside to Nada Surf’s melodic precision). Simply tremendous stuff from a very special band, and a real celebration of “Let Go”. Even my high expectations were exceeded!

1,081 THE VACCINES, Dream Wife, Whenyoung, London Alexandra Palace, Saturday 14th April 2018

The Vaccines again, barely a month after the last showing! However, quite the contrast between tonight and the last time out for this band of rogueish indie rock pilferers; this one is the big showpiece of their current “Combat Sports” album tour cycle, a homecoming gig at the prestigious Alexandra Palace, a palatial (no shit, Sherlock!) hilltop arena-sized venue in North London. Uber-fan Rach had booked this months in advance, the date not only happily falling on a weekend (believe me, getting here on weekdays is North Circular purgatory!), but on her birthday weekend, no less. Happy birthday Rachel!

Worryingly, Spurs had an early evening game at Wembley which threatened to delay our arrival; however, after dropping the kids off at Grandma’s for a sleepover, the birthday girl and I set off assisted by her handy phone map app. This picked us out a route which took us along the M25, M1 then through some posh residential areas, avoiding getting sideswiped by a lorry but pitching us up in the leafy car park at the bottom of the hill after a 2 hour run. Parking free - yay! Steep walk up to the venue - boo! Into this ornate glass-roofed (and unforgivingly concrete-floored – glad I brought my kneestraps!) auditorium to get our bearings, before an unexpected opening act, primary colour-suited Irish trio Whenyoung, on at an early 7.15. They impressed me at least with some spritely girly indiepop; opener “Blank Walls” appropriated the ascending riff from The Julie Dolphin’s “Birthday”, and follow-up “Heaven On Earth”’s sugary pop recalled Altered Images, particularly in the vocalist’s yelping yodelly intonations. We agreed that the cover of The Cranberries’ finest moment “Dreams” was a little too much on the nose, but I could forgive them that, as a subsequent “Pretty Pure” (introduced by the gabbling vocalist as their new single, probably the only thing she said for their entire set that I understood!) was a toughened-up Alvvays-like C86 strumalong. All in all, a very decent start.

Much was expected of main support Dream Wife, having come recommended by 3 gents whose musical opinions I respect highly. Well sorry, Messrs. Gurney, Fenton and Langsbury, but they were terrible; all misplaced swagger and attitude, with not a hint of a tune within miles of their amateurish, garage sleazoid set. An odd looking bunch too, with one guitarist copying Grayson Perry’s hairdo, and the cheerleader singer very clearly was her own biggest fan. Sorry girls (and token bloke drummer) but you’re all image over substance, and currently you make Elastica look professional; stop rummaging through Ex Hex’s dustbin and write some songs with tunes in!

We’d given Dream Wife up as a bad job after a couple of numbers and were gratified to discover that what they lacked in tunes, they made up for in brevity, their set clocking in at barely 20 minutes! So we were able to re-enter the by-now packed and seethingly excited auditorium, getting a spot level with the mixing desk, with a pocket of air and a good view. An impatient wait was rewarded at 9.20 with the lights smashing to black, then illuminating the iridescent curtain backdrop as The Vaccines bounded on to the strains of Abba’s “Waterloo”, lustily sung back by this young crowd. The side screens kicked into life as Justin Young led his rabble into the sneering upbeat riffery of opener “Nightclub”, then the dig dumb Ramones-like “Wrecking Bar” and a strutting, pucky and rather splendid actually “Teenage Icon” really got the crowd going.

For all their flaws and still-obvious antecedents, The Vaccines are nonetheless a very fine “live” band indeed, their strength lying in channelling and amplifying the enthusiasm of their audience into one communal mass, their simple, knockabout upbeat songs becoming hooky anthems, resonating around this huge hall as the frenzied crowd devotedly echoed them back. “You know what's coming,” Justin teased as the single note opening to the 50’s soda bar doo-wop of “Wetsuit” turned into a communal chant, then newie “Out On The Street” impressed with a bouncy beat and a helium hook, challenging Justin’s vocals, and “Melody Calling” recalled The Smiths with a melancholy and undulating guitar hook.

“Did you miss us? 6 years is a long time in rock’n’roll!” enquired Justin before the chunky 80’s radio rock of newie “Your Love Is My Favourite Band”, then, “Post Break Up Sex” was introduced with, “[this is] one from the vaults – if you don’t know the words you’re in the wrong room!” “Norgaard” and “Surfing In The Sky” made for a galloping mid-set double as the band hurtled through proceedings with some pace, and the very Buddy Holly rockabilly drumbeat of “I Always Knew” finally led into their finest moment, the hurtling intro and feelgood hook of “If You Wanna”. Glitter confetti appropriately fired off as the glitter stomp of set closer “I Can’t Quit” rounded off a whip-crack hour set, which seemed to me a little short for an arena-level headlining set, but I couldn’t deny the boys had packed it full or energy, hooks and effort.

We were looking for a flyer so Rach was happy to head off midway through final encore number “All In White” at half ten, before a fairly easy egress and inky M4 hurtle saw us home for 12.30. A thoroughly fun evening out with The Vaccines, still hardly the world’s most original band for me, but increasingly good value “live” and, most importantly, the birthday girl had a ball!

1,080 THE WONDER STUFF, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 12th April 2018

The Wonder Stuff have, of late, been surreptitiously sneaking up my list of “must see whenever nearby” bands, thanks to a celebratory 30^th Anniversary showing a couple of years back at this very venue (gig 981) and a couple of perfectly judged and utterly storming performances at November’s “Shiiine On” festivals the last couple of years (indeed, snatching “Band Of The Weekend” honours for me in 2016, from under the noses of a resurgent Shed Seven). This, then, was a no-brainer, to catch them on their “With Love From Stourbridge” tour, co-headlining with contemporaries and former supports Neds Atomic Dustbin. I wasn’t fussed about The Neds, but this “Ned’s Wonder” double-header was sufficient to tempt both The Big Man and Matt C along, so, with the notable exception of my lady wife (baking her babysitting tokens for a couple of things on the immediate horizon), our “Shiiine On” crew was reunited for this one too!

Pre-gig communications with the splendid Mr. Russ Hunt, facebook friend and Stuffies guitar tech extraordinaire, provided a heads-up that Bristol was The Stuffies’ turn to open, so, forewarned, Rich picked me up a little earlier and we hurtled down the M4, hitting Cabot Circus traffic but parking on Trenchard Level 10 and hitting the venue just after half seven. Got our usual stage left spot, a little closer to the stage than usual, the dancefloor being surprisingly sparse this close to showtime. This early start’s going to catch some folk out… Matt joined us and time ticked past the Stuffies’ planned 8 pm start, the lights finally crashing to black after the onstage Russ gave the ubiquitous torch flash signal about 10 past. A grinning Miles led the troops onstage to a cartoon backing track, blood red light eerily yet appropriately bathing the stage for groovy yet moody opener “Red Berry Joy Town”. The slashing verse riffery of my favourite Stuffies number, On The Ropes”, was next up, at which point I jumped into an eager yet well-natured moshpit – mainly older blokes like me!

The sound was brilliantly balanced and pindrop perfect tonight, and as per recent form, the Stuffies nailed it tonight, doing it complete justice. The boys (and girl) were again on fire, this line-up continuing to confirm my belief that they’re the best “live” iteration of this venerable yet increasingly beloved band. Newie “Don’t You Ever”, next up, underlined this, The Stuffies’ usual catchy, flippant and fiddle-augmented (again by the striking virtuoso Erica Nockalls) insistent guitar pop being underpinned with a darkly dramatic opening and verse, and backbeat hook, before an ebullient Miles greeted the folks on the balcony, remarking, “I used to have some witty lines for people on balconies – most likely nicked off John Lennon!” Perhaps due to their late start, The Stuffies were also in no mood to hang around, pelting through their set with impressive pace, firing off earworm hook after earworm hook into this knowledgeable and enthusiastic crowd, to sing back with equal gusto. “I fucking love that song!” announced Miles after the tumbling drumbeat-led “Can’t Shape Up”; a plug for the “Neds Wonder” commemorative beer (brewed especially for the tour) preceded the fiddle-dominated interlude of “Mission Drive” and “Circlesquare”; and there was a nice touch before the ubiquitous yet warmly received and infectiously jolly “Size Of A Cow” with Miles commenting that his Uncle Bill (a former member of 70’s rock legends Wizzard and The Move) was to accompany the band on keyboards during said number – from behind the curtain (“in true Wizard Of Oz style…!”).

An acoustic duet of “Room 512” was touchingly delivered and provided some respite from the increasing crush in my front-centre spot (“there aren’t enough defibrillators to go around if we keep this pace up,” quipped Miles), before they were back on it with a brilliantly building “Here Comes Everyone”. “Radio Ass Kiss” and “Disco King” was a brilliant late-set double, at which point the big bloke next to me inadvertently knocked my glasses off, prompting me to call on my goalie reflexes to catch them on my chest (!) before extricating a hand to grab them. One surge later, and I was on the barriers for set closer “Give Give Give Me More More More”, staying there throughout a thrillingly ragged and discordant encore “Ten Trenches Deep” (tonight’s exception, sounding all over the place, yet rock’n’roll as all get out – a great way to finish!). I had cause again to thank my goalie reflexes as Miles scrunched his list up and hurled it in my general direction, and I managed a swift left hand grab as the band left the stage to a deserved ovation.

Follow that, Neds! Well, for me, they had no chance, so after catching my breath and chatting with Rich and Matt during a frantic changeover, I left the venue at 10 as the Neds’ entrance music started up. Off on a Russ hunt, as it were…! I ran into him in the staging area to the left of the venue, promising to meet up shortly in The Hatchet pub opposite once he’d finished packing up. However, for some inexplicable reason, said pub finished serving stupidly early, so after waiting there awhile, I returned to the staging area where Russ had returned to after being denied admission to The Hatchet (!), for a quick chat with the man and his lovely wife Deb. Nice to see him again!

Bade farewell at the end of the distant rumble that was all I heard (or wanted to hear, really!) of The Neds’ set, to meet up with the boys outside. Matt hit the road, but Rich wanted to try for a few words with Graham Crabb of Pop Will Eat Itself, tonight’s between-band DJ. Deb was still outside and arranged that for us, so Rich enjoyed a chat with one of his musical heroes, who, despite my not liking his band much either, I found to be an open, gregarious and thoroughly nice bloke. An equally swift hurtle home still saw us back at a late 12.30 after a thoroughly splendid evening. Excellent stuff from The Wonder Stuff – once again!

1,079 MARTYRIALS, Kid Calico and the Astral Ponies, Swindon The Victoria, Friday 6th April 2018

As if I hadn’t already felt suitably gutted for missing Swindon’s finest, Raze*Rebuild’s gig at The Castle last week due to a family weekend in Butlins, further salt was rubbed into that wound by the late addition of Bristol’s Martyrials to that bill. I’d been looking out for local Martyrials gigs, since they swept all before them at the “12 Bands Of Christmas” event last December (gig 1,066) with an utterly batshit mental swirling maelstrom of crazy, reinventing “Walk Like An Egyptian” and “Take On Me” with their own bubbling cauldron recipe of madness. So, when I noticed they were also on the undercard of a local gig the following weekend, I headed up the hill on a chilly Friday evening, with plans to hopefully catch their set then pop round to see the headlining Shudders at the Castle. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men…

Hit the venue at 8.45 fully expecting to see the openers in full swing, only to find a deserted back room venue and news that the openers were due on after 9. Bah! Got a drink and took a spot down the front, being joined by Andy Fenton and his mates, before Kid Calico And The Astral Ponies (for, t’was they) kicked off tonight’s proceedings just after 9. A grouping of local scene veterans, they eased in with some laid-back 60’s harmonic Byrdsian pop with late period Teenage Fanclub inflections, second number “Death Of A Salesman” proving a little more upbeat and featuring some Ray Manzarek-like frantic and fractured organ licks from the excellent Jon Buckett, also of Gaz Brookfield’s band The Company Of Thieves. Unfortunately, they lost me thereafter, the set drifting into a more music-hall and trad country vibe, with occasional early 70’s soft rock thrown in (I’d probably say Steely Dan if I knew more of their stuff), all very accomplished and melodic, but bland and anodyne to my ears. Their closer resembled Procol Harem doing “Norwegian Wood”, and I left honestly most impressed by the vocalist’s splendidly lurid retro tank top!

Martyrials vocalist Sammy, black-clad with a wizard’s long black psychedelic-patterned cloak and sporting the type of lionesque mane Ben Bentley of Sweet Jesus (remember them?) would have been proud of, had been prowling the venue looking every inch the maverick rock superstar in waiting. He then set up onstage with his pair of cohorts, finally standing there as the clock ticked to 10 pm, distractedly fiddling with his phone. “Oh, shall we begin? Sorry, just texting my mum… oh, she’s here!” Then straight into the taut, speedy, organ-propelled mania of “Parachute” and we were away, descending into the maelstrom (can I use that word twice in one gig review? Hell yeah!) of baroque, crazed druggy pop that is Martyrials’ oeuvre.

Difficult to pigeonhole into one genre (and perhaps that’s entirely the point!), Martyrials’ music is a true melting pot of styles and sounds; the angry, clipped and embittered delivery of the Sex Pistols and their embryonic anarchic punk ilk merged with the amphetamine-fast helium Goth of early Placebo, overlaid with swathes of harsh Krautrock sheet metallic synth and an unhealthy dose of the acid-fried theatrical psychedelic rock of The Doors. An incredible amount of oddness to pack into a voice and organ, bass and drum trio, that. And “live”, Sammy is the true star, a Lizard King for our times, pounding holy shit out of his battered keyboards when not otherwise occupied confronting and challenging the audience; “what a beautiful crowd; make some fucking noise!” and, “thanks for keeping up so far, there’s more of it to come, don’t you fucking worry!” being two such barbed epithets.

“Aachen” was a dark, sinister and tempo-changing beast which also saw Sammy briefly wrap a Union flag around his face (!), then more smack-talking (“anyone from Swindon? What a bunch of wankers! Mind you, I’m from Swindon and I’m a wanker too…”) preceded “Serotonin”’s glittery stomp. Finally, Sammy, by now shirtless, led his charges through a breathless “Are You Having Fun?”, the young crowd responding with a whirling maelstrom (that word again!) of slam dancing bodies to the finale’s cascading tumble of drums and staccato vocal hook. Barking mad, batshit crazy and thoroughly entertaining!

CD purchase and a quick chat with Sammy, before I dashed around to The Castle, arriving in time to catch the last number and a half from The Shudders. So much for my plans! Caught up apologetically with Tim and co and enjoyed a chat with a passing “Paj” before wearily heading off for a midnight home arrival. At least the key part of my plan worked out, and I’ll be delving into Martyrials’ mad world more often!