1,093 TAYLOR SWIFT, Camila Cabello, Charlie XCX, London Wembley Stadium, Saturday 23rd June 2018

You only get once chance for your daughter’s first gig, so let’s go big…!

Regular readers of this blog will appreciate that mine host for this one, Country ingenue turned multi-million selling mainstream pop sensation Taylor Swift, is so far outside my usual listening sphere as to be in a completely different time zone. Indeed, some friends have questioned whether I’d even intended to include this in my gigbook and blog at all (it’s a gig, of course I am!)… But here’s the thing; my 9 year old daughter Kasey, very much the outlier in our family as regards musical taste, loves “La Swift”, playing her poppy “1989” album to death in the car; so much so, in fact, that I bought her 2 more Swift albums, the preceding “Red” and her most recent effort, 2017’s allegedly “controversial” album “Reputation”, just for some variation! It was actually on buying those for her, on a recent shopping trip in town, that Kasey announced she’d love to see Swift “live”, so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity for some daddy/ daughter quality time (possibly the one dynamic in our family that’s a little lacking, I’m sorry to admit). Plenty of availability remained for her 2 Wembley Stadium shows, so I easily sorted 2 tix for the Saturday, albeit up in the “gods” in the upper circle – happy to go £67 per ticket for that, not so sure about pitch-level seating at nearly £200!

Kasey was thrilled at the prospect either way, so I picked her up after her Stagecoach session on Saturday lunchtime for a baking drive down to our planned parking spot at Ickenham tube, hitting Wembley Park and the iconic Wembley Way walk just after 3. Whiled away a couple of hours in the adjacent Brent Library and Outlet Centre, Kasey also having a play in the play park, before we met up with Steven, Freya and Halle, who’d driven from Bridgend on freebies for this one! Decided against joining the humungous merch queues, so Kasey and I went in, taking escalators to take our seats, up in the gods, house left, with a splendid view of the stage; two massive screens (already showing continuous Taylor Swift videos) met diagonally in a “V” shape, with 2 runways also pointing out diagonally. A bit different from Raze*Rebuild at The Shooting Star, this…!

Opener Charlie XCX, an enthusiastic girl seemingly wrapped in white polythene, bounded onstage at ¼ to 7; I recognised her second number, the sassy-gobbed girly chant “I Don’t Care”, and appreciated some of the tribal drumming on the luminous green pop-art tom toms, although the rest of the set was more standard pounding europop. Charlie was pretty energetic, however, working the whole of the stage and both runways, and getting the early-comers singing along and cheering to her comment on, “3 badass women standing on one stage – that’s some girl power!” Kasey then demonstrated some admirable gig timing, wanting a toilet and hot-dog run just before the end of Charlie’s set, so we avoided the inevitable massive queues. Nice work! Main support Camila Cabello was greeted by a fuller stadium and a cooling breeze in our vantage point; her stuff had a more Latin feel (especially an early, flamenco-flavoured “She Loves Control”), no surprise I guess given she’s from Miami and was doubtless weaned on Gloria Estefan… One number, “Never Be The Same”, was an old fashioned power ballad right out of the Jennifer Rush songbook, complete with wanky guitar solo, and a snippet of “(I Can’t Help) Falling In Love With You” made my mind wander back to Joey Costello’s set last Friday!

As witching hour approached, a welcome bit of rock in shape of The Runaways’ “Bad Reputation” played over the PA; then, the video intro to “Reputation”’s opener “Ready For It” saw the huge screens part, and La Swift take the stage, first propelled forward on a runway, then striding purposefully onwards, alone yet enveloped in dry ice, to the track’s dramatic sheet metal synth opening. From the off, this audience was in the palm of her hand and she knew it, striding the stage like she owned it, basking in the focus and spotlight. Impressive.

The set largely drew from last year’s “Reputation”; in comparison with her lighter, poppier previous albums, this one is edgier, darker and swathed in occasionally Kraftwerkian synth (I shit you not), seemingly reflecting a harder attitude on La Swift’s part. However, she was still nonetheless a welcoming host, commenting fulsomely on her “13^th show in London! I love the number 13…” and demonstrating some stadium showmanship during the almost Bon Jovi hair metal-esque flag-waving anthemic early double of “Love Story” and “You Belong With Me”, which seemed to indicate that she could successfully apply to be Waltham’s lead singer, if this pop malarkey doesn’t pan out…!

And as for “the show”… well, she pretty much threw the kitchen sink at that too: pre-arranged routines with backing dancers; rapid-fire costume changes, pyrotechnics and fireworks galore; a hundred-foot tall inflatable cobra unfurling onstage during the edgy “Look What You Made Me Do” (the underlying rhythm of this song’s chorus totally recalling Kraftwerk’s “Tour De France”); a glowing ball which propelled her above the crowd to a smaller stage, midway along the seated pitch floor, during the aptly named ballad “Delicate”; another snake during the groove-led “Shake It Off”… she even trotted out ultimate “prop” Robbie Williams towards the end, for an unexpected duet run-through of his Britpop-lite anthem “Angels”, to squeals of delight from all and sundry. Old Rob’s sounding more and more like Elton John these days, but the crowd lapped it up…

And you know what? So did I. I loved it, loved the big preposterous “show”, which I have to confess surprised me a little… I’ve been critical of the likes of U2 for turning stadium gigs into overblown prop-fests and detracting from the music in the past. But here, I guess because I was more emotionally invested in making sure my daughter had a great time than in the music itself, I could detach myself and appreciate the show. The important thing was that Kasey was in heaven, dancing furiously and singing and screaming along to almost every song, including her highlight, the stately and soaring “Blank Space”, tonight’s highlight – for both of us (although for me, “Fifteen”, a hushed solo acoustic coming-of-age countrified ballad, ran it close)…

After the Robbie interlude, a singalong “Getaway Car” bumped us up close to the end, at which point Kasey decided on an early departure to beat the crowds heading back to the tube. We therefore heard the sassy finale medley of “We Are Never Getting Back Together”/ “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” whilst traversing Wembley’s bulk, and managed to avoid the rush, back to Ickenham for 11 and home just after 12.15 after a swift run, an exhausted but elated little girl tucked up on the back seat. Overall, a great day out and one which hopefully Kasey won’t forget in a hurry. If this is the type of music she’s going to be into, then there’s no better proponent of it right now than Taylor Swift, a consummate performer who (as a wise man once said) at least writes her own songs. A great first gig for Kasey, and in all honesty, a worthy 1,093^rd one for me!

 

1,092 GAZ BROOKFIELD, Joey Costello, Stroud Marsall Rooms, Friday 15th June 2018

My first time back in Stroud, amazingly, since my first ever gig (the mighty Killing Joke, nearly 37 years ago!), but the 20th time for one of my most enduring “live” favourites of late, folk/punk travelling troubadour and confessional poet-ruffian Gaz Brookfield. Only the 2nd artiste to hit the 20s in my “times seen” chart after late 90’s faves Seafood; my last few Gaz live experiences have been with his excellent Company Of Thieves band as back-up, but this early Summer run of shows sees him doing his Solo Acoustic Guy thing. This one not only was close by, but all-ages too, so Logan was able to join me for a boys night out!

Hammered through the leafy Gloucestershire backroads, finding the adjacent car park easily but getting a little turned around trying to find the venue itself! Doors were still officially “shut” as we queued up a shade before 8, but they let a grateful Logan in for a quick loo-trip, then we headed in, first in at doors to be greeted by Gaz. Logan filled the impressed singer in with his recent Swim22 exploits, then we got drinks as locals filed in before opener Joey Costello, on at 20 to 9. A couple of numbers in, we’d had 2 quite contrasting tunes; a slow-burning, wistful and melancholic wallow about being absent from loved ones, followed with an eerie yet more upbeat number in the subsequent “Undertow”. Turned out “Undertow” was the outlier, the set returning to a hushed, sparsely embellished body of songs, occasionally Drake-like pastoral, occasionally touching on parched Americana and balladry reminiscent of a Janovitz, but always underpinned by Costello’s impressive Buckley-esque multi-octave vocals. The boy can sing, no doubt... Charmingly self-effacing too (“this is a song I wrote about nobody really liking me...”), this was a lovely little set, bookended by a suitably quiet singalong for the old standard “(I Can't Help) Falling In Love With You”; shame so few of the crowd availed themselves of it, Costello sometimes fighting to be heard over the hubbub from the bar...

No such problems for Gaz, however; following a quick car dash to dump a mini-poster Gaz signed for Logan, we took a spot right down the front as Gaz urged the crowd to, “come on, come on,” and gather closer to fill “the semi-circle of doubt” down the front. “Solo Acoustic Guy” kicked things off, before Gaz challenged the Stroud crowd (!) with, “you guys up for a singalong?”, the audience responding in the affirmative for “Diabetes Blues”.

Thence followed an object lesson in the art of the solo performance, a masterclass in winning an initially reticent crowd over. Gaz, relaxed and urbane, trotted out his repertoire of stories illustrating his songs; the full explanation behind a superb “Tale Of Gunner Haines”, a barbed, “this song is about how boring I am!” comment before “All So Very Rock And Roll”, a comment about Ozzy the van being so named, “because it's always fucked!” before a touching “Ode To Ozzy”, and introducing an acerbic, confrontational “I've Paid My Money” with, “I'm not directing this at anyone in particular...!” As ever, the man worked up an impressive sweat delivering his usual full-on in your face acoustic fayre, robust, rabble-rousing and rambunctious.

I enjoyed the expanded lyric during “A Buskers Song”, “if you ask he'’ ll play your favourite song... unless it's “Wonderwall” in which case fuck off!” and the story of being threatened by Simon Cowell’s lawyer (bastard!) before a pointed “Diet Of Banality”; then, as the set rocked sweatily and noisily along, Gaz noted that he had a backstage at this venue... “and I'm fucking using it; it makes me feel cool!” So, after the usual singalong set-closing “Thin” Gaz took a bow and left the stage...

to return moments later, to the clamour of a by now fully engaged crowd. And a lovely moment during the encore; finale “The West Country Song” saw the crowd form a “hokey cokey” circle which morphed into an impromptu and well-natured dance pit, Logan and myself included, prompting Gaz to unplug his guitar and join us in the middle of the melee! Great stuff, a lovely way to end a great and inclusive performance.

After catching our breath, we bade farewells to the artistes, stopping off at a kebab van on the outskirts of Stroud for sustenance before a midnight return home. So glad I got to take Logan to see Gaz in this form; and proud that this talented yet unsung hero is now up to the twenties for me. Seafood, you have worthy company!

 

1,091 BELLY, Bristol SWX, Sunday 10th June 2018

Set 2 list only, above...

Another band scratching that reunion itch, 90’s Boston dreampop/ college rock combo Belly reunited after a near 20-year absence in 2016, delivering a fine if technically-beset Bristol gig (gig 997) and a tough, road-tested slot at Boston’s Paradise Club for the ACLU show last March (gig 1,028). Laudably, and like recent hosts The Skids, they decided not to stop there, avoiding becoming another “nostalgia circuit” cliché (not that there’s anything wrong with that, if you’re into the music!) by recording a PledgeMusic-backed new album, “Dove”. I pledged, of course, and my signed copy duly arrive in the post a couple of months back; it’s fine, I guess, a bit Belly-by-numbers and, well, drippy, more akin to the more ephemeral and insubstantial pop of main Belly-person Tanya Donelly’s sophomore solo album “Beautysleep” than the more strident and hooky college pop of her solo debut “Lovesongs For Underdogs” or indeed Belly’s own early 90’s canon. Still, remembering how fulsome newie “Shiny One” sounded at the Paradise last March, I was hoping that the new material would stand pat “live”, along with the older stuff, so I was happy to book for another Belly experience!

Booked 2 tickets, but Rach bowed out late due to babysitting issues; Ady was happy to take up the offer of a free ticket, and “Beef”, Si and his friend Mel were going anyway, so a full carload drove down a sunny M4 early doors. Belly were threatening to be on straight away and play 2 hours+ with an interval, hence the haste! In reality, we were there for doors at 7, then got drinks in and took a spot down the front, house right, chatting with the boys and a passing Jeff to while away the time until Belly’s actual scheduled 8.15 start.

At the appointed hour, a cutesy little film of dogs on skateboards (!) projected onto the digital backdrop; then Belly took the stage, bassist Gail already happily filming the audience, before kicking into the distinctive bass growl of a dark, dramatic “Dusted”. Good start, but unfortunately not maintained, the subsequent “Seal My Fate” sounding distorted and disjointed, guitarist Tom Gorman sounding as if he were playing a different tune to the rest of the band.

Such was the way of things tonight; despite their best efforts (particularly from Gail, the snake hipped, Ramones-like low-slung self-confessed “old lady” of the crew, who with her urgent bass prompting and kinetic rock poses was nonetheless clearly the band’s MVP tonight), and a whole lot of band and audience interaction (particularly - again - from Gail, who regularly urged us to, “party like it's 1992! Or 3...” and never missed an opportunity to take pics or videos of the crowd), this wasn’t Belly at their best. Maybe a little unfamiliarity with the dynamics of the new material “live”, maybe just too early in the tour, but either way they rarely hit the heights of that Boston set last year. “Now They'll Sleep” exemplified this, sounding problematic and messy. Also, Tanya seemed to struggle with the higher-octave numbers, often not even bothering to push her voice that high. Newies “Army Of Clay” and a groovy, bouncy “Stars Align” emerged most unscathed and were highlights of the early set, before the nonetheless ebullient bassist “Gail-splained” to us about the mid-set break.

Happily, things picked up a little better for set 2; “Low Red Moon” was a strange and sinister funeral March, and “Shiny One” dreamy and strident in equal measure. “Slow Dog” galloped along with its trademark angular verse riff, but again Tanya’s vocals for the chorus were in a different key and sounded a little jarring. After another messy “Feed The Tree”, we however had an excellent “SuperConnected”, a dynamically delivered growling behemoth, and by some considerable distance the best number in the set tonight.

A couple of quieter encores, featuring our MVP’s only real slip tonight, praising, “the lovely people of Portsmouth!” (that was last night, love!), ended a veritable see-saw of a set - some splendid moments, plenty of effort and chat from the band, but a set littered with flaws. Our carload were all pretty much in consensus with this view, so reflected on this on a swift dash home (which got me back in in time to flick through tonight’s Canadian Grand Prix before hitting the hay). Don’t get me wrong; this was by no means a Brian Fallon-level utter car crash of a gig (gig 1,074, back in Feb this year), I had a good time, I was largely entertained by the band and by my mad-as-a-balloon MVP Gail. I’ve just seen them way better, way tougher, way more together... and all that quite recently too. Hopefully tonight was a one-off; I’ll certainly be back for more, hoping again for the Paradise version of Belly from last year!

1,090 THE SKIDS, TV Smith, Charlie Harper, Reading Sub 89, Thursday 7th June 2018

After seminal 70’s anthemic punks (the self-styled “first punk band in Scotland”, at least according to lead singer Richard Jobson last year!) and my first real band crush from age 13, namely The Skids, performed the greatest musical comeback since Adam Ant with a couple of frankly magnificent gigs last June, hopes were high that there’d be more to come. And I wasn’t to be disappointed; determined to not just be part of “that nostalgia circuit” (again, according to Jobbo), they released a PledgeMusic-backed new album “Burning Cities” earlier this year, announcing a slew of 2018 dates to support it. Aptly titled, this, as it burns with the fire of righteous fury and indignation, the band rightly appalled at the fact that “the world couldn’t get any worse [than the 70’s]… and it has!” and making their anger known with pointed lyricism and venomous yet toweringly hooky punk rock electric guitar. It’s a worthy addition to The Skids’ canon, so a gig or two was definitely on the cards. This one, in fact, was thanks to my old friend Stuart “Langers”, who booked a ticket then booked a coinciding holiday. Whoops! So I was happy for a free ticket for this one to fall into my lap – cheers Stu!

Drove down the M4 to Reading, a place where (Festival apart) I’ve been to comparatively few gigs despite its’ proximity to the ‘don. No street parking available, so parked up in the local Garrard Street NCP, having a bit of a shock when I realised I’d be on the hook for £12 parking charges for the evening! Bloody hell! Still, into the venue for 10 to 8, opener Charlie Harper taking the stage as I arrived. Old (and I mean old - he’s 74 (!)) punk Charlie bumbled his way through some acoustic versions of his band UK Subs’ numbers, sounding surprisingly bluesy given this acoustic treatment. Sadly, Charlie came across like a Sarf London punk rock Uncle Albert (from “Only Fools And Horses”), making a bit of a mess of quite a few and remarking, “drunk? I’m not drunk… it’s my guitar [that’s] been drinking…” Despite a bit of a singalong to closer “Warhead”, this was somewhat of a carcrash of a set, the only positive being that at 20 minutes, it was mercifully short.

TV Smith was next up in short order, the former Adverts frontman looking positively youthful in comparison, swaggering on, lean and mean, in 70’s punk chic and remarking, “Charlie Harper, me and The Skids on the same night – don’t tell me music is bland!” From the off, his set was way more coherent and passionately delivered, an early “No Time To Be 21” frantic and urgent. Smith then delved into his post-Adverts material, much of this stuff surprisingly possessing a tinge of the shimmering Americana of Grant Lee Buffalo to it, particularly “Generation Why”, a poignant and disaffected protest ballad. Smith was then joined by Ruts guitarist Leigh Heggarty to flesh out the likes of an excellent “Gary Gilmore’s Eyes”, “Bored Teenagers” and “One Chord Wonders”, closing out an impressive set with some old punk classics.

Talking of which… I wandered down the front, taking an easy spot, house left, amongst the old lags – a real punk rock sausage-fest, this (as The Dickies’ Leonard Graves-Phillips might say…)! Coming on to the urgent, insistent intro to newie, “This Is Our World”, The Skids burst onstage with a towering, palpably loud riff and a swagger, despatching this opener with fire and fury. “The Skids are still alive and kicking!” announced Jobson before “Charade” – hell yeah, you better believe it!

Once again, tonight was an all-inclusive celebration of one of rock’s iconic, most anthemic and enduring bands, Jobson and his charges giving it their all and leaving it all onstage, maximum energy and effort, the band in full-on fantasy band camp and a broad smile never far from the singer’s lips. “What a great venue – reminds me of the sweaty old days!”, he remarked before inviting us to dance as joyously as he intended to tonight. “Melancholy Soldiers” was preceded by a discussion of the band’s various fashion disasters through the years (!), before Jobbo deadpanned, “at least after 35 years the band’s now looking cool!” A wag on the front barrier shouted for “Albert Tatlock”, Jobson icily retorting, “if he calls for it again, I’m going to punch him in the puss!” “Working For The Yankee Dollar” featured some brilliantly kinetic guitar interplay from Watsons Senior and Junior, and “The Saints Are Coming” was a tub-thumping and fist-pumping clarion call to arms. A proper – and surprising – set highlight, however, was newie “Desert Dust”; preceded by a diatribe from Jobson about kids growing up with no hope of jobs or careers, then making the mistake of joining the Army, this was a melancholy and affecting slow-burn protest number, brilliantly poignant and articulately delivered, but the kind of song I really wish The Skids – or any band – didn’t have to write.

The double of “Hurry On Boys” and “A Woman In Winter” both received rousing singalongs, reverberating around the venue, leading up to the inevitable set closer “Into The Valley”, towering and titanic as ever. Jobson – who’d belied his 57 years by dancing energetically throughout and was by now soaked in sweat – leading the crowd in, “Ahoy! Ahoy!” singalongs long after the rest of the band had departed.

“We thought we’d do a couple of dates then people would be glad to see the back of us!” declared an elated Jobson before encore “Into The Void”. This, amazingly, saw both Bruce and Jamie Watson’s guitars fail simultaneously, the band ploughing on nonetheless and Jobson wisecracking at its’ end, “we’re having so much fun even when things go wrong! Can you imagine what Snow Patrol would do [if that happened to them]… they’d have a meltdown… Fuck off!!” In fact, we were having so much fun that we didn’t really notice!

Another brilliant set, another re-affirmation of The Skids’ music and legacy. I’d been on the barriers since “Albert Tatlock” guy fucked off into the mosh early doors, so was in prime spot for Jamie to hand me his set-list. Bought Jobson’s autobiography from the merch stand guy, who remembered me and Logan from last year and who promptly gave me another set-list! One for Logan then…! Paid my £12 then headed off home; now looking forward to taking Logan to Shepherd’s Bush Empire for more of this in a couple of weeks!

1,089 CHAMELEONSVOX, Inferiority Complex, Southampton Joiner's Arms, Friday 1st June 2018

“I’m a full-on Chameleons convert now!” was how I finished my gig report of gig 1,038, after finally dispelling a 35-year ignorance of this seminal band of Mancunian post-punks with last May’s stellar Fleece gig… truer words were ne’er spoken, as I’ve pretty much been playing their 3 80’s albums (1983’s debut “Script Of The Bridge”, 1985’s “What Does Anything Mean? Basically” and 1986’s “Strange Times”) obsessively at work, coming to the realisation that had I latched on to this lot at the time, they would have seriously challenged Echo And The Bunnymen for the title of my favourite band back then and I would likely have seen them 20+ times by now, and resolving to take every opportunity to see them in future. They’d drip-fed notifications of 2018 UK gigs onto their Facebook page, and, lacking anywhere closer, I’d sorted tix for their London show. When, eventually, they announced a gig at Southampton’s excellent Joiner’s Arms, I booked for that as a likely alternative, given that London gig would be 2^nd of 3 in 4 days…

So, Friday evening saw a false start off to Southampton (forgot my phone – d’oh!), driving through a bit of M4 drizzle into warm sun on the A34, hitting the South Coast just after 8 and parking up around the corner, literally a stone’s throw from the door. One of the many things I love about this place… Already busy and full of older chaps in black jeans and a variety of punk- and post-punk t-shirts (Cramps, Theatre Of Hate and New Model Army were on display tonight, along with my bright pink REM “Reckoning” one!), ready to greet openers Inferiority Complex at 8.25. A trio of similar vintage to the headliners and audience, they played some short and snappy keyboard and bass-led numbers, all claustrophobic and dense post-punk reminiscent of Comsat Angels and early New Order, with echoey, barked vocals and Hooky-like bass riffs. Stronger on mood and menace than on tunes, they were a decent and apposite start, but the set eventually felt workmanlike and repetitive, so I chilled outside awhile before the main event.

Back in to find a spot down the busy and expectant front, along with the knowledgeable and devoted crowd – the epitome of a cult band, this lot, with most of tonight’s crowd doubtless convinced for some time that Chameleons are the Greatest Band In The History of Rock, and utterly baffled at anyone who might consider otherwise. It was therefore a lengthy and reverential reception which greeted sole original Chameleon Mark Burgess and his charges (no Yves this time – boo!) onstage at 9.30, the monolithic Burgess remarking, tongue firmly in cheek, “we’re Chameleons, we’re going to perform our brand new album “Script Of The Bridge”!”

True to his word too – tonight was billed as a 35^th (!) anniversary of said debut, so they set about playing it start to finish. In my (admittedly limited to the last 18 months) experience, “Script” is a beautifully judged mix of expansive and soaring post-punk, and bleak and claustrophobic proto-goth, reflecting the troubled times of its’ creation, and for me, already standing tall with the likes of “Heaven Up Here”, “Degenerates” and “Author! Author!” as an utter classic of its’ type. And Mark and the boys did it total justice, straight from the opener “Don’t Fall” playing it big, beefy, dark and dramatic, occasionally slightly slower than on record, allowing the tracks to breathe and expand. Mark’s stentorian vocals were a feature throughout, particularly “Don’t Fall” and “Monkeyland”’s roaring choral hooks, and Chris Oliver and Neil Dwerryhouse’s plangent, intertwining guitars weaved an intoxicating and eerie spell. Mark led the crowd in the huge “woah-oh”s of the triumphant “Second Skin”, remarking, “oh, you’re good!” and throwing in a line from “Please Please Me” in the denouement; then a stunning, anthemic “Up The Down Escalator” got this venerable crowd really moving.

“That was side one of our new record; now we’re going to play side 2!” deadpanned Mark before the itchy, twitchy “Pleasure And Pain”. Given that probably 4 of my favourite half-dozen Chameleons tracks appear on side one of “Script”, I would have expected a slight drop-off, but none really occurred, particularly for “A Person Isn’t Safe Anymore These Days”; poignantly dedicated, “to the memory of Sophie Lancaster, who was murdered for being a goth,” it’s strident, “man of steel” hook and yearning, enquiring line, “what kind of times are these?”, delivered with conviction by Mark, made it a set highlight. The elegiac opening to “View From A Hill” saw “Script” to a close, at which point the crowd gave the boys a lengthy and deserved ovation, and a chuffed Mark remarked, “I’ve got a good feeling about this album – I think it’s got legs!”

A couple of bookended tracks; an urgent “In Shreds”, an undulating and rhythmically absorbing “Swamp Thing” (featuring a couplet from “Rain”, the second Beatles song referenced tonight) and a jagged, amped-up “Nostalgia” (which satisfied the boke next to me, who’d been shouting for it) rounded off another supreme showing from this seminal but overlooked (and not just by me!) band. Grabbed a list and my breath, before a prompt journey home in inky blackness saw me home just after midnight, elated after another brilliant Chameleons Vox experience!