1,113 TC&I (TERRY CHAMBERS AND COLIN MOULDING), Swindon Arts Centre, Tuesday 20th November 2018

Okay, let me share my XTC lament with you. No, not the one where I turned down an opportunity to see them "live" at Swindon Oasis in 1980, an event which would have been my first ever gig (I thought I was too young, my 'rents wouldn't let me, I'd have a chance to see them when I was older... ha!), the other lament... This one predates that by a year or so, when I was a painfully shy early teenager, slowly coming out of my shell thanks to a burgeoning interest in the then-current punk and new wave scene. My Aunt Helen, only 10 years older than I, got wind of this and suggested I might like her friend's husband's band XTC, subsequently turning up at my folks' house with the friend, Carol Moulding, in tow, along with a signed copy of said band's latest single, "Life Begins At The Hop". I thanked her, played it sporadically, liked it fine but no more, then later sold it to a schoolmate for a fiver. Yup, I know. Shoot me now.

I came to regret that in later years, as I revisited and came to revere XTC's taut, nervous and quirky art-school punk early albums, and, to a lesser extent (and largely thanks to the enthusiasm of a slew of my Boston friends), their more cerebral, studied and Beatles-esque melodic later material. Andy Partridge's decision to stop performing "live" back in 1982 seemingly put the kibosh on ever hearing that stuff onstage, although I jumped at Dave Gregory’s fairly recent "live" involvement with Tin Spirits, putting up with their anodyne prog for a brief smattering of such as "Towers Of London". That was probably it, though, thought I, until... Scarcely believable news emerged that a recent collaboration between original XTC members, drummer Terry Chambers (returning from a 30-year Australian sojourn) and bassist and co-songwriter Colin Moulding (that'd be Carol's hubby, then...!), which had resulted in a 4-track EP under the clever pseudonym of TC&I, would then be followed up by a series of low-key gigs at Swindon Arts Centre. Incredible! However, the first set of shows coincided with our family holiday in Turkey, another one with “Shiiine On”, but a final date, the day after my return from Minehead, afforded me the chance to finally see at least half of XTC "live", and (thanks to my finding a copy of "Hop" in an Edinburgh record shop last year) maybe even right an ancient wrong...

A potentially serious spanner was thrown in the works on the day of the gig, when my wife's London meeting overran, leaving me biting my nails at home, as the band’s onstage time of 8.15 loomed ever nearer. Thankfully, she arrived home at 5 to 8, I hared it up the hill to my secret car park, hitting the venue and taking my seat at 8.11. Result! The anticipation was palpable in the small sold-out hall, with people having travelled from far and wide (I sat next to a high-heeled gent from Tintagel!), so it was to a rapturous welcome that Colin led the 5-piece band onstage, announcing his intention to, "play some songs from the Jurassic Period again", then quipping, "I've got my flask of cocoa... rock'n'roll!"

The early stages were given over to more latter-day XTC material, Colin's compositions only (of course) and whilst it was all effortlessly melodic, relaxed and wistfully lovely, played with suitable reverence by Colin and the band (also featuring his drummer son Lee on percussion, plus guitarist Steve Tilling, a wide-eyed, stripey-trousered young Wilko Johnson clone), it felt, to me at least, like the warm up rather than the main event itself. "Ten Feet Tall" with an almost calypso rhythm, was a gentle early highlight, as was the McCartney-esque earworm of "Scatter Me" from the TC&I EP, and the pastoral vibe of "Wonderland". In fact, the poppier Beatle was clearly a touchstone for the late-period XTC and therefore the early stages of his set... never been a massive McCartney fan, so that's possibly why the first part of the set merely meandered pleasantly along for me, but after Colin announced a break, "so the management can fleece you in the bar," I have to say I was expecting more from part 2...

And I pretty much immediately got it; "Wardance", second number in, was much more upbeat and dynamic, whilst retaining that effortless melody and quintessentially English feel. "Big Day" saw Colin espouse on the perils of marriage ("which we know are many... but not in my case," he added with a glance to wife Carol in the wings), and "Ball And Chain" was the highlight thus far, upbeat, joyous and buoyant. However the best was well and truly saved for last; a great, racey "Generals And Majors" finally got everyone out of their seats, followed by set closer, the inevitable and superb angular backbeat of "Making Plans For Nigel". A first encore of the soaring "Statue Of Liberty" (introduced as, "for my old bandmate Andy Partridge," and the only Partridge composition on show tonight) merely set the table for the highlight of the night, a thrilling second encore of "Life Begins At The Hop", the taut metronome rhythm bring propelled along by Terry's superb tubthumping, Colin’s boisterous, bolshy vocal and that brilliantly undulating guitar hook. Brilliant way to end an overall sublime evening of melodic delights.

And, after a long wait (during which I chatted with various Mouldings, primarily Carol, who warmly remembered both my Aunt and my Nan, and Lee's wife Alexandra, a Level 3 face from those halcyon 90's days), I rather sheepishly got to tell the "Hop" story to a stern Colin and Terry, who nonetheless signed my Edinburgh copy and posed for pix. Result! Headed off home late but vindicated, after an overall splendid night's celebration of Swindon’s finest musical exports, XTC, and that ancient wrong righted!

1,112 THE 2018 “SHIIINE ON” WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 16th – Sunday 18th November 2018

 

Back again for “Shiiine On” Part 3, although our third visit down to Minehead’s Butlins holiday camp for this annual Festival extravaganza, primarily celebrating the UK Indie/ Dance landscape of the 80’s and 90’s, nearly didn’t happen, for me at least… Our “core four” from last year enjoyed it so much, that we planned the 2018 return visit pretty much as soon as the initial headliner was announced, that being Shed Seven, who delivered a surprisingly (for me at least, again!) excellent headlining set on Saturday in 2016. Anticipating a further slew of more guitar-based acts to follow in Witter’s mob’s wake, we immediately booked our repeat attendance, only to recoil in horror when a more comprehensive bill was announced. Packed full of crappy baggy and trancey dance acts (Stereo MCs, Orbital), dull landfill Britpop (Ocean Colour Snore, and yes, I got their name right…) and again the ubiquitous Madchester village idiot Shaun Ryder, back again to make another wasted numpty of himself albeit with Black Grape this time, I seriously considered cancelling. I mean, it doesn’t say much for a bill when my 3^rd most anticipated act was the REM tribute band! However, my cohorts persuaded me otherwise, emphasising that there’s generally more to “Shiiine On” than just the acts themselves, and a bit of pre-Fest investigation revealed another, previously (criminally) ignored potential musical highlight for me, so it was all on again!

There were some late shenanigans involving us changing booking to accommodate a 5^th member (which Butlins laudably did at no extra cost), then said 5^th dropping out at very short notice, so Rich drove just myself and Rach down on Friday morning, hitting the ‘head just after 1. Met Matt, our 4^th member, for some provision shopping then the traditional seafront chippy lunch before booking into our accommodation. Thanks to us changing bookings, we had a smart 3-bedroom silver chalet. Nice! So, stuff dumped and loins girded, we headed off to the arena about 4-ish for the start of musical festivities. SALAD were first up for us, on at 4.30, statuesque ginger former MTV VJ Marijne Van De Vlugt leading her charges through a “best of” set of their pretty decent actually girly-fronted indie pop. I was actually surprised at how much of their material I remembered (the undulating tango rhythm of “Motorbike To Heaven”, the morose grunge of “Diminished Clothes” and lilting chorus of “Granite Statue”), although not as surprised as when Marijne introduced her band, featuring on drums, Julian Cope’s former 80’s wingman Donald Ross “Donneye” Skinner! Their final, best number “Drink The Elixir” had a false start due to a guitar issue, but was a metronomic Stereolab-style groove with a discordant climax. A reasonably good start actually, which would actually stack up pretty well when compared to similar acts later this evening… Plenty of room to move about in the arena at this stage, unlike the hordes here for Jim Bob last year! MY LIFE STORY, next up, plied a trade midway between widescreen 60’s cinema soundtracks, knockabout Kinks-ish mod and throwaway Britpop, with 3^rd number “Motorcade” still their finest hour by far. Jake Shillingford, resplendent in a check suit, was an ostentatious and slightly pretentious, but evidently crowd-pleasing performer, and some later numbers had the slightly faded grandeur of early Pulp, although their “All The Young Dudes” rip-off was more than a bit blatant.

I took time out to call Evan, then we bumped into Bath “Gin Window” buddies Kate and Ashley before SLEEPER, on at 7. Louise Wener sported a “Super Her” t-shirt in front of her Sleeperblokes, but despite a racy early “Pyrotechnician”, the sound was initially thin and took time to bed in. Their best number, “Delicious” was sadly lost to the poor sound, all discordant and a bit of a mess, but the singalong, breathy “What Do I Do Now” was fuller and punchier, heralding a sea change in the sound. Wener, the indie sex kitten turned soccer mom, pranced and preened onstage to the crowd’s delight as her and her band’s confidence grew, and they even chanced a new number, the glam strut of “Look At You Now” and threw in a “Satellite Of Love” lyric vignette into the subsequent “Peaky”. Set highlight by far, however, was their rendition of “Atomic” (“this one’s on “Trainspotting”, the bit where everyone’s shagging people they’re not supposed to shag,” announced a lascivious Louise), all pulsing and pulsating disco brilliance and the best sounding song of the weekend so far. By singalong closer “Sale Of The Century”, a big moshpit was bouncing along, so they’ll no doubt look back on this as a triumph; justifiably so, as it was some way better than when I last saw them (a dispirited 1998 Swindon Oasis showing, gig 368), although the numbers I’ll remember most from this set weren’t theirs…

The arena was quite busy by now, and the theme tune from “The Magnificent Seven” appropriately heralded the entrance of SHED SEVEN, prompt at 8.30. “The fun starts right here!” announced rakish, rock-star skinny vocalist Rick Witter after lugubrious opener “Room In My House”, introducing his brass section and giving them some well-natured shit-talking at the same time! “Where Have You Been Tonight” was the first real anthem of the weekend, Witter acting as mass singalong conductor with his usual swaggering confidence, and the blood-red lit “Dolphin” was a delight of slashing guitar and heads-down, no nonsense groovy rhythm with a lengthy, dramatic climax. Seahorses vocalist Chris Helme (whose solo set we’d missed earlier) joined the band on a swayalong “High Hopes”, then Witter quipped, “we’re talking about a new album… release date 2034!” before newie “People Will Talk”.

This was a more sprawling, slightly less focussed set than the bang-bang-hit-after-hit headlining performance 2 years ago, Witter also taking time to read out some twitter dedications (“if this bit’s boring, stop fucking tweeting me!”), but no less fun overall. Also, when Witter and the Sheds concentrate on the hits (a bolshy, shouty “Friday”, featuring the closing section of The Stone Roses’ “I Am The Resurrection”, a racey and superb “Bully Boy” and the epic closer “Chasing Rainbows”, f’rinstance), they’re the ideal headliners for an event like this, and Witter is a captivating performer with a larger than life personality – not bad for a skinny little fucker. A bit surprising that I took so long to get on board with Shed Seven, but they smashed it again, this being Friday’s best set by some considerable distance.

 
That was it for the main arena, so we grabbed a cuppa and a breather at the chalet before heading back into Centre Stage, the largest of the other venues, catching HELEN LOVE’s somewhat amateurish, DIY final number. THE DARLING BUDS were next up at 11.30, their first couple of numbers sounding wispy and insubstantial (and a little out of key too from singer Andrea Lewis). “I Don’t Mind” was however tighter, tougher and wah-wah infused, and Andrea greeted us with a Ruth Madoc homage of, “hi de hi campers,” before the fizzy “Hit The Ground”. Thereafter it drifted for me – a lot – with their 60’s-influenced girl pop innocuous and a whole mess of mediocre really, and I passed the time wondering whether Andrea, flapping her bingo wings furiously, might end up taking off. God, I’m such a bitch…! “It’s All Up To You” and set closer “Burst” were by far their best numbers – also the ones that sounded the most like 80’s DIY all-girl noiseniks The Shop Assistants. Odd, that…

Still, if the Buds were just mediocre, they were aural ambrosia compared to THE PRIMITIVES, on at a red-eyed 1 am. From the off they were utterly dire; a disjointed opener sounded thin, out-of-tune and very poor, and diminutive vocalist Tracey, sporting a Bacofoil dress and rather unfortunately resembling Theresa May, couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket. It actually took me at least halfway through the second number to even recognise it was “Stop Killing Me”, one of my favourite Prims tunes, shorn of all its’ dynamism and buzzsaw guitar. “Sick Of It All” was equally terribly ham-fisted so we got the hell out of dodge, and into Jaks for the last knockings of THE TRAIN SET’s passable 80’s indie rock fayre. At least they played in time and could hold a tune, which put them several steps above the Primitives! We pondered this on the walk back to the chalet – maybe The Prims were always shit, and poor 80’s “live” sound systems masked their deficiencies. Either way, they were well and truly exposed tonight!

Day 2 dawned with a late and lazy lie-in and a “Big Man Special” breakfast, prior to our first music of the day, in Reds just after lunchtime. Oddly enough for us, this was a couple of tribute acts! Even odder, it was a couple of tribute acts for US bands! First up, HEY! PIXIES, a Pixies tribute act (No. Really??!!) from Stoke, were actually great, allaying any fears I’d had about their ability to replicate Joey Santiago’s unique, savage guitar licks and Black Francis’ commanding vocals with a full, dynamic and thoroughly authentic set. The music at least… between songs, the tall, blond vocalist was a damn sight chattier than the usually non-communicative Mr. Thompson, and funny with it – quipping, “if you’ve not seen The Pixies, Frank Black doesn’t look like a cross between Myra Hindley and Paul O’Grady,” assuring us, “if you don’t know The Pixies, this is EXACTLY how they sound!” and lavishing praise on the backstage facilities (“you know you’ve made it when you’ve got towels backstage!”). And musically, they pretty much nailed every song, with “Nimrod’s Son”, a brilliantly chugalong “Head On” and the excellent, sinister segue between “Cecilia Ann” and “Allison” my personal highlights. Either way, a resounding triumph, as I remarked to the grateful vocalist afterwards. Well done folks!

After an interminable soundcheck which delayed their set by 20 minutes, STIPE were next up, an REM tribute band I’d seen and enjoyed last year at Level 3. Quite a contrast to the relaxed delivery of Hey! Pixies, Stipe were a study in authenticity, their vocalist assuming the moves and persona of idiosyncratic REM frontman Michael Stipe, including addressing the large crowd in a passable imitation of Stipe’s halting tones. Like REM, their set was constructed to please both casual punter and true fan, so I totally adored tracks such as an early “Gardening At Night” and a later “Radio Free Europe” whilst acknowledging they likely meant little to most of the audience. The likes of “Losing My Religion”, a stunning “Orange Crush” and a singalong “Imitation Of Life” (their imitation of “IOL”, according to the vocalist!) however, went down well, and closer “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” was easily the set highlight.

I left the folks to the main arena stuff at this point, and headed down to a packed Inn On The Green, where KINGMAKER (FOR A DAY) were just kicking off their set, slightly late at 4pm. Two thirds of the early 90’s Hull Indie jesters, this, they were unfortunately lacking their most important original member, vocalist Loz Hardy, and the replacement frontman was seriously bereft of Hardy’s charisma and flippant patter. A distinctly average “Two Headed Yellow Bellied Hole Digger” featured the chorus hook, “soon she’ll be inspired”, but this was far from inspiring; the upbeat dynamism of “When Lucy’s Down” was by far the best number in a workmanlike set.

The place emptied after that! Clearly a number of punters hadn’t done the pre-Fest research that I had on the next act… I’d slightly passed on DIESEL PARK WEST back in the day, remembering them as an okay-ish slightly-delic 80’s guitar band, who became quickly out of step with the likes of Madchester, shoegaze and subsequently early 90’s grunge, and had kind of ignored them since. After their addition to this bill, however, I rather absent-mindedly picked up a cheap copy of their “Best Of” CD, “Left Hand Band” and found it replete with easy melody, honey-throated harmonies and gorgeous late 60’s West Coast psychedelia inflections, similar to the likes of late Teenage Fanclub and Gigolo Aunts, even. I was well up for this one, then, taking a spot on the barriers as the band set up. Opener “Let It Melt” was however a startling opener, a new number featuring some old school R&B rhythms a la Dr. Feelgood, and surprisingly snarly vocals courtesy of trenchcoated Catweazle vocalist John Butler. “Pictures” continued this rootsy, Stones-like vein before the plangent picking of “Here I Stand” offered another dimension to the DPW sound. “Golden Mile” was optimistically introduced by Butler as, “a song about ageing – nothing you can do about it… except die…!”, but then “Like Princes Do” was fantastic, a tough-sounding galloping psych rock workout. The off-kilter growl of “When The Hoodoo Comes” ended the set proper, although time thankfully allowed for an unplanned “All The Myths On Sunday”, the tumbling harmonic hook causing me to lose my voice a little as I sang raucously along. Great stuff overall, from a band I now clearly need to make up for lost time on…

Starting now! I grabbed a list from a passing Butler then got it signed by his three bandmates; the vocalist himself had disappeared “backstage” so guitarist Rich Barton invited me back to complete the collection! Grabbed said signature, plus some pix and quick compliments with an accommodating band, after a circuitous journey through the bowels of Butlins. Nice! Thus buoyed, I wandered back in to meet the crew in the main arena at 6 for THE RIFLES’ mainstage set. They were an ok, slightly lightweight and largely forgettable Britpoppy/ 60’s influenced band who wouldn’t have sounded out of place in either the late 80’s or mid-90’s – odd then that they date from the mid-2000s! Their best number also had more than a passing resemblance to the taut rhythms of The Cure’s “Boys Don’t Cry”.

And that was it, for a few hours at least! No way was I going to subject myself to another Ryder car-crash, so I grabbed some tea and made good on my pre-Fest promise/ threat to go back to the chalet and watch “Strictly”! I was later joined by my dear lady wife Rachel and we popped over to Kate and Ashley’s chalet, Rach enjoying a couple of vodkas there before wandering back for the last knockings of OCEAN COLOUR SCENE. Strangely (to my ears at least), they attracted easily the biggest crowd of the weekend, with roaring singalongs to their cover of The Beatles’ “Day Tripper” and their own “The Day We Caught The Train”. A real crowd-pleaser this… can’t see it, to my ears they just sound bland and dull. Shortly afterwards, as the arena emptied, a drunkenly dancing Rach was by now showing signs of needing an early-ish night, so we all popped back to the chalet for food, and I eventually persuaded Rach to hit the hay. Stayed there to settle her down as the boys headed off for EMF, but I had other plans…

Back out into the inky blackness and freezing cold at 20 to 1, and off to Reds, catching the last number of THE GODFATHERS set, “Birth School Work Death”. Still don’t like them, but hey, I wasn’t here for them… Grabbed some barrier, front and centre, as my short-odds pre-Festival favourites hooked up for their 1 am. set. And gladly, CHAMELEONSVOX completely and utterly lived up to their billing and my hopes; from the off they sounded superb, opener “Don’t Fall” all seethingly dark and dramatic, “A Person Isn’t Safe Here Anymore” (dedicated, as ever, to the memory of Sophie Lancaster by mainman Mark Burgess, after he’d greeted us with an ironic, “good morning”) poignant and heart-wrenching (“what kind of times are these,” indeed…) and featuring some beautifully textural guitar work, and “Looking Inwardly” tense and taut, with the guitars here chiming and ringing out resonantly. The set was perfectly chosen – I’d probably liked to have squeezed in “Up The Down Escalator” but that aside, all my favourites were in – and punctuated with a number of lyrical nods to the likes of The Doors (“all our leaders are insane”), The Beatles and even The Fall, and the meandering brilliance of “Swamp Thing” was quite magnificent, the best song of the weekend. In fact, as the chiming opening to this number eased in, the bloke next to me put his head down on the barrier as his wife meaningfully rested her hand on his shoulder – when he rose, his eyes were misted over… that’s the effect this band have on its’ devotees, right there.

“Singing Rule Britannia”, featuring snippets of “White Riot”, “Transmission” and even “Rebellious Jukebox” (Burgess was confidently throwing the kitchen sink at this one, no messin’) rounded off the Set Of The Weekend for me, the one worth braving the chill midnight air to witness. I grabbed a list then headed wearily back to my chalet, vindicated by ChameleonsVox, and counting the days until I see them again, next month in Oxford!

Rachel had had a great night’s sleep (you’re welcome, honey!) so was up earlier Sunday than us boys, making us breakfast. Only a light one, though, as we had lunch plans! First, a quick trip over to Inn On The Green for some midday ukulele shenanigans from UKE2, this busking trio again playing Britpop and indie anthems on intertwining ukuleles as a wake-up call for the final day. In all honesty, not so much fun as last year (not so great a song selection either), so we were happy to leave them to it after half an hour, and wander off-site and into town for a big and very tasty carvery Sunday lunch at The Hairy Dog! Excellent!

Back onsite and Rach went off to see the mainstage SENSER. I joined her for a while before being put off by this disjointed, shouty and woefully dated rap/ metal mess, Senser setting a precedent for the final day of sounding like poor imitations of bands I either never liked or lost interest in. I never liked Rage Against The Machine. Luckily Hotshots were showing the second half of the International footy, so I watched that instead, before going back into the arena and enduring STEREO MC’s equally dated crap rap. Didn’t think much of the Beastie Boys, never needed a Sarf London version of them. Still, salvation was at hand…

“‘Avin’ a good time? I’m freezing my tits off [up here]!” the inimitable growl of the greater crested legend that is PETER HOOK with his band, THE LIGHT, today featuring old Wonky Alice sparring partner and erstwhile ChameleonsVox drummist Yves Altana! The equally inimitable growl of a clutch of Joy Division numbers kicked off their 6pm set, all dour, dark, menacing and monochrome, with “Transmission” an early highlight. “Anyone lost control this weekend?” Hooky glibly intoned before the synth snap of “She’s Lost Control” which was also pretty ace, but the overall tone at this stage was generally bleak and introspective. However, the coruscating synth pulse of “Blue Monday” altered all that, heralding a sea change in the set, the dancier, more upbeat and (dare I even say it) joyous New Order material igniting the crowd. “Regret” (“I’ve had a few,” deadpanned Hooky) and the scalding Ibiza disco beat of “Round And Round” were welcome additions to the Light’s canon this year, but once again a brilliant, haunting “Ceremony”, the tremendous pulsating “Temptation”, and the inevitable and lengthy celebratory “Love Will Tear Us Apart” won the day. Hooky knocked it out of the park in some style again, most people going for this brilliant 1 hour and 20 minutes as their Set Of The Weekend (I stuck my neck out and stayed with the Chameleons, but I’ve always been a contrary bugger, me…).

The place actually notably thinned out for the headliners therafter! Trance dance act ORBITAL plied their bleeps and bloops onstage, as we decamped to Costa around the corner for a sit down and chat with Kate and Ashley. The onstage fayre sounded to me like sci-fi film soundtracks – I kind of lost interest in Jean-Michel Jarre in my teens – but according to Matt and Rach, who popped down for a watch, it made more sense with the accompanying visuals of film and slides. Not my stuff though…

Back to the chalet one final time for a cuppa (phew, rock’n’roll festival life, eh?) before girding our loins for the last lap. Into a sparsely populated Centre Stage, where only the truly dedicated and hardy (and utterly pissed) were toughing it out to the bitter end. That meant firstly dealing with former Senseless Thing Mark Keds’ new charges DEADCUTS, on at 11.30. Somewhat of a departure from the brisk indie pop of da Things, this was more slightly proto/goth with stompy bluesy rock inflections, like maybe Piano Wire crossed with The Bolshoi, though nowhere near as good as I just made that sound. Some chunky driving beats propelled some of their numbers, but they were well short on memorable tuneage. Thereafter, old Carter USM back-up guy (if it’s possible to be the back-up guy in a duo!) Les “Fruitbat” Carter joined us with his band ABDOUJAPAROV, who then subjected us to largely tune-free thrashy workouts, featuring lyrics which were seemingly formed by throwing random things together that just happen to rhyme, the less sense they subsequently make the better… I lost interest rather quickly in Half Man Half Biscuit, and this lot seemed a parody of them, or Sultans Of Ping. Their best number was a C&W style Wreckless Eric like ditty featuring a lyric that actually seemed coherent, about monsters in the garden.

But finally we reached the endgame, the reward for our persistence being a solo set from Wonder Stuff mainman MILES HUNT at 12.45. “Good people of “Shiiine On” Weekender! Why the fuck are you still up?!” he quite rightly queried, then gave us a brief synopsis of his premise for his current “Custodian” tour, which we thoroughly enjoyed in Swindon the other week (gig 1,110) and which this date was ostensibly still part of, before announcing to general approval, “but I’m going to skip [the last] 20 years and just do Wonder Stuff material!” Know your audience. Sensible boy!

So, once again we had a chronological acoustic run-through of the career and canon of one of indie rock’s most enduring bands, The Wonder Stuff, delivered by Milo in a relaxed, inclusive and entirely fun manner. We’d heard the accompanying stories a couple of weeks ago but were entertained again all the same, and we and the remaining “Shiiine On” stragglers involved ourselves heartily in the “audience participation” elements of the likes of “Unbearable” and “Ruby Horse”, determined to squeeze the last ounce of enjoyment out of Miles’ set and the weekend in general, and prompting a compliment of, “you people are in fine voice!” from the great man. Miles concentrated on a set of nailed-on crowd-pleasers (the likes of “Piece Of Sky”, “Golden Green” and “Can’t Shape Up” all received warm singalongs and receptions), and I particularly enjoyed “Caught In My Shadow” after its’ omission from the Vic set, as well as his shout out for Peter Hook’s set earlier (“I’ve seen him 3 times in the last 2 years – best gigs I’ve seen in my life!”).

“We’re nearly done now,” Miles eventually announced to a chorus of boos, prompting a rejoinder of, “I thought you’d be like, “we’ve only just turned up [here] out of respect, we’ve been at this for 3 days and we’re fucked!””. A debate about “Size Of A Cow” preceded a fun, knockabout and singalong rendition of the Stuffies’ maybe-millstone number, then I gave a shout out for “Disco King” when Miles asked for what he’d missed, my wish being granted with a superb version. An almost-perfect way to finish off the “Shiiine On” musical festivities – of course the perfect way would’ve been a full on Stuffies band set, a point not lost on Miles as he said his farewells.

Game over! Time to be handed the list by the great man, then off to bed and off home the following morning after a rousing final breakfast. The worst bill of the 3 so far, maybe, but sparkling performances from the likes of Hooky, Milo, The Sheds, Sleeper, the Diesels and particularly ChameleonsVox made it well worthwhile musically for me. Furthermore, my cohorts in crime were utterly right in their assertion that there’s much more to it than the music; a great relaxed vibe, (mainly) spot-on organisation, good friends, good times, a chance to unwind for a kiddie-free weekend by the seaside, and (this year) a bloody good Sunday carvery nosh! I think we’ll check the bill next year before booking, but I’d lay pretty short odds that we’ll be back for another “Shiiine On” in 2019!

1,111 RAZE*REBUILD, Leon Daye, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 15th November 2018

Out for a gig the night before Shiiine On; I must be barking mad! Still, it's a local one, just up the Tuppenny, and promises to be relatively sedate too... Raze*Rebuild offering an acoustic set in the Tup's compact and cozy settings, so one I can leave my kneestraps at home for, for once with this band!

A slightly late departure from home, as Rach was at a governor's meeting, so I parked up behind the Roaring Donkey and made my way in for 8.45, as support Leon Daye was working through his early numbers. Quite an appropriate support selection, this guy, as his material was generally quite upbeat; "Beautiful Day" was his best number, a jolly Britpop walk along a sunny Summer riverbank, and a couple of others were even slightly emo-ish, albeit with a more yearning, high-pitched vocal rather than an inarticulate howl. A couple of folkier, more introspective numbers finished a decent opening set.

Chatted with promoter Ed and other passing folks (hi Liam!) before taking a seat near the front with the other R*R ever-present, Mr. Paul Carter, for Raze's set at 9.30. Si (whom I'd seen earlier sitting with his old folks, then commented to a passing Matt that he, Matt, looked the image of his old man, only to be told that was his step-dad!) introduced the band on with, "we're Raze*Rebuild from...here!" which promoted some audience discussion as to whether the band were actually from the Tuppenny ("Paj is here so often he's on the contents insurance!")... Opener "Face For Radio" then featured some nice electric reverb from Matt (acoustic, shmacoustic...!) and some understated vocals from Si. I think he'd left the stentorian howl at home along with my kneestraps!

This was a relaxed and chilled performance - a couple of words you wouldn't normally associate with Raze*Rebuild, I know - and again was slightly different to their Shuffle gig, when drummer Jamie just used a beatbox for percussion. With a drum kit, - albeit a skeleton kit of hi-hat, snare and bass alone - their usual gravelly, growling blue-collar alt-rock all got a little bit alt-country, as if they were channelling their inner Wilco or Cake, even... A couple of muffed lines and notes (Si commenting, "you get what you don't pay for," then later remarking he'd been put off by thinking whether his cat was going to dig his plant up - phew, rock and roll!), which would doubtless been bludgeoned over by the full-on electric band line-up, were nonetheless largely ignored by the audience, and slowies "You're The Chalk" and "Kat I'm Sorry" (which saw Si cut a bit loose with the roaring vocal) unsurprisingly benefited best from this arrangement. Even "Burden Of Youth", which Si had admitted he was concerned for, actually worked well, galloping along at an insistent, countrified pace.

Us front row punters then got a bit confused when, contrary to the set-list running order, Si skipped “Back To The Fall” and introduced "Sand In The Petrol" as the last number, but then went back to "Fall" as an encore (the band not bothering to leave the small stage, Si quipping, "there's nowhere to go [offstage] to, just round in circles... metaphor for my life really..."), this ending a somewhat different Raze*Rebuild set, offering a different flavour to their work.

I grabbed the list - my 800th! - before curtailing my socialising in favour of a (relatively) early one. A big weekend planned, but glad I made it out to check out a surprising alt-country side to Raze*Rebuild!

1,110 THE HOUSE OF LOVE, Thousand Yard Stare, Martin Carr, London The Roundhouse, Saturday 10th November 2018

A day (and evening) out in London that didn’t go exactly as planned, but was entertaining and fun nonetheless…

I’d jumped on this right away; after 80’s Indie guitar legends The House Of Love had announced a showcase date at London’s prestigious Roundhouse to play a 30^th Anniversary show celebrating their debut album, a ubiquitous effort that saw them arrive, fully-formed, with a collection of erudite, well-constructed songs melding their evident sonic influences (60’s classics The Byrds and Velvet Underground, 80’s post-punkers Echo And The Bunnymen and Jesus And Mary Chain) into a cohesive whole, I’d put the shout-out on Facebook, and was quickly joined by Messrs. Moore, May and Craven. Sorted tix; however Mr. Craven dropped out due to family issues, but Jason recruited his pal and my old BT colleague Alan to join us. As the gig fell on a Saturday, this was a no-brainer; record and comic shopping day in Camden – yay!

I’d sorted a parking spot on parkonmydrive.com, so I picked Alan and Jason up at 11 under rainy, foreboding skies, outpacing the weather on the drive oop the Smoke, finding our parking spot after a couple of wrong turns, and taking a walk into Camden, getting into the shops just as the rains arrived. The boys headed off for Soho and I ducked into a record shop to get out of the rain; however, after 10 minutes in said dank and depressing record shop looking through crappy old Beggars & Co and Carmel vinyl, 10 minutes more in Mega City Comics (where the nearest I got to buying something was some 1973 UK Avengers comics, just for nostalgia's sake), and a desultory tramp up the High Street in the increasingly pissing rain, I'd had enough and come to an inescapable conclusion. Today was not going to turn out as planned, and not just because of the weather; simply put, Camden is an utter shithole! Maybe it always was, maybe it's my age, but I can't believe I'd romanticised the place sufficiently to want to waste a day here. The fact that the queue to get on the tube and get the hell out of Dodge spread all around the corner, entire pavement-wide, said it all for me. Fuck waiting in that, I thought; I trudged down to Mornington Crescent, headed over to Forbidden Planet and promptly spent the thick end of £70 on (mainly sale price) graphic novels! Yay!

Back over to dump my purchases in the car, then headed over to the venue in the drizzle, meeting up with Rich May, who’d caught the train up, in the adjacent bar at 6. We had our tickets scanned, so we were in! Rich pointed out unexpected support act Martin Carr, and I popped over for a chat about our mutual friend, my Boston buddy Corin Ashley, including the story of when I visited Corin in Cardiff for an evening drink after he'd been recording with Martin - I'd taken along a gigbook containing a Boo Radleys setlist, and Martin's wife had texted a pic of it back to the babysitting Martin, eliciting a text reply of "a litany of tunelessness"!!

 

So Rich and I, now joined by Rich's brother Colin, wandered in to see Martin's set at 7.20, in the hope of something tuneful...! Accompanied by 2 gents on synth and bass, the lengthy opener featured some cultured, intricate and haunting guitar over some atmospheric synth backbeats, before he finally took the mic, revealing himself as a lilting vocalist of no little note. Nice! The second number ("Enemies Of The People"?) was a more straightforward psych-pop 60's workout, before his vignette ended with an unexpected "Lazarus", a stripped-back reading of the Boo Radleys classic ending in an extended funky break. A real curveball from Mr. Carr!

 

The old engine shed was filling up nicely, as the main support took the stage at 8. "The Roundhouse, eh? Flippin' eck, it's full... We're Thousand Yard Stare from the 80's!" quipped rakish vocalist Stephen as the band, who looked like they'd been giving their singer their allotted portions of the elixir of youth, nonetheless burst into a frantic "Version Of Me". As per their 2016 "Shiine On" set, their libidinous baggy dance-pop was delivered at a furious, Lauda-esque pace, and Stephen was again a vaguely unsettling onstage presence, prowling around, speaking in tongues and making odd hand gestures. An early "Buttermouth" was great fun, "Seasonstream" ("this wasn't on the EP [of the same name] as I was trying to be a clever fucker when I was 20!") was creepy and moody, and whilst the mid-set meandered along pleasantly enough, the penultimate "0-0 AET", featuring the original drummer, still recovering from illness, was a loose-limbed set highlight. Good set again from the self-deprecating Thousand Yard Who?

 

We kept our spot near the front, but it got seriously crammed down there; also, we seemed to be in the vicinity of some folks who clearly don't get out much, and don't really know how to comport themselves properly when out in a busy place. Bah! Still, we had a band to concentrate on, and the lights dimmed at 9.15, guitarist Terry Bickers taking the stage first, ever the virtuoso perfectionist, making final checks before his bandmates joined him. "30 years ago we released our debut album under the watchful eye of Alan McGhee" (the Creation Records boss, who'd acted as between-band DJ tonight, looking unfortunately like Uncle Albert from "Only Fools And Horses"), announced vocalist Guy Chadwick, before they eased into opening track "Christine", its wall-of-guitar building from a surprisingly understated opening to a more powerful "ba-ba ba-ba-ba" looped climax.

 

This pretty much set the tone; the sound was perfect, the band delivering this classic album with respect and hallowed devotion, but, aside from the odd snatch of crunchy riffery from Sir Bickers, the undoubted star of the show(the guitar breaks in "Hope", which also saw some high kicks from the still-youthful guitarist, and the thunderous building climax of "Love In A Car") it all felt a little understated, introspective, low-key even, the sparse, almost hushed "Man To Child" encapsulating their approach. My mood probably wasn't helped by the guy in front of me remaining stock still throughout, but I, rather churlishly, felt like the artillery guy from "Good Morning Vietnam"; “can we play anything for you?" "Anything! Just play it loud! Okay?!!”

 

Album dispensed with, they did actually crank it up at last; "Marble" was dynamic, underpinned by a creepy bassline, "A Baby Got Back" was punchy and undulating, and the underrated "I Don't Know Why I Love You" just rocked with pleading intensity. But they saved their best for the set closer; after fulsome thanks from Mr. Bickers ("we're so happy you could join us for this celebration"), "Destroy The Heart" was powerful, epic and totally worth the admission price on its own. Great way to end the set!

 

After the inevitable encore of the plangent "Shine On", a friendly roadie handed me a list at the second attempt (!), and I was deluged by folks wanting to get a pic! Ran into old Lev friends Kate and Rachel on the way out for a chat, before a thankfully dry hike back to the car for midnight and a quick exit out of London, home at a bleary-eyed 2am after dropping the guys (including Rich, who joined us on the drive back) home. On reflection, I was probably being harsh with my "louder!" views, as much of that first album material is more delicate and introspective. On the whole, they did excellent justice to it; a gig worthy of such a notable celebration, after a fun, if different than anticipated, day up the Smoke!

 

1,109 THE DECEMBERISTS, Hop Along, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 8th November 2018

I’d quickly booked tickets for this one before picking up The Decemberists latest album "I'll Be Your Girl", and I have to say I initially regretted my haste. On initial listens, I found it a real curate's egg (a reference that would no doubt delight the studious and intellectual Decemberists main-man Colin Meloy), their usual crafted and cerebral Americana/ alt-rock bring subsumed in occasional jarring swathes of suspiciously 80's mainstream-sounding synth. After their REM "tribute" record (the excellent "The King Is Dead"), was this their Hall And Oates tribute? Horrible thought!!

Well, I was committed, so put some work in, and repeated listens made more sense of the album, so, thus buoyed, I set off under inky skies, parking in Trenchard Level 9 and hitting the venue at 7.45 for a much-needed wee! Support Hop Along from Philadelphia, on in short order, were initially a decent blend of US alt-college pop and slightly countrified Americana, with tumbling drums and chiming ringing guitars augmenting the main feature, that of the diminutive female vocalist's impressive vocal range. Not averse to shouting at the audience either; "how y'all doing... ANSWER ME!" Some intriguing moments in their set, however I became increasingly unsure as to whether the clash between the octave straddling vocals and discordant guitar licks were deliberately "challenging", or just unrehearsed, and overall the set became a bit of a muddle. A lot of one, actually. Frustrating, really, as there might be a pleasant little band there...

Another quick loo trip turned into a real squeeze to get back, as the place - an early sell-out tonight - felt utterly rammed, everywhere! Still, I inveigled my way to a small space near the front, house left. The Decemberists took the stage at 9 to a devotional welcome, opening with a folky, strum- and harmonica-along "Don't Carry It All", setting the stage appropriately for the first part of the set; initially it felt akin to a backwoods campfire singalong, relaxed and inclusive, with understated renditions of (often gory and horror/death-based!) story-based numbers. An early "Shankhill Butchers" was a perfect example; segued in with "Blackleg Miner", this Violent Femmes-like death ballad ended with mainman Colin Meloy remarking, "That's 2 songs in 1 about mining; so don't leave here complaining you didn't get enough mining songs!"

Before that, we'd had a quite beautiful version of "Make You Better", the band delivering their best number as if made of China, and a soupcon of Meloy's erudute and entertaining banter ("we're from Portland, Oregon... Oh, America... we carry our apologies with us!") However, the incongruous and slightly jarring glitter stomp of "We All Die Young", which, hey, I just flat out don’t like, nonetheless heralded a sea change in the set, as thereafter it got noticeably rockier; "Queens Rebuke" was an unpalatable prof workout, but the dark, flippant "Rake's Song" rescued matters, and "Severed" was excellent, despite - or even because of! - the pulsing synth. And this after I’d criticised the synth overload. I'm a contrary bugger, aren't I?

"Sons" ended the set with a hopeful and topical singalong of "hear all the bombs fade away", then the encore saw both sides of the Decemberists' approach tonight; back to the gloomy campfire for "Rusalka/Wild Rushes", then a soaring, synth-embellished "Once In My Life", Meloy stealing lyric snippets from The Smiths "Please Please Please". However, the highlight was saved until last; after being advised by Colin; "one more number before we send you into the Bristolese night... [I mean] Bristolian? Is that right? I thought you were having a piss...!", then being coached for our reaction to being swallowed by a whale (and been advised to make the whale signal at Death Cab For Cutie's Ben Gibbard, at their forthcoming gig here!), the snarky sea shanty "Mariners Revenge" was ace. Lots of swayalong audience participation, then the sight of a huge inflatable whale floating over the audience! Bizarre yet fun, and an apt way to end tonight’s proceedings.

Grabbed a list then hit the road, reflecting on another unique yet entertaining Decemberists gig. They showed 2 distinct elements of their work, and, despite the unwanted (by me, anyway) “Glitter Band tribute” and a slight veer towards prog overload, I enjoyed them both!

1,108 “THE CUSTODIAN” AKA MILES HUNT, Matt Watson, Swindon The Victoria, Tuesday 6th November 2018

 

 

A third return to the 'don for a relatively frequent visitor; the esteemed Mr. Miles Hunt, frontperson and main inspiration for enduring indie rock legends The Wonder Stuff! This time flying solo to promote current acoustic career-spanning retrospective album "The Custodian" (so named following a conversation Milo had with Tom Robinson, wherein Robinson remarked that the true "owners" of Miles' songs were his audience, due to the life experiences those songs had soundtracked for them, and that he, Miles, was the Custodian of those songs on his audience's behalf), this one sold out in pretty short order, so I was glad I acted quickly, sorting tix for myself and Rachel. Quite appropriate really, given the theme of this tour, as The Wonder Stuff had been Rachel's first gig, back in April 1994; a gig I was actually at (gig 265 for me!), years before we even met!

 Left after Grandma arrived to babysit, parking up behind the Roaring Donkey as my usual car park was full, and hitting the Vic for an early drink. Very quiet early doors for a sell-out gig! Ran into old Level 3 pal Robynne and hubby Paul for a chat before wandering down to the venue, for a surprise; rows of seats! In the Vic!! Weird; no wonder this sold out in short order! Had time to take second row seats and briefly contemplate this anomaly, before being joined by tour support Matt Watson. An affable gent from Norwich, he  played an acoustic set ranging from lively Turner-esque gallops, through slower, rootsier and folkier material, to his Radio 6-aired "Grounded" ("the only song played on Radio 6 with a frying pan [played] in the chorus!" he advised), which unsurprisingly had inflections of tonight’s headliner, and for which he prompted an audience singalong, to get the crowd warmed up for Miles! Overall, a decent start...

 The Big Man joined us midway through the set; I also chatted with Colin May, who grabbed the seat next to us, while Miles set up onstage before taking a stool and soliciting our attention at 9 with his usual, "Oi, Oi!" After complimenting Swindon for selling the gig out, he explained the premise behind the tour and CD, before opening with his first ever written song, "Speakeasy" ("not to be confused with Shed Seven's!"), which dated from his early teens, spent posing in the mirror with big brother Russ' guitar... and breaking it!

 This was a quite excellent show, a scattergun yet relatively coherent, mostly chronological run-through the works of an undoubtedly talented songwriter with a gift for easy, catchy melody and flippant, acerbic lyricism. Miles was in fine fettle, a relaxed, engaging and gregarious raconteur throughout, supremely comfortable in his own skin and totally at peace with the shenanigans of his past self. "My 20 year old self would slap me off the stage!", he joked whilst calling for audience participation for an early "Unbearable" ("all the lay-deez in the house - scream!"), then, after an entertaining reading from his "Wonder Stuff Diaries" (recalling the day he chanced upon his Uncle's glam rock band Wizzard, crashed out at his parents' place,  the apparent inciting incident which made him want to form a band himself!), an almost poignant "Can't Shape Up" was explained as initially being a breakup letter to an ex-girlfriend! Songs and stories were dispensed in equal measure as Miles took us through his career; "On The Ropes" was turned into a hushed ballad, adding an extra dimension to my favourite Stuffies number; an excellent Frank Black interview story touched on his MTV VJ days; and a rendition of Vent's "Fixer" was surprisingly excellent. A self-confessed "couple of soppy songs" in "Good Deeds And Highs" and "We Hold Each Other Up" followed, before Miles, claiming throughout that, "there's no Springsteen in me," nonetheless stayed onstage for an encore, taking shouted requests from the attentive and enthusiastic crowd, and delivering an excellent "Wish Away", a rollicking, racy and singalong "Don't Let Me Down, Gently" and a final "Give Give Give" before decanting to the merch stand.

 So did we! Photos and a brief chat with Sir Miles (who'd also handed me the sole list at the end - result!), who was happy that we'd been a more attentive and respectful crowd than at his recent Hastings gig - no drunken lairy women! Bade farewell to all and sundry then home after an excellent evening's entertainment. Miles the Custodian is looking after "our" Wonder Stuff songs splendidly; in all honesty they couldn't be in safer hands!

1,107 ROLLING BLACKOUTS COASTAL FEVER, Thyla, Portsmouth Wedgewood Rooms, Wednesday 24th October 2018

This quick jaunt down to the South Coast - first time in Portsmouth since an ersatz Lemonheads line-up featuring old Boston buddy Dean Parsons played this venue some 7 years back (November 2011, to be exact; gig no. 834) - was my only opportunity to see this promising young Antipodean indie-power band on their current UK tour... their Oxford gig, the following night, clashed with the first night of a family holiday in Turkey, and next week's London date, where my mate and Aussie rock uber-fan Rich May was headed, falls while I'm due to still be on a Turkish sunbed! Hence, to Pompey I go...

Packed for my holiday the night before so I could get a flyer down South tonight... good thing too, as, after a reasonably quick drive down, it then took me 20 minutes to find a parking spot. Bah! Not quite Cowley Road, but close... So I hit the venue and got my bearings just before openers Thyla, on at 8.15. They've evolved their sound from the Nirvana-esque quiet-loud dynamics of their Inheaven support slot, earlier this year, opening with an almost wistful, dreampop opener, before new single "Blue" upped the tempo with some tumbling drumbeats, shimmering, Horrors-like guitar licks and a big ol' chorus. Nice! The rest of their set owed a noticeable debt to the Pixies, with some flesh-creepingly spooky bass and tough-sounding resonant riffery, and some impressive, strident primal screams from our resident pocket dynamo vocalist, again resplendent in iridescent floaty dress and pale stompy boots. However, they impressed overall with their youthful verve and enthusiasm, the Stereolab-rhythmic closer "Blame" proving a fine punctuation to a good set, from a band to watch.

Chats with a fellow front-row punter (who recalled seeing The Clash in 1977!) and a quick word with Thyla vocalist Millie bumped us up to showtime, the cumbersomely-named 5-piece Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever (henceforth RBCF) taking the dry-ice drenched and disco-ball backlit stage at 9.15. Thrashy guitar opener "The Hammer" set the tone immediately; this lot are all about the jangly guitar, a trio of vocalist-guitarists strumming away furiously, swapping vocal chores (often in the same song!), charging around the stage like prowling honeybadgers, propelling their predominantly upbeat, galloping material with intertwining riffery, coming across one minute like an early Wedding Present or even "Boo Boo"-era Big Dipper, the next jangling away like The Byrds or Real Estate at 78rpm. Or like an Olympic sprinter with a pocket full of marbles...

"Thanks for showing up - it's our first time here!" announced Fran Keaney, one of the vocalist/guitarist trio, before going on to compliment Portsmouth seafront castle ("we don't get castles in Australia!") and pier ("much more beautiful than Brighton!"). That aside, their frantic indie-college-pop spoke for them; the excellent "Talking Straight" was an early highlight, "Sisters Jeans" slower and more laconic, Tom Russo's more conversational vocal style coming across like a young Lou Reed or Jonathan Richman, and a later "Mainland" evoked a late Summer evening beach campfire vibe. A splendid, dynamically delivered set; if I have one criticism, it might be that on occasion the frantic jangle seemed somewhat relentless, a slight lack of variation in the material not allowing for much light and shade, but I'm being picky. I really like what they do, and how they do it.

"Can I remind you it's a full moon!" warned Tom before set closer "French Press", which saw an extensive wall-of-jangle interlude to finish. Quite appropriate really. A couple of equally frenetic encores saw this short-ish (just over the hour mark) and snappy set to a close, after which I grabbed a list and got signatures from the band, bassist Joe Russo taking my list backstage for his brother Tom to sign - apparently he was poorly, which didn't show as he'd put in a good shift tonight, leaving it all onstage. Fair play!

A chat outside with a couple of the Thyla lads about The Pixies as well, before a swift drive home (1 hour 20!). A long midweek jaunt to Portsmouth, sure, but well worth the pre-holiday faff for a couple of very promising guitar bands in Thyla and RBCF!