1,119 “THE 12 BANDS OF CHRISTMAS”, Swindon Victoria, Saturday 15th December 2018

 

It seems only apt that the final punctuation stop on a crazily packed 53-Gig Year of 2018 would be this one, the crazily packed Swindon music fraternity's "Christmas Party" that is the "12 Bands Of Christmas"... also that it should fall on a crazily packed day! Saturdays often fall into the category of "trying to fit a quart into a pint pot", but with last-minute Chrimbo shopping, picking up undelivered parcels, a cinema trip with my little man ("Aquaman"; not bad but the plot was, well, crazily packed!) and tea at my dad's, this one already felt like fitting a gallon into a thimble!

No matter, I drove up the hill early to ensure parking on a busy pre-Chrimbo Saturday, then caught up with the Raze*Rebuild boys (there it is, you've just sussed out why I'm really here, haven't you!) as the place rapidly filled. Wandered down to the back room, caught up with Andy Fenton and mate Nige, then took a watching brief for openers ABSTRACTION ENGINE at 8.30. As per previous "12 Bands" events, the format was simple; 12 local acts, all doing 2 numbers, both covers and ideally outside their usual genre, in their own style. So this indie jangle lot, seemingly led by Stephen King's younger brother, led off with an appropriately jangly "Can't Take My Eyes Off You", subsequently impressing more with their take on Wham's "Freedom", which turned into a 60's inflected TFC laze-rock strumalong. Good start! BASEMENT CLUB, who'd apparently come out of retirement for tonight, followed with a couple of growly vocalised numbers, including a C Lo Green song, then CANUTE'S PLASTIC ARMY impressed with a haunting stripped-back "Life's What You Make It" which was actually quite beautiful. By their second number "That's Not my Name", vocalist Anish was threatening to flatten the front couple of rows with her strong and strident vocal tones (as her neighbour and local impresario Ed Dyer, who'd joined me by now, had promised), particularly during the segue into "Whole Lotta Love".

Things were already getting busy in the back-room venue by now, so I sought some fresh air and space outside, chatting with Ed, and Graham from Cinnamon Smith (splendidly decked out tonight in a Nefertiti headdress!), before plunging back in for GEORGE WILDING. I'd unfortunately missed this talented young man's TC&I support slot, but I was glad I caught this, as young George encapsulated the spirit of the event by turning "Let It Go" into a funereal (albeit no less singalong!) death-dirge, before a glammed-up and more upbeat Abba medley which went down a storm with the by-now packed crowd. A quick chat with the lovely Bex, a star performer here last year, before CHENEY, who was joined by the ebullient Theo Altieri, who then led a rabble-rousing singalong to "Electric Avenue", which made up for a dull "Bittersweet Symphony"... no reflection on their bleep-bloop synth-effects led version, I just think it's a crap song!

Out again for another necessary breather; by now it was sardine city back there, the concept of "personal space" having long since disappeared, with the compere continually exhorting the crowd to, "take 2 steps forward" (mate, I was down the front; if I took 2 steps forward I'd be in the dressing room, never mind on the stage!). It just felt considerably oversold, and with up to 40 or so performers across the 12 bands as well, it was simply waaaay too full.

So, I squeezed into the back on my return, to catch the MATT BRYANT EXPERIENCE, Mr. Bryant himself sporting choirboy garb and leading his band of cavalrymen through a languid "Be My Baby" and a tinny "Sit Down" during which Bryant tried to get the crowd to sit down - no room to stand comfortably, mate, never mind sit! ATARI PILOT, featuring R*R bassist Paj pulling the first of his double shift, turned "Heaven Is A Place On Earth" into a chuntering and layered REM-alike jangle-fest, although their subsequent "Let's Dance" felt too faithful to Bowie's original.

Talking about double shifts... I grabbed a tiny spot down the front as Jamie took the drum-stool for the first of his own double-header! First THE HARLERS; initially a 2-piece, sneering and growling through a grungy and gravelly "Molly's Chambers" and a snatch of "We Will Rock You", before being joined by a bassist for a tremendous sparky and spiky rant through The Subways' "Rock'n'Roll Queen". Then, the main reason for my attendance, RAZE*REBUILD, Si leading the band on with a quip of, "playing at 20 past 11? I'm as pissed as you lot!" before inviting a singalong for a genius selection of "Nothing Compares 2U", the Raze-boys of course turning this teary ballad into a full-on punk rock rollercoaster thrill-ride, a la China Drum's "Wuthering Heights" or Husker Du's "Eight Miles High". Yup, that good. Journey's cheesy rocker "Don't Stop Believin'" ("dialling the Cheese-ometer up to 11," according to Si) was big dumb stompy fun too, but for me the boys had led off with the real winner, and the single-song Highlight of the Night.

Stayed upfront for YVES, whose "No One Knows" was again too faithful to the QOTSA original for my liking, their take on "Take On Me" also being a bit of a mess, the vocalist not even knowing the words to the verses! Still, they were lapped up by the seething mass of bodies, so what the fuck do I know, eh? Still, one thing we could all agree on was that THE MARTYRIALS' bat-shit mental set was last year's "12 Bands" highlight, so no surprise that this unorthodox band of psychedelic punk ruffians were booked to headline tonight, with an extended 5 song set. Some inspired choices again from the totally wired Sammy and his charges; "Waterloo" was an action-packed and sheet-metal synth layered dirty and dirgy delight, as far removed from Abba's original as possible, "Danger High Voltage" was sneering and snarling, and whilst I could have done without the (almost predictable?) "Sweet Transvestite" and the closing, and comparatively plodding (apart from a frenzied punk rock mid-section) "I Want To Break Free", the unmistakable synth pulse opening of "Kids In America" had earlier heralded a breathless, brilliant version, almost matching "NC2U" for song of the night. As ever, Sammy was a supreme showman, preening, pouting and thrusting like a cross between "Ziggy" Bowie and "St. Julian" Cope, the ideal frontman to conclude a bizarre and brilliant set. I could, however, also have done without the couple of dicks that climbed onstage at the end... it's not all about you, you morons!

That bumped us up to a red-eyed 12.30 so I bade my farewells, heading home reflecting on the night. Way too packed; hopefully talk outside afterwards about moving it to Level 3 next year will bear fruit. A few too many "straight" covers for me too; the bands I'll remember are those that entered into the spirit of the thing, getting into a song, moving the furniture around and offering their own warped take on it. Kudos then to Canute's, Wilding, Raze and Martyrials... and overall (despite my couple of grumbles) a fine – if crazily packed – way to see out Gig Year 2018!

1,118 CHAMELEONSVOX, Siberia, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Tuesday 11th December 2018

So Paul wasn’t just here for The Skids, after all…!

My old 80’s friend (now a Seattle expat) Paul Crowfoot had startled me with an unexpected call on the evening of last week’s Buffalo Tom gig (gig 1,115), proclaiming an imminent visit to Swindon and a (subsequently fulfilled) intention to join us for The Skids gig at Fiddlers this Sunday past (gig 1,117!). He then mentioned he’d been unsuccessful in getting tix for The Chameleons’ hometown Christmas gig, so I suggested he join us for this one, which should prove a damn sight nearer and more available, ticket-wise! So I suddenly had welcome company in my continuing quest to make up for lost time with this superb – and oft-overlooked, not only by myself – seminal goth-tinged post-punk band. After their stellar Shiiine On performance last month, I knew they were in rare form, so hopes were high for this one!

Picked Paul up early and, after an unsuccessful diversion on the way, we slowly picked our way through Oxford city centre, but amazingly found a street parking spot almost directly opposite the venue. Is this really Oxford in the run-up to Christmas?? Still, not looking a gift space in the mouth, we dumped the motor and hit this splendidly scuzzy pub back-room, taking a bar spot for opening band Siberia, on at 8. I say “band”; it was actually a 2-piece using backing tapes, and there was my real problem with this lot – not even tape loops (which I normally bristle at), but actual recordings of the drum and bass patterns for the songs in question! Sorry boys, I thought I’d booked to see “live” music, not a Blue Peter “here’s one we made earlier” cheat session. For me, the taped stuff completely undermined the credibility of the performance, even calling into question how much the “live” guitarist was contributing. Call me an anally retentive purist snob if you will (you wouldn’t be the first to do so), but lads, play “live” or don’t – none of this fucking half-measure stuff, which just felt like goth karaoke for me. A shame, as the songs themselves were dark, moody and intriguing in an early Mission style, but the format made me too annoyed to like them.

Rant over, I was then looking forward to some proper “live” stuff, from one of the top half-dozen or so bands I’ve seen in the last couple of years (Skids, Hold Steady, Nada Surf, Frank Turner, Raze*Rebuild and this lot… put ‘em onstage, and they tower over the rest by some considerable distance). Grabbed some barrier as the place filled, and we didn’t have long to wait before the monolithic figure of Mark Burgess led his Chameleons line-up onstage, avowing his intention to play the “new” album (only a mere 35 years old!) “Script Of The Bridge” (“available absolutely fucking nowhere,” as he deadpanned) in its’ entirety. So the strident, potent power of “Don’t Fall” kicked it off, Mark’s murky and mysterious bass stylings providing the bedrock for the duelling guitars of Chris Oliver and Neil Dwerryhouse to weave their plangent and intoxicating magic on top, as brilliantly as ever.... I dunno, I’ve mentioned before that had I been aware of this lot back in the 80’s, they’d likely have been serious challengers to Echo And The Bunnymen for my late-teens favourite band, and there’s something about the Bunnys in their approach – the other-worldly sounding guitars, metallic yet chimingly resonant, as if they were being beamed in from another dimension; the insouciant, almost glacial cool of Mark Burgess’ onstage presence, and the voice – less pure and soaring than Mac’s, but no less commanding, and even more so with age.

“Monkeyland” saw Dwerryhouse coaxing eerie guitar effects as the sound creepily built in, before the strident release of the hook pronounced imperiously by Burgess; “Up The Down Escalator” was as soaring and balls-out a post-punk rocker as the likes of “Back Of Love” or “Mr. Jones”; and “Pleasure And Pain” sounded more chiming and resonant than ever. But it was “A Person Isn’t Safe Here Anymore” that proved tonight’s highlight; as Burgess was about to dedicate the song to the memory of Sophie Lancaster, as ever, some wag in the audience (not me, honest!) shouted out, “Pete Shelley!” which caused the otherwise taciturn vocalist to remark, “good call!”, gush about how intrinsic Shelley was to his formative years, then tell us a story of being beaten up by a gang with pickaxe handles when leaving a Buzzcocks gig… the song itself understandably took on new meaning, a blistering and venomous rendition, exorcising some ghosts and paying tribute to others. Astonishing. Some acid comments about Theresa May (“bring back Guy Fawkes, I say…”) got the audience (even more) onside as well, before a tense, atmospheric “Paper Tigers” and elegiac conclusion “View From A Hill” to end another magnificent set.

We then got a 50^th birthday shout-out for an audience member (hey, Gavin!), before a savage encore of “In Shreds”, then “Singing Rule Britannia” saw a lyric check for “What Do I Get” thrown in with the usual lines from “White Riot”, “Transmission” and “Rebellious Jukebox”. “Nostalgia” closed out the encore, although somewhat thematically inappropriately – 35 years old these songs may be, and arguably playing the “nostalgia” circuit Burgess and his charges might be, but there’s nothing dated about ChameleonsVox or their material… if anything, with the likes of new bands such as Liines, Wolf Alice and even my favourites Desperate Journalist mining this dark, gothic post-punk sound, they sound positively contemporary!

Caught up with an equally enthusiastic Rich Craven afterwards before a quick chat and pic with the main man Burgess and his wingman Dwerryhouse, then Paul and I hit the kebab shop for eats before a late drive home. As I mentioned, pre-gig hopes were high, but ChameleonsVox even exceeded them tonight with an utterly stellar and imperious performance. Glad Paul got to see them in this form. A great night!

1,117 THE SKIDS, Knock Off, Borrowed Time, Bristol Fiddlers, Sunday 9th December 2018

The comeback kings of 2017 continue to cut a rampaging swathe across the 2018 musical landscape, and this time there's happily another witness to this; my old friend Paul Crowfoot! Having monitored The Skids' triumphant return from afar (let's face it, you can't really get that much further "afar" than Seattle!) and having reconciled to the fact they're not likely to come his way, Paul got in touch (ironically as I was queueing up to get in the Buffalo Tom gig!) to confirm he was combining some personal UK business and a Chrimbo visit to his folks with a Skids gig run! Stuart and I were already booked for this one, but were more than happy to be joined by another Skids devotee, for what promised to be another epic titanic night of anthemic punk rock.

 

So I picked Paul up early from his 'rents and we caught up at my place awhile (it seems like 5 minutes, but it's actually been 2 1/2 years since we were plane-spotting from his Heathrow hotel before that Close Lobsters 100 Club gig, no. 988!), before Stuart silently rolled up in his electric car, and we had a gig-chat fuelled drive down to Brizzle, avoiding some traffic queues and parking up around the corner from this scuzzy old venue, located in the middle of a run-down industrial park. Only been here the once before (The Wannadies, gig 433, waaaaay back in March 2000!) but it all came flooding back when we got in prompt at 7.30 and I saw the corner stage! A quick chat with our friendly merch guy Gordon, before we were assaulted by the first of 2 formulaic punk supports, Borrowed Time, on at 7.45. The spiky peroxide vocalist threw his sock into the sparse early crowd after their opener, which was more entertaining than the song! However, at least their ramalama punk was stuck in a 1978 groove, recalling a number of second-tier shouty punk acts such as Drones, Killjoys etc, rather than the 1980's homogeneous leather'n'studs dreck, and often showing some semblance of a tune here and there. One number nicked Iggy's "Lust For Life" rhythm, and I enjoyed the sincerity of a couple of numbers dedicated to local punk Sue Barnett, and The Buzzcocks' mainman Pete Shelley, both tragically lost too soon this week. So, much better than other support Knock Off, a Fred Perry-clad trio of 1,000 mph noiseniks channelling sub-Upstarts "street" Oi/ punk, the type that put me off punk back in the day. The vocalist's banter was way better than the "music", which felt like the aural equivalent of a Julian Dicks late tackle, and I escaped to the loos to avoid a chunk of the set and look up the Strictly results! (No, I'm not joking...)

 

We took a spot near the front, house left, as the roadies set up. Sure enough, at 9.30 the backwards loop of "Peaceful Times" kicked in and The Skids took the stage, vocalist Richard Jobson last but first to speak, announcing, "here we are, let's raise the roof!" as the band powered into the strident march of "Animation". The marvellous descending riff of "Of One Skin" followed, a boisterous yet good-natured moshpit accompanying it, prompting Jobson to warn, "pace yourselves... there's a long way to go, and a long way to Bristol A&E!"

 

The Skids were on top form tonight, tight, road-tested and together, and none more so than their leader; whether gleefully shadow-boxing and twirling in his usual strong-armed dervish dance, or quipping along with the relaxed demeanour of a stand-up comedian (a lengthy diatribe about what goes on in the nearby Forest Of Dean, a comment about his energetic dancing - "I started this tour 235 kilos and I'm [now] practically withering away! " - and his story of how bassist Bill Simpson started the band in 1916 after the Battle of Flanders (!) all drawing some laughter), Jobbo was the mesmeric focal point throughout. Wingman Bruce Watson, again a more than able deputy for the sadly-departed Stuart Adamson, was in fantasy band camp throughout, perma-grin fixed in place, furious riffery underpinning the seething anthemic power of the material. And a few curveballs too - following a superb, roof-raising double singalong of "Hurry On Boys" and "Woman In Winter", Jobbo announced a never-played "Sweet Suburbia", getting halfway through a messy rendition before segueing into "Albert Tatlock" (drummer Mike Baillie again playing the off-kilter Devo "Satisfaction" drum pattern!), then into an unplanned "Pretty Vacant"! "Circus Games" was as usual a stately and robust highlight, the epic thrill-ride of "Into The Valley" was earlier than usual ("we normally finish with [it] but we love you so much we want to keep going!"), and the drum-propelled gallop of "Olympian" closed out the set proper.

 

The voluble vocalist also hit the "Serious" button a time or two, dedicating an early "Saints Are Coming" to Stuart Adamson, then during the encore, he delivered a heartfelt tribute to Pete Shelley, conducting the audience in an impromptu singalong of the hook to "Ever Fallen In Love", either side of a full-bodied yet reverential run-through of The Buzzcocks' "What Do I Get?" Newie "One Last Chance" ended a brilliant set; the band, dripping with sweat, had given their all and so had we, being buffeted about at the edge of the mosh, but not caring a jot. And we all scored setlists, Stuart having his handed to him by Jobbo. Result!

 

Caught our breath, then home. Glad Paul got to see The Skids in such rare form; long may this comeback continue!

 

1,116 NOTHING, Suburban Living, Bristol Fleece, Wednesday 5th December 2018

Back to The Fleece for two in two nights, this one promising to be a little different, though no less raucous... after grizzled alt-rock veterans Buffalo Tom last night, here's relative pups, Philly's excellent Nothing, back in Bristol a couple of years after their ear-splitting Start The Bus gig (gig 1,002). This time sees them promoting new album "Dance On The Blacktop", apparently a lyrical catharsis for mainman and indie rock student Domenic Palermo after his (fairly) recent wrongful incarceration, but a collection which sonically sees them evolve their sound away from the harsh, wall-of-noise grungy dynamics which occasionally featured on previous effort “Tired Of Tomorrow” and almost go full-on shoegaze, with layers of shimmering guitars and submerged, mumbled vocals aplenty. Nothing on it to match the immediacy of the wonderful "Vertigo Flowers", but repeated listens have as ever been rewarded with hidden depths, so anticipation was still high!

Off at 7 for a much dryer drive down, parking up at 8 and hitting the venue, to be greeted with the odd sight of tables and stools set up midway between stage and back wall/soundman Rich Munday's mixing desk. Expecting a quiet one then, at least in terms of attendance...! No time to ponder this though, as support Suburban Living were on in short order. Another Philly lot, they immediately impressed with opener "Faded", a dark, gloomy and morose little post-punk rocker with shimmering and resonant guitar effects. Second number "Once/ Twice" saw them channelling their inner Cure-heads, with a taut and delightful gallop strongly recalling Smith’s lot’s classic "Just Like Heaven", and subsequent numbers hit a distinctly 80's vibe, the slower-burn "Lovely" seemingly soundtracking that moment in a John Hughes movie where Judd Nelson's just been dumped by some girl...! More textural moments too to supplement the 80’s Tears For Fears-esque feel, as well as a clattering jangle-fest in "Fit In", which recalled current faves Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever. Overall, absolutely splendid stuff from a very promising new name indeed...

Good guys too... chatted with bassist Kyle, who'd handed me his list, and who also turned out to be the son of original Buzzcocks bassist Steve Garvey! Musical talent clearly runs in the family, then... Also chatted rock and baseball with vocalist Wesley Bunch, a knowledgeable and personable chap who was excited for his band's pending Manchester gig ("all my favourite bands come from there!"), maybe less so at the prospect of Bryce Harper signing for The Phillies...

A surreal moment as I took a quick loo break, just as all of Nothing invaded the gents, Palermo blaring, "OK where's the cocaine?!" I think it's more cider here, guys... Back on the barrier as Nothing took a murky, smoke-shrouded stage just after 9, a haunting, elegiac riff from guitarist Brendan over a taped radio announcement weaving an eerie atmosphere. "Zero Day" kicked off the set proper, answering once and for all the eternal question as to what a shuddering grunge/shoegaze Mamas And Papas would sound like...! Pale Saints-style textural guitar reverb knitted the early numbers together, swathes of heavy yet sparkling riffery submerging Domenic's vocals during the grumbling growl of "B&E" and more driving upbeat "Curse Of The Sun". Next up, "You Wind Me Up" was an early highlight, the smooth, dream-pop best number on their new CD, featuring a delicious octave jump for the final chorus.

"Our booking agent booked 11 shows in England! Fuck!" a drawling Domenic (possibly a little worse for wear too?) mock-complained, one of his (few) remarks tonight that made sense... no matter, the rock made sense for him, from the "Creep"-like murky and mournful "Us/We/Are", the thrilling psych-shoegazey rocker of a blistering "Vertigo Flowers", the brilliant high watermark of their canon,  and the stretched, elegiac "Carpenter's Son". Intriguing, inventive stuff overall, culminating in a shuddering feedback loop at the end of lengthy and melancholy final number "Hope".

No encore, but a list after a lengthy wait (and puzzling chat with the roadie), then farewells to the affable Suburban Living boys before a much easier (and earlier!) drive home. Anticipation rewarded, then, after another noisy yet intriguing Nothing gig... ignore that (splendid) name, they're actually something!

1,115 BUFFALO TOM, Sunstack Jones, Bristol Fleece, Tuesday 4th December 2018

An even dozen for enduring Boston blue-collar alt-rock legends "The Tom", but first one for me for 7 years, since a Dingwalls show in support of their previous CD “Skins” (gig 809, back in March 2011); of course Tom mainman Bill Janovitz was the opener on the Boston ACLU show I flew over to “The Hub” for, last March (gig 1,028), so I had the opportunity then to apologise in advance for missing their then-forthcoming June 2017 UK date, as it clashed with The Skids' Oxford gig. I was therefore not going to miss a Fleece Tom gig, announced as part of a short UK tour promoting "Quiet And Peace", their first album since that "Skins" CD, again 7 years ago. The Tom at The Fleece... imagine that!

Unsurprisingly, I had a car load for this one, with Tim, Paul and Stuart (amazingly, a first-time Tom-boy tonight!) joining us for a rocking haunt down the M4; sadly Rach had to drop out earlier today as she was unwell, but as this was a sell-out, we swiftly sold her ticket to a grateful punter outside The Fleece (face value, of course...). Result! It was quiet early doors so we grabbed a bit of barrier, front and centre, before support Sunstack Jones came on at 8. After easing in with a slightly-delic, sway-along opener, they picked things up with the more upbeat, driving "Always Something Up", a buoyant, guitar-propelled blast underpinned by a refrain recalling The Monkees' excellent "Pleasant Valley Sunday". Subsequent numbers veered between occasionally countrified indie rock inflections, some West Coast sunkissed melody and Teenage Fanclub-esque harmonies, and pastoral Byrds-ian atmospherics (viz. penultimate number "Sun Is Always"). Laconic vocalist Chris deadpanned, "we might not look it but we're very excited to be here," before the fuzzed-out psych groove of closer "Seams" rounded off a well-constructed and very promising set. Nice start!

As befit tonight’s sell-out status, the place then got pretty rammed down the front, as I kept my barrier spot next to a reluctant Paul, who doesn't usually do the "down the front thing". Luckily we weren't kept waiting long, Bill Janovitz leading the Tom on, spot on at 9 to a rousing reception. Let's go boys!

No messin’, Buffalo Tom were just quite brilliant tonight. Not "on it" straight from the off; the Dinosaur Jr grunge-lite of opener and debut single "Sunflower Suit" almost seemed to ease in slowly, like a lunar rocket gradually inching above its gantry, but by the soaring chorus it was gaining some potent momentum. By "Sodajerk", next up, they were well into their stride, delivering their blue-collar alt-rock with a power, passion and intensity that would have been customary in their (late) 20-something mid-90s pomp, but not necessarily expected from a trio of 50-something estate agents (that's what we call realtors, Bill!), some 3 weeks into a punishing European tour schedule. Perhaps displaying symptoms of that road-weariness, this was also by no means precise and note-perfect, but when the rock's this good, this passionately delivered, who cares? "Torch Singer" saw Bill remark, "we're a little foggy [as to] when these albums came out; it was the drug years!" before a splendid, urbane rendition, during which Bill seemed to catch my eye, a look of recognition seemingly crossing his features... I wasn't entirely sure about that, but would discover for sure later...!

"We came from Copenhagen, Berlin, and Louven to here... what language do you speak in Bristol?" deadpanned Bill (a valid question, actually... I think "pirate"...!) before an incendiary double of "Summer" and "Treehouse" ("I was in a "Big Red Letter Day" mood [when I wrote the set-list] today!"). A plaintive "Mineral" offered some respite from the intensity, but when the roadie brought on a mic-stand mounted harmonica, I knew what was coming... sure enough, "Velvet Roof", up next, was whip-crack fast, raw, ragged and titanic, and I totally lost my shit rocking out to my favourite Level 3 dance track ever, and comfortably my highlight of the night.

The intensity of "Taillights Fade" was as epic as ever, rambunctious newie "Gone" apparently received, "the best singalong all tour!" according to Bill, and a lighter "Kitchen Door", sung by bassist Chris Colbourn, saw Bill quip, "[not bad] for a bunch of guys in their 30's, like us!" Not bad indeed, "I'm Allowed" rounding off an utterly stunning set.

An amphetamine-fast "Tangerine" kicked off the encore, then, before the final "Staples", Bill complimented Bristol for selling out the gig, a debate then ensuing as to whether and when The Tom had played Brizzle before; a fellow front row punter referred to the old Anson Rooms gig (no. 308) and I followed up with, "1995," Bill then replying, "thank you David; David says 1995, we know David from his time in Boston." Guess he did recognise me, then...!

Superb stuff, the distilled essence of rock'n'roll. And after a long wait (during which we caught up with my London friend - and close friend of Bill - Lisa, plus Stephen of The Tom's current record label), just as good was to come, for me at least... under a pretext to nipping to the loo when a bouncer tried to usher us out, I ran into drummer Tom, who instead took us backstage for signed lists and a chat with Bill! I was joined shortly by Lisa, but needed to curtail my backstage fraternising as Tim phoned me, advising that the bouncers had kicked them all out and they were waiting outside in the pissing rain! D'oh! So, one quick pic later, I reluctantly bade my farewells and rescued my crew, hitting the road for an utterly sodden but elated drive home. 50-somethings now, maybe, but The Tom still know how to deliver an incendiary, bleeding-raw rock gig. And may that never change!

1,114 BOWLING FOR SOUP, Patent Pending, Not Ur Girlfrenz, Southampton Guildhall, Saturday 30th November 2018

A return to the “Scene of the Crime” for Logan, as it were…! Having decided, a couple of years back, that heavyweight melodic Texan pop-punk jesters Bowling For Soup’s 2016 Southampton Guildhall gig would be a good way for my then-8 year old son to kickstart his gigging days, we could scarcely have anticipated the events of that night, my little man joining the Soupsters onstage in the “arm-swing” during “Ohio (Come Back To Texas)”! An unforgettable way to start what’s been a pretty decent gig-career for Logan thus far, and BFS unsurprisingly still hold a place in his musical heart, so when Jaret and co. announced an “Almost Christmas” UK tour, this was pretty much a no-doubter for us. The fact that our preferred weekend date meant a return to the venue where those events unfolded was just a delicious coinkydinky!

Logan insisted in bolting on the same “Ohio” t-shirt that got him dragged onstage for this one, despite it now resembling more of a belly-top on his now-11 year old frame, but thus attired, we picked up BFS uber-fan The Big Man, plus his daughter Jess, for a swift and early drive down the A34 beat route. Parking up in our usual spot, we hit the slowly-filling old ornate hall early doors, snagging a barrier spot for the kids, house right. Result! So we were in place for openers Not Ur Girlfrenz, on at 7.30; I immediately remarked to Rich, “goodness Big Man, they look about 12!” to be informed that they actually were, well the bass player at least, the confident ponytailed vocalist-guitarist and her hard-hitting drummer colleague being relative veterans at 14 (!)… So okay, their spritely powerpop-punk was a bit formulaic and lightweight, okay it felt a little unrehearsed and clunky at times, but taken in context that could be forgiven. They’re kids! Real kids! In a band! On a proper tour, in a different country (one which they were utterly effusive about too, “your grass is so much greener! Ours is brown!”), so huge, huge props for that, girls. I liked their slowie, “Someday”, which saw the early audience hold phones and lighters aloft to the singer’s squealy delight, and their wilful punk rock demolition of “Rocking Around The Christmas Tree”. I hear they also dole out similar treatment to U2’s “I Will Follow”…

Our space filled up with a young crew led by a talkative Pompey lass called Shannon, a couple of her friends remembering Logan from last time out. Woah! Patent Pending were next up at 8.15, bursting onstage with a riot of super-fast shiny new millennial punk rock riffery, led by vocalist Joe Ragosta who, after one number, explained that the Ritalin that he takes for his ADHD had kicked in midway through said first song. That explains the bouncing around and crowdsurfing (during the opening number!), then…! Although again, PP’s actual Green Day-lite punk rock was a little lacking in originality, Ragosta was an uber-energetic performer, bouncing around the stage as if it was the local trampoline park, urging – nay, demanding – your attention and participation, and also later issuing out Turner-esque messages of kindness and positivity. A newie “Let It Burn” appropriated the hook from The Bloodhound Gang’s “The Roof Is On Fire”, getting the crowd chanting along to the, “let the motherfucker burn!” hook, Jaret joined them onstage for one number, and I enjoyed their almost faithful version of Frankie Valli’s old crooner’s standard “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”. But Ragosta was the real star; boundless energy and a nice bloke too. Well done!

Enough time for a quick loo break, then the Soup were on in pretty short order themselves thereafter, Jaret entering last sporting a bobble hat festooned with fairy lights, quickly discarded (“this hat was a bad idea! It’s hot as shit here!”) as they eased into opener “Corner Store At Christmas”, their own take on the “12 Days” standard, which was then reprised twice more during the set. “Almost” kickstarted things proper, after which Jaret praised both Southampton (“scene of the only BFS brawl in the parking lot!”) and Patent Pending (“we take [them] on tour so they can do the jumping and we don’t have to; don’t want to risk a broken hip!”). From the off, the usual BFS scatological chat and antics were in full force and effect; plenty of pyrotechnics, a dummy Christmas lights button (the band pulling up a punter dressed in a Scooby Doo costume onstage to “switch on”, the lights then smashing to black in fake explosion fashion) and a posing “photo opportunity” midway through a frantic “Punk Rock 101” (during which Logan held up a prepared “remember me?” sign up, accompanied by suitable shouts from Shannon’s posse, Jaret squinting at it then giving Logan a thumbs-up…  nice!). Musically, the band sounded tight and relaxed, bassist Rob Felicetti filling in seamlessly for the absent Erik Chandler, and an earlier-than-scheduled cover of Fountains Of Wayne’s powerpop classic “Stacy’s Mom” (brought forward after a game of “Chinese Whispers” to decipher a mosh-bound fan’s shout resulted in a request for it; Jaret mock-complained about how that song isn’t even theirs, then they played it anyway!) and a later “Ohio” (during which Logan again lifted up his shirt to show the band the logo – sorry mate, lightning doesn’t strike twice…) were my highlights.

 

A fun and faithful cover of “Frosty The Snowman” and a final go-round of “Corner Store” ended the set proper, the band gathering in their corner “bar” to toast proceedings before Jaret stepped up again, asked the crowd to, “give it up for us… wasn’t that an amazing show we just played?”, then led BFS through a final singalong “1985”, after which he walked to our side of the stage and chucked a pick out for Logan. Nice, again! A friendly steward handed him a BFS set-list (an actual BFS list! Wow!) as a fine punctuation on a splendid evening, before a brisk wander back to the car and swift drive home. Overall, not the epic night last time out turned out to be – as I mentioned, lightning doesn’t strike twice and in no way were we expecting it to – but a great fun evening’s pop-punk entertainment nonetheless, in Logan’s “Crime Scene” return!