1,196 BAUHAUS, Hope, London Alexandra Palace, Saturday 30th October 2021

 As per last time out, this one is another reunion gig from a band I loved in my mid-teens, and another big tick in my “Bands To See” list, only on a slightly different scale…! I fell in love with the dark, itchy post-punk musings of Bauhaus after hearing their stellar, savage cover – nay, demolition – of T Rex’ glam classic “Telegram Sam” at the School Youth Club disco in 1980; missed them first time around as they evolved from art-school rockers with a dark, vampiric lyrical twist, into black-clad initiators of the 80’s Goth movement, before splitting up; then missed a couple of subsequent reunions, however happily catching up with mainman Peter Murphy as he celebrated their 35^th anniversary splendidly, with solo interpretations of his previous charges’ material (June 2013, gig 883). After that one, it felt as if that was the closest I’d get to seeing Bauhaus (and let’s face it, that was pretty close, so no real complaints), until…

 

Concerning news emanated from across the pond in August 2019, with Peter Murphy suffering a heart attack during a gig in New York. Happily, he recovered swiftly, then even better news emerged, as a Bauhaus reunion gig, featuring all 4 original members, was announced for that Autumn in Los Angeles! Please do a UK one, please do a UK one, I chanted pleadingly… and prayers and incantations were answered, as Bauhaus announced a one-off UK gig for the following April. Then that bloody Covid hit, forcing 3 postponements, ultimately to this day, fittingly one day before Hallowe’en. A sudden back pain the previous day briefly threatened to put a spanner in the works, but an emergency trip to the chiropractor set me right, and saw old school friend Keith picking myself up at 3.30 for a trip oop the Smoke, along with occasional gig buddy Debs (the punk queen of the ‘don) and her bloke Brad, all black clad and gothed up for the occasion. Me, I went with the red velvet shirt and red suede creepers – just to be different!

 

An entertaining drive up, avoiding the inevitable M4 road closures, got us to the Pally for 6, queueing up for 6.30 entry and grabbing a drink in the huge ornate bar/eaterie area, people watching and occasionally meeting folks (Debs inevitably knowing lots of people, and myself running into Lev 3 mate Colin). Quite the event, this, and this crowd of first-time-round post-punk/Goth devotees and keep-the-faith young emo/darkwave types had dressed to the nines for the occasion too, the place occasionally resembling a Tim Burton steampunk film set! Keith and I wandered into the huge, dome-ceilinged main auditorium, grabbing a spot 1/4 of the way back, house left, and catching the last knockings of introspective synth-led support, young Berliners Hope, at whom I’d snarkily shouted, “play something depressing!”, so they did!

 

We were then subjected to some between-bands jarring white noise over the P.A. system, as the place filled up (the bloke behind me, on his return from the bar, remarking, “is that bloody jumbo jet ever going to take off?!”). Then the lights appropriately smashed to black at 8.40, as a squalling single guitar note heralded the arrival of the band, Murphy emerging last and doffing his wide-brimmed hat to the crowd, before doomily intoning the lazy, languid lyric to opener “Rosegarden Funeral Of Sores” over Kevin Haskin’s tinny snare snap. “Double Dare”’s tumbling drum and dissonant riff again saw an authoritative vocal performance from Murphy, already strutting the stage and throwing angular, dramatic shapes, and stretching the “I… I… I…” notes, before the song ultimately collapsed in on itself (as a lot of Bauhaus numbers seem to do!).

 

Bauhaus, as often is the case with true innovators, were sonically less extreme than their Goth successors, with occasionally stark and bleak, almost minimalistic post-punk guitar forming the base of their sonic template, underpinning Murphy’s dark, sinister vocals and creepy, black and white horror movie lyrical imagery. So the stark sonar beep of “Spy In The Cab” was stripped bare and haunting, feeling almost like a companion piece to The Associates’ similarly austere “Q Quarters”, and a welcome “Terror Couple Kill Colonel”, always one of my faves, was equally musically gaunt, driven by the angular drumbeat and Murphy’s onstage theatrics, posing under a white spotlight which gave him an appropriately deathly pallor.

 

That said, the performance seemed a little introspective and occasionally understated overall, Murphy’s posing and preening notwithstanding, with the band taciturn throughout (no numbers being introduced – no need for this knowledgeable crowd, I suppose…) and even Murphy restricting his communication to a couple of brief monologues. Also, the sound occasionally seemed a little disjointed and distant from our spot; an occupational hazard, I guess, with a venue this size. Little matter; the captivating Murphy was full value for money nonetheless, and it was honestly just great to hear “live” the likes of the languidly funky “Kick In The Eye”, the squalling “In The Flat Field”, and the bell-jar echo of “The Passion Of Lovers”, the latter seeing Murphy conduct an unexpected and impromptu singalong. And, of course, the inevitable “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”, all stretched, meandering and gloomy, the audience suddenly holding masses of phones aloft like black orchids reaching full bloom to record the moment, as Murphy coaxed harsh, caustic white noise from a small synth.

 

The pounding drums and descending riff of a thrilling set closer “Dark Entries” was my highlight of the night, the sound totally sorted for once, although a grandiose encore march through Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust”, following a slightly ragged and messy “Telegram Sam”, ran it close. Finally, a mournful and elegiac “All We Ever Wanted Was Everything”, preceded by Murphy’s fulsome compliments on the size of tonight’s crowd, brought this near 1 ½ hour’s revisitation of old haunts to a close. Despite a couple of reservations, a fine performance overall, with Murphy once again a true star, thankfully showing no effects from those health issues.

 

I grabbed a pic and a word with the excellent Desperate Journalist’s drummer Kaz (whom I’d noticed a couple of rows in front of me!), then slow egress from the venue and even slower from the car park, combined with a nonetheless equally chatty drive home via the M40 and A420 to avoid M4 closures, didn’t get us home until the other side of 1. Yikes! But well worth it for excellent company and a fine showing from another favourite from my misspent youth. Thanks, Bauhaus, and stay well Peter Murphy!

 

1,195 STARJETS, London Hope and Anchor, Friday 22nd October 2021

This one represented a massive box ticked off my “Bands To See” Bucket list. I’d seen Belfast’s Starjets on Top Of The Pops in 1979 performing their almost-hit “War Stories”, an irrepressible and buoyant New Wave powerpop number, with a leather-jacketed youthful charm; however it was the subsequent “Shiraleo” single, a year later, which really piqued – nay, skewered – my interest. Taking the amphetamine-fast levels up about two million notches from its’ predecessor, this was a glorious, heavenly, soaring blast out of the blocks, with a rampant, rampaging harmonic hook. I was floored. In all honesty, I thought I’d found my new favourite band – or at least, serious rivals to The Skids for that particular honour at that time. Until, in devastating news to my 15 year old self, I then discovered “Shiraleo” was Starjets’ epitaph, the band soldiering on briefly as Tango Brigade before chucking it in altogether. Vocalist Terry Sharpe and I crossed paths briefly a few years later, his 80’s shiny chart pop act The Adventures supporting Tears For Fears at Golddiggers in 1985 (gig 25!), but that was it, and in fact, all I’d expected… after all, no chance of a Starjets reunion, as they weren’t that well-known first time round, right?

 Wrong, I’m happy to say… rumblings emanated from the Emerald Isle a year or so back that Starjets were indeed scratching that reunion itch, with a couple of low-key local gigs which put them on my radar for any UK shows; and patience bore fruit, with the announcement of this one, a “Starjets featuring [original guitarist] Paul Bowen” at the Hope And Anchor, a legendary Islington pub venue I’d driven past plenty of times on the way to the nearby Highbury Garage but, shamefully, never been to. This banner suggested Paul would be the only original Starjet on duty, but fuck it, I’d happily travel to London to see “Shiraleo” played on rubber bands and tin pots! I gleefully booked tix and, come the day, I headed off at 4, intending to park up in my old Garage spot along Upper Street. Stopped for tea at Heston, noticing a couple of blokes in Arsenal shirts which jogged my memory; hang on, are Arsenal at home tonight? Yes they are. Bugger! Anticipating gridlocked traffic around the venue and all parking spots either taken or coned off, I rethought plans and dumped the motor in Hammersmith (forgetting until after I’d parked, that parking charges are £5.50 for up to 4 hours, then up to £20 for my intended 4-6 hour stay. Bugger! Again…), tubing it over, inching out of Highbury and Islington tube station just after 7 with the Gooner hordes, then noticing plenty of clear parking spaces on my walk to the venue. Bollocks!

 Grabbed a drink in the packed pub and watched the Arsenal faithful file out, then took a wander downstairs to this compact and evocatively dingy basement room, immediately running into 70’s punk legend Spizz at the bar! Stopped for a chat with Spizz, an absolute fruitcake but a lovely and voluble conversationalist, and tonight’s promotor and Spizz’ drummer, who confirmed that a) this would be an early one, as the support just hadn’t bothered turning up (!), and b) Paul Bowen would indeed by the sole original member in this ersatz Starjets line-up, usual vocalist Sharpe at home in Belfast looking after his dad, who’d just turned 100! No matter: apparently tonight’s drummer had apparently seen time in Adam Ant’s touring band and the bassist was in Joe Strummer’s band The Mescaleros, so some pretty decent pedigree there! Paul Bowen joined us briefly too, so I took the opportunity to… well, just thank him for playing tonight, for dragging me up from the ‘don to hear Starjets material “live” for the first time.

 Took a spot down the front as the 3-piece line-up took the stage to the strains of Thin Lizzy’s classic “The Boys Are Back In Town” – so, inevitably, they started playing along, this turning into a full-blown cover! “Here’s one by the Starjets!” announced Paul, tongue in cheek, launching into intended opener “School Days”, a prime slice of racy, pacy melodic punk pop, which sounded tough and fulsome for a 3-piece. “Thanks for coming,” welcomed Paul at its conclusion; “thanks to David Rose for coming from Swindon!” (I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy etc.) In fact, Paul seemed to know where all tonight’s attendees (about a 2 or 3 dozen hardy souls, plenty for this small venue) had come from, which again gave the impression of a special exclusive event, as if Paul was playing to friends and family. Which, maybe, he was…

 

A couple of newies ensued: “Geordie Best” (preceded by Paul admitting this song nearly got him into a fight in Glasgow when he announced it was about the best footballer ever, a bolshy local suggesting firmly he, Paul, should, write a song about Jimmy Johnstone”!), then “Titanic Town”, a lower-key, almost bluesy tribute to hometown Belfast (“I’ve played this down the middle [of the religious divide]; all you can hope to do is get on with your neighbours and hopefully die peacefully in your sleep!”). Then, preceded by a tale of how Paul dropped a copy of the 7” single off to John Peel, only to told later by the great man, “I’m not going to play it as it’s too tuneful, so doesn’t interest me!”, was the number I was really here for; easing in less forcefully and dynamically than on record, “Shiraleo” was nonetheless superb, scintillating and soaring, Paul’s accented vocals deeper and more resonant than the higher-pitched clarity of Sharpe’s recorded voice, yet still suiting this number perfectly, and getting me working up a sweat down the front. Dedicated to me after the fact too, as I’d been waiting 40 years to hear it “live”. Highlight of the set? Hell, one of the highlights of my year…!

 “Legendary Girl”, a poignant tribute to murdered LGBTQ activist Lyra McKee, was easily the best of the newies (by which I mean, anything written after 1980!); then it all got a bit punk rock…(!) A ragged “I Fought The Law” prompted the boys to tackle an impromptu “London Calling” as well; “War Stories”, Starjets TOTP moment, was delivered brilliantly and breathtakingly after Paul’s story of how Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong had covered it on a YouTube lockdown series; then Paul decided to return the favour, delivering a splendidly raucous “Basketcase” to close out the planned set. Not the night, though, as the band threw in encore covers of Irish rock classics “Teenage Kicks” and a snaking, undulating “Whisky In The Jar” for good measure. In all honesty, I’d have liked to hear a few more Starjets originals (“Ten Years” and “Standby 19” would have been my shouts) instead of the proliferation of covers, but hey, I’m being picky. This was a fine, entertaining gig which, for “Schooldays”, “War Stories” and particularly “Shiraleo”, touched the hem of greatness, doing full justice to those classic songs I’ve known so well for so long.

 A signed list and a couple of words with the man, before I took the opportunity to beat the football exodus, crossing town easily and, despite a brief diversion around Heathrow, hitting home just after midnight. Hopefully next time Mr. Sharpe will be available to provide those harmonies missing tonight, but in the meantime, that massive box was still well and truly ticked tonight. God Bless Paul Bowen and The Starjets!

 

 

1,194 CHRIS WEBB, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 21st October 2021

 

This one was a bit of a welcome late call; off for October half term but with Covid travel restrictions (and our kids’ passports elapsing!), not off somewhere hot lying on a sunbed, we’d nonetheless planned for a day out today. However, general apathy and disorganisation precluded against that as well (!), opening up the opportunity to catch a “live” set from Bristolian “modern folk” act Chris Webb, whom we know better as one of “live” favourite Gaz Brookfield’s cohorts in his Company Of Thieves band. Having seen him at this very venue a couple of years back (gig 1,152), I knew a good time was guaranteed, and happily “Tupp” landlady Linda made good on a long-standing promise to allow Logan in to attend too!

 So, after a boys afternoon out at the cinema to see sprawling Sci-fi epic “Dune”, a boys night out started with me needing to scrounge a couple of quid off my son for parking (!) after a drive up the hill, then into the Tuppenny to be greeted by promoter Ed Dyer for a movie chat (not music for once – how multi-faceted we are!), then grab drinks and a table at the front, ironically right in front of Chris’ occasional bandleader Gaz, plus Mrs. B and his lovely beagle Reuben, out for a Brookfield family night out in Swindon!

 A quick greeting with Chris before he took the window stage at 8.30 for the first of his 2 sets, opening with a hazy, pastoral English folky number, ironically about the recent lockdown! Then, after a groovier toe-tapper “Check Mate” and before the splendidly upbeat and strident chorus hook-led “Breakfast”, Chris regaled us with a story of getting lost in the Lake District and needing to get rescued after a night out in the wilds!

 This set the tone for the whole evening; a relaxed, entertaining performance from the affable Chris, plying his trade of usually upbeat, 4/4 time, folk numbers, picking out little vignettes of everyday life, elevating them with the strength of his arrangements and complex, intricate fretwork, and playing them with easy calm. Lacking the strident shout-along choruses and overt energy of his “boss” Gaz, Chris instead relies on his understated charm and bonhomie “live”, which worked perfectly in front of tonight’s audience of friends and fans. Newie “Clown For Sale” saw Chris ask collaborator Gaz if he’d brought along a harmonica, “in the key of “C”?” (he hadn’t – shame!); a later, almost Love-like Spanish guitar riff-led number saw him miss a line, which prompted Ed (down the front with us) to retort, “something you know!” when Chris subsequently asked for requests; and the pastoral Laurel Canyon 70’s psych-folk of John Martyn’s “May You Never” rounded off set one very nicely, thank you.

 A short break for drinks and a bag of pork scratchings for Logan (in lieu of the kebab he wanted to go for afterwards – that doesn’t happen every gig, mate!), then Chris was back “on it” with a more buoyant and animated “Man from The Moon”, which got Reuben animated too, Gaz’ beagle barking along to this “beagle-friendly” number! A few more barks in the second number however prompted a departure of The Brookfields (Reuben clearly having reached his limit for the night), which itself prompted Chris and Ed to trade beagle puns, Chris then commenting, “I hope no-one’s reviewing this shit!” then noticing me taking notes down the front. Oops! A subsequent “We Always Loved The Mad Ones”, with it’s shifting change of pace, was probably my set highlight, although another cover of Squeeze’s New Wave classic “Up The Junction” and the subsequent debate about the song’s protagonist’s wife’s “30 minute” labour (really??) ran it close. A properly frisky “Let’s Crash A Ceilidh” and the undulating wordplay of “Heat” preceded “one final pandemic number,” a more plaintive “Empty Living Room” before Chris announced his recent fatherhood, so clearly lockdown wasn’t all that bad! A cover of Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” (for Ed) rounded off the second set, punctuated by an encore and a quick whip round by Linda, both Logan and myself happily chucking cash in as suitable recompense for being right royally entertained tonight.

 A quick departure afterwards – ok it’s not a school night but it’s still late for my little man! – and home just before 11. A welcome late call indeed!

1,193 THE SKIDS, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Saturday 16th October 2021

 

The last time I saw The Skids, ironically at this very venue 2 ½ years ago (gig 1,124), it felt as if the relentless touring schedule that this veteran Scottish anthemic original punk band had adopted since their 40^th Anniversary reunion in 2017 was winding down, that a less hectic approach would be adopted going forward, that being exemplified by a splendid acoustic set from lead vocalist Richard Jobson and the Watson boys later that year (September 2019, gig 1,151). Then of course Covid hit, and the world was put on pause, providing an unwelcome yet natural break which actually seemed to serve as a rest and reset for The Skids! Not much of a surprise then, that as soon as the venues opened after a near 18-month absence, The Skids announced an Autumn full-on electric band tour. Even less of a surprise was that me and my gig buddy Logan were up for seeing them again!

 Gloucester on a Saturday night was the best choice, so we headed off about 7ish, hitting the venue and opting to grab a drink in the ornate wood-panelled bar over catching support Borrowed Time, whom I’ve seen enough to realise they’re not my cup of homogenous UK82 street punk snakebite. Ran into my Gloucester friend Simon (who’s not only a BT fan but a mate of the vocalist!) and his charming wife Sarah after their set for a long-overdue catch-up, before we took a wander into the half-full old school hall venue, Logan still managing to find a bit of barrier, pretty much front and centre! Whiled away the interval singing along to the 70’s punk PA soundtrack – as I mentioned to a fellow punter, this is our church, and these are our hymns!

 The bubbling synth intro of “Peaceful Times” as ever heralded The Skids onstage, the bomber-jacketed Jobbo last on, yet fully ready to conduct the choir. The regimental drums and riffery of usual opener “Animation” led us in, Bill Simpson’s bass initially sounding a little off, but by the titanic, hard and heavy second number, the brilliant “Of One Skin” it was all sorted.

 

Jobbo was in playful, voluble mood tonight, clearly glad to be back in his natural habitat, i.e. in front of an attentive and enthusiastic audience, and sounded off extensively between songs on subjects such as Bill’s alleged porn career (!), calling out hecklers (at one point offering the whole crowd outside with a, “you think you’re tough enough Gloucester?”), Rod Stewart’s cock (!!), recent “Burning Cities” CD producer – and Killing Joke legend – Youth’s marijuana habits (!!!), and his appearance in Paula Yates’ tacky 90’s book “Rock Stars In Their Underpants” (“a shameful story!”). This, of course, was on top of his fist-pumping, rabble rousing frontman performance, usual shadow boxing “dancing” and stentorian, gut busting vocals, particularly to the fore on a quite brilliant “The Saints Are Coming”.

 The band sounded tight and tough too; clearly the break has done them good, with the Watson father and son guitar duo providing interweaving, snaking riffery of which Stuart Adamson himself would be proud, Bill Simpson pounding out a bass foundation as solid and rock-steady as the springy venue floor wasn’t (!), and – with due deference to usual drummer Mike Baillie – guest drummer, Big Country’s Mark Brzezicki, giving his usual virtuoso masterclass in hard-hitting rock drumming. The staccato opening to “Charade” ceded to a huge choral hook, the excellent “Kings Of The New World Order” showed there’s songwriting life in these old dogs yet, and after a more reflective yet still rousing singalong mid-set double of “Hurry On Boys” and “A Woman In Winter”, it all went a bit old school punk rock, the Boris-baiting terrace chant “Albert Tatlock” segueing into truncated versions of The Sex Pistols’ “Pretty Vacant” and Buzzcocks’ “What Do I Get”, before the inevitable “Into The Valley” and a galloping “Olympian” closed the set out.

 The punk rock wasn’t finished, though, with a rambunctious run-through of The Clash’s “Complete Control” (a stand-out track on their recent “Hymns From A Haunted Ballroom” covers CD) the encore punctuation point on a 1 hour 20 set, proving there’s still life in these old Scottish terriers yet, particularly after the Covid break. A quick catch-up with Simon and Sarah before a false start home due to a road closure still got us back in time to grab a kebab and watch some Red Sox playoff baseball before hitting the hay. A good day, a great boys night out with Logan, and a triumphant and welcome return from The Skids!

1,192 ABSTRACTION ENGINE, Swindon The Victoria, Friday 15th October 2021

 

A local Friday night up the hill… and after finally catching a full set from diverse indie rockers Abstraction Engine at the recent postponed Swindon Shuffle, after promising to do so for so long, here’s another chance! You wait hours for a bus then a couple come trundling along in short order… and after finally (hopefully) putting a couple of odd health issues behind me, I’m now well up for making up for lost time, gig-wise!

 So, despite feeling a bit wiped out after a hospital procedure yesterday (sedation still working its’ way through my system and all), I hauled my sorry ass off the sofa about 8.30 and drove up the hill, jumping into a parking spot in the busy GWR car park opposite just as someone was leaving, and wandering through the suspiciously quiet Vic – is this Swindon Friday night, or what? The back room was totally deserted, but the Abstraction boys were taking a break by the load-in door, so I joined them and caught up with this friendly and affable bunch of gents, generally veterans of various bands in the past (particularly vocalist David Moore, who revealed he used to play in bands around his native Manchester in the 80’s, supporting the likes of Puressence and The Loft!), which gave them a bit of perspective about a prospective quiet turnout tonight. Enjoyed some rock chat to while away the time gap created by the non-appearance of a scheduled support (they just didn’t turn up!!), before the boys decided to go on about 9.45, hoping that attendance would improve when the Vic barflys heard some sounds emanating from the back room. It worked, actually, and a smattering of folks joined me as Abstraction Engine kicked off their set at 10 to 10.

 

The Abstraction Engine sound is definitely rooted in indie guitar rock, but thereafter all bets are off; having played music through various genre trends gives them a Magpie sensibility to their songwriting approach, taking a bit of moody atmospherics from here, a bit more strident riffery from there, making them difficult to pigeonhole overall. A constant feature, however, is the strength of the hooks and choruses, endemic through their material like seaside town names through a stick of rock. Thus buoyant opener “Hollow Heart”, with its’ “C’mon c’mon” repetitive bridge, was an early call to arms, “Crossfire” was an echo-heavy strident anthem with some impressive mid-song drum fills, and after “Placeholder” featured some more considered, almost C86-esque jangle before an unexpected change of pace, a dynamic “Willing Slave” continued the earlier, harder edged approach with a dark, almost snarling dynamism, prompting guitarist Gareth to comment to David, “if you play the next one that fast I’m fucked!”

 A more introspective set mid-section followed, the slower burn, languid post-grunge Promise Ring dynamics of “Forever” a feature, before the proto new wave riffery of “If Looks Could Kill” (purporting to be a love song but featuring a bratty, “what the hell is wrong with you tonight?” hook) led into a well-observed “Victoria” – a cover version of a cover version, as David’s delivery was definitely more Mark Smith than Ray Davies! Then finally, the deliciously meandering “Shiine”, all absorbing and layered, itself led into a superb and lengthy rendition of Stereolab’s 90’s metronomic indie dance classic “French Disko”, which got me recalling those 90’s Level 3 indie days and shaking a leg down the front. A splendid way to conclude another fascinating and varied set from these indie chameleons, this time with extra added dynamism. A shame so few people were there to witness it, the attendance varying between one and two dozen throughout. No matter, I enjoyed it, and so did the band…

 A quick chat with the boys before I turned in after a fine set. I’m glad I made the effort to haul my ass off the sofa, as I’m left with the increasing thought that, following the sad demise of Raze*Rebuild a couple of years ago, I may just have found my new favourite local band…!

1,191 RICK ASTLEY and BLOSSOMS play THE SMITHS, London Kentish Town The Forum, Saturday 9th October 2021

 

Just when you thought that this gig year couldn’t get any weirder…!

 Young Stockport indie band Blossoms have (along with the likes of The Courteeners, The 1975 and Catfish And The Bottlemen) somehow attained arena-level gig status whilst registering not even the slightest blip on my musical radar whatsoever, so I initially feigned scant interest on an internet news article indicating they’d dragged 80’s pop holdover Rick Astley onstage at a recent warm-up gig for a covers encore. That is, until I heard it… said encore was a cover of 80’s indie icons The Smiths’ all-time classic “This Charming Man”, and to my surprise, it sounded damn good, actually! The article them went on to mention they were playing a couple of one-off gigs covering all Smiths material, which more than piqued my interest… I loved The Smiths back then, without fully subscribing to the slavish devotion of most fans for charismatic lead singer Morrissey, and saw them 5 times “live”. So, I booked tix for the London leg (the second of two, after the inevitable Manchester opener) for myself and my gig buddy son Logan (after playing him some stuff which he immediately approved of) on the O2 pre-sale, and good thing too, as rumour then had it that the general sale took less than a minute to sell out completely. Wow!

 I was actually champing at the bit to finally get out gigging again, after Covid-related reasons forcing me to miss a few scheduled late September gigs (particularly Inhaler, who I was really looking forward to see; Rachel and Logan still went, and said they were excellent – bugger!) so we headed off on a sunny Autumn Saturday early afternoon, choosing to take the M4 route “oop the Smoke” despite threatened delays. Big mistake. A closure at Junction 14 saw us take 2 hours just to get to Newbury services (!), then another at 4B saw us heading North onto the M1 (!!) to get back down to Kentish Town, eventually dumping the motor in our pre-booked parking spot at 5.15 after a tortuous 4 hour journey. Yikes! Only a quick one-stop hop down to Camden, then, rather than the planned longer shopping excursion, but enough time still to grab some excellent Thai street food and for Logan to both “fall in love with Camden’s charms” (as one of heroes Gaz Brookfield would say) and con me into buying him a new jumper! Back to the venue 15 minutes before doors – we initially had to join the long GA queue, snaking around the side of the venue and down an alley, as the O2 Priority queue was full, until an O2 Priority girl, as good as her word, came and grabbed us from our distant spot to usher us in! Result! Logan grabbed a bit of front row barrier, house left, and we hunkered down for the wait as the place filled up. No support, unless you count the “Club Fromage” DJ onstage, who actually did a fine job getting the crowd in party mood by playing a mix of cheesy 80’s singalong hits and popular indie stuff, and who fully earned her ovation as she left at 9.

 A few onstage tweaks (and time for a couple of rounds of “Sweet Caroline”, sung along lustily by this surprisingly young crowd), before the lights smashed to black, the “Coronation Street” theme tune started up, and Blossoms slinked onstage, almost apologetically, followed by Rick Astley, all brandishing gladioli as per early Smiths gigs (including the couple of times I saw them in February 1984, gigs 11 and 12!). OK, I thought, this isn’t some kind of weird fever dream, this is really happening…

 Astley in the 80’s was pretty much the antithesis of my musical tastes, a manufactured Stock Aitken Waterman plastic soul-pop chart fodder puppet, and scourge of indie cool (The Wonder Stuff even going so far as to pen a “tribute” to him entitled “Astley In The Noose”!); however he’s unexpectedly found a cooler niche of late thanks to the recent “Rickrolling” phenomenon (which if I understand correctly is basically his cheesy chart hit “Never Gonna Give You Up” being superimposed on YouTube videos). The Foo Fighters even brought him onstage at Reading Festival a few years back to “Rickroll” the crowd after initially making them believe they were going to cover “Smells Like Teen Spirit”! Be that as it may, I have to admit he’s always had a great voice; a deep, rich sonorous soul-boy baritone, actually perfect for vast swathes of tonight’s material, particularly the more mournful, introspective numbers such as “Reel Around The Fountain” and “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”. And tonight, bedecked in his usual blazer and sporting a pair of voluminous checked trousers (which he referred to as his, “MC Hammer gone golfing look”!), he was an absolute star from note one of opener “What Difference Does It Make”, immediately getting the crowd onside by totally nailing the tricky falsetto outro. Respect!

 3 numbers in – including an astonishing “Still Ill”, where Astley’s delivery turned from pure Northern snark in the verses, to almost soaringly operatic in the chorus – I turned to the lady next to me and remarked, “I’m still not sure I believe what I’m seeing!”, her beaming reply being, “I know – bonkers, isn’t it!” This was the crux of the night – a “mad dream [which] came true,” according to Blossoms vocalist Tom Ogden (an excellent name for a Northern vocalist – any relation to World Of Twist’s late and lamented Tony?), with self-confessed Smiths uber-fan Astley “getting away with murder,” performing this beloved material amazingly well, balancing reverence with an energetic performance belying his years, and backed up ably by Blossoms who’d clearly done their homework, delivering the undulating indie jangle as authentically as possible. A dark, racey “Hand In Glove”, which followed a round of Jaegers called for by Astley, saw Ogden nail the harmonica riff perfectly to cheers; “The Boy With The Thorn In His Side”’s melancholy meander was overlaid with Astley’s splendid yodel, and segued into a deliciously doleful “Girlfriend In A Coma”; and the “Metal Guru”-esque pounding glam stomp of “Panic” led to a roof-raising “Hang The DJ!” singalong, Astley delivering the line, “the music they constantly play says nothing to me about my life” with oodles of conviction and not a whiff of irony. The phone torches-aloft, stark ballad “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want” ended a swift hour-long set (maybe a little brief, but as Astley stated, these boys have had to learn 19 numbers from scratch in short order, so fair enough) which seemed less than half that.

 Of course the most iconic Smiths numbers were left until last; firstly a tremulous, effects-led “How Soon Is Now”, then guitarist Josh Dewhurst took centre stage for the intricate riffery of a superb “This Charming Man”. However the best was saved for last; after a heartfelt tribute to both The Smiths (“I’ve wanted to sing [their songs] since I was 15”) and his Blossoms backing band (“these handsome devils!”), Astley delivered one final soaring performance to the iconic “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out”, the crowd once again raising the roof with a similarly heartfelt and communal singalong. A quite brilliant end to the night, capped by Dewhurst unmooring Astley’s own setlist and handing it over to me. Result! Again!

 Joined the slow egress from the venue, the throng singing, “Never Gonna Give You Up” in tribute to Astley’s excellent shift this evening, then a thankfully swifter journey home via the M40 and Oxford still saw us home the other side of 1 a.m. Yikes! Still, well worth it… this utterly bonkers idea could have turned out brilliant or bowling-shoe ugly, but thankfully was easily the former, with Rick Astley a true star doing more than justice to The Smiths seminal canon of work. And in all honesty, given some of Morrissey’s recent remarks, I’d rather see anyone other than him sing Smiths songs right now!