1,204 GAZ BROOKFIELD AND THE COMPANY OF THIEVES, Jess Silk, Acrustic Badger Band, Bristol Fleece, Sunday 20th December 2021

 

The last one of a late-starting 22-gig 2021 – considering my first wasn’t until 28^th July, thanks to this bloody Covid shitstorm, I’ve got to be happy with that – and fittingly, and for the 27^th time of asking, it’s “live” folk/ punk raconteur favourite Gaz Brookfield, this time accompanied by his Company, for his annual Christmas bash! It’s back at The Fleece this time, but also against the troubling backdrop of increasing cases of a new Covid variant seemingly impervious to 2 vaccine doses, although less efficacious against a booster. I’m boosted, me, so me and Logan were happy to go along, although Matt, Ady and Rich all dipped out at the last minute due to concerns about any subsequent quarantine period disrupting Chrimbo plans.

 Anyhoo, Logan and I tiptoed down a foggy M4, finding a parking spot a stones throw from the Fleece entrance but enduring a bit of a phone parking payment-mare (since when does “C” sound like “A” when I say it?), before hitting a quiet early doors venue at ¼ to 8 and easily slotting into Logan’s preferred viewing space – front and centre! My first time back at this much-visited venue since lockdown, and weirdly, it appears they’ve installed what looks like urinal troughs on the front of the stage! Didn’t have much time to ponder this before the Acrustic Badger Band, an acoustic guitar/ violin/ ukulele trio, joined us at 8, the vocalist immediately breaking a string which required extensive post-song rework, the ukulele player deftly filling in with an impromptu singalong cover of old Labi Siffre staple “It Must Be Love”! Their usual oeuvre consisted of fiddly diddly numbers which all sounded like a cross between The Wonder Stuff’s “Golden Green” and The Wurzels’ “Combine Harvester”! Couple that with the vocalists very pronounced (affected?) West Country accent and their subject matter – lots of songs about badgers! – meant that I didn’t see them as anything more than a bad novelty act. But they got the crowd singing along, so what the fuck do I know, eh?

 Main support Jess Silk, on at 8.45, was much more palatable. An earnest, left-wing Grace Petrie-alike (another pretty obvious comparison, but, hey, clip-clop = horse, and all that…), albeit darker and more serious, and actually with a touch of the doleful yearnings of Mr. Carraba, she kicked off with a couple of confrontational political anthems delivered in a distinctive, almost rasping voice, then changed tack considerably with a well-received cover of The Pogues’ “Fairytale Of New York”! A haunting “If We’re Damned” (her attempt to write a hopeful song of defiance after the dreadful December 2019 election result) and a more plaintive road song, “Home Is Where The Heart Is”, rounded off a short but impressive set tinged with some melancholy, as she put it, “it feels like this is the last time for awhile that we’ll do this…”

 That being so, we were looking for Gaz to send us into an uncertain Yuletide and potential post-Christmas/ New Year lockdown in good cheer, and he and his merry men duly delivered. From the opener “March Of Progress” (with its telling hook, “what is going on!?”), through an early “Logan-double” of “Gunner Haines” and a rocking “Diabetes Blues” (which got us both unmasked and singing along down the front), Gaz was in determined mood, giving it his all and (also a little out of practice with this “live” malarkey at the moment) clearly putting great effort into his performance. Newie “Pantomime” was a breathless rocker, “World Spins Round” featured some excellent fiddle breaks courtesy of Ben Wain, and a later “Lostfolk” (preceded by Gaz commenting, “two years on [from this album] and we still feel pretty lost!”) was my set highlight, a brilliantly ragged anthemic call-to-arms. Not note- or word-perfect by any means (Gaz messing up his words in a couple of different numbers), but nobody cared, the audience (probably ¾ full tonight, with my mates not the only Covid-cautious absentees tonight) just wanted to sing along to Gaz’ easy folk/ punk hooks and choruses, and have a great time, make the most of it before the next inevitable lockdown…

 After a raucous singalong to “West Country Song” and “Let The East Winds Blow”, Gaz remarked, “it’s a difficult time to be a musician or music fan [so] it means the fucking world to us that you came along tonight!”, before one final roof-raising “Thin”, Gaz taking a bow and handing Logan his set-list at it’s conclusion. Quick farewells to Gaz and his uke player Nick Parker, before a 20 minute circuitous nightmare just trying to get out of the road closure-affected city centre without traversing a bus-lane (I had to, in the end!), then home for midnight in increasing fog. So that’s 2021 done and dusted for gigs, then, but a great send-off provided by Gaz and his boys!

1,203 WE ARE SCIENTISTS, COACH PARTY, Bristol Trinity, Tuesday 7th December 2021

 

This one feels like a new discovery of a veteran act… I’d been mightily impressed by Isle Of Wight newcomers Coach Party and their spritely, slightly bratty take on indie pop, and was on the lookout for gigs down our way – The Louisiana in January was one (sadly postponed from an earlier tour, in conjunction with equally promising newcomers Francis Of Delirium), but an earlier opportunity presented itself when they were named as tour support for veteran NYC indie rabble We Are Scientists, a tour including a date at evocative old Bristol former church The Trinity. I’d picked up their debut “With Love And Squalor” back in 2006, liking it fine but finding it slightly formulaic of the staccato one-note school of “post-punk” back then (Bloc Party, Futureheads et al), subsequently blanking on future releases. However, a quick YouTube trawl revealed the error of my ways, 2021 album “Huffy” (their 7^th!) in particular leaping out of the blocks with some sparkling hooky powerpop. Hmmm, some lost time to catch up with this band then, methinks…

 Tix were duly booked for myself, and, later, for Logan, who enjoyed “Huffy” too. So we took a drive down a blustery M4, hitting traffic going into Brizzle, but parking up securely in Cabot and hitting the venue in good time for Logan to grab his usual spot – leaning on the stage (no barriers), front and centre! Introduced him to a proper Bristol gig rite of passage – meeting Big Jeff (!) – before Coach Party joined us at 8, bursting out of the blocks with the effervescent yell of “Oh Lola” and the deadpan chugalong riffery of “Everybody Hates Me”, both recalling the flippant 90’s Britpop of early Sleeper… A pretty obvious comparison for this young band, maybe, but, first, if I hear clip-clops, I’m yelling “horse”, and second, that’s no bad thing, as Sleeper in their early pomp were a cracking band… Anyway, back to Coach Party… “no word of a lie, We Are Scientists are the funniest people we’ve ever met!” gushed vocalist Jess effusively before the Pixies-ish growl of their “bad break up song” “Crying Makes Me Tired”, and an abortive attempt to engage the kids down the front in their Tik Tok video! “Breakdown” featured a splendid if truncated mid-song noise-fest, Jess kneeling in a very David Line style, before some punters complimented her on her trousers! Her reply was, “it’s my ass,” then some wag down the front (ok, me…) remarked, “that’s the Isle Of Wight’s ass!”, Jess thankfully getting the Captain America reference! A bright, sparkling set concluded with the double whammy of a punky, in-your-face “Feels Like A Girl” and set highlight, the propulsive undulating riff of “Can’t Talk, Won’t”. Excellent set, and now I’m really looking forward to that January Louisiana date…!

 The place, quiet early doors, filled up properly as Logan asked the friendly roadie (more on him later) how much he earned! In short order, the walk-on music of Aerosmith’s cheesy power ballad “Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” kicked in, the 3-piece We Are Scientists conducting the audience singalong before launching into breathless opener “You’ve Lost Your Shit” (which variously recalls The Wannadies “Hit” and Kim Wilde’s “Kids In America”!), which segued into oldie “Inaction”. The modus operandi for this gig was pretty soon established; dynamic slabs of laconic but upbeat NYC cool indie powerpop with, yes, that post-millennial taut post-punk staccato riffery, but with repetitive hooks aplenty for this engaged crowd to sing along to raucously. As a newbie, I did my best, but this was one for the devoted, some “deep cuts” (vocalist Keith announcing at one point, “know your deep cuts or you’re gonna get cut!”) delighting the faithful. And vocalist/guitarist Keith was a dynamic stage presence; energetic, kinetic, double denimed and constantly on his toes, he and bassist Chris shared a considerable amount of sardonic, savage and self-deprecating between song banter (“I wrote this song (“Kit”) about my cat but he won’t reciprocate [my feelings]”; “your cat just looks at you as a heat source!” being one, and “your tuning up sounds like a ukulele!” another). The brilliant helium chorus of “Contact High” and subsequent backbeat big hook of “It’s A Hit” were early highlights, and I liked the pregnant pause during the itchy, angular and Devo-esque “I Cut My Own Hair”, the crowd nonetheless filling in the hook line. Some problems with pushy fellow punters distracted me mid-set, but the louche, almost funky “Sentimental Education” brought me back into the room, the band then finishing strongly with more fun banter and an almost hauntingly emo-esque “After Hours”, after a slight mid-set sag.

 A four song encore concluded an at-times excellent but always intriguing and entertaining 1 hour 20 minute set, before we obtained the drummer’s list thanks to that friendly roadie, hit the merch stand for some chat with Coach Party drummer Guy and a tee for Logan, then back to the ‘don by 11.30 in drizzle. I’ve clearly got some work to do on We Are Scientists, but they did more than enough tonight to dispel my dismissive first impressions. As for Coach Party, that Louie gig will be a proper firecracker, no doubt…!

1,202 STEADY HABITS, Black Sheep Apprentice, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 2nd December 2021

 

From strident gloomy post-punk Goth to mellow, understated alt-Country and Americana in the space of 4 days; who’s to say I don’t have diverse musical tastes then? This one was actually quite the late call; local promoter and gig impresario extraordinaire, Mr. Ed Dyer, posted on the Tuppenny Facebook feed positively slavering about tonight’s Thursday Night Music Club hosts, Oxford’s Steady Habits, so I clicked on the link and found some nice pedal steel and enticing harmonies, just about enough to entice me away from my sofa and “Professional Masterchef”, at least…!

 So, a quick drive up the hill and into the Tuppenny at 8, whence landlady Linda advised me things were running a little late, so I took a good viewing pew and watched the 5-piece Steady Habits soundcheck, chatting with support band main man Rich “Skiddy” Skidmore before his lot Black Sheep Apprentice followed suit. As their check finished just after 8.30, they just went straight into their set, with an ominous “High Noon” ringing bell heralding the barren neo-psych Tex-Mex flavoured strumalong of opener “Let It Go”, which could’ve easily walked off Side 1 of Love’s seminal “Forever Changes”. Skiddy, as ever resembling the Western B movie villain from Central Casting, all black-clad, wearing a Stetson hat and sinister beard, promised to keep chat to a minimum (“I don’t want to sound like Kermit the Frog!”), instead concentrating on firing off the likes of “Re-Awakened To Danger” (a perfect soundtrack for that moment in a Coen Brothers movie where the protagonist meets his untimely end, most likely over a woman) and “Solitary Man (a Neil Diamond cover, sounding entirely in place in this set) from his metaphorical low-slung holster. “Born To Walk Alone” (“despite my usual happy chirpiness this is quite a miserable song,” quipped Skiddy), was a parched paean to lost love, thematically typical of the BSA “lone rider” oeuvre, and whilst newie “A Reason To Smile” was a slightly upbeat yet disjointed (3 verses or 4?) work-in-progress, the cantering “Phoenix” was my highlight of another fine BSA set of set of dusty and desolate truckstop Americana. And Skiddy thinks they’re not “Americana”…? Hmmm…!

 I was joined by young Mr. Paul Carter at my table before Steady Habits took the stage, led on by their cherubic main man, vocalist Sean Duggan. “Good evening, we’re Steady Habits, all the way from Oxford… as you can tell I’m a born Oxonian,” deadpanned Connecticut native Duggan in his authentic US drawl, with an early “Half” setting the tone for their set, a beguiling pedal steel-powered West Coast US Summery driving number featuring excellent undulating guitar work from former Greasy Slicks axeman Jack Kendrew. “Hold In Your Breath” was a slower-paced and understated number with a tumbling harmonic chorus, before Duggan delivered a solo “Archer Street”, an evocative tribute to small town America, in his clear, yearning and plaintive voice.

 “Garden State” (“another road song!”) referenced Main Street and Chesapeake and featured an almost 70’s folky, Fleetwood Mac choral feel, whilst “Stay” was a chunkier effort, with duelling guitar and pedal steel riffery. All the while, Duggan was a charming, self-effacing yet charismatic frontman, inviting us all to the Jericho Tavern for their hometown gig next week (Ed replying, “we’re not allowed into Oxford – we’re all from Swindon!”) and constantly praising the audience for their attention. Set closer “Borrowed Time” was my favourite of the set; the most upbeat number on show tonight, a Gin Blossoms-esque slab of sturdy backbeat Countrified rock with a smooth choral melody, ending an understated yet intelligently crafted and meticulously delivered alt-Country set on a high note.

 That wasn’t it though, as Ed persuaded the band on for an encore, Duggan revisiting his former fraternal duo Loud Mountain’s catalogue for a more strident finale, then I swiped the sole list, caught up with a late-arriving Si Hall (playing here early next year – I’ll be back for that one!) and had a chat with a personably young Mr. Duggan about Boston and baseball (2 of my favourite subjects!). Home for 11 after another fine evening up the Tupp!

1,201 WHISPERING SONS, Rose’s Diary, Southampton Joiner’s Arms, Monday 29th November 2021

 

After a run of more “retro” acts of late (I much prefer “retro” to the current favoured nomenclature of “heritage” or “nostalgia” – that makes them sound like they’re ruined old castles!), here’s a trip down to my favourite venue on the South Coast for a fairly new band… Brussels post-punk lot Whispering Sons had inveigled themselves into my consciousness with their sophomore effort, “Several Others”, earlier this year. However, whereas “post-punk” seems to currently define itself as a bloke shouting the odds over a fast-paced but monotonous one-note beat (see Fontaines DC and their ilk), da Sons offered something different; spooky, mysterious, bass-led build-ups to startling crescendos, very early Bauhaus/ Killing Joke art school pseudo Goth, and the voice… well, the overlaying vocals were the real distinguishing feature; so deep, angst-ridden, resonant and almost morbid, like Bela Lugosi reading an eulogy to the damned. So, an intriguing – if gloomy – one in prospect here, no doubt…

 A swift drive down in inky blackness parked me up a few feet from the door at 8 as usual (love the Joiners!!!). Only a dozen or so folk in early doors – poor turnout, I thought, which then became poorer as 4 of them took the stage! The support band Rose’s Diary (for so they were), kicked into some bright if slightly unrehearsed and raw 90’s indie and dreampop, recalling the likes of Belly and The Cardigans, in front of family and friends (including the blonde vocalist’s dad, recording it all. Aptly named too, as each song lyrically felt like a teen confessional diary excerpt, presumably from said vocalist (Rose?), whose voice, whilst also unpolished and lacking projection, had a fey nasal charm, recalling the excellent Basement Revolver’s Cristy Hurn at times. Also currently possessing a clear paucity of material (2 covers in a 7 song set, including a Strokes one, 2^nd number in!), there was nonetheless definite promise there, and one good, more robust and uptempo number in set highlight “Cougars”. Early days for them, but not bad…

 They cleared out, and by 9 o’clock the place was still a crypt! OK, chilly Autumn Monday and all, but still… Southampton, where are you? So, 13 forlorn souls were present to greet Whispering Sons onstage, the boys kicking into the “Passion Of Lovers” beat of opener “Deadend”, the sound dominated by this big bold bass, full of tension and fear. Then the source of the “voice” joined us onstage – just a young, skinny, baggily dressed blond kid! Wow! Where do those mournful tones – like Ultravox-era John Foxx, or The Sisters’ Andrew Eldrich with a heavy cold – actually come from??? I really don’t understand!

 Be that as it may, it was there; the proclamations from the “other side”, from this slight figure with an agitated, at times almost frenzied stage presence, overlaying a dramatically, bleak, dark soundscape, played with strident power and purpose, all the more impressive given the tiny crowd. “Heat” was faster, itchier and more angular than the opener, like a vampiric Bloc Party; “Got A Light” all odd angles and time signatures, and stripped back to that sinister, creepy bass; and “Alone” was probably my set highlight, more conventional pseudo-Goth post punk but again with a bleak, insistent mood. Music for “B” Movie vampire flicks or 80’s black and white arthouse movies set in a decadent but decaying Europe, this, certainly not a soundtrack for walking home late at night through an unfamiliar part of town…

 After the slow burn of “Surface” built to a resonant climax, the subsequent “Tilt” was the set outlier, elegiac and almost pretty, the stormclouds clearing for a moment, before the strident and relentless punk rock fire alarm clatter of “Surgery” brought a taciturn but impressive hour’s performance to a close (in front of a crowd which by now had swelled to 20 – whoop whoop!). Grabbed a list and complimented the merch stand-bound bassist afterwards on an at-times outstanding set (him taking my comment about my having not heard such an impressively bass-dominated sound since early New Order as a compliment), before I asked, “is your vocalist coming out after the set?” and received the reply, “no, she doesn’t normally do that…”

 Hold on; she? SHE???? Now I’m even more confused about where that voice comes from!! After a quick drive home, getting me back to the ‘don at 11.30, I did some internet research, and sure enough, Whispering Sons vocalist is the clearly female Fenne Kuppens, who “sings in a dramatic and distinctive low register”. No fooling! Well, on reflection on tonight’s fine performance, maybe it’s more Patti Smith with a heavy cold…!