1,245 THE SPIELBERGS, Muttering, Bristol The Lanes, Wednesday 28th September 2022

 The Spielbergs, Oslo’s hairy rabble of grunge slackers and Superchunk acolytes, announced a new album this year in their sophomore effort “Vestli” and a subsequent UK tour, which took in a Bristol gig at The Lanes, a new venue to me but one which I became briefly familiar with earlier this year, due to my grabbing a drink there before June’s Peaness gig at Rough Trade Records opposite (gig 1.232)! I downloaded the album and on early listens it even cranks up the heavy grunge noise, evident on their splendid 2019 debut “This Is Not The End”, a few hundred notches, recalling the likes of “Colour And Shape”-era Foo Fighters and Dinosaur Jr. as well as the previously evident Superchunk comps, particularly in mop-headed vocalist Mads’ helium vocals. Likey to be noisy, then, this one…

 Tix were “Pay What You Want” so I splashed out a fiver (hey, big spender!), deciding to stick with this one despite The Lemonheads announcing a “Shame About Ray” run-through at the O2 Academy across town on the same night; none of my Boston rock pals in Evan’s band this time, and with the excellent Basement Revolver (who’d supported Evan and Co. across Europe this Summer) also absent, I decided against giving Mr. Dando (admittedly a long-time musical icon of mine) another opportunity to disappoint me… So, still suffering the after-effects of my recent flu bug, I hit the road mid-evening for a gentle economy drive down the M4, parking in the previously horrendously expensive Nelson Street NCP (note to self – it’s a quid cheaper than Rupert Street now!) and hitting this evocatively dingy venue just after 8.15, only to find “PAYG” had morphed into “Free Gig”. Bah! Despite this, only a couple of dozen hardy punters were present early doors (possibly the legacy of that Lemonheads gig?) to welcome Brighton/ Peckham trio Muttering onstage at 8.30. Led by an elegantly dishevelled vocalist/ bassist resembling a taller Sebastian Vettel (!), they played some dour and doomy tales of despair and 21^st Century angst (“look at those broken dreams” and “I can feel Armageddon calling me” being 2 typically cheerful couplets) over a dissonant alt-rock/ post grunge guitar attack, some urgent and insistent repetitive riffery and stop/start drum patterns recalling Primus or Sonic Youth, particularly in their faster numbers. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” the vocalist offered by way of explanation, although he briefly lifted the mood by leading a debate about the merits of bowling! Despite the lyrical gloom, I found this a promising if embryonic set. Not bad at all…

 A few more punters ambled in from the adjacent bowling alleys (The Lanes… geddit?) but attendance was still fairly sparse by the time The Spielbergs took the stage at 9.30, after milling around for a few minutes by my “leaning post” house left spot, at the end of the bar. Squalling feedback and a casual, “hello guys,” from Mads heralded their high-octane opener and “Vestli” track 1 “The New Year’s Resolution”, segueing into the thrashy riffery and backbeat verse of “When They Come For Me”, The Spielbergs’ usual pattern of full-on guitar onslaught and punchy, hooky chorus lines overlaid with Mads’ yearning, Superchunk-like, one-octave-higher-than-comfortable vocal yelps, already well in evidence. “We’re so happy to be back in Bristol – our favourite city ever!” gushed the profusely curly-maned vocalist before announcing, “It’s [keyboardist] Ole’s birthday!” and kicking into slightly slower, Dinosaur Jr.-esque slacker rock oldie “Five On It”, followed by my set highlight “Running All The Way Home”, an undulating and insistent rocker with a huge hook, which would be a stadium anthem in any sane universe. Splendid stuff!

 “We’re trying to educate [our English fans] in Norwegian culture… so “Skol!” means “Cheers!”” announced bassist Stian before a slower, more considered “You Can Be Yourself With Me”, and the extended heavy jam outro of “Familiar”. The Foo Fighters’ “My Hero” companion piece “Me And My Friends” and the amphetamine rollercoaster rocker “We Are All Going To Die” rounded off a 50 minute set of fine grungy rock which, honestly, wasn’t as noisy as I’d anticipated but was still powerful and strident, the boys peeling off one by one and leaving the stage as they’d arrived, with Mads’ guitar firing squalling feedback through the monitors. No list and no encore, so no “Distant Star” tonight (“next time!” Mads reassured me with a pat of his meaty paw on my shoulder) so, flagging a little, I hit the road promptly for another gentle drive home, back just after 11. Despite my lack of energy tonight, I still enjoyed this forceful and propulsive set from this Oslo rabble, and I’m happy I stuck with them rather than heading off to the O2. So, one word for The Spielbergs; Skol!

1,244 SPORTS TEAM, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 25th September 2022

 

(Not my list - courtesy of the chap behind us in the signing queue - drop me a comment and I'll give you a namecheck, young man!)

even later call for this one! Rising stars and barnstorming post-millennial indie rockers Sports Team had impressed mightily at last month’s Victorious Festival (gig 1,240) with a set replete with “spritely spunky youthful spunky spriteliness” (I know, bloody articulate, me!), putting them firmly on our radar. Unfortunately, their forthcoming, primarily O2 Academy-based, jaunt in support of sophomore album “Gulp!” fell right in the middle of an already-hectic October, their closest gigs to the ‘don clashing with other arrangements. Also, this enticing Bristol Rough Trade in-store and signing sesh had already long-sold out by this time. Bah! Serves me right for being late to the party for this lot, I mused as I absent-mindedly put my name down on the waiting list… a decision that ultimately paid dividends, as I got a text whilst sitting down for lunch today, saying a couple of tix had become available and were being reserved for a brief time. Result! I snapped them up toot sweet, and made plans for an unexpected evening’s rock…

 Drove an enthusiastic Logan down the M4 just before 6, parking up and joining the long queue to get in; a hotly anticipated one, this, no messin’… despite that, we grabbed our free CDs and headed into the small back room venue, pitching up only a couple of rows from the front, house right. Nice! Chatted with a mum who’d brought her lad along too – he was only 8, which brought back memories of when I started taking my now 15-year old and much taller young man to gigs! Gig mates Andy and Mandy unexpectedly turned up as well, so the time passed swiftly before Sports Team joined us; diminutive keyboardist Ben Mack first, setting off a synth pulse dancebeat, then the rest of this 6-piece band somehow squeezed onstage, towering vocalist Alex Rice deadpanning, “that’s the first track!” as the synth beat faded.

 
We were then however straight into new album opener “The Game”, with Sports Team, as Suede did last Sunday (gig 1,242), mostly concentrating on their new material for this 45 minute “vignette” of a set. And also like Suede, they impressed from the off with a dynamic, raucous and rambunctious performance of said bright, bouncy and upbeat new numbers. Veering a little away from the slightly tinny, Strokes-like dynamics which seemed to permeate their debut “Deep Down Happy” (on the couple of listens I’ve given it recently, at least!), the “Gulp!” numbers are more immediate, with some brain-hugging shout-along, fists-aloft anthemic choruses and hooks at their core. And in young Mr. Rice, they have a very impressive frontman, his expansive young Julian Cope-like swagger keeping him just the right side of arrogance, leaning into the baying crowd and firing out homespun lyrical vignettes with the nasal brashness of Figgs/ Gentlemen singer Mike Gent (a bit of a niche reference there, but sorry, that’s who popped into my head!).

 Following “The Drop”’s dramatic sleazoid hook, the gregarious Alex asked the crowd, “who are we up against in the charts?” eliciting a horde of catcalling feedback; then, to cheers, Sports Team delved back for oldie “M5”, which featured a itchy, descending verse beat similar to Violent Femmes’ classic “Gone Daddy Gone” and a huge chorus. By this time I’d lost Logan to the mosh, but could occasionally pick out glimpses of him in there, singing away at the top of his lungs. Proud dad moment, hashtag myworkhereisdone. etc… The Woodentopsy rockabilly beat of “Unstuck” segued into an infectiously groovy “R Entertainment”, before “Happy” saw a circle pit emerge, Logan sensibly keeping to its peripheries. Then, before the knockabout melody and flippant, raucous energy of set closer “Here’s The Thing”, Alex announced he was trying to get rid of their old car (a Piagi?) “because the door comes off!”, a front-row punter offering to swap his own Peugeot 107 for it! A slightly bizarre way to end a fun set; hardly ground-breaking, envelope-pushing or cutting edge, this is just honest upbeat indie rock which stands or falls on the tunes. Good thing then that Sports Team have those in brass bucketfuls. And clearly Logan, particularly, loved it!

 

Just missed out on a list (all promised elsewhere), but we then queued up next to a couple of young fans, including a chap who at 20 was already keeping records of all his gigs. Keep it up, young man! Eventually met the band for pix and brief chats (centring around Logan’s gig history and my wife’s lasagne, oddly enough!), leaving them for a swift drive home with a salient comment, evidenced by Logan’s disappearance into the mosh; “for the last 7 years I’ve been bringing my son to see my bands… tonight it looks as if he may have found his band!”

1,243 KIWI JR., The Roves, London Oxford Street 100 Club, Tuesday 20th September 2022

 

A late call on this one; I’d picked up on Toronto’s effervescent C86-influenced indie popsters and Jonathan Richman acolytes Kiwi Jr. thanks to their ramshackle but charming 2020 debut “Football Money”. Their splendid “Murder In The Cathedral” was an unfortunate late casualty in the brutal editing process for my rather stacked 2020 “Best Of” compo CD, and this somehow led me to blank on their 2021 sophomore effort “Cooler Returns” altogether. Oops! Prolific bunch as this lot are, they kept up their one album per year pace (typical in the 1980s but rare these days) with the “difficult” third album, “Chopper” which received rave reviews across the board. Intrigued, I didn’t let this one slip through the net, and good thing too; whilst retaining their quirky gauche charm, this is a more coherent and (whisper it) mature album, with quality and clever song writing underpinning their upbeat indie jangle, now also augmented with a dash of keys. An almost dead cert for inclusion on my “Best Of” for 2022, so a gig was in order if they were across this side of the pond. A Tuesday in London was the closest to the ‘don, so up we go…

 Tim was keen as well, so he picked me up early for a difficult egress out of town, then plain sailing to Osterley and easy tube into Soho. As we were so early, we grabbed a drink in Wardour Street’s Ship Inn, then hit the deserted downstairs Oxford Street venue at 7.45, grabbing front row seats in the “Miley Position” to the far left of the stage (so called because that was where Miley Cyrus set up camp to watch her “backing band”, American Hi-Fi, during their May 2014 visit here, gig 915!). Chatted and soaked in the atmosphere of this storied venue, scene of many a seminal early punk gig, as intrigued punters trickled in. Openers The Roves kicked off at 8.30 prompt; an eclectic looking bunch, they opened with a chunky mid-paced number (“Uptown”?) with a melodic Summery vibe and some nice 3 part harmonies. Hopes that this lot might have been an impressive new find were however slightly dashed as their subsequent material merged into a pleasant if forgettable countrified mulch, as if “Howdy”-era Teenage Fanclub or The Thrills had been reinvented as a bar room blues band from Nebraska. The upbeat “Dance To The Jamboree” was the best of a slightly lengthy-feeling set with a decent vibe but average material. Seen worse, though…

 Kept our seats, now under the cold air-blowing air conditioning which was making me slightly regret going t-shirt only, as the place filled up to a more respectable level for Kiwi Jr’s set at 9.30. A studious looking bunch of chaps led on by vocalist Jeremy Gaudet, who resembled my mate Andy Fenton if he’d been stretched on a rack (!), they eased into the upbeat discordant melody of “Chopper” opener “Unspeakable”, followed in short order by the bright, summery “Guilty” and the more frantic backbeat strumalong of the aforementioned “Murder In The Cathedral”, an early highlight for me. “How are you doing on a Tuesday?” Feels good!”, drawled Jeremy before the deadpan slacker vibe of oldie “Salary Man”, which featured a nice “Sloop John B” lyrical homage, and the tougher, almost punky “Changes”, which was underpinned by a nice descending riff and which also fooled us all with a false finish.

 

“Bouncers! These are the weirdo fans who came to see us twice!” Jeremy announced after recognising some shouts from the previous night’s gig at the Dalston Victoria, before “Night Vision”, my current favourite from “Chopper”, a darker and more metronomic beastie with an undulating vocal line. My set highlight overall, although a later “Cooler Returns”, featuring a riff nicked from The Buzzcocks’ seminal “Boredom” ran it close. The frantic, Rolling Blackouts-esque “Downtown Area Blues” (“I got lost in Soho earlier, so I’m really feeling it!” quipped Jeremy) finished off a brisk and fun hour’s slacker indiepop; not original by any means and lacking some variation for me at this stage, but overall some well crafted and constructed numbers played with a wry, laconic and laid-back style.

 An impromptu encore run-through of oldie “Wicked Witches” ended proceedings, before I waited patiently then invaded the stage for the drummers list (!). A walk back through Soho to Leicester Square tube then home for 1; all OK on the night, but the next morning the chills I’d felt under the air-conditioning had turned into a full-on nasty cold/ flu (Covid? Dunno, didn’t test, felt shit anyway so no point) which landed me in bed for 3 days and saddled me with a junkyard dog barking cough for longer. Bah! Still, a good night out with an old mate and a promising band, so overall worth the snuffles and sleep deprivation!

1,242 SUEDE, Bristol Fleece, Sunday 18th September 2022

 

Hold up… Suede? At The Fleece? Is this 1992 again, or what?

 Nope, there’s a simpler explanation… Rough Trade Bristol announced a short “instore” promo set for sleazoid glam Britpop survivors Suede, to celebrate the release of new album “Autofiction”; only due to anticipated demand, this one was moved from their usual c, 100ish capacity instore back room to the, ooh, 450ish capacity Fleece. Wow! Undeterred by a couple of recent more indifferent performances by these nonetheless Dance Card regulars and attracted at the prospect of seeing them at such close quarters (closest, in fact, since that June 1992 Windsor Old Trout gig, no. 211!), I booked tix immediately, luckily jumping in before they sold out in a matter of seconds. Subsequent reports also indicated “Autofiction” heralded a move away from the sweeping, orchestral and frankly a little bit dull atmospherics of their most recent release, 2018’s “The Blue Hour”, and back to a rawer, more primal sound (some even calling it Suede’s “punk rock” album!) if more encouragement was needed. Let’s see…

 A matinee show as well, so we left Jami at home with Maccy D lunch (Logan fishing in Brixham with his Uncle Andy) and hit the road at 12, weaving around the Cabot Circus queues and suffering a brief parking-mare (who knew daily street parking was 2 hours max? We only come here at night!) before joining the lengthy queue and chatting to a knowledgeable fellow punter, there with his father in law! Grabbed a drink and a spot house left, about 1/3^rd back (the front rows already rammed with eager punters) and talked rock to while away the short wait. Suede, led on by drummer Simon Gilbert, took the stage to little fanfare just after 2, vocalist Brett Anderson joining us last, already whipping the masses into a frenzy, exhorting them to louder and louder cheers. And straight into new album opener and leadoff single “She Still Leads Me On”, a rampant, robust bass line leading to a huge sweeping chorus, strident and raw, Anderson already hanging from the Fleece pillars and leaning over the audience (as he regularly did throughout, apart from a couple of incursions into the crowd!), leading the singalong. Woah. Midway through this startling opener, Rach turned to me and said, “it’s already better than Southampton (last time out for this lot in April 2019, gig 1,134),” and by its conclusion, plans were made to catch their tour proper, next March.

 Clearly invigorated by this excellent new material, Suede were brilliant this afternoon, playing like a band reborn, or almost like a brand new band (they’d done a secret gig recently under the name Crushed Kid, so maybe…), the performance full of power, passion and purpose. “Personality Disorder”, next up, was a dark backbeat beast with a stream of consciousness vocal from the energetic Anderson, “15 Again” could have stepped out of the 80’s Batcave days with a creepy, almost gothy guitar pattern, whilst the mid-paced “The Only Way I Can Love You” was the most “Suede” sounding number so far. The already profusely sweating Anderson (I always admire that in a performer, so well done sweaty Bretty!) finally paused for breath after 5 numbers, complimenting the crowd’s “Big Bristol welcome!” before delivering “Drive Myself Home”, a beautifully desolate late-night backstreet torch song for voice and piano only.

 

The dramatic pounding stomp of “Black Ice” continued the “Autofiction” virtual run-through (the boys playing the first 8 tracks in order, and only omitting one from this set), before a quite startling “Shadow Self”, a thrillingly ringing, urgent and insistent rocker unlike anything Suede had recorded before, and pretty much a shoe-in for my “Best Of 2022” comp CD. “What Am I Without You” was a widescreen Bowie-esque ballad which recalled his “Station To Station” period, before the soaking Anderson tested the crowd with a “really old song,” 2011’s “It Starts And Ends With You”, slightly struggling to hit the high notes but no surprise after the effort he’d put into this performance. An encore of the “Rock’N’Roll Suicide”-esque “Life Is Golden” for his son Lucien, backstage this afternoon, brought an astonishing hour to a close, easily the best I’d seen Suede since their reformation and maybe even the best ever…!

 Caught our breath and grabbed a list before heading off – weird to drive home in the daylight after a Fleece gig! However, this was well worth it; nothing short of a resurrection for this enduring band, and with “Autofiction” a potential Album Of The Year candidate. Hopes are high for their March 2023 tour now!

1,241 ADAM ANT, Laurie Black, Brighton Centre, Sunday 4th September 2022

 

Kicking off the Autumn 2022 Dance Card with the return of a recent “live” favourite, and a belated boy’s birthday weekend out! I’d seen 70’s art school “Sexmusic” punk rocker turned 80’s New Romantic icon turned 10’s (the decade, that is) “live” comeback king and National Treasure, Mr. Adam Ant, 9 times between 2011 and 2016, but not since that triumphant 2016 Bristol gig (no. 990), wherein he’d wowed us with a brilliant rendition of his 2^nd, breakthrough album, “Kings Of The Wild Frontier”. Live Ant sets since then had largely focussed on his subsequent solo oeuvre, hence my absence, but an opportunity arose earlier this year for a late shout on his current career-spanning “Antics” tour, around mine and Logan’s birthdays at the end of June. Tix were duly bought for this Brighton gig, rescheduled from March to my actual birthday on 24 June, only for it then to require further shunting due to Adam catching Covid. D’oh!

 Luckily, t’was nothing serious, and he and we could still make this rearranged date (2 days before Logan’s return to school – phew!). So, having made arrangements for an overnight stop at an old friend’s place in Worthing (Doug and Sarah, we salute you!), we headed off around lunchtime, hitting a sunny Brighton mid-afternoon for some retail therapy and fish and chips on the pier (warding off the predatory seagulls!). We walked past a massive queue for this seafront auditorium as we returned to the car to dump purchases, a predominantly older clientele with many bedecked in various versions of Adam’s personas (Hussar, tricorn hat pirates and dandy highwaymen aplenty!). However, doors had opened on our return and said queue had dissipated, so we wandered in at 6.45, hitting the merch stand then taking our excellent 3^rd row seats, house right, chatting with fellow punters to kill time. Opener Laurie Black was on at 7.45; a black and neon clad futurist punkette armed only with a synth/ beatbox arrangement, I initially feared a carcrash… however, following some laudable if obvious social commentary for starters on opener “Everything Is Shit”, she went all cosmic on us, with a number about the first woman on the moon (being particularly proud about rhyming “Godiva” with “vagina”!). I actually warmed to her and her Kraftwerk/ early Human League/ Landscape (!) esque robotic sheet synth, quirky humour (introducing her “band”, i.e. various parts of her “dystopiano”) and obvious enthusiasm about performing on such a large stage in her home town, even if I wasn’t so sure about her “Eurovision” song about cockroaches! Still, Adam’s had worse supports…

 A quick pic with Logan (sporting his new “Antmusic For Sexpeople” tshirt!) down the front before we took our places for Adam’s arrival, prompt at 8… only for half the audience to then abandon their seats in favour of the gaping area at the front of the stage as the lights smashed to black, and so did we! We therefore pitched up 3 rows back, dead centre stage in the enthusiastic throng as the band took the stage and kicked into the unmistakeable multi-layered drumbeat opening to “Antmusic”. Then, The Man appeared… Johnny Depp’s style forebearer, quite noticeably trimmer than recent gigs, resplendent in black button jacket and leathers with a slight touch of slate grey peering out from under his wide-brimmed straw boater, he looked magnificent, a King ready to reclaim his Wild Frontier. Snake hipped and immediately prowling the stage like a panther, he repeated the opening line with his distinctive vocal yelping style, before the song finally burst into life like a cork from a bottle of finest vintage champagne, and we knew we were in for a Very Special Night.

 

It was hard to comprehend the fact that we were watching the performance of a 67 year old man with a history of mental health issues; not only did he look at least half that, and perform with the energy, enthusiasm and vitality of a 20-something, but he also seemed totally relaxed, confident and at home onstage, seemingly free of all his demons. “Vive Le Rock” got the crowd whooping, but an early “Cleopatra” topped that with its’ glammy yet grubby sleazoid slow burn grunge. Adam donned the guitar for a taut, creepy “Ants Invasion” before informing us that the next number, “was written in the back of my dad’s light blue car, as rockers whizzed by at 100 mph,”; not “Cartrouble” as expected, but a sweeping, swooping and popular “Prince Charming”. Plenty of diversions back to my preferred earlier Sexmusic material early doors, though; “Digital Tenderness” was itchy, insistent and angular art-school punk, “It Doesn’t Matter” a dismissive, sneery bluesy growl, and a rampant “Fat Fun” was preceded by Adam admitting, “people ask me what was punk all about? I’ve no idea – except it was fast!”

 

Adam’s “manifesto” number, the Burundi double drumbeats and First Nation American yelping/ chanting of “Kings Of The Wild Frontier”, was as ever delivered with conviction to throw away, Adam notably pausing for breath, and to soak in a lengthy ovation, at its’ denouement. Then, an incredible, set-defining triple whammy: the brilliant pinprick riffery of “Zerox”, poignantly dedicated by Adam to his old friend and punk muse Jordan, lost earlier this year; a joyous, angular and singalong “Cartrouble”; then my set highlight, the frankly incendiary rollercoaster thrillride of “Beat My Guest”, causing me to totally lose my shit in my little space down the front, bad knees be damned. Wow. Just… wow.

 Unsurprisingly, the set drifted a little for me afterwards, perhaps just as well as I needed to catch my breath! Nonetheless Adam was still a lively and kinetic onstage presence through a slightly trite, almost lullaby-like “Something Girls”, via a spritely if throwaway “Los Rancheros” to the inevitable set closer “Stand And Deliver”, Adam conducting a lengthy singalong to the hook, rounding off an overall quite magnificently delivered set in a perfect, all-inclusive way. A couple of encores, capped with the grizzled, dramatic march of “Physical”, rounded off a 1 ¾ hour set which utterly rocketed by, despite the post “BMG” lull. We grabbed a couple of lists – including Adam’s rather large own list! – before hitting the road, arriving at Doug’s place and settling in before a rather violent electrical storm made landfall! A rather splendid “Breakfast Club” breakfast in Brighton the following morning, then more shopping before heading back, elated at a Covid delayed but totally worthwhile boys birthday outing, thanks to the shining and enduring star that is Adam Ant!