1,263 CAVETOWN, Ricky Montgomery, Milo, Manchester O2 Apollo, Saturday 18th February 2023

 

Another chance for me to take Jami to see one of their favourite artists, and it’s once again Cavetown, the low-fi bedroom angst-pop alter ego of trans artist Robin Skinner. We’d seen him deliver an understated but entertaining solo acoustic set at Bristol Fleece at the back end of last year (gig 1,255) but this one was the previously-booked, full-on (and pretty much sold out everywhere!) band tour. And a road-trip and overnight stop too – given that Cavetown’s tour dates fell squarely in February half-term, a world of possibilities opened up, so we ultimately decided to book for the Manchester date, scheduling a weekend family visit to meet up with my Manc-domiciled oldest son Evan in the process!

So, we headed up on the Saturday morning, meeting up with Evan for some street food in the Arndale Market and shopping, primarily in Afflecks! Once Jami had burnt a large hole in my wallet, we headed off to our Gorton Air B’n’B house, before Rachel dropped Jami, Evan and myself off at the nearby Apollo just after 5. The gig was oddly scheduled for a very early 5.30 doors, but it was evident that the Cavetown massive had been congregating for some hours before that, and the O2 Priority queue even stretched along one whole side of the building! Yikes! Jami was in a state of high excitement/ anxiety, as they wanted to hit the front, but even with this large priority queue (and a rather disorganised bag search routine) we still pitched up about 3 rows back, front and centre in this large and ornate 2,500 (ish) capacity hall. The place quickly filled up with similarly excited young folks, and it was evident to Evan and myself that this would be a test of endurance – on the knees, at least! The young LGBTQ+-savvy audience amused themselves with some call and responses to phone images held up by various punters (including Jami!); cheers for the pride flag, boos for JK Rowling and Andrew Tate! Openers Milo joined us at 6.30; from Minneapolis and clearly relishing their first trip to Manchester, they played some pleasant if innocuous summery pop with a couple of decent numbers in the clap-along “Greenhouse” and closer “Floating”, which featured some tumbling off kilter drums following a scat vocal and a soulful hook. Alright, I guess, but they went down a storm with the hyped-up crowd…

 The hockey international-level screams then went up a thousand notches at 7.20, as Ricky Montgomery’s guitarist leapt onstage, channelling his inner Jon Bon Jovi with a mighty power chord and initiating a “Ricky! Ricky!” chant. The energetic Ricky himself then joined us, a stadium rock beast trapped in the body of a boy band reject, in the pit and in the faces of the front rows as early as the second number. An early “I’m A Wreck” featured a towering hook, before the set, rather incongruously, settled down to more Buddy Holly-esque 50’s soda bar acoustica, prior to easily his best number, the yearning, Posies-like powerpop of “This December”. A little schizophrenic stylistically, then, but the boy knows how to get a crowd going…

 After Ricky, the crowd was in a state of high anticipation, and Jami had squirmed her way to second row. In fact, during this interval, 3 people either fainted or needed rehydration (then 3 more during Cavetown’s actual set!), so the noise was almost palpable as Robin and his band took the stage prompt at 8.30. Introspective opener “Worm Food” reminded me of old Boston faves Jr. Corduroy in its’ understated poppiness, with Robin swaying around gawkily like a younger Andy McCluskey (OMD singer and another gauche dancer!). “I hope you have the best night ever!” he announced to his utterly devoted audience before “Fall In Love With A Girl”, then the tongue-in-cheek “Lemon Boy” saw confetti cannons spray their contents at its’ climax to huge cheers.

 

Once again, Cavetown’s performance felt understated, Robin’s voice low-key and muted, with the band providing no more than colourwash musical embellishments. Once again, however, the connection with the audience was undeniable, his young congregation hanging on his every word, every question met with screams of approval, and I even noticed a young couple behind Jami in tears virtually throughout the set. Jami was having a brilliant time, belting out the words to every song along with the rest of them! As for me, I liked the rockier “Grey Space”, featuring that old “Buck Rogers”/ “Birthday” riff, and the Death Cab-like undulating alt-indie of “1994”. Robin kneeled at the front to deliver a hushed and tender “Wasabi”; a horde of cuddly frogs were held aloft (along with the constant multitude of phones) during a perky “Frog” (a cuddly bee landed at my feet during this number, so I chucked it onstage at Robin’s feet, for him to pick it up and put in on his keyboard!), then for penultimate number “Juliet” Robin gathered up the many LGBTQ+ related flags thrown onstage, and swirled them around as he danced, a rainbow of colours trailing in his wake.

 A couple of encores saw the confetti cannon blast again, before final number “Devil Town” proved to be my highlight of the night, an uncharacteristic punky blast to end a set lapped up by the faithful. I happily grabbed a list for Jami, then we got picked up by Rach outside afterwards, before a Maccy D’s pitstop on the way back to the house. Cooked breakfast courtesy of Evan the next morning, before a difficult traffic-affected Sunday drive back to the ‘don. Nonetheless, a successful weekend, and another chance for Jami to see Cavetown well and truly taken!

1,262 THE PRETENDERS, Bristol Thekla, Friday 10th February 2023

 

Whoa, hold on… The Pretenders? At The Thekla? The Thekla? Yikes!

 I’d liked post-punk New Wavers The Pretenders fine back in the day; picked up their 1979 debut album and in particular played the frantic, amphetamine gabble of “Tattooed Love Boys” to death, thoroughly enjoyed their set supporting U2 at Wembley in 1987 (gig 81!) but really took it no further. However, I’ve recently revisited their output and latterly come to love their stylish and crafted, occasionally blues-tinged post-punk rock, and of course reckless Rock Icon Chrissie Hynde’s deliciously unmistakable contralto vocals. Their set at Lydiard Park in 2018 (gig. 1,099) supporting Simple Minds (and comprehensively blowing them into the weeds) was excellent, playing them firmly on my radar for future gigs. This one, however, was a real “jump or miss out” moment, as they announced a small venue tour which predictably sold out within hours! “Absolutely no hits whatsoever. Well, maybe a few”, according to the advert strapline quote from Chrissie herself – hey, don’t care, play what you like, it’ll just be worth it seeing this hallowed band close-up!

 Cognisant of wanting to grab a parking spot outside this 400-capacity venue, I set off early doors, nearly hitting a deer at Leigh Delamere, but arriving in good time, squeezing into one of the Thekla car park’s narrow spaces and joining the veteran queue at 20 past 6 for 7 p.m. doors. Pitched up house right second row, behind a friendly couple from Fairford (hi Simon and Fran!) and enjoying some gig chat as the place filled up. A quick loo trip as the roadies busied themselves just after 8 nearly proved problematic, as some jerks by the mixing desk wouldn’t budge, but I squeezed my way back in good time before the Wagnerian operatic backing track welcomed The Pretenders onstage at 8.30, Chrissie taking the stage last after her young band. A couple of newies kicked things off; a hard-edged, sleazoid “Losing Sense” and a melancholy “A Love”, given extra yearning depth by Chrissie’s unique quivering vocal style, The Voice gaining a little more dark smokiness with age, but still indubitably Chrissie. Then “Kid”, 4^th number in, was simply magnificent; gorgeous and hauntingly sombre, and again overlaid by a superb vocal, dissonant and insouciantly cool.

 

This set the tone for proceedings; a few (relative) newies, a few deep cuts and a smattering of those 80’s chart hits, but essentially the band playing what the hell they like, delivering a relaxed yet splendid performance. “What a great little gig [venue]! People asked why we’ve downgraded [to smaller venues]; because it’s fun!” gushed Chrissie prior to the highlight from recent album “Hate For Sale”, a lush and emotive “The Buzz”, apparently reworked “in the style of Johnny Thunders!” yet approaching “Kid” for sheer emotiveness. “Domestic Silence” showcased virtuoso guitarist James Walbourne, the rocker axeman really putting in a shift tonight with some impressive shredding; then the chugging groove of “Don’t Get Me Wrong” heralded an excellent set mid-section, highlighted with “Biker” (“my favourite song,” according to Chrissie) and the smooth jangle of “Talk Of The Town”. Some subsequent rockier New Wavey numbers seemed to suffer from the guitar mix, Chrissie getting clearly agitated and shouting at the sound-guy to “turn it down!!”, but by the undulating melody and insistent jangle of “Back On The Chain Gang” things seemed sorted, at least from my spot underneath the ceiling-hung speakers! Closer “Junkie Walk”, a song I’m not fond of on record, made much more sense “live”, the terrace chant swagger morphing into an NYC Lou Reed sleaze march, Walbourne stepping forward and delivering the strident middle-8 riff practically on top of us!

 

“We’re on a boat! What if it goes down… what a legacy!” quipped Chrissie after taking the stage for the encore, before giving us some more sage advice; “never board a plane with someone more famous than you; if it crashed, you’ll be known as, “also killed was…”!” Point taken! Said encore saw Chrissie throw a bone to us oldies, with a couple of first-album deep cuts; firstly a gravelly, growling and sinister “The Wait”, then a breathless and frankly incendiary “Tattooed Love Boys” Chrissie leaving us with, “thanks for being a fun crowd!” following this, predictably my set highlight. A friendly roadie handed me the drummer’s list and a copy to a fellow front row punter; then in a display of appalling self-entitlement, some big bloke came up and snatched it out of his hands! If you’re reading this, mate, you’re an asshole of the first water, and you don’t deserve ever to go to a gig again… A slightly jarring note to end the evening, but I nonetheless bade warm farewells to my Fairford friends, picked my way through Bristol roadworks and home for 11. Glad I jumped for this one; Chrissie Hynde may be 71 years young, but tonight she delivered another splendid, age-defying performance, backed ably by her excellent young charges. Once again, the Pretender was the Real Deal!

1,261 EDITORS, KVB, Bristol Marble Factory, Thursday 2nd February 2023

 

I really didn’t see this one coming…

 I’d somewhat given up on Editors of late… after proclaiming them the Best Band in Britain for a chunk of years around the early 2010s, with their initial dark, gloomy goth-tinged staccato post-punk subsequently given extra dimension with increasing layers of intriguing synth noise (a similar journey to the utterly stellar first 3 or 4 Simple Minds albums), they’d then blotted their copybook with me, with 3 albums in a row which went from average to dull to pretty crap actually, loaded with swathes of suffocatingly turgid stadium pomp. I’d actually stated, after their entertaining but uneven set on the Cure Hyde Park undercard in 2018 (gig 1,095), that “in all honesty they’re sadly a couple of albums past their recorded best”, so approached last year’s “EBM” effort with understandable trepidation. However, this was a revelation – a collaborative effort with Blanck Mass (apparently a former member of drone outfit Fuck Buttons), this not only saw Editors go full-on electro, but rediscover their mojo big-time with some rampant, rollicking jet-propelled tuneage, as if they were (fairly successfully, actually!) trying to write an album full of “I Travel”’s! The phrase “Return To Form” was insufficient to do it justice, as it and Suede’s similarly unlikely contender “Autofiction” duked it out for my Album Of The Year honours, “EBM” finally prevailing by a short head. With Mr. Mass (!) now confirmed as a full-time member of Editors, I was excited to hear this material “live”, even if it meant a trip to the difficult to find, difficult to park at and bloody c-c-cold Marble Factory…

 Stuart was scheduled to join me, but unfortunately didn’t grab a ticket before it sold out! So, an early departure for a solo jaunt pitched me up half an hour before doors, parking next to a wall art of WWE star Paul Bearer (!) and queueing up in the dank drizzle. Grabbed a second-row spot house right, behind a tall and enthusiastic Czech bloke (more on him later) and next to a friendly goth/emo mum and daughter, so some rock chat passed the time until support KVB joined us at 8. A boy/girl guitar and synth duo, they were all over the place, kicking off with some drum machine propelled mumblecore shoegaze (the guy’s vocals being very down in a muffled mix; more on that later too…), but then diverting through groovier 80’s OMD-like synthpop, “Floodland”-era Sisters goth, detached, Numan/Nine Inch Nails proto-emo (“Urbanised”), and poor droney dirges (closer “Dazed”). All atmosphere, though, with no real tunes to rub together to make fire, so a bit frustrating really, as there were some nice Cure/Bunny/McGeoch-like guitar licks amongst the murk.

 Opted for a quick loo break just before the witching hour (sometimes you gotta go when you can, not when you want to), which nearly proved a major mistake, as this old warehouse room was by now utterly rammed. Anyway, I luckily made my way back before Editors took the stage to swathes of dry ice, blood red backlit spotlights and anticipatory bubbling synth… They then launched into opener “Heart Attack”, but it immediately felt as if half the sound was left on the launchpad, the growling bass and tumbling drum clatter being the prominent sounds in this “live” mix, with the synth – the major feature on record – almost a muffled afterthought, remaining disappointingly so throughout this initial clutch of primarily new numbers. The band themselves were on fine form; vocalist Tom Smith was his kinetic, angular self from the off, throwing shapes with reckless abandon and delivering his deep, sonorous vocals with gravitas and authority (notably on “Pictureseque”, his quickfire choral rap totally carrying this number), and bassist Russell Leitch (immediately in front of me onstage) was in fantasy band camp, making eye contact with the crowd and grinning knowingly, particularly at my Czech fellow punter who was going utterly mental. However, I was just frustrated that all the interesting synth squalls, bleeps and bloops were barely audible!

 

However “Sugar” was a major early highlight, the stately sweep and dramatic, Middle Eastern-tinged (“Cutter”-esque?) “whoa-oh” middle 8 break heralding a sea change in the set. The backbeat drums and circular hook of a subsequent “Bullets” and the itchy, insistent “Fingers In The Factories” were both utterly tremendous, as the set really took flight either side of a brief solo acoustic interlude from the frontman. “Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors”, their high watermark, was its’ usual widescreen build to a huge crescendo, then the hurtling pace and anthemic singalong hook of a brilliant “Racing Rats” was ultimately my set highlight. A couple of numbers from the more recent albums were fine “live” if a little overlong, but “Strange Intimacy” was an excellent finish to a sprawling, 1 hour 40 minute set, the hectic pitter patter synth pattern finally a bit louder in the mix.

 A brilliant, cascading “An End Has A Start” and the jump-along, sheet metal synth terrace chant of an extended “Papillon” bookended the encore, Tom and Co. taking a deserved bow after a committed showing, the band at least leaving it all onstage. And actually, despite the poor mix, uneven sound and occasionally variable song selection, I’d been “giving it loads” myself throughout, regularly bumping into the back of my equally energetic Czech fellow dancer. Got handed a list (Tom’s own, from the top of his piano; yay!) and bade farewell to my goth/emo friends, then ran into fellow Nada Surf fan Julian on the way out for a quick chat, before a stiff-and-sore limp back to the car, and a dank drizzly drive back to the ‘don via an annoying diversion off the M4 at J17, home just after midnight. A shame then that the new material suffered with poor sound at this less than stellar venue (bet it would’ve sounded brilliant at O2 Academy!), but I couldn’t fault the band’s effort and performance tonight. So after that, and if “EBM” is the shape of things to come, they can count themselves well and truly back on my gig radar!

 

1,260 COACH PARTY, Girl Scout, Fiona Lee, Southampton Joiner's Arms, Tuesday 31st January 2023

January’s normally a bit of a slow month for gigs, the “Dance Card” habitually stuttering to a start like an old jalopy, before becoming its’ usual turbocharged beast from February onwards; such purports to be the case for 2023, with this the only January gig before a 6-gig salvo in February, followed by another 5 in March! Nonetheless, this promised to kick off the gigging year with a bang, in the company of Coach Party, the impressively spritely, snarky Isle Of Wight indie-popsters and recent “live” favourites of both myself and my gig buddy Logan, playing what for them must be as close to a hometown gig as possible on the mainland, at Southampton’s excellent Joiner’s Arms. Sold out too, this one, so if we expected – and got – fireworks at their Louisiana last May (gig 1,225), Coach Party may well take the roof off a packed-out Joiners…!

 

Beef joined us for this one; with Logan now in his GCSE year, his gig attendance is restricted to weekends! So, the usual M4/ A34 beat route got us down to the South Coast in fairly short order, whence I grabbed a parking spot practically outside, and we joined the queue for doors at 7.30. The Coach Party folks were manning the merch stand and greeting fans, so I said hey to this affable bunch, the “Isle Of Wight’s Ass” story getting another airing…! Into this dark and scuzzy back room for opener Fiona Lee at 8 sharp; a young singer with a pile of cascading blonde curls and a nice line in octave straddling, sometimes almost operatic vocal gymnastics, she played some intelligent and tuneful pieces with a distinct post-grunge/ US alt-college pop 90’s feel, Alanis meets “Shame About Ray”-era Lemonheads, maybe? An early track was inspired by Leonard Cohen, no less, suggesting she either had a good or bad upbringing, her parents either introducing her to Cohen’s deliciously dour and morose canon, or driving her to it! An angry post-breakup number also saw her hit her guitar pick-up and accidentally kill the sound during a impassioned shouty rant moment, but it was actually the better for it! Either way, this was an impressive opening set from a distinctive young talent.

 Up next were Stockholm’s Girl Scout, on at 8.30 in front of a full crowd – Beef had checked them out beforehand and compared them to recent live faves Alvvays, and as alvvays (!) he was pretty spot-on, vocalist Emma Jansson embellishing their breezy summery C86 pop opener with similarly lilting and undulating vocal inflections to Molly Rankin! Girl Scout’s oeuvre veered from Beths-like deadpan Blondie-influenced pop (“Mothers”) through Pixies-ish harder edged stompers (“Monster” – “about being a little shit when you’re 16 years old!” joked Emma – yeah, got a couple of them at home!) to amphetamine hurtling post-punk with eminently singalong hooks (“Fell In Love With An Asshole” and excellent closer “Do You Remember Sally Moore?”), all played with verve, enthusiasm and no little deadpan humour. A perfect accompaniment for the main course tonight, then, and a band I’d like to seek out in their own right again…

 A quick loo trip and a squeeze back down to our front spots, house right, before the lights smashed to black at 9.20 and Coach Party joined us onstage to a girly pop/Rage Against The Machine mashup backing track. Clearly in no mood to fuck about tonight, this lot, and after some squalling feedback they were straight in with the brilliant “Can’t Talk, Won’t”, sounding powerful, hard-edged and tough, and delivering a frankly incendiary, elemental version of this, IMHO their best number, to an enthusiastic reception. Follow that!

 

Thankfully quality control was maintained, as tonight Coach Party were superb, sounding notably harder-edged than previous viewings, yet retaining their ear for splendid snarky melody and undulating guitar riffery. An early, “shoutout to my dad!” from vocalist Jess preceded a debate about dads (!) and a slow-burn “Bleach”; the soaring, almost doo-wop melody of “Three Kisses” followed a tale about a Sunday Times reviewer declaring it their best number; and a brilliantly chunky “Nothing Is Real” was delivered, “in the key of nasal!” by Jess, recovering from a bad cold. Steph then treated us to some line dancing moves (!) prior to an irresistibly groovy newie “Hi Baby” and an acerbic, snarling “Shit TV”, the guitarist then channelling her inner Bob Mould with some squalling feedback and primal screaming during an impressive punk rock “Breakdown”. “FLAG” rounded off another breathless and breath-taking Coach Party set, encore “Parasite” providing a punctuation point on proceedings, before Steph kindly sorted me with drummer Greg’s list. Nice!

 The least I could do then was to buy some merch afterwards, before saying hearty farewells to the band and hurtling Northwards to the ‘don, home for midnight. A fantastic start to Gigging Year 2023; the roof did stay on The Joiners for Coach Party, but only just... and with the band on this type of form, the sky’s the limit…!