1,288 CHAMELEONS, Whistleblowers, Holmfirth Picturedrome, Saturday 8th July 2023

 

Another gig centring around renewing acquaintances with an old friend, albeit this one being intentional and pre-arranged… Earlier this year, I’d re-connected on Facebook with my old school friend Jennifer, a lady who was largely responsible for keeping me sane during my difficult 6^th Form schooldays, and with whom I’d kept in touch for a subsequent period in the 80’s, visiting her at Warwick University for gigs by The Fall and the Smiths in late 1983/ early ’84 (gigs 10 and 11!). Life got in the way and we lost touch, but it was great to reconnect, and a plan was hatched to visit her in Holmfirth, where she now resides with husband Paul, when a decent enough band was due to play at fabled local gig venue The Picturedrome. And they don’t get much more “decent” than 80’s anthemic post-punk/ goth heroes The Chameleons!

 So, I hit the road early Saturday oop North, clearing Manchester and heading through impossibly scenic windswept vistas on Saddleworth Moor, and equally impossibly winding and near-vertical single track country lanes up to Jen’s hilltop home. Much catching up ensued, the years falling away, before Jen, Paul and I headed down into Holmfirth (which despite prima facae seeming a dour, grey bricked typically Northern town huddled in the base of a valley around the confluence of 2 rivers, was actually quite a happening place, with lots of interesting craft and boutique pubs and upmarket eateries) for a splendid gourmet burger tea at Lou & Joes, before joining the queue at the venue at 7.30. As the name suggests, The Picturedrome is an evocative old mid-sized (I guessed 800?) picture house venue, exuding faded vintage silver screen glamour, and we took balcony seats overlooking house left. Stayed there for veteran support Whistleblowers, on at 8.30. A local trio from Ashton-Under-Lyme, they were sadly very dull in a very dull way (!), plying some low-key, plodding 60’s folky psych Fillmore East fayre which shudderingly recalled Midlake when they hit the flares and double-denims. Later numbers floated into midnight jazz café territory, before returning to the flimsy hippy stuff. Not well played and somewhat off-key vocal-wise to my ears as well, I’m afraid.

 I took a wander down the front afterwards, still pitching up a couple of rows back, joined briefly by Paul and also chatting to India, a lady who’d posted in the Chameleons Facebook fan page about her journey from paraplegic wheelchair usage, to now just needing one stick. Brilliant job, you go girl! The eerie Cocteaus-ish entrance music heralded the Chameleons’ arrival onstage at 9.30, a false start due to technical issues with Reg’s guitar pick-up (“it’s always the newbies!” quipped granite-hewn vocalist/bassist/main-man Mark Burgess) being eventually sorted before the band plunged into the plangent ringing chimes of opener “Paper Tigers” to rapturous applause from the cultish devotees. “I hope it’s not going to be one of those nights,” warned Burgess before the Sophie Lancaster dedication preceded a chilling “A Person Isn’t Safe Anywhere These Days”, delivered with neck-bulging, scary conviction by the man. Sorry mate, I think it is…!

 

Correct. The Chameleons were on fire from note one tonight, delivering a brilliantly passionate, strident performance of their atmospheric and textural yet huge and anthemic post-punk mood music, often deploying both their usual weapons of slowing down the material “live” to give it extra breathing room and gravitas, and throwing in unexpected lyrical references from the likes of Bowie, The Fall, The Clash, The Smiths and predominantly The Beatles. That said, it took until “Monkeyland”, 5^th number in, for the crowd to respond in kind, the eerie slow build of the first verse suddenly bursting into the roof-raising “trick of the light” hook like a cork from a champagne bottle, precipitating a boisterous yet largely good-natured moshpit which remained throughout, where the main rules of engagement were arms-aloft inclusive raucous singalongs and bearhugs from total strangers. Although we’re not really strangers, We Are All Chameleons, after all…!

 “Looking Inwardly” and “Up The Down Escalator” were two fast-paced, brutal mid-set gut punches, the air becoming a scarce commodity in the kinetic sauna the Picturedrome had suddenly become (I actually turned to a fellow punter and remarked, “I think I can forget about breathing for the next hour or so!”); “Soul In Isolation” was a staggering, swaggering affirmation of life (“I’m alive in here!” again a roof-raising terrace chant hook); and a later “Swamp Thing” an undulating, libidinous thing of joy and wonder, the guitar interplay in the build to the first verse just gorgeous. Yet set closer, “Second Skin” topped the lot; preceded by thanks from a drenched Burgess (who’d given it his all tonight) and a sermon about creating experiences and living in the now, this was a lengthy and magnificent all-inclusive manifesto for The Chameleons “live” experience in particular, and rock’n’roll gigs in general. The stuff dreams are made of, indeed!

 A couple of encores (a roaring, none-more-punk “In Shreds” and a sinister, anthemic “Don’t Fall”) before the boys took well-deserved bows and left us breathless and euphoric after another stellar performance. Grabbed a list and a quick chat with keyboard player Daniel afterwards before meeting Jen and Paul outside. A quick taxi back up the hill, then a much-needed breather and fluid intake before towelling myself down and making use of the spare room for the night. More catching up the next morning over a splendid fry-up brunch, before bidding fond farewells and driving to Manchester, meeting my son Evan for a roast Sunday lunch at Mr. Thomas’ Chop House in the city centre, then hitting the road at 3.30 for a difficult roadworks, traffic and thunderstorm-affected drive down South, home for 7. Just a lovely weekend in excellent company, though, both on and offstage. Thanks Evan, The Chameleons, and mostly Paul and Jennifer… hopefully this won’t be the last time we light up The Picturedrome!