1,298 THE SKIDS, Supporting From The Jam, Swindon MECA, Friday 13th October 2023

 

Rounding off the current flurry of gig activity is a welcome return to my “Dance Card” of my first proper “Favourite Band”, 70’s anthemic punks The Skids. As a 13 year old, I’d fallen for Richard Jobson’s manic dancing when I first saw them perform the fist-pumping “Into The Valley” on “Top Of The Pops”, and so revelled in their recent reunion shows. We’d been “on a break” since the last time (October 2021, gig 1,193) as the Skids line-up essentially morphed into the still-up for it Jobson plus a backline of hired hands; however I wasn’t going to miss them playing in Swindon, moments from my doorstep (ironically at the criminally underutilised MECA, where they were due to play waaay back in January 2019!), even if it was as support to an ersatz Jam line-up. Also, as Mark E Smith used to say, “if it’s me and yer granny on bongos, it’s The Fall,” so surely the same hold true of the effervescent frontman Jobson and The Skids?

 Only one way to find out, so off I went, finding the Wyvern car park full so dumping the motor in the cinema car park, running into Rich in the queue, getting drinks in then taking a wander down the front, bumping into Beef on the way! I’d grabbed a bit of barrier, house left, by the time The Skids took the stage, 4 black clad desperados followed onstage by the muscular Jobson, usual St. Pauli t-shirt firmly in place, still looking fit and well for 63, perma-grin affixed to his rugged granite features and quipping, “fuck me, how much rain fell in Swindon today – and I’m Scottish!” before leading the band into the staccato rhythm of “Charade”, followed in short order by a thrillingly headlong, hurtling “Of One Skin”. “The last time I came to Swindon was 1978,” remarked the frontman; “it hasn’t changed!” 

Any fears about the quality or proficiency of this Skids line-up were immediately blown away. They sounded great! Young guitarist Connor Whyte particularly had some seriously big shoes to fill but handled the late Stuart Adamson’s intricate snaking guitar patterns with aplomb, and drummer Nick Hernandez was a strong-armed, hard-hitting beast, driving the sound with relentless force, a worthy successor to Messrs Kellichan, Egan and Baillie. But of course the jocular, kinetic Jobson was the main focus; joking about ageing (“there’s a time when your cock gets smaller…!”), taking aim at usual targets Savile and Sayer (Leo of course having deprived The Skids of a number one album, some wag down the front – OK, me – shouting, “get over it!”, Jobson replying, “I can’t! I’m still bitter!”) and lending his rich, stentorian vocals to classics such as the fist-pumping terrace chant “Yankee Dollar” and the soaring “Circus Games”. A ragged rant through “TV Stars” (“the worst song in the history of punk rock!” according to Jobbo) was throwaway fun, preceding an equally breathless cover of The Clash’s “Complete Control” (“the best!”); then the inevitable, towering “Into The Valley” was a brilliant finale, Jobson punching the air with furious intent, then leading the enthusiastic early comers through an a capella singalong of the hook. Tremendous stuff! 

Drummer Nick kindly supplied me with a list, and we took a breather before taking a spot a little further back for From The Jam, original Jam bass player Bruce Foxton and long-time oppo Russell Hastings the main man in this 5-piece line-up. The Jam had never been massive favourites of mine – I’d owned 2 singles of theirs, back in the day, both bought in the Woolworths cheapo “Ex Chart” box! – and after the roaring, terrace chant dynamism of The Skids, this iteration of FTJ sounded flat and insipid, statically going through the motions like a poor pub band, and Foxton (who took bass duties on a few Stiff Little Fingers tours a dozen or so years ago) sadly looking fragile, every one of his 68 years, and sounding particularly shaky on lead vocals for an early “David Watts”. Distracted, I took a walk, running into a number of old friends and faces for catch-up chats, including Jobbo himself, whom Rich had located at the merch stand and who happily recalled our previous meetings at other Skids gigs. Nice!

 Went back in for FTJ, who at least were finishing strongly with a sinuous, sinister “Down In The Tube Station At Midnight” and a fine “Butterfly Collector” but who never rose above workmanlike for me. Still, they had a sizeable moshpit of Fred Perry-clad old blokes, particularly for encores of the jagged clarion call “In The City”, a lengthy, slightly self-indulgent “Eton Rifles” and the inevitable “Going Underground”, so what the fuck do I know, eh? As for me, I ran in to another old friend – hi Charlie! – on the way out, dropped Rich up the Vic then headed home for just after 11 with Jobbo’s early set proclamation ringing in my ears. He may have meant it as a joke, but it was totally true for me – tonight the headliners played first!

1,297 GANG OF FOUR, Miki Berenyi Trio, Hallan, Bristol O2 Academy, Saturday 7th October 2023

 

I’m not really sure what I was expecting from this one, but it certainly wasn’t that…!

I confess that seminal Leeds New Wave politico-agit post punkers Gang Of Four rather passed me by back in the day. Unlike kindred spirits Wire (whose “12XU” was a regular floor-filler), they never got played at U-18 Brunel, my local nightclub and main source of my late 70’s-early 80’s musical finds, so when I diverted into Bunnymen territory in the early 80’s, I never bothered checking them out. My mistake. An early 2000’s revisit of that era (most current bands then finding inspiration from that time) included GO4’s landmark debut “Entertainment”, and sure enough I found it an excellent if uncomfortable listen, the music taut, tense, stripped back and claustrophobic, reflecting the bleak cold war threat and political/ industrial unrest of those times, with pointed, acerbic lyricism practically barked out by vocalist Jon King. Somewhere between industrial post-punkers Comsat Angels and anarchist sloganeers Crass, then… It had always been at the back of my mind to catch them “live”; sadly I left it too late to see a line-up featuring influential original guitarist Andy Gill, who died in 2020, but this tour was a tempter, going from possible to definite by the addition of “The Queen of Shoegaze”, Miki Berenyi and her trio, as tour support.

Old friend Keith was up for it too and just happened to be in Bristol during the day, so I drove down early, meeting the man at 5 for some splendid BBQ Chinese nosh up Park Street, then grabbing a barrier spot house right at doors (next to gig buddy Alfie again!), after gaining O2 Priority entrance! Not long to wait for young openers Hallan, on at 7.25; their first 2 numbers were dark, angry bass-led beasts with a proper crap-rap rant-style vocal delivery, strongly reminiscent of The Fall, but just as I was about to dismiss them as another bunch of incoherent shouty Fontaines DC-alikes, they served up the splendid “Cut With The Kitchen Knife”, a dark brooding early Editors-esque number with a proper “sung” vocal. Yay! The subsequent “Colline Gate” had shades of early New Order with a gothy descending Hooky base, and the crisp, regimented riff of closer “Money Talks” recalled Killing Joke’s “Love Like Blood”. Strong finish to an overall promising set…

 

Miki (who I’d briefly spoken to on the way in, Miki claiming to remember me from March’s Stroud gig (no. 1,272) which was nice) then led her boys onstage for 8.15 to a warm welcome, the stark and detached opener “Light From A Dead Star” setting the tone for the mood of the set, if not the sound… initially the guitar was very muted, the programmed drumbeats the main feature for Miki’s fragile, high-register vocals to compete with. I get that this line-up won’t have the upfront, smothering guitar reverb and effects of Miki’s former charges Lush and that’s fine, I just wanted a bit more oomph… thankfully the guitars chimed in properly for the haunting feel and textural pitter patter of 4^th number “Vertigo”, and the soaring yet plaintive “For Love” was lovely. Miki, relaxed and urbane onstage, chatted about Moose’s beloved Spurs being top of the Premier League and made excuses for a hangover from last night’s London gig, before the bubbly dance of “Big I Am” and dissonant mystery of closer and best-of-set “Baby Talk” rounded off another overall charming set. Looking forward to seeing them at “Shiiine On” now…!

 It got a little busier down the front but this was a fairly quiet one overall, with the balcony shut tonight. Still, one hoped that GO4 would play to the folks here rather than lament those absent… and so it proved; and how! Led onstage to a fanfare by their singer, the wild-eyed imposing Zefram Cochrane lookalike (well, actor James Cromwell, but hey, I’m a Trekker so I’m bound to say Big Z!) Jon King, they were immediately “on it”, opener “Return The Gift” fast, funky and frenetic, with guitarist David Pajo sending jagged shards of sound around the venue, and the aforementioned King throwing David Byrne staccato shapes belying his 68 (!) years. “You’re all very attractive!” announced a beaming King, clearly in fantasy band camp onstage throughout, as “We Live As We Dream, Alone” was an irresistibly groovy early highlight, the man then announcing, “I cheered when you chucked that evil motherfucker [Edward Colston]’s statue into the river!”

 

As I mentioned, I wasn’t sure what to expect from this veteran bunch of political post-punkers, and, given the material, I may have been anticipating this to be a bit tinny, moody, dour even… Nope, none of that; Gang Of Four were pretty much the opposite; upbeat, irrepressible and actually downright fun, propelled by King’s kinetic onstage antics and full on in-your-face delivery, and Pajo’s virtuoso guitar work, the guitarist often using the mic stand to coax ever more dissonant, squalling and serrated noise from his instrument. “He’d Send In The Army” saw a roadie wheel on a used microwave for King to batter to pieces with a baseball bat as percussion (said object being on sale at the merch stand afterwards for £30!); a subsequent Dr. Feelgood cover “Roxette” was an unexpected swaggering bluesy stomp; and “I Parade Myself” was brilliant, Pajo’s Middle-Eastern guitar inflections the base for King’s flamboyant gestures and mellifluous, teasing vocals. Miki made an onstage appearance for “I Love A Man In Uniform”, joining drummer Hugo Burnham’s daughter on backing vocals, then Burnham himself took centre stage, his rock-steady, regimental drumbeat powering the clipped military march of “At Home He’s A Tourist”. “I Found That Essence Rare” was my set-highlight, a brilliant, jet-propelled and hooky blast, before the strident terrace chant of a pointed “To Hell With Poverty” closed out a quite startling set. 

Another cover – this time of fellow Leeds post-punkers The Mekons’ “Where Were You”, for former Mekon Mark White, apparently in the crowd tonight (!) was the highlight of a 3-song encore, the band taking a deserved bow after a triumphant and celebratory performance. I grabbed a list (batting down some other punter’s hand to do so – the roadie’s giving it to me, bucko!) then we headed off, reflecting on the gig. Tense, claustrophobic, dour, downbeat, monotone? Nope, tonight’s Gang Of Four gig was just absolutely bloody joyous!

1,296 COACH PARTY, Girl Scout, Nightswimming, Bristol Thekla, Thursday 5th October 2023

Second of two in two nights down in that there Brizzle, and if last night’s hosts Desperate Journalist are pretty much the high watermark for UK rock, then tonight lines up the band most likely to challenge them for that honour in the coming years… Isle Of Wight’s Coach Party have been slowly and sneakily becoming “live” favourites of mine, their blend of urgent melodic indie pop, tense Pixies-ish US alt-rock guitar inflections and lyrical teen diary breakup angst gaining some serious traction of late, thanks to some high-profile support slots. Said experiences seem also to have filtered through to their debut album “Killjoy”, it being a varied but harder-edged, punchier and confident affair than previous EP releases, but an album that rewards repeated listens, revealing hidden depths to their ostensibly bouncy indie sound.

 After last month’s Rough Trade acoustic CD release show (gig 1,292), I was looking forward to hearing the new material fully amped up on “the Dirty Boat”. And I was happily joined by Tim, Peej and Beef, the boys all meeting round ours for 6 then Tim driving us down a sunny M4, squeezing into a tiny overparked spot before getting in at 10 to 7, just as first band Nightswimming were taking the stage. Taking their name from one of R.E.M’s finest works, they sadly came nowhere near living up to their name with some wispily and soporifically dull dreampop, recalling The Sundays (yawn) for me, and Portishead for Peej (ditto). A few interesting resonant textural guitar licks, maybe, but no tunes to rub together to make fire, and instantly forgotten the second they left the stage. Thankfully main support Girl Scout were much more the ticket, kicking off with a sturdier, hooky Beths-like powerpop toon which set the tone for their enjoyable set. “Tight set tonight people! Not going to banter like usual…” announced vocalist Emma Jansson, clearly a woman both in a hurry and on a mission tonight, as they whipped through “Mothers And Fathers”, a snappy Veruca Salt-esque song about divorce (!), the vocalist again displaying a fair set of pipes on the “do it again” hook. “This venue is sick! I wish they had boats for venues in Stockholm!” she gushed, before the amphetamine gallop and soaring chorus of “unreleased and unrecorded!” newie “I Don’t Know What It Is”, which proved my highlight of the set (one for my “Best of 2024” compo CD, maybe…!). Closer “Do You Remember Sally Moore”, with its Public Image drum opening, hurtling verse and well-observed mid-song pregnant pause, however ran it close, climaxing another impressive support set from the Stockholmers – particularly kinetic guitarist and Louis Theroux lookalike Viktor Spasov, who could shred with the best of ‘em…

 I took a loo break then, and on returning to our spot house left, 3 or so rows back, proclaimed to Peej, “don’t think this is near the sell-out it’s supposed to be…” Famous last words, as the place then filled up quickly and, whilst not near as rammed as The Menzingers gig (gig 1,284), was more than amply full for the arrival of Coach Party onstage at 8.45 to a startlingly huge roar, vocalist Jess Eastwood nearly taken aback by the reception. Jess, resplendent in schoolgirl chic and with The Isle Of Wight’s Ass barely covered by a micro rah-rah skirt, led the band through grungy, growling opener “Micro Aggression”; then the band hit a snag as technical issues with Joe’s guitar forced some nervous banter between Jess and guitarist Steph, Jess then bringing their photographer onstage to do a dog bark! Once sorted, the irresistibly flippant “What’s The Point In Life” launched the set into orbit, and there it bloody well stayed…! 

Coach Party were quite, quite brilliant tonight, possibly the best I’ve seen them (which I seem to say every time, but hey, it’s true!). Unlike the insouciant, detached cool of last night’s hosts, however, this set was all about kinetic energy, noise, dynamism and barely contained full-on in-your-face punk rock; so much so that on the occasional wall-of-noise guitar squall I could swear they were channelling 00’s “live” favourites Seafood, or even Bob Mould! “Can’t Talk, Won’t” (“about the best day of my life,” remarked Jess) was a hurtling downhill luge ride of a song; a debate about dry shampoo (!) preceded a lovely, Alvvays-ish “Be That Girl” (see, that’s how dreampop is done properly – Nightswimming, take note), and after the off-kilter sneery grunge of “All I Wanna Do Is Hate”, the strident, acerbic “Shit TV” was another mid-set highlight.

But it seemed we were just gathering momentum for the set climax; after Steph commented on a noticeable left-right list on the old boat tonight, Jess concurring with the comment, “my mic is on the wonk!”, the set then just seemed to get harder, faster, punkier, noisier! “Hi Baby” was a breakneck Beths-like powerpop gabble, “Breakdown”’s pin-prick verse launched into a racey, strident chorus and some serious shredding from a strident, screaming Steph, then the savagely angry howl of “FLAG” was “dedicated” to Rishi Sunak (Jess roaring, “he’s an absolute Cunt! Fuck that fucking prick!”), before the vocalist grabbed the echo mic and got in the faces of the front rows for the fierce, fire-breathing finale “Parasite”. Hell of a double whammy to end a quite ferocious set.

Grabbed a list from the friendly lights guy and briefly doorstopped an elated Jess and Steph to sign it, before the Gang of Four of us drove home for 10.45, debating tonight’s events and all coming to the same conclusion. Coach Party are bloody ace, particularly “live”, and are going places fast. Brilliant stuff!

1,295 DESPERATE JOURNALIST, The Violent Hearts, Bristol Dareshack, Wednesday 4th October 2023

 

A hectic 3 in 4 nights kicks off with a potential cracker from the current standard bearers of UK Indie rock. For me, London’s Desperate Journalist have been pretty much the best band the UK has to offer since I first heard them back in 2017, their urgent and intensely rich mix of dark 80’s post-punk, pseudo gothy guitar licks and stark, confessional lyricism from rock’s resident Ice Queen Jo Bevan knocking me for six from the get-go. This, the first in a short gig run for the band for no reason whatsoever (no new material to bed in, no imminent releases, it just seemed they wanted to keep their hand in “live”!) took us to a brand new Bristol venue in the Dareshack, so this was pretty much a no-brainer…!

 My turn to drive, so I picked Stuart up just after 6 and, after dumping the motor in Nelson Street car park opposite the site of the sadly lamented Bierkeller, found the venue easily at the top of The Pithay! We grabbed drinks in the side bar and were joined in short order by “Shiiine On” buddy Matt, in need of a good rock night out. Methinks you’ve come to the right place! Heard noises emanating from the venue just on 8 so went in to the evocatively black-lined Fleece (ish?) sized room, grabbing house right spots a couple of rows back as support The Violent Hearts took the stage. Slightly out-of-place supports to cartoon punks The Dickies a couple of months ago (gig 1,290), here their muscular swaggering dark alt-rock, propelled in no small part by their strong-armed, hard-hitting drummer, made much more sense. Lots more nuances to their sound were evident than previously as well; “John I’m Only Speeding” had a twanging, Cure “In Between Days” feel, and the sweeping “Burning” gave more than a nod to “Free All Angels”-era Ash in its’ windswept melancholy. After the Ramones lyrical nod, however, “Porcelain” was my set highlight tonight, a splendidly hurtling punkish blast. “Who needs an “E” string anyway?” queried vocalist James Mattock as he undertook running guitar repairs before a Suede-ish, sleazoid “Hex On Me”, then the rambunctious rocker “Everything And Nothing” drew another impressive support set to a close, both Stu and Matt also commenting favourably. I might have to go see them in their own right before long…

 Spotted gig buddies Julian and Alfie down the front for a chat, before bumping into DJ bassist Simon on a quick pre-gig loo trip. Desperate Journalist themselves took the stage dead on at 9, Rob Hardy immediately coaxing hauntingly resonant textural noises from his guitar, and Jo delivering a rushed, “hello,” before the band plunged into the angular, dismissive opener “Nothing”, the black-clad, straw-haired singer immediately the focus with her wide-eyed, impassioned choral vocals. The undulating chimes and terrace chant snark of “Why Are You So Boring” followed, sounding brilliantly clear, and we knew we were in for a good ‘un…

 

Once again, Desperate Journalist were absolutely on fire tonight, delivering another consummate performance of insouciant and aloof elegance, controlled yet gut-punching power and brilliantly effortless Bunnymen-esque cool, the surprise being just how easy they made it look, how it always seemed they were playing within themselves, but still delivering an utterly superb showing. “Hollow”’s stripped back build to its’ pounding, strident chorus was an early highlight; “Jonatan” (“about someone called Casper,” according to Jo) was underpinned with a sinister guitar riff highly reminiscent of The Cult’s “She Sells Sanctuary”; and after a taut, funky bass-propelled “Fault” (Jo spitting out the hook with bilious intent), oldie “Cristina” was my highlight of the night, breakneck, breathless and passionate. Superb! 

“Are you enjoying it?” asked a loud punter (not me, for once) of Jo, the Ice Queen immediately firing back, “Absolutely not! Get out!” Another deep cut, the libidinous, meandering “Lacking In Your Love” ceded (pardon the pun) to “Cedars”, another brilliantly wallowing and melancholy run-through of their finest number. Tour guitarist, the excellent Charley Stone, excused herself briefly prior to this one, Jo subsequently deadpanning, “you need to rely on the singer to smooth these moments over – but you don’t get that from me!” A soaring, epic “Be Kind” and potent, punchy “All Over” rounded off the set, the Ice Queen making herself scarce so the band could take centre stage for the song’s lengthy and climactic denouement, before the stratospheric hook of a brilliant “Satellite” provided the punctuation to another typically stellar 1 hour 10 minute Desperate Journalist performance. Why this band aren’t absolutely massive utterly baffles me… Drummer Caz kindly handed me her list before we wandered back to the car park, bidding Matt farewell on the lower levels then heading off, home just after 11. Three in four under way, then, and I couldn’t ask for a better band than Desperate Journalist, to kick things off in their usual superb style!