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!