1,310 TEENAGE WRIST, Paerish, Mouth Culture, Bristol Louisiana, Monday 18th December 2023

My last-minute knee op postponement from last Friday also means that I can get to this gig… I’d picked up on Californian shoegaze/ grunge rockers Teenage Wrist back in 2018, falling hard for their superb debut effort “Chrome Neon Jesus”, which was only beaten out by Basement Revolver for my Album Of The Year that year. Their sophomore effort, “Earth Is A Black Hole”, went one better in 2021, pipping the Stayawakes and Inhaler for Top Album honours, although I missed their brief 2018 UK tour (which passed through tonight’s venue) due to a clashing family holiday, Covid then conspiring to keep them from returning to these shores. Until now, and a tour in support of difficult, murkier and heavier new album “Still Love” … I booked tix immediately, but it then looked as if I was going to miss out – or at least try to hobble up the winding staircase on crutches to the venue for this one. Glad I don’t have to do that! 

So, limbs intact, I picked up Tim (for a change) for a drizzly run down the M4, before some parking confusion (lots of temporary barriers strewn all over the parking lot opposite the Louie) saw us dump the motor by the Thekla and wander around. Got a drink and chilled, also enjoying a few words with friendly Teenage Wrist vocalist Marshall Gallagher, manning the merch stand early doors and also manfully putting up with my tales of postponed operations and suchlike. Took a wander upstairs just before 8 to catch a bit of openers Mouth Culture, who ploughed a pretty decent furrow between resonant reverb-overlaid post-punk and looser, trippier Britpop, and were led by a young preying mantis of a vocalist, Faris Badwan’s delinquent offspring, who actually had both the confident swagger and the voice for the job. “Rage”, their urgent, punkish closer saw the vocalist, stripped to the waist at this point, bellow the hook like a wounded lion. A bit unfocussed stylistically, they could however be a name to watch... I certainly preferred them to main support Paerish; after a decent shoegazey opener, all tumbling drums and echoey guitar, they descended into samey and mid-paced plodding sub-grunge, with their vocalist quite the contrast from the first band, his understated reedy voice adding to the Smashing Pumpkins vibe I was strongly getting from this lot. We gave them 4 or 5 numbers then took a break in the bar.

Back in about 20 past 9 for the main event, though; grabbed a spot a couple of rows back, house right, as Teenage Wrist rounded off a short set up and final check, before Gallagher announced to the sell-out crowd, “Holy fucking Shit Bristol!”, inviting everyone to take a step forward before launching into the thunderous squall and huge choral hook of opener and new album leadoff track “Sunshine”, his voice somehow soaring above the immediately loud and heavy riffery. The boy can sing, no messin’! 

This set the tone for the set; the oft-shimmering, textured and nuanced guitar pedal effects prevalent particularly on the first couple of albums were discarded tonight in favour of pure seething rock’n’roll power, earthquake-inducing grunge guitar riffery and hard-hitting, cascading drums courtesy of Gallagher’s main TW partner in crime Anthony Salazar. And, despite my prior misgivings, this approach made total sense in the “live” environment, giving the material extra primal force and dynamism, and providing a solid launchpad for TW’s trademark huge skyscraping choral hooks. Gallagher himself was a gregarious and laconic onstage presence, commenting, “this is our last date; I’m wearing the last of my clean clothes!” before the slightly outlying resonant, pseudo Goth post-punk of “Dweeb”, then asking if anyone had seen them here in 2018, before quipping at the pack of audience response, “we paid a lot of money [for that tour] and sucked a lot of dick!” “Taste Of Gasoline” was tremendous, a huge soaring hook propelling this early set highlight; “Stoned, Alone”, an introverted shoegaze wallow on record, turned into a tough slacker anthem; and “Silverspoon” again saw Salazar take centre stage with some jet-propelled drumming. 

An almost swayalong “Mary” ceded to a pounding, relentless “Cigarette Two Step”, Gallagher screaming like a young Bob Mould at its denouement before Salazar quipped, “hope you like our ballad!”; then an hour’s potent and dynamic rock ended with profuse thanks from the frontman and the dark dramatic verse and huge strident chorus of set highlight “Earth Is A Black Hole”. Woah. Took a breath, feeling like I’d just gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson after that rock onslaught, before a conversation with a chatty Salazar about band dynamics and influences. A drizzly run home then saw us hit the ‘don just before 11.45 with ears ringing. A fine – albeit very very loud! – way to round off gig year 2023, courtesy of Teenage Wrist!

1,309 XSLF, Borrowed Time, The Deckchairs, Swindon The Victoria, Friday 15th December 2023

 

They think it’s all over… but it isn’t, well, not just yet…

 Just as I was thinking that my 2023 gigging year had come to a close, thanks to my scheduled knee replacement surgery, fate deals a different hand to me, with the last-minute (as in, I’m standing in my hospital-issue gown ready to go to theatre last-minute!) postponement of said procedure, for totally understandable reasons actually. So instead of a weekend in hospital and up to 8 weeks out of gigging action (I’ll have that to look forward to early next year now…), the weekend opened up to me, and I could join The Big Man for a trip up the hill to see XLSF, the ersatz line-up of veteran Belfast punks fronted by former – and original – Stiff Little Fingers guitarist Henry Cluney. We’d caught them down at the old Level 3 just over 10 years ago (gig 889), in one of their first ever gigs; frankly, it showed a little, with a fun but uneven set which wasn’t a patch on Jake Burns’ current SLF incarnation. But hey, I’ve suddenly got a free night, so I was up for seeing how Henry and co. have come on in the intervening years…

 Drove up and parked up behind the Roaring Donkey, grabbing the last spot on a busy pre-Christmas Friday night out, then met Rich in the Vic, also running into Debby and old Level 3 face Pete Murphy (no, not that one…!). Heard noise emanating from the back room venue, so wandered in at 10 to 9 to see openers The Deckchairs. A veteran bunch from Bracknell, as we soon found out thanks to their love song for their home town, which featured the line, “your girlfriend’s mates are all chavs!”, they were fronted by a chap who I thought was a dead ringer for my old punk mate Ian Leighton, and kicked up a primitive late 70’s punk rock racket reminiscent of a lot of second division bands of that time (Shapes, Drones, Last Words et al). Lots of scatological references (one number called “My Dick’s Bigger Than Yours”, for example, although we missed the one about inflatable girlfriends!), and I liked the jolly “Wanker In An Audi” which concluded with a bit of the old 70’s “Likely Lads” TV programme theme! The singer rounded off this fun mess of a set with a toilet seat around his neck for the closer “We Were Shit”, although they were called back on for an encore of Sham 69’s laddish drinking song “Hurry Up Harry” by the crowd.

 By now we’d been joined by Rich’s friend Nicky, another old Level 3 face, although I bailed out of the venue when main support Borrowed Time launched into their set. Much more proficient sounding than the openers, but I’m not a fan of their more generic leather-and-studs UK82-inspired politico-punk noise, so I took a seat to rest my knee and then phoned my brother, popping back in for their last knockings.

 Quite a busy one, this, so we kept a watching brief by the bar, house left, anticipating a boisterous moshpit which would be a little more than my knee could currently handle. Not far wrong, as it turned out, as Henry Cluney led the now 3-piece XSLF on at 10.30, rampaging straight into the classic “Suspect Device” and immediately projecting his tough Northern Irish brogue much better than beforehand. Thence followed a set of classic SLF first 2 albums only material, enthusiastically if a little haphazardly delivered by Cluney and his mob (the ex-Defects drummer in particular more than a little all over the place, seemingly changing speed on a whim and regularly out of time with his colleagues), but equally enthusiastically received and sung along with by this Friday night Vic crowd. An early “Gotta Getaway” was incendiary; the mid-set “Alternative Ulster” savage and bilious (Cluney deadpanning, “I wrote this one on the way from the hotel tonight!”) and “Nobody’s Hero” was a careering, fist-pumping manifesto and the best – and best sounding – number on show tonight. The band hauled a quartet of backing singers up from the crowd for “Barbed Wire Love”, Rich and myself responding with a mid-song waltz (!), and Borrowed Time’s Rob did a fine job actually as guest vocalist for a venomous “Fly The Flag”. A lengthy, dubby and slightly uneven “Johnny Was” closed out the set, although Cluney, a little breathless by now, commented they couldn’t be bothered to go offstage (a bit of a theme these days at gigs!), so ploughed through a timely if shambolic “White Christmas” and a fine, tight “Tin Soldiers” to round off an hour-ish set, after which I left Rich to it and headed off. So, still some way short of Jake’s mob, but Cluney and co. were overall better than before, and despite a few haphazard moments, gave this fabled material a good old roughhousing and in doing so, delivered a fine and welcome, if unexpected and last-minute, evening’s singalong punk rock. Slainte, chaps!

1,308 THE FRONT BOTTOMS, Vundabar, Oxford O2 Academy, Saturday 9th December 2023

 

Likely my final gig of another stellar 49-strong year, this one, due to my impending knee operation next week, and it’s a late call… Jami discovered that their recent TikTok band “find”, Noo Joisey’s US alt-indie veterans The Front Bottoms, were doing a UK tour and was well up it; they’re a band I’ve been aware of for some time but not delved into (I think mainly because of their rather off-putting name – still, that doesn’t stop me liking The New Pornographers, I suppose…), but on doing so I enjoyed what I heard. Like Waterparks, they’re a hot mess of influences; chunky Weezer-esque post-grunge rock, ramshackle Violent Femmes-like alt-folk and, more notably, millennial emo-pop-punk, all overlaid with We Are Scientists-like humorous and overly wordy lyricism and the deadpan, sardonic vocal delivery of main man Brian Sella. We picked up their new album (their 8^th!) “You Are Who You Hang Out With” and ended up booking tix for this Oxford gig as, unfortunately, the more convenient Bristol date clashes with my op date!

So, anticipating parking issues as usual for Oxford, we set off at 4, only to park up in a 2/3rds full Tesco Car Park at 5, a full hour before doors! Grabbed a pretty decent Chinese meal in the nearby Rice Box, then, before joining the priority queue, Jami immediately making friends with some punters who’d come from Kings Lynn! This seemed to be a theme, as we grabbed a barrier spot, extreme house right, on entry and chatted to a mum and daughter (hi Eve!) who’d journeyed from Worksop, having booked to go to the Sheffield O2 date, before that venue was flooded and this Oxford date added as replacement! Support Vundabar were on at an early 7 p.m.; a Boston 3-piece, they were all over the place, their stuff careering from plodding and slow-burn Weezer “Sweater Song” rewrites to off-kilter backbeat and weird time-signature Primus, Truman’s Water or even (very!) early XTC soundalikes, with staccato barked vocals and lots of stop-starts and pregnant pauses. The type of songs you don’t know that have actually finished until the vocalist says, “thank you”, in fact… An early Mission Of Burma lyric homage (“that’s when I reach for my resolver/ dissolver”?) and a couple of more conventional numbers, particularly the anthemic Vaccines-like “Let Me Leave” were the most notable points of a difficult and scattergun set. 

A quick turnaround, however, as the 5-piece Front Bottoms joined us dead on 8 p.m.! The moustachioed, Geography teacher chic vocalist Sella declared, “we’re back!” to screams from a surprisingly young crowd (maybe they’ve all discovered this lot via TikTok, like Jami!), the band then ploughing headlong into the frenzied attack of the ramshackle backwoods Appalachian pseudo-rockabilly “West Virginia”, followed up in short order by the quickfire thrashy Modern Baseball-esque emo punk of “Emotional”. In a hurry, this lot, and no mistake… “This is night 1 back in the UK!” announced a buoyant Sella to cheers; that being so, there were no first night nerves on show, as The Front Bottoms were pretty damn excellent tonight, the opening double whammy setting the tone for a set of frantic and frenetic indie rock, with the kinetic Sella the main focal point with his gabbling yet deadpan, caustic delivery and 100 mph acoustic strumming, although I also rather enjoyed the frequent in-your-face 3-part pseudo choral harmonies of Sella, guitarist AJ Peacox and excellent bassist Natalie Newbold. A slightly slower “Punching Bag” saw a front row punter brandish a pair of inflatable boxing gloves to cheers; the coruscating hoedown “Be Nice To Me” saw Ric Flair-esque “wooo”s echo around the venue in response to the werewolf cries; and “Beers” (Sella declaring, “I’ve been waiting years for this fucking moment!”) was probably my set highlight, a soaring Menzingers-like powerpop number with a roof-raising, coming of age chorus, although the hook of the subsequent “Montgomery Forever” generated an even louder singalong from the FB massive.

 A call for requests saw another front row fan hand up a beautifully embroidered pink blanket bearing the message “Please Play “Lover Boy”” – sadly, they didn’t do it (or Jami’s favourite “Lone Star”, either), although the backbeat “Swear To God” and high-octane “Father” were request highlights. The lengthy, almost shoegazey outro of an absorbing, vocoder-vocalled “Paris” was a bit of a stylistic outlier, but they were back into the frantic tumbling cascade of “Au Revoir (Adios)” in short order, to end a breathless set. Another mass singalong to the hooky, angst-fuelled yet joyous “Twin Sized Mattress”, the finale of a 3-song encore, closed out a rambunctious, ramshackle and racey set; an early one too, as we hit the road in short order and hit home for 10.40, Brian Sella’s set-closing remarks ringing in our ears. “We’re called The Front Bottoms – please tell your friends about us!” After this fine performance, I certainly will…

1,305 GAZ BROOKFIELD, Shedrac; 1,307 GAZ BROOKFIELD AND THE COMPANY OF THIEVES, George Gadd, Jim Blair, Swindon The Hop and Bristol Fleece, Saturdays 25th November and 2nd December 2023

 

Another double-header, this; this time it’s consecutive Saturday nights out (sandwiching a Chameleons gig in Oxford, hence the number sequencing!) with the West Country’s finest and hardest-working DIY, have-guitar-will-travel, folk/ punk troubadour/ raconteur Gaz Brookfield… These 2, the 31^st and 32^nd times respectively he and I have crossed paths, form part of his “Morning Walking Club” tour, celebrating the album release of the same name. Honestly, this one’s taken a little time to really burrow itself into my consciousness; a few galloping and fun tunes, but a bit “Gaz by numbers” and a bit of quality control short of “Lostfolk”, for me still his finest work by some distance. However, given he’s a DIY musician, I understand and support Gaz’ plan to whack out an album every 18 months or so, plus he’s always great fun and good value trading the boards, and Logan is still keen on coming along, so off we go!

First was Gaz solo in the ‘don, so a bloody chilly trip up the hill saw Logan and I parking in the Planks car park and hitting the Hop at 8, meeting up with Rich and a visiting Ady, down from Glasgow for the weekend. Caught up with the guys before we heard some noise emanating from the upstairs venue, so wandered up for opener Shedrac. Another solo acoustic guy, he specialised in some very intricate guitar picking underpinning material which was quite scattergun, veering from very trad 70’s folk, New Orleans Bourbon Street jazz and swampy Delta blues, and even Dr. Feelgood-style bluesy pub rock. Not my thing, and sometimes it felt as if the material was a vehicle to showcase his guitaring dexterity rather than actually construct a memorable tune, but I did like his final number, a lament about a girl from Penhill!

We all took a step forward so Logan and I were front row, house left. Gaz greeted us in passing then hooked up onstage, overcoming some tech issues (“why do we even do soundchecks?” he bemoaned before sound-guy Ed Dyer, as ever, made it all better) before launching into the clarion call of opener “Loud And Clear” and the mundane daily detail of the swayalong “All So Rock And Roll”. The audience were in fine voice too, singing the roof-raising harmony before joining in with the call-and-response counter hook of “IOU”, to Gaz’ obvious delight. In fact, it then all got a little emotional, Gaz needing time to compose himself before a clearly heartfelt and meaningful “Pantomime”, commenting, “sorry guys; it’s been a long tour…” No need to apologise, mate! 

Haunting newie “Arborglyph” came with a lengthy preamble about history nerd Gaz meeting the folks from TV’s “Time Team” on a local dig and sharing tea and cake with them (quipping, “not so good for us Type 1 diabetics,” and nodding at Logan), and the subsequent “Maps” (“my rule – I need to follow a sad one with a silly one!”) followed that story, with Gaz reflecting that “TT”s Alice must have enjoyed that one, when she subsequently took up his guest-list offer! Switching moods again, “Godless Man” was angry, dark and dour (“I’m available for weddings,” deadpanned Gaz afterwards), before he delved waaaay back for rarely-played oldie “Things You Don’t Need”; “I still don’t have these things [agent, record label, manager], but I do have a number one [Folk Chart] album!” he announced at its conclusion to cheers.

“Morning Walking Club” was the last of the newies tonight, Gaz bigging up the absent Ben Wain’s fiddle solo on the record – I guess we’ll have to wait a week for that! After that, it was singalong, all-inclusive bangers all the way; “I’ve Paid My Money”, bilious and hard-hitting, the inevitable “Be The Bigger Man”, then a joyful and roof-raising singalong “West Country Song” to round off proceedings, Gaz leaving us with profuse and heartfelt thanks, and a comment of, “I never thought it would be so emotional!” Grabbed the list and a bobble hat – the last one! – for Logan, before heading off down the hill to end Gaz. Part 1!

Part 2 arrived the following Saturday, seeing us set off down a freezing and foggy M4 about 6ish for the annual “full band” Christmas show at the Fleece. Parked up on the main road next to the old Transport House, bringing back memories for me of that Jamie Wednesday gig there in 1987 (gig 78!).

Hit the venue just after doors and met Matt at the bar; he kindly got drinks in and we took a spot down the front, house right, for opener, Swindon’s very own Jim Blair. The grizzled scene veteran took a seat, as is his wont, and played some ramshackle and fuzzed-up pedal steel old school New Orleans/ Delta blues delivered in his distinctive gravelly Bourbon-soaked tones, interspersed with a few 70’s Fairport folkier rockers (his Valentines Day paean to “my queen” being an example). Not my kind of stuff, but an entertaining set from Jim, his usual deadpan banter about his 17 kids (!) and a foot-stomping cover of The Beatles’ “Come Together” (“I do work for Help The Aged, so I’m covering this so McCartney can heat his home!”) going down well with the early crowd.

Next up on short order was Nottingham’s George Gadd, another solo acoustic folky punky guy from a seemingly endless production line, but his oeuvre, delivered apace with octave-changing, yearning vocals, immediately called to mind Mr. Carraba’s early work with Dashboard Confessional – a pretty lazy comparison, I appreciate, but hey, as with Ben Sydes’ support Brightr last April (gig 1,217), if I hear clip-clops, I shout horse! Despite the frantic, tension filled delivery and angsty-emo overtones of his material (also pretty much nailing himself to the emo mast when he mentioned a member of the excellent Modern Baseball had sung backing vocals on an earlier single), Mr. Gadd himself was a buoyant onstage presence, giving a shout out for Gloucester Services then bantering with a punter who apparently works there (!), and giving props to Jake Martin for his songwriting advice (“[he] said, write what you know; so it’s imaginary girlfriends, dead dogs and the drink!”). The “ooo-eee-ooo” repeated refrain of “C’mon Courtney”, sung back by the crowd, clearly delighted him too, his comment being, “I love this! Look at me now, dad!” A little derivative for me, maybe, but the man warmed up the crowd nicely, so well done sir! 

I took a wander back for a loo trip which nearly proved a mistake as the place was rammed and I needed to take the long way round to return to my spot! Gaz led the troops on promptly at ¼ to 9 with a cheery, “good evening, Bristol!”, ploughing straight into rocking opener “Loud And Clear” and giving it loads from the outset, shouting out the hook with furious intent. In a rejigged set from last Saturday, the singalong “March Of Progress” was next up, and a much earlier and raucously delivered “Diabetes Blues” made it clear the man was here to deliver a proper party set, the unexpected and superb fist-pumping manifesto of “Lostfolk” (featuring some excellent virtuoso fiddle from Ben Wain) underlining this point. Working up a sweat already, the man announced, “it’s taken me 15 years to [remember to] bring a towel onstage with me!” 

“The Tale Of Gunner Haines” was happily restored to the set tonight, Logan raucously singing along from his barrier spot, and “Getting Drunk For Christmas” was doubly poignant tonight, Gaz remembering his old mate Jock and also The Pogues’ Shane MacGowan, lost to us earlier this week. Oldie “Man Of Means” was a little understated, but Gaz cranked up the volume and passion next, challenging the crowd, “have we got any Land Pirates in tonight?” to cheers, and a rambunctious “Land Pirate’s Life” ensued. The venomous “I’ve Paid My Money” and its’ slower-burn, quizzical sequel “Living The Dream” was audience participation catnip, with a roaring singalong for the first, and shouts of “Yes!” and “No!” answering the questions in the lyrics to the second. Again, Gaz and band ploughed through into the encores (“we’ve got 4 left, and if we [went off and on] we’d only have time for 3”), a jaunty and rousing “Thin” then leading to the final “West Country Song” and a deserved bow for a red-faced and blowing Gaz, the man having really put in a shift tonight and backed ably by his band.

Farewells to Matt, then a quick chat with both Ben Sydes and Evey, and a newly-svelte looking Nick Parker, before hitting the road for an equally dirty and foggy yet swift drive up the M4, home via the kebab shop for a late supper over “Match Of The Day”. A fine way to spend a couple of Saturdays, then, and another successful Gaz Brookfield Christmas Party!

1,306 THE CHAMELEONS, Feather Trade, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Tuesday 28th November 2023

 

Because seeing The Chameleons once this year just isn’t enough…!

 This one, a last-minute addition to an already-mental gigging November, sees me once again in search of Manchester’s finest (well, The Passage notwithstanding, but they won’t ever reform, so…), mysterious and anthemic 80’s post-punk/ pseudo-goth rabble The Chameleons. I’ve mentioned in previous blogs how late I was to the party for this lot (my 2016 post-redundancy voyage of rediscovery, in fact), so I won’t go into that again, but suffice to say I’m continuing to make up for lost time with this very special band, one that would have seriously challenged Echo And The Bunnymen for my late teens “home team” honours, had I known them back then. So, I was happy to jump onto this one, a one-off at Oxford Bullingdon announced as a warm-up for an impending European tour, to make it an even 10 gigs for Mark Burgess and Co.! 

A slow drive along a chilly and inky black A420 saw me then attack Oxford from the South due to the roadworks mess around Botley; however, I discovered Oxford still hates cars as I took a satnav-advised sidestreet turn, only to find it blocked off and cycles only. Bah! The tightest of tight 3-point turns got me back on the way, jumping into a lucky street spot on Cowley Road before hitting the venue, grabbing some barrier house left and comparing journeys with a father/son duo up from Romford! Support Feather Trade were on prompt at 8; a 3-piece featuring an impressively-maned vocalist/ guitarist in Chisolm Thompson with the same taste in trousers as me, they were immediately mining a very early 80’s post-punk/ rockist seam with opener “White Water”, featuring some regimental drums and staccato riffery, building to a big flag-waving choral hook. My immediate thought was that 1983 U2 are calling, they want their support band back (!), and the subsequent “Fire” (no, not that one…!) underlined this, a driving rocker with a soaring chorus recalling all sorts of 80’s post-punk bands (Zerra 1, White China, even Silent Running…!). A bit of a niche wheelhouse, but hey, it’s my wheelhouse, so I thoroughly enjoyed the avalanche of frantic rhythm, echoey vocal, off-kilter, pseudo-Goth basslines and resonant pedal effects. New single “A Ready Defense” kicked in with a “Sunday Bloody Sunday” drumroll before diverting into moodier “With Or Without You” territory, before Chisolm thanked bassist Natalie for skipping Thanksgiving to come over for their run of UK shows! A rather splendid start overall, even though it was truncated for running over time…

 Took a wander through a by-now very busy Bully to use the totally flooded loo (!), passing Chameleons keyboardist Dan on the way; he opened proceedings at 9 with the sweeping synth opening to “In Answer” as The Chameleons took the stage, instead launching into a growling, undulating and ravenous “In Shreds”. “Nice to see you; The Bullingdon, it’s been a while, right?” inquired imposing frontman Mark Burgess (nearly 5 years by my reckoning – gig 1,118!) before the ringing chimes of “Perfume Garden” led into the sonorous building tsunami roar of “Up The Down Escalator”, Burgess’ stentorian roar raising the octave and drama during a gripping final choral hook. What. A Start! 

Chameleons were quite, quite magnificent tonight, showcasing all the plangent brilliance of their canon to perfect effect, with every one a winner from a perfectly selected set-list. And, in a week where we lost one post-punk guitar icon in Killing Joke’s Geordie Walker, it seemed only fitting that one of his talented contemporaries, namely Reg Smithies, should take centre stage tonight, his pin-prick precise riffery underpinning the sinister slow build of “Monkeyland” before the volcanic eruption of the chorus, and powering a particularly venomous “Rule Britannia”, before Burgess again paid homage to The Clash, The Fall and Joy Division with his subtle yet pointed lyrical references. “Soul In Isolation”’s sweeping drama featured an excellently observed pregnant pause before the chiming outro; then “Tears” was dedicated by Burgess to, “anyone who has lost someone close to them recently,” bringing memories of my dad to the fore as this desolate and affecting rendition weaved its’ spell. Smithies again led the charge with the intricate, undulating riff intro of a brilliant widescreen “Swamp Thing”, but the epic, sprawling and soaring manifesto of “Second Skin” topped even that, Burgess again preaching the value of making memories and experiences; “that’s what this song was always trying to say!” 

Then Burgess announced, “We’re not going to go through all that [encore] rigmarole; we’re all off to Spain tomorrow so we want to make you warm!” before a touching, tender “PS Goodbye” built to an absorbing and stretched crescendo; then the jagged stentorian roar of “Don’t Fall” rounded off as perfect a set of rock music as I’ve been privileged to hear this year. As I said, quite, quite magnificent. A set-list handed to me by second guitarist Stephen, a merch stand chat with Feather Trade’s Chisolm (an Athens, Ga. native, so of course R.E.M. came up in the conversation!), then a few brief words with the Great Man Mr. Burgess outside afterwards, sharing our recent shared experience of losing a parent (he also complimented my creeper shoes, so it wasn’t all dour and miserable!), before an odd country road diversion out of Oxford got me home just before midnight. You know, with this stellar performance and the crazed moshpit madness of their Holmfirth gig earlier this year (gig 1,288), I think Chameleons might just have secured my Best Live Band Of 2023 award. An in all honesty, there are none more deserving!