1,364 THE WONDER STUFF, Jack Francis, London Shepherd’s Bush Empire, Friday 20th December 2024

 

The curtain falls on an entirely satisfactory, and at absolute top-level utterly stellar, 54 gig year (which in different circumstances might have topped the 60), and there are few more reliable acts currently trading the boards to see it out, than Stourbridge’s finest, enduring 80s/ 90’s Indie legends The Wonder Stuff. It seems that no matter how often our paths cross (22 and counting tonight!), I’m nowhere near tired of seeing future national treasure Miles Hunt and his band of flippant and upbeat fiddly-diddly, slightly-delic Indie earworm/ anthem merchants. So, booking for this tour, a 35^th Anniversary celebration of sophomore album “Hup”, 5 years after the 30^th one (gig 1,169), was a no-brainer, even if their Bristol date clashed with Gaz Brookfield’s previously booked Fleece Xmas “do”, necessitating a shlep oop the Smoke instead.

Unfortunately, Rachel was too tired to take up her ticket, but Rich, fresh from his annual school Santa stint, was happy for a short-notice Stuffies gig! So, I picked him and regular Stuffies gig companion Robynne up just after 4, anticipating heavy traffic on Xmas getaway Friday, which duly arrived as we ground to a dead stop near Reading. Not for long, though, and a decent run thereafter got us (eventually) parked up in the cavernous Westfield centre and in for 7.15, grabbing an extreme house right diagonal barrier spot, being annoyingly joined by a massive bloke who seemed to blot out the universe, never mind just the stage! Still, Robynne managed to get a good stage eyeline around him, and we were joined in short order by support Jack Francis. A hefty, bearded bloke who for me resembled one of The Eagles (!), he and his band stayed true to that image with some very dated sounding pedal steel, dusty truckstop countrified stuff, occasionally relatively harmonic in a 70’s hazy Laurel Canyon vibe, but mostly very pedestrian. “We’re keeping it short and sweet,” he announced a couple of numbers before the end of his set, which for me was his highlight! 

Nevermind, The Stuffies were up in short order to blow away any support ennui, bounding onstage at 8.40 with the iridescent gold-shirted mainman Miles Hunt greeting the enthusiastic sellout crowd with his usual, “Oi! Oi!”, before leading the band into discordant, off-kilter opener “30 Years In The Bathroom” and a tremendous, bullish and buoyant “Radio Ass Kiss”. “Good evening, Shepherd’s Bush! How the fuck are ya!” he deadpanned before announcing, “we’re fucking with the tracklisting of “Hup”, just because we can!” So, set 1 was a rejigged “Hup”, Miles introducing violinist Erica Nockalls, resplendent in red floaty layered dress, onstage for an early C&W-infused “Golden Green”, before announcing an equally fiddle-tastic “Cartoon Boyfriend” with, “I hope nobody took relationship advice from your old pal Milo back in 1989!” A later, riotous “Don’t Let Me Down, Gently” (“and you never do,” complimented Miles) nearly – nearly – tempted me into the growing mosh, although that might partly have been just to get out of the shade of the aforementioned massive bloke, who, despite all the joyous singing and dancing surrounding him, hadn’t moved a muscle! The subsequent “Can’t Shape Up” was however the set 1 highlight by some distance, this “fucked-up breakup song” a tough yet poignant thing of wonder with a brilliantly tumbling descending verse. 

“One thing about these album anniversary shows – they’re short! We need to feel welcome for the absurdly long encore!” teased Miles before jagged “Hup” finale “Goodnight Though”, the band peeling offstage one by one at its denouement for a brief break. Said “encore”, i.e. set 2, kicked off in short order with a breathless “Red Berry Joy Town” at which point I tired of the monolith and joined in the occasionally boisterous but largely merry mosh, nearly losing a shoe early doors (!) but carrying my bat thereafter. Early (relative) newie “Tricks Of The Trade” was excellent, sweeping and dramatic, but topped immediately by a brilliant “On The Ropes” and the circular violin build of “Here Comes Everyone”. The strident, yearning choral hook of “Don’t Anyone Dare Give A Damn” (“another newie – a breather before the final push”) preceded the widescreen melancholy of “Caught In My Shadow”, then “the inevitability” of a jolly, affirming “Size Of A Cow” and the chuntering singalong “Give Give Give Me More More More” closed out a great set, Miles conducting the hook singalong as he departed. Not for long, however, as encores of a rocking “Unbearable” and the lengthy and thunderous cacophony of “Ten Trenches Deep” shook the old venue to its foundations.

Grabbed an easy list before we made a slow exit, waving to comedian Greg Davies on the balcony as we vacated the dancefloor. A much easier if slightly boring economy run home saw me back just after 12.40 after dropping my gig buddies off, after an excellent night out in great company, both on and off stage. With Milo and the Wonder Stuff, as expected, in their usual stellar form, this was a fine way to end Gig year 2024!

1,363 THE DAMNED, The Fleshtones, Doctor and the Medics, Southampton Guildhall, Friday 13th December 2024

 

Earlier this year, my teenage son Logan came dashing down the stairs and exclaimed to me, “I’ve just heard this song I really like Dad, give it a listen…” Only “Neat Neat Neat”, by seminal 70’s punks The Damned, a song that I’d known and loved since I was younger than he is now! A brief chat about The Damned ensued and, of course, us being us, within minutes we were checking whether they were out “on tour” any time soon! Investigations happily revealed this tour, celebrating the output of their late 70’s/ early 80’s line-up, a time when they dropped dark and dramatic proto-Goth, expansive hooky pop and 60’s psychedelia elements into their ragged primitive punk melting pot, most notably on their 3^rd album, 1979’s widescreen “Machine Gun Etiquette”, for me their best work. Unfortunately, their Bristol show clashed with last night’s Skids’ Trinity gig, but Logan was happy for a Friday night scoot down to the South Coast! 

Set off at 5 and grabbed tea on the way, parking up just before half past 7 on our usual street spot and waiting a couple of minutes to get a cheaper fare! So, we hit the venue midway through openers Doctor And The Medics. The Doctor himself, a vaudevillian glam rock wizard with a Wynne Evans operatic voice, sporting a huge checked great coat and equally voluminous silver mane, pontificated on his band’s reputation as a covers band and led a commendable debate on mental health between his glammy originals, but their set was only ever about their 80’s psych-pop No. 1 hit “Spirit In The Sky”, a lengthy singalong version closing matters. 70’s NYC CBGB’s survivors The Fleshtones were up next; a band largely unfamiliar to me, I initially found their blend of old school primitive garage punk and swampy psych/ blues a little dull and dated, despite the vocalist’s rabble-rousing tactics and their “wheel of talent” (essentially the 4 band members making 360 degree turns!). However, a homage to their CBGBs roots and a big dumb Ramones pastiche got me onside (maybe as I was wearing my CBGBs “Breakfast Club” tee!), and their final 2 numbers, the mutant psychobilly of “Alright” and the Them “Gloria”-esque chunter of “Save Me” saw them finish strongly.

We kept our house left spots a few rows back (unfortunately next to a couple of rude and pissed-up ageing goth women who then insisted on barging in front of us to take copious selfies with the onstage band), and Logan declared his intent to join in with whatever moshpit shenanigans may ensue. As the Damned took the stage, it seemed he’d get his wish, vocalist Dave Vanian declaring, “Ladies and Gentlemen, How’do!” then leading the band into the high-octane, frenetic punk of opener “Love Song” and equally frantic first-pumping “Machine Gun Etiquette”. I really expected the place to catch fire, but somehow, it just didn’t… 

This was a curious one tonight; the place was barely half full, possibly legacy of a pre-Chrimbo Friday night, but the crowd was largely static, the sound muted, the atmosphere a little flat, and the set selection variable (I personally lamented the omission of “MGE”’s best numbers “Melody Lee” and “Anti Pope”, f’rinstance). This was despite the band’s best efforts; drummer Rat Scabies attacked his kit with strong-armed energy, guitarist Captain Sensible was his usual cartoon tomfoolery self, and then there was Vanian… black-clad, suave and ageless (at 68 (!), looking half his age), prowling the stage like a panther, delivering his resonant vocals into his 50’s “Pathe News” radio announcer mic, he was the focal point throughout. “There’s a planet floating in space; it’s small and inconsequential…” he announced before a widescreen “History Of The World”, then “Plan 9 Channel 7” was a sophisticated change-of-pace slice of psychedelic pop.

The Captain quipped about the band getting chucked out of hotels back in their pomp (“4 in one day in Paris, right Mr. Scabies?”) before the fine descending hook of “Just Can’t Be Happy Today”, but for me the performance really only took flight for set closer “Neat Neat Neat”, Logan finally finding a mosh to join for this thrashy, breathless punk classic. The sprawling “Curtain Call” kicked off the first encore, leading into a drum solo by Rat, but just as I was about to hit the “prog self-indulgence” button, the drummer segued into the unmistakeable opening drumbeat of “New Rose”, another punk classic. A second encore saw the band clown about with their roadie dressed as Santa Claus, before the excellent “Smash It Up” easily their best number tonight (“This should be the new English National Anthem!” announced The Captain) saw them end on a high. A fortuitous list later, we hit the road, a diversion off the A34 North then seeing us briefly crawling through pea-souper fog and acrid-smelling, muddy single track country lanes before getting back onto a proper road, home about half past midnight. A bit of a Curates Egg, then, this one, but the strong finish (particularly “Smash It Up”) and Vanian’s undeniable star quality made it a worthwhile trip in the end!

1,362 THE SKIDS, Spear Of Destiny, Bristol Trinity, Thursday 12th December 2024

A double-header of old school 70’s punk acts to head towards the end of the 2024 gig year; The Damned tomorrow night (ironically, Vanian’s mob are across town at Bristol Beacon tonight!), but firstly, my nascent musical loves, 70’s Scots anthemic punks The Skids. Since their reunion odyssey started in 2016, I’d seen them 8 times as their line-up swirled, morphed and circulated around main man Richard Jobson, to the point that the line-up on their most recent sighting in 2023 (gig 1,298) was Jobbo plus 4 young, hired hands. Still, since the sad passing of his Skids partner Stuart Adamson in 2001, The essence of The Skids is and has always been Richard Jobson, both for his dramatic and baroque lyricism, and for his enthusiastic and effervescent “live” performances. Consequently, if he/ they are playing, I’ll be going to see him/ them! 

So, a trip down to Trinity was called for, the nearest The Skids come to the ‘don on this, a 45^th Anniversary tour celebration of their sophomore album “Days In Europa”, which saw them infuse the anthemic punk of their “Scared To Dance” debut with a more expansive, synth-embellished, Bowie-esque sound. I had company too in Rich and Stu and set off to scoop them up about 5.30. 1 hour later, we still hadn’t left town, as an M4 closure due to a hydraulic fluid spillage had clogged it with traffic. Bah! Still, once we hit the M4, we zoomed down and parked up in Cabot, wandering in at 20 to 8. Luckily openers Spear Of Destiny, due at 7.30, were 15 minutes late on, opening with the swaggering rock strut of “Land Of Shame”, sounding street-tough and hard-rocking, although Kirk Brandon’s distinctive high operatic vocals were clipped and a little submerged in the mix. A reason for this became evident when he spoke between numbers, a gravelly rasp (and more than a few off-mic coughs) indicating a touch of man-flu maybe? Nonetheless, he and the band soldiered on gamely, with the robust military-march double of “Rainmaker” and “Young Men” early highlights. The set wavered for me a little midway, Brandon clearly pacing himself vocally, but the parched, Navajo Desert Western movie theme feel of “Never Take Me Alive” was a mid-set highlight and a precursor for a fine final trio; an epic “World Service”, always my favourite, Brandon conducting the “I hear music” singalong, then the desolate, anti-war paean “Mickey”, and finally the pacey moshpit catnip of “Liberator”, Brandon struggling a bit to get over the line, but thanking us “cider drinkers” after a hard-fought set.

Chatted with a bloke down the front as we kept our house left spots, a couple of rows back; then the bubbling backwards synth of a taped “Peaceful Times” heralded the 4-piece band onstage, Jobson on last and crashing into the rejigged militaristic backbeat of “Animation”, the man already St. Vitus dancing and shadow boxing to the music in his inimitable way. A hurtling “Thanatos” and the timebomb tick of a terrace chant-chorused “Charade” later, he admitted, “you come onstage and feel 16 again; 3 songs later and you’re fucked!” 

Nonetheless, this was another age-defying performance from the muscular Jobson, challenging the crowd to get involved in the regular anthemic terrace-chant choral hooks, and regaling us with stories from the time, such as a “Top Of The Pops” performance when he was complimented by a sultrily-voiced Diana Ross! The band were also on top form, young guitarist Connor Whyte again leading the charge with beautiful homages to Adamson’s distinctive intricate guitar patterns, but Jobbo as ever was the rabble-rousing focus, calling for a “Donald Trump’s A wanker” chant during the expansive “Yankee Dollar”, and giving a nod to Adamson before “A Day In Europa”. “Into The Valley” was as ever an epic singalong, if a little heavy-legged (or was that just me?), and, following the debate for and against “Albert Tatlock” (“what a pile of shite! It was credited as Jobson/ Adamson, but Stuart had nothing to do with it as he had class!”), the propulsive “Circus Games” was my set highlight, before the ragged march of “Hurry On Boys” ended a swift hour set.

An encore of their embryonic debut “Charles” and their own homage to Jobson’s heroes The Clash, a cover of Strummers boys’ “Complete Control” rounded off a great Skids performance; I’d grabbed a barrier spot front and centre by then, at the front of a boisterous moshpit, and was staring down Jobson during “Charles” and singing the words back to him, so was in prime position to catch the scrunched-up set-list lobbed over by guitarist Whyte. Nice! A quick chat with this talented young man, before we hit the road for a diversion-affected run to the ‘don, which was still way quicker than our outbound journey and got me home before midnight after dropping the boys off. Another great gig from The Skids (even if they’re not THE Skids these days, but you know what I mean…!), lovely to hear some of the lesser played “Europa” highlights, and great to see Jobbo as ever in ebullient form, continuing to enjoy himself onstage. Long may that continue!

1,361 GAZ BROOKFIELD AND THE COMPANY OF THIEVES, Morris and Watson, Bristol Fleece, Saturday 7th December 2024

 

I’m a bit of a “Bah! Humbug!”-er when it comes to Christmas, I’m afraid, increasingly tired of the over-commercialism and exploitation of the holiday season, and also annoyed with the fact it seems to start earlier every year. However, one sure sign for me that Christmas is actually closing in, good and proper, is the GBATCOT AGMOFL! West Country folk-punk jongleur, “The Bard of Purton” (whom nobody but me refers to him as…!) and my most-seen “live” artiste Gaz Brookfield once again organised his “AGM of Lovely People” Christmas gathering at Bristol Fleece, so Logan and I booked tix for both this and his Autumn tour date at the Hop. Unfortunately, I had to miss the Hop shlep as Nada Surf subsequently announced a clashing date (one of only 2 UK dates for ‘da Surf), but this full band date was a no-brainer!

Rich was up for it too, so we picked the Big Man up for a careful drive down the M4, given the ongoing effects of Storm Daragh. A slight parking mare still got us in as doors opened, meeting Matt in the queue and chatting down the front. Opening m/f acoustic duo Morris and Watson were on at an early 7.45, opening with an energetically delivered instrumental, the ebullient folksiness of which made me think it might have been written as incidental music for “Ballymory” or some such quaint Celtic dramedy. This recently married couple (“she married me because my parents own a chip shop – free chips for life!”) plied a well-played and energetically performed but very trad folky furrow, with one number also recalling 80’s Scots folk-popsters Deacon Blue, and their cheesy cover of The Pogues “Fairytale Of New York”, which predictably got the early comers singing along, was far and away the best of an unmemorable (for me) set.

A quick loo trip still got me back front and centre before the main event, with both Sarah and Liz, plus Ben Sydes Southsea mate who we met at the Frank Turner Brooks gig in May (gig 1,327) joining us in our little front centre spot. Logan and I had had a little chat with Gaz at the merch stand earlier, and he indicated tonight’s set would be a continuation of the “Eras Tour” style of his Autumn acoustic tour, freshening up the usual set selection a little by delving back into his now-impressively lengthy canon (9 studio albums and counting…) and going off the beaten track, “except with less chat…!” And, joining us with his 6-piece band of troubadour ruffians at 8.45, he was true to his word with the raw, ragged and rambunctious opener “Snakes And Ladders”, and the beer-soaked sway-along paean to Bacchanalianism “Under The Table”, Logan lustily (and a little worryingly, given he’s still under age!) singing along to every word of this one, as he – and I – pretty much did for the whole of the set, actually! 

Yup, this was again an inclusive, immersive, roof-raising singalong Gaz Brookfield Festive party, Chrimbo jumper optional but popular, and a performance which, if I still drank, I would have been regularly lifting my pint in the air to (and doubtless spilling half the contents!). An early “It’s All So Very Rock’n’Roll” featured a roof-raising “la la la la” mid-section, prompting some words of praise from Gaz; the ebullient “Tale Of Gunner Haines” was excellent but immediately topped by the dramatic drum opening and dark, hurtling pace of an unexpected but brilliant set highlight “Black Dog Day”, delivered with no little venom; John Buckett lent a lovely opening piano refrain to the subsequent palate-cleansing and plaintive “Ferry Song”, a necessary breather for all; and “Land Pirate’s Life” and “Diabetes Blues” formed a racey, pacey late double whammy, eliciting a chorus of “arrr”’s and a huge choral singalong respectively from the locals.

After a proper dredge through the back catalogue for proto-folky oldie “Man Of Means” (a fun singalong, but a reminder just how far Gaz’ songwriting has developed), Gaz eschewed the encore ritual (“a fucking waste of time!”) before announcing, “this tour celebrates 15 years since I quit my day job to do this!” A prescient and utterly worthwhile decision!” A savage “I’ve Paid My Money”, a jolly singalong to “The West Country Song” and another pacey number in “Let The East Winds Blow” (“let’s end on a fast one – [drummer] Lex hates me right now!”) rounded off another sing-yourself-hoarse Gaz band performance. Ace! Gathered our thoughts and chatted with the crew, before setting off into the swirling windswept night for a better drive back home, dropping Rich off after a trip to Jimmy’s Kebab shop for late tea. So, another celebratory night out with the West Country’s finest folk-punk balladeer… now that another excellent GBATCOT AGMOLP is in the books, Christmas is allowed to officially get under way…!

1,360 THE CHAMELEONS, Vision Video, Bristol Marble Factory, Friday 6th December 2024

 

Because it’s not a gig year these days without seeing The Chameleons at least once…!

Yup, once again (and for the 11^th time in the last 7½ years, since that first Vox gig at the Fleece in May 2017, gig 1,038), it’s time for another night in the esteemed company of Mancunian post-punk legend Mark Burgess and his charges The Chameleons, a band who I inexplicably blanked on back in the 1980s, but fell utterly head over heels for, during my 2016 post-punk heritage revisitation. Continuing to make up for lost time then, even if tonight it means braving potential high winds and harsh weather, plus the usual parking difficulties and freezing conditions thrown up by Bristol’s horrible Marble Factory… 

An early start as well – doors at 6! So, I hit the road about 4.45, happily largely avoiding rush hour and heavy weather traffic and parking (for once!) on the street opposite the venue! Result! Met Welsh gig buddy Adrian in the queue before we entered the freezing-as-ever venue, Adrian investing in a new hoodie for the occasion, and myself keeping mine firmly zipped up as we grabbed a drink and a front spot house left, chatting before openers Vision Video at an early 6.45. A striking visual spectacle, with a tall imposing vocalist in Dusty Gannon, all made up like an 80’s Batcave regular, and a keyboardist who strongly resembled Swindon’s Level 3 80’s Goth Queen Becky Hayes, they unsurprisingly kicked into some tough, hard-hitting and strident post-punk/ goth noise, all dark, macabre, swirling and dramatic, albeit often underpinned with looser, almost dancey New Order/ Depeche Mode synth patterns, the early “Sign Of The Times” a prime example. “A lot of these songs are about how shit the world is, because old men can’t resolve their differences,” announced Gannon, who proved an all-action, charismatic frontman with the earnest sincerity of a young Bono, only with the life experiences to substantiate his views (counting both a tour in Afghanistan as a US Infantryman and a firefighter stint in his native Athens GA. on his CV). The taut, Cure-esque rhythm and regimented, Ist Ist-like chorus of “Balaclava Kiss” was preceded with a passionate diatribe advocating protest against the incoming US regime (Trump again! I mean, USA, WTF??) and the plaintive, yearning yet tough “Stay” was an anthemic exorcism of his (understandable IMHO, given the man’s past) mental health issues. A “cheeky cover” saw them tackle Joy Division’s classic “Transmission” with a suitable mix of dynamism and reverence, and their splendid support slot was concluded with the dark, metronomic beat and singalong hook of “In My Side” and a cry from Gannon to, “Stay Strange!”. Impressive stuff from a band I’d happily pay cash money to see in their own right…

Not long to wait as the place filled up (and some annoying chap decided to perch practically atop my right shoulder to, equally annoyingly, film much of the early part of the set. Didn’t stop me rocking out, though!). The Chameleons nonchalantly took the stage at 8, bursting into the jagged angular rhythm and ascending hook of opener “Mad Jack”, immediately setting the tone for their performance. It sounded utterly joyous! “Nice to be back in Bristol,” announced Burgess early doors, “[this is] different from The Fleece – a bit colder (no shit, Sherlock…!), let’s see if we can do summat about that…!” 

And so they did! More so than any other band, Chameleons imbue their “live” performances with such barely contained euphoria, the rip-snorting U2 stadium anthem “The Fan And The Bellows” and the chiming guitar work (courtesy of Stephen Rice) and undulating building crescendos of “Look Inwardly” both early examples, almost compelling me to dance and sing along. The delicate, red spotlight backlit “Tears” was an emotive and atmospheric wallow; then the crashing rhythms of the desolate yet epic and widescreen “Soul In Isolation” was again overlaid with lyrical homages to The Doors, Bowie and The Beatles, before smoothly segueing into a lengthy, brooding yet plangent “Swamp Thing”, the chorus again a glorious sunburst after the raincloud-dappled verses. “One we don’t get to play often,” the 4-alarm banger “Ever After” rounded off a remarkably swift hour set, after which Burgess and his charges took a well-earned break.

Back on however for a lengthy 5-song encore, kicking off with the Bowie “Aladdin Sane” era-esque newie “Where Are You”, a precursor for a new album next year (“not quite finished yet,” warned Burgess), then the swirling and creepy intro to an unplanned “Monkeyland” as ever ceded to the huge terrace chant hook. Burgess gave props to Vision Video and their frontman (“I think [he] has a lot of sincerity”), before he delivered his own impassioned speech on the importance of experiences and memories, leaving us with a stratospheric and immersive “Second Skin”, the “woah-oh” hook as roof-raising as ever, and a venomous, dramatic and roaring “Don’t Fall” (which saw Burgess abandon the stage to deliver his vocal in the photo pit, practically in our faces!) to round off another quite brilliant Chameleons “live” performance. A list from a friendly roadie and a brief entertaining chat (and an unexpected bearhug) from VV’s gregarious Gannon at the merch stand, before I bade Adrian an early farewell and pussy-footed it home before the storm really hit. A proper excellent new find in Vision Video, but once again The Chameleons showed the way “live” with a passionate, virtuoso and utterly thrilling rock gig. Mark Burgess and Co, I salute you!

1,359 SPIZZENERGI, Kicked In The Teeth, Death Pop, Swindon The Victoria, Friday 29th November 2024

 

A bona fide original punk legend makes a first-time visit to the ‘Don, so, given that Logan and I had travelled to London a couple of years ago to see him rock the Camden Underworld (April 2022, gig 1,218), I’m sure we can shlep it up the hill to the Vic! Sci-fi referencing, surf-punk mutant dayglo nutcase Spizz (the legend in question), announced a “First Farewell Tour” for November 2024, taking in a few more far-flung spaces than his usual North London stamping grounds, and we were up for it, myself having been a fan since my “epiphany” night at Under-18 Brunel back in 1979, when my 14 year old nascent punk-loving self was first exposed to the ramshackle classic (and Spizz’ signature toon) “Where’s Captain Kirk?”

Unsurprisingly, Swindon’s own dayglo punk rock legend, our Debs, was up for it too (wouldn’t surprise me if she’d chatted up Spizz at the Blackpool punk festy Rebellion to play the ‘Don in the first place)… Debs was unable to drive due to a recent eye op, so we picked her up for the trip up the hill, grabbing a drink in the main bar before the openers at 8.30. “We’re Death Pop and we’re from all over the shop,” announced the veteran vocalist after a couple of short, snappy proto- punk openers, initially recalling those swathes of primitive second division first wave punk bands, such as The Drones, The Shapes et al, with intermittent sax from Debs’ mate Saraan giving them an X-Ray Spex/ Essential Logic feel. Not too bad, but overall, I preferred their slower tracks (a moodier, gothier and well-constructed “Fall From On High” recalling UK Decay for me) and their one-liners, such as “Tomorrow we’re having a rehearsal! That should be interesting…” and closing line “we’re Death Pop so you don’t have to be!” Kicked In The Teeth, next up in short order at 9.20, were a more incoherent howl, veering towards the superfast hardcore/ UK82 end of punk rock, basically the type of “punk” that drove me away from the genre in the first place. This time it just drove me and Logan back to the bar, hanging out with Deb and her crazy mates Amy and Emily!

We all wandered back into the happily full and anticipatory back room for the arrival of the black-clad band just after 10, the rotund Spizz strutting on last, fluorescent rings flashing from his fingers, the man nailing his influences to the mast somewhat with an early rambunctious cover of David Bowie’s Ziggy-era “Hang On To Yourself”. Puzzlingly no more than a cult punk act back in the day, never reaching the dizzy TOTP-level heights of the likes of contemporaries Siouxsie, Buzzcocks etc. Spizz nonetheless retains punk hero status in the ’Don thanks primarily to his 70s/ 80s’ Under-18 Brunel Amphi dancefloor-packing taut, rhythmic masterpiece “Soldier Soldier”. And a very punked-up, harder-edged version of this particular choon formed an early highlight double with the ascending swirling fanfare of the soaring and brilliantly powerpoppy “No Room”, prompting a compliment for Swindon from the man himself before “another dystopian song – I seem to have a lot,” the moody military march of “Here Come The Machines”. 

Spizz was in fine fooling tonight, interacting with the crowd (commenting, “we’ve got some ladies dancing down the front – it’s been 1,000 years since that happened!” before another Bowie cover, a deep cut “Valentine’s Day”) in his fey, slightly “Carry On” Kenneth Williams persona, baked up by a remarkably tough, well-practised and together band. He donned his trademark diagonal sunglasses for the “All The Young Dudes”-esque “Christmas In Denmark Street” (a lament for the old Tin Pan Alley) which prompted Logan to do the same with his green-framed versions, Spizz commenting at the end, “give that man a hand!”. Another couple of mutant punk covers later (Kraftwerk’s punked-up “The Model” and the amphetamine-fast and repeated ending of “Virginia Plain”, Spizz challenging us to be noisier than Stoke!), the terrace chant of “Clocks Are Big” segued, with a slight hiccup, into the inevitable, brilliant and rabble-rousing “Where’s Captain Kirk”; then the toughened-up cod-reggae verse and speedy gabbling chorus of “Spock’s Missing” and another cover, this time the classic fist-pumping bad-boy anthem “I Fought The Law” (can’t fault Spizz’ taste in covers!) rounded off a superb and enthusiastically received set from a highly proficient band and a supremely entertaining frontman.

A quick chat at the merch stand with the man (getting both my list and Logan’s sunglasses signed!) before bidding Debby adieu, and home just after midnight via the kebab van for late supper. Great night – the band were superb, and Spizz as ever was a total natural. One of the most “fun” gigs I’ve been to in ages… if this is actually Farewell (“First” or otherwise), then Spizz is going out on the highest of high notes!

1,358 NADA SURF, The Other Half, London Islington Assembly Hall, Saturday 23rd November 2024

 

Nada Surf are the Best Band in the World right now, and have been so for the best part of this century. Full stop. They’ve evolved from their mid-80’s (briefly) MTV-friendly, edgy underground US alt-rock roots into an irresistible melodic and harmonic thing of beauty, warmth and optimism, and every new CD release (including this year’s “Moon Mirror”) not only feels like the aural equivalent of wrapping oneself up in a big fluffy blanket on a soft comfy sofa and binge-watching your favourite feel-good TV show, but also adds to an utterly stellar and nigh-on faultless canon of work that stands favourable comparison with any run by any artist, ever. Yup, I’m thinking Bowie’s 70’s constant reinvention set from “Hunky Dory to “Scary Monsters”, R.E.M.’s seminal “Murmur” to “Green” run, even the first 4 Bunnymen albums here. And the thing of it, is that Nada Surf have nailed it with ALL of their albums. Not a clunker in the collection at all.

Right, now I’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about this gig! One of a sadly desperately small clutch of UK dates promoting the new CD, this, and the nearest to the ‘don, but happily on a Saturday, so I gleefully booked, blowing off Gaz Brookfield at The Hop to do so (never mind, Logan and I are seeing Gaz with full band at the Fleece next month anyway). Storm Bert wasn’t about to stop me either, as I hit the road just after 4 for a near 3-hour shlep up the Smoke, driving all the way due to potential fears about outlying tube routes becoming flooded due to the storm, and parking on the free after 7 red route, directly outside the venue! Result! Grabbed a spot house right, a couple of rows back in this ornate and well-appointed mid-sized venue (my first time here!), for openers The Other Half, on at 8 to shouts of “the best band in the world!” from some punters – clearly mates or relatives. Sorry guys, they’re up next…

Anyway, The Other Half kicked into gear with an urgent, hard and heavy thumping emo/ indie sound, featuring stream of consciousness vocals delivered either in a high-pitched startled yelp by the moustachioed vocalist, or in a submerged, haunting lilt by the female bassist. Sonically recalling for me the herky-jerky taut and frantic tubthumping of The Front Bottoms or recent finds Michael Cera Palin, they were clearly buoyed to be here, the singer announcing, “Nada Surf are collectively our favourite band, so this is nutty!” and later asking for a picture with the audience, commenting, “we normally only play to about 30 people!”. Overall, they were a decent opener; heavy going at times but seen a whole lot worse.

Chatted with a tall affable gent who’d taken the coach from Abingdon for the gig, before ‘da Surf sauntered on at 9 pm sharp, easing in with the understated plangent loveliness of “Inside Of Love”, thereafter kicking up a gear with the New Order-esque and brilliant sounding indie dance groove of “High Speed Soul”, Matt Caws already the star and focal point, delivering a warm, open-hearted performance, seemingly making eye contact with the whole crowd at once and displaying the relaxed ease of a man playing to a small room of friends. Which I guess we are… “I have a problem with multi-tasking – I wrote a song about it while driving!” he quipped before the brilliant, undulating and beautifully tuneful newie “In Front Of Me Now”. 

Stark, eerie blood-red spotlights then picked out the band for a brooding “Killian’s Red”, the intricate riff weaving a hypnotic spell. Startling punk rock newie “Intel And Dreams” was preceded by Matt listing the various venues Nada Surf have played in London, and by a shout out to Damned drummer Rat Scabies from sparkly “Ringo”-shirted sticksman Ira Elliott. But again, as per Matt’s recent solo set, the undulating change of pace/ mood of a heartfelt “Matilda” was an early highlight, Matt again dedicating it, “[to the] dads who accept their kids just the way they are…” A breathless “The Plan” (“our first single – 31 years old!”) ramped up the pace again and I jumped about with gay abandon in my spot; then the surreptitious slow burn opening and tremendous build to the absorbing looped vocal outro of a quite magnificent “See These Bones” was utterly stunning. A hushed “Blonde On Blonde” diffused the mood before the angular flamenco feel of newie “One You Want”; then the urgent, drum-propelled hurtle of “Hyperspace” (which again saw me jumping about like a loon) rounded off another amazing set from this Very Special Band.

Back on for a 3-song encore culminating in the band taking to the front of the stage, totally unplugged, Matt playing a road-weary acoustic for a reverential singalong to “Blizzard Of 77”, capping the 1 ½ hour performance perfectly. I caught my breath and wiped my brow – full Cleo too! – then I got a list and queued up for a brief chat with a predictably besieged but as-ever friendly Matt at the merch stand (who remembered by surname but not my first name this time!), explaining the “full cleo” origin of my dishevelled state and foregoing a selfie because of it! Inched my way painfully out of London then sloshed along an utterly awash M4, home for 1. Horrid travel conditions then (which got worse overnight and ultimately forced me to postpone my trip to Coventry the next night to see Boston newcomers House Of Harm; bugger!), but as ever, the Best Band in the World underlined their status and made it all worthwhile!

1,357 THE 2024 “SHIIINE ON” WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 15th – Sunday 17th November 2024

 

For the 8^th time in a row, November means “Shiiine On”! However, and even more so than last year, this was one I really wasn’t that keen on beforehand. Definitely more of an impending “Shiiite On” than a “Great Eight”, this, thanks to the weakest and most unimaginative bill in the festival’s history by some considerable distance; plodding dullards and indie landfill aplenty, and the very real prospect of absolutely nothing to do, musically at least, after mid-afternoon on Sunday thanks to utter crushing bores Starsailor and Embrace “headlining” the main stage. This left me, prior to the weekend at least, putting my faith in Saturday headliners Echo And The Bunnymen to deliver, which these days, even from my mid-teens “home team”, is a dangerous prospect. And further salt was rubbed into the wound with the announcement of a 10^th Anniversary special in Skegness in March, featuring highlights from the first 10 years and including such luminaries as The Wonder Stuff, Ash, Peter Hook, Boo Radleys, Glasvegas and more, thereby making our weekend’s entertainment look even more anaemic by comparison. Bah!

Oh yeah, also about Sunday; a scheduling mess-up (and IMHO a real opportunity lost by the organisers… more on that later) meant our usual Old Ship Aground lunchtime carvery, one of the highlights of the weekend, had to be cancelled at short notice. Bah! Again…

Last month’s awful news of my dear lady wife’s lung cancer diagnosis furthermore threatened to scupper the whole weekend for us; however, Rach responded very well to the first few days of her immunotherapy tablets, so we decided to go for it anyway, organising a last-minute change to a ground floor apartment and disabled platform access, and anticipating plenty of rest breaks back at the apartment. Suddenly, the prospect of a poor musical bill didn’t seem so terrible; at least Rach might have plenty of company! So, at least looking forward to a nice weekend away with Rach and good friends, we hit the road just after 10, encountering a bit of queueing traffic on the outskirts of the ‘head so meeting up with Matt on the seafront for the traditional fish’n’chips lunch slightly later than planned… although not as late as the Truro contingent, who had to turn back to get meds 2 hours into their journey! Sarah turned up with her friend Rich in tow, and her 2 chalet-mates Duncan and Rick arrived, so we all booked in, sorted wristbands in short order and settled in, before popping out to the Inn On The Green for mid-afternoon. ELECTRIC SHEEP INC. were on in front of a respectable early crowd, a young lot peddling fairly generic baggy-influenced stuff, so Matt and I wandered into the sparsely populated Skyline Arena for the last knockings of EASY. A band whose name I remember from those 90’s baggy days but whom I largely blanked on, they gave me no reason to regret that with some (again) unobtrusive generic baggy Britpoppy noise.

Popped back to the Inn, then to the benches outside for socialising. Caught up with the Abstraction Engine boys, here as punters only this year; shame! Martin and Simon arrived after their medical double-back, so we met our new Shiiiner; an amiable, softly spoken chap with a dry wit which emerged and entertained us throughout the weekend, so another welcome addition to our coterie. Glad you could join us, Simon! We all wandered in for JIM BOB at 5 to 6 in the Skyline, running into erstwhile 2000 Trees buddy Mal in the process! Jim, my former Jamie Wednesday correspondent and of course long-time Carter USM main man, tried something different this year, taking the stage with a Ramones “Gabba Gabba Hey” placard and delivering a set of Carter classics via the medium of voice and piano only. Quite a polarising idea, this, not least with the man himself (Jim commenting at one point, “this is a weird idea! What was I thinking of, just me and a piano on this enormous stage!”); when it worked, it gave a slightly different slant to the material (“Is Wrestling Fixed” taking on a jaunty Vaudevillian air, and the old JDub number “Prince In A Pauper’s Grave” inheriting a heavy, menacing feel slightly removed from its normal sea shanty march), but other tracks felt shorn of their required dynamism. Jim himself paced the stage like a latter-day Mark E Smith, firing off pithy comments in line with his sardonic lyricism (e.g. “I wanted to put on my backdrop, “Fuck Pontins”!”), and bigging up his book talk with “Steve Lurpack” and his old Carter mate Fruit Bat’s Abdoujaparov set, both tomorrow, but overall this was a curious and slightly understated set.

We took a break for tea, leaping into the pasty shop as it opened at 7, and partaking of its scalding wares (although not as lava-hot as feared) before Rach and I took advantage of the disabled platform, house left, for REVEREND AND THE MAKERS’ early evening slot to an already packed house. Hefty rabble-rousing main-man Jon McClure took the stage, promising us, “Friday night music! Good time music!” but a couple of poor and dated-sounding baggy dance numbers later, I feared that the reason the Salford Village Idiot Shaun Ryder wasn’t on this year’s bill was because he’d sent his understudy instead…! Happily, the set improved notably, an early “Heatwave” a schmaltzy but tuneful 70’s funk track, and a bouncier “Bandits” fairly decent actually, and I warmed to McClure, who clearly cared about his massive, with constant exhortations to look out for each other’s mental health. Overall, though, this strange melting-pot of slower funky and upbeat bouncy, almost ska stuff didn’t do a great deal for me, despite McClure’s tongue-in-cheek boasts that, “I’m a big deal in Sheffield – Bono level, me…!”, but the brass blare of the “Marmite” ad song, “Silence Is Talking”, got the whole arena bouncing, so it seemed I was in the minority there… 

We were however back in our usual house right spot by the pillar for headliners KULA SHAKER. Again, I’d largely blanked on them in their early 90’s pomp, finding the bits I’d heard a little dull, and thinking main man (and nepo baby before there was an actual term for it) Crispian Mills a bit of an Indian culture appropriating, pretentious pillock. From the off however, he set out to prove me wrong; “Hey Dude” was a potent psych pop opener with a very 60’s Byrds/ Love US West Coast feel, setting the tone for the set, and an early “Gaslighting” was a herky-jerky rhythmic Kinks-esque pop choon with a stream of consciousness vocal from the annoyingly slim and youthful Mills, who was a relaxed and engaging performer throughout. “It’s Friday night, it’s a full moon, we’re going to do a spiritual detox,” Mills announced before the rocking upbeat psych-blues of “Naryana”. I didn’t enjoy the Mondays’ “Hallelujah” reference during an otherwise okay actually “Tattva”, but they redeemed themselves afterwards with the powerful descending riffery of a big harmonic singalong “Hush”. “It’s been a great pleasure to play for you – I hope we don’t fuck this up…” announced Mills before closer, an unexpected and jolly run-through of John Lennon’s “Instant Karma”, rounding off a very pleasant surprise of a set, from (dare I say it) worthy Day 1 arena headliners! 

Rach, sensibly pacing herself, decided that was it for the day, so Matt and I popped up to the already-rammed Centre Stage for ECKO. A pet “Shiiine On” band, this lot (along with Deja Vega), they were sonically okay in an early 90’s psych rock/ baggy trance dance vibe, but I didn’t appreciate the Scottish vocalist’s put-on fake Mancunian sneer, or the fact they went massively over time, not clearing off until 10 past 11. So tribute act TRUE ORDER, due on at 11, didn’t make an appearance until 11.30… Having seen Hooky recently, I was in a New Order frame of mind, but this lot were terrible; I didn’t even recognise opener “True Faith” until the vocalist started singing it, badly too, I might add… By the 3^rd number, an equally savage massacring of “Perfect Kiss” sung totally out of key (I know NO’s Barney isn’t the best vocalist in the world, but he’s like Scott Walker compared to this guy), we’d had enough.

Over to Reds for SACK, then, joining Martin and Simon in the seats house right. I initially found them pretty decent in an early Inspirals/ Divine Comedy jangly groovy singalong kind of way, and was encouraged that at least they could play and sing (some decent 3 point harmonies particularly appealing to me); however they were ultimately let down by their material for me, which seemed clumsy and very average, one number featuring a piano part which sounded as if a cat was wandering up and down on the keys! A shame really, but at least they got me to the final act tonight… 

On the barriers then for the 12.45 emergence of MODERN ENGLISH, early 80’s pioneering proto-goth/ shoegaze post-punkers. I wasn’t a massive fan at the time, more in thrall to my Liverpool post-punk sound, but I remember enjoying what I’d heard back then (usually played to me by old buddy Paul Crowfoot), and also, during my more recent mid-2010’s voyage of post-punk rediscovery, enjoying delving into them (and the likes of The Sound and particularly The Chameleons) a little further via their “Life In The Gladhouse” collection. This veteran band took the stage to a “standby for danger!” tape loop, opening with the taut, urgent off kilter hurtle of “16 Days”, dapper vocalist Robbie Grey yelping off-mic like an Adam Ant or Robert Smith. This pretty much set the tone for a tense, menacing and deliciously brooding set of textural guitar-driven atmospheric post-punk, with more than a few nods to early (so, good) Cure for me. “Gathering Dust” was a building and careering thrill ride, and even the new material, such as “Long In The Tooth” from 2024’s “1 2 3 4” release, stood pat with the oldies, albeit slightly more conventional and harder edged. “Tables Turned” was a synth and bass-propelled chugger, featuring some almost virtuoso low-end manipulation from Michael Conroy, however the set was climbing inexorably up to the summit… 

The sturdy and unmistakeable strum along opening to post-punk classic “I Melt With You” was stupendous, plunging into a taut and utterly joyous hooky chorus, a stripped-back atmospheric break and a wonderfully extended and speeded up outro, ending both the Best Song and, ultimately, the Best Set of the Weekend on a none-more-higher note. Tremendous stuff – and more so because I’d been bouncing in my barrier spot alongside Irish post-punk songstress, recent facebook friend and potential musical highlight for tomorrow, Keeley Moss! A quick chat then, before I headed off to conclude Day 1! 

Day 2 dawned slowly and lazily, before we gathered for the usual Saturday “Big Man Big Breakfast” – serving 7 this time, as Sarah and friend Rich joined us later. A slight deviation from the norm thereafter; as Rach had just started her meds and wasn’t up to the usual pool party, we headed to Studio 36 to catch the last knockings of Jim Bob’s chat on his new book “Where Songs Come From”, catching the end of a witty and laconic – and very well attended, over 1,000 in! – discussion. Matt and I bought a book and got them signed by the man; then we grabbed a table for the 90’s quiz, compered by former Shed Seven drummer Alan Leach, with Matt, Rach and myself being joined by Sarah and Rich plus a couple of Sarah’s friends in “TheFookinButlins” team, which (once the quiz got going after a few technical hitches) finished a creditable 23^rd out of over 100 teams – but nowhere near top in the Best Team Name stakes, which was clearly won by “Your Dad Wanks On All Fours”! 

A 3 way band clash split us up thereafter; whilst various folks headed off to see Bentley Rhythm Ace or Kingmaker 4AD, I plonked myself front and centre on the Inn On The Green barrier for KEELEY, eponymous musical vehicle for my fellow Modern English dancer Keeley Moss. And, to return the favour, all of Modern English had turned up to see Keeley, so I grabbed a quick chat and pix with a couple of the boys, discovering bassist Michael Conroy had played on the 80’s proto-dreampop classic This Mortal Coil album, so appreciated me rocking a TMC tee-shirt today! Anyway, Keeley and her backing band kicked off promptly at 2; opener “Last Words” was a buoyant and jangly indie-pop opener, and “Inga Hauser”, second number up, featured a dark, melancholy choral hook delivered with conviction by Keeley, and accentuating the gravitas of the subject matter…

Oh yes, about that subject matter; “Inga Hauser”, like ALL of Keeley’s songs, without exception, are written for and about the eponymous Ms. Hauser, a teenage German student shockingly murdered whilst backpacking in Northern Ireland in 1988, a case which has never been solved. This understandably imbues Keeley’s material – even the more upbeat jangle-alongs – with a heavy pall of melancholy, a bleak and poignant atmosphere which conversely makes the material (for me at least) more intriguing and captivating. Add to that Keeley’s own deep and mahogany-rich low tones and insouciant onstage persona, and you’ve got a potential-loaded new post-punk/ dreampop find. “Arrive Alive” was a racier wall-of-sound shoegaze rocker recalling early Ride and my set highlight, and the absorbing metronome of “Trans Europe 18” rounded off a fascinating and evocative (if short at 6 songs only) set. 

I hung around afterwards and grabbed a chat and pics with Keeley and the band, then wandered off to Reds, bumping into lurking Wonder Stuff main man Miles Hunt on the way for a brief chat about my recent Barcelona trip to see his erstwhile 90’s support act the Gigolo Aunts (gig 1,348). Gave YOUNG KNIVES another go; they’d raised my pretentiousness hackles the last time I’d seen them, and after a couple of messy prog numbers (one of which sounded as if it was being played out of time!) and a clear feedback attempt to find the brown note (!), I was gone, their repetitive cries of “Barbarism! Barbarism!” ringing in my ears. Back to the chalet for a mid-afternoon chill for an hour or so, eventually being joined by Rach for a while before we wandered back into the Skyline Arena for the last number of THE FARM’s popular set, predictably an inclusive and roof-raising singalong to unofficial “Shiiine On” anthem “All Together Now”. 

However, t’was back up onto the Disabled Platform for Rach and myself, for the second act in the Scouse Saturday triumvirate, namely THE LIGHTNING SEEDS, on at 7.20. The only previous time I’d seen Liverpool post-punk veteran Ian Broudie’s band of wide-eyed popsters was their frustratingly tech gremlin-beset “Shiiine On” 2019 performance (gig 1,161), so I was at least hoping the sound would be kinder this time. It was – and how! Opener “Marvellous” sounded great, clear as a bell, the hook singalong, buoyant and Summery, setting the tone for a shiny, happy and perfectly delivered set of ebullient pure pop. “Ready Or Not” was a slightly harder-edged outlier to all the magic pop thrills, featuring a descending choral hook and a false finish; the Beatles-esque orchestral swell of “Perfect” saw Broudie manfully raise an octave to the higher choral vocal line; and a robust “Lucky You” saw Broudie challenge the crowd (“you’re a bit restrained…!”), prompting an “ooh ooh” singalong which elicited a fists-aloft response from the singer. 

A tune-packed, redemptive and timely performance culminated in a touching and rather lovely “Pure”, still their best number, and the “God Only Knows” soundalike intro (only just noticed that today!) to a cheesy but singalong “Three Lions”, Broudie happily leaving the stage with a broad grin and the audience’s cheers ringing in his ears this time, rather than a tech glitch-induced scowl. Nice one, lad! 

I was then back onto the floor for tonight’s headliners, greeting my crew then leaving them to it as I ventured nearer the front! Had a chat with Keeley again, as the anticipation grew (or was it just me?), and dry ice predictably swathed the stage in advance of the entrance of ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN. A band I’ve loved for over 40 years and hosts of my second ever gig, back in December 1981, but a band whom these days stand or fall “live” on the whims and mood swings of main man and “voice” Ian McCulloch. Mac’s longtime oppo Will Sargent’s virtuoso guitar may shimmer, swoop and weep, the young band may ably back them up musically, but if Mac’s head’s not in the game (or if his nose has been in the drinks cabinet, or worse, in the powder beforehand), this could be a car crash…

Overall, I was pleased to report that it was, well, okay… Opener “Going Up” crept absorbingly in with its’ air of menace and mystery, then Mac’s vocal was stripped bare for all to hear; low, moody, understated, a little throaty and raspy, but definitely Mac. The backbeat drums of “All That Jazz” followed, Mac delivering a clipped verse vocal before Will’s strafing riffery bounced off the tent ceiling, and an early “Rescue” was relaxed, plangent and singalong. However, there had clearly been some, erm, “imbibing” beforehand on Mac’s part, although at least he was a happy drunk tonight, rambling on about Al Pacino’s new baby, Arne Slot and VAR, and bigging his material up as expected, introducing a tremendous, careering “Over The Wall” with, “this one is a bit mad, sort of neo-psychedelic,”, commenting, “I’m not going to boast but this feels great,” prior to the Doors-like keyboard-fuelled, loose-limbed “Bedbugs And Ballyhoo”, and proclaiming, “this next one is brilliant,” before “The Cutter”. Because, well, it was. So. 

Not without its faults, this, though; the band were constantly enveloped in dry ice and the side-screens were off, so they were often impossible to make out through the murk, the set selection was again one for the purists rather than the casual fan (generally fine for me, but fine for Shiiine? Debateable…) and even despite pacing his voice and making infrequent use of the higher octaves, Mac’s vocals became increasingly ragged towards the end, the singer making increasing use of the tactic of muting the band to allow the devoted down the front to fill in on vocals, a rather divisive move which earned a fair bit of criticism from my crew afterwards. I guess I was just pleased that I wasn’t disappointed, which I appreciate may be damning Mac and The Bunnymen with faint praise, but these days, you never know…

A stripped back “Killing Moon” rounded off the “set”, after which the band took a pause before returning for “Lips Like Sugar”, which finally saw Mac’s voice soar during the choral hook. Caught up with the crew via the mixing desk, the excellent arena sound-guy making good on his promise beforehand to save me a list, then we headed back to the chalet for a cuppa! Rach then decided that was her limit for the day, so it was Matt, Martin, Simon and myself who headed back in, for a Saturday night revelation… 

I’d seen David Lewis Gedge’s frantic jangly C86 survivors THE WEDDING PRESENT a few times in the last 10 years or so, once on a Wonder Stuff undercard in 2016 (gig 981) and then at “Shiiine On” in 2017 and 2019, and, the opening salvo of that 2017 set aside, had been mostly disappointed, finding the choppy guitar onslaught of legend largely absent, and both material and performance understated, turgid, samey, dated and really rather dull. So I was semi persuaded, semi press-ganged by the boys to give the Weddoes another chance, but honestly I was expecting to give them 3 numbers, then piss off and leave them to it.

Hoo boy, was I wrong, or what? The snowy-topped Gedge led his troops onstage at 11.30 to a rapturous reception from an utterly rammed Centre Stage, cantering into the strident descending riff of opener “A Million Miles”, overlaying this lovelorn paean with his low stentorian growl, and from the off it sounded great, purposeful, big, fulsome, guitar-led, and with a dynamism, conviction and cutting edge sadly lacking for oh so long. The edgy slow/ fast “Don’t Talk Just Kiss” saw Gedge bent double, sawing at his battered guitar for all he was worth, recalling visions of the first time I saw them supporting The Mighty Lemon Drops in 1986 (gig 58) and being utterly astonished by his wrist dexterity! Even early newie “I Am Not Going To Fall In Love With You” was imbued with power and purpose, the mosh causing the sprung floor to bounce along in time. Who is this band, and where have they been since the 80’s??! 

Yup, that cutting edge restored, The Weddoes were easily band of the day for me and a close runner-up to Modern English for the overall weekend honours. “Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm” was an unexpected huge singalong, segueing into a powerful, bouncy “Kennedy”, then the yearning ascending chorus of “My Favourite Dress” was a set highlight, until the inevitable finale of a breathless, roaring and hurtling “Brassneck”. Just a great set, and I wasn’t the only one so surprised, as we discussed this triumphant and restorative set with a vindicated Martin (who’d had no doubt), before I headed back for the night. 

So, onto day 3 of a swift and, happily, very surprising “Shiiine On”, musically at least! Another fried breakfast today, as, as previously mentioned, our usual Sunday carvery was postponed after the line-up timing announcement last week, given that the only 3 acts I/we were interested in today were all on in Centre Stage, consecutively from lunchtime! Bah! Anyhoops, off we wandered after brekky, through the drizzle to the first of the three… MAT FLINT, 90’s genre-hopping guitar roustabout but best known, by me at least, as frontman for sadly short-lived melodic shoegaze/ dreampoppers Revolver, had actually initially been scheduled to play the Inn On The Green, but was bumped up (?) to the 12.45 opening slot for Centre Stage Sunday, following the announcement that he intended to play a full Revolver set with a new 3-piece band. So, we headed in 10 minutes beforehand, only to find the place utterly deserted! Yikes! 

Nonetheless, Matt and I took barrier spots, along with a mere dozen or so bleary-eyed interested parties, for Mat’s entrance. He and the band opened with Revolver’s best number, the brilliant “Crimson”, a regular handover number for me during my 1991 Lev DJ-ing days (finishing my stint and asking DJ partner The Big Man to start his sesh with it, so I could head down and dance to it!). Slightly thin, echoey and understandably understated as Mat and the band bedded themselves into the set, it was nonetheless great to hear it again after so long. “Drowning Inside” was an early, eerie textural affair, Mat jumping on the pedals with glee to overlay his lilting, high-pitched vocals, and a later “Cradle Snatch” was an elongated and atmospheric psych workout. Revolver’s best-known number, the debut “Heaven Sent An Angel” was a lengthy, loose-limbed piece of absorbing loveliness, and the off-kilter tumbling drums and discordant psych of “Venice” closed out a slightly uneven, taciturn but welcome slight return from Mat… and Revolver? 

I chatted with Mat’s charming wife Emma briefly afterwards, as Mat responded to my request for a set list by writing me one out especially! Chap! Kept my spot for “live” favourites of mine (and my son Logan’s!), 80’s folk/ punk class warrior veterans yet “Shiiine On” virgins THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, due next up at 10 to 2. I’d actually chatted with TMTCH mainstay Paul Simmonds about “Shiiine On” at their recent triumphant 40^th Anniversary gig at the Thekla (gig 1,345), trying to allay his misgivings about their being booked to play what seemed to them prima facae a Madchester/ Britpop Festy by saying it’s about all 80s-90s indie, you’ll do great, if you’re on late on Saturday night or something like that it’ll be a raucous drunken singalong encapsulating the spirit of the band etc. etc… to which he then replied, “we’re on Sunday lunchtime…” I mean, “Shiiine On” organisers, WTAF???

Making it a bit worse was a lengthy, fiddly and seemingly unnecessary backline soundcheck, delaying their start until 2 in front of a more respectable (if still no more than half full) dance floor. “We’re going to liven things up a bit!” announced main man Phil “Swill” Odgers, opening with the rambunctious if a little low-key fiddle-diddle of “Raising Hell”. A more robust “Going Back To Coventry” got me bouncing down the front, after which Swill remarked about being up all night (“so it’s late for us!”) then called for a sing-along to a bolshy, anthemic “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, pointing me out and saying, “I know you’ll sing!” 

So sing I did, giving my pipes a proper workout (my usual TMTCH duetting partner Logan being absent from “Shiiine On”, I had to sing for two!) as The Men maintained their jolly fun, inclusive folky punky form from that Thekla gig, occasionally going slightly off-piste with the set selection (the sea shanty feel of “The Lion And The Unicorn” and a slow-burn “Silver Gun” being unexpected inclusions) but bringing it right back with a poignant and emotive “Green Fields Of France”, particularly the haunting, stripped back lump-in-the-throat 4^th verse. “Smugglers” enlivened the mood thereafter with its’ soaring terrace chant chorus, then the subsequent Miners’ Strike story of “Shirt Of Blue” was moody and menacing, and “Island In The Rain” a touching ballad featuring some virtuoso sawing from veteran violinist Bobby Valentino (Swill announcing beforehand, “[this one is] Bobby’s favourite – and he works us hard!”). Damn that lengthy soundcheck, as they had to cut “Colours” from the end of the set at short notice, but absolutely nailed a brilliant and breathless “Ironmasters” to conclude a joyfully singalong and, ultimately, well-attended and well-received set. See, you do belong here at “Shiiine On”, Simmo!

I’d been bouncing and singing along, so, hoarse and a little knee-sore, I joined the crew in their seats, house left at the edge of the dancefloor, for “Shiiine On” regular MILES HUNT, this time doing the solo thang instead of being backed by the full Wonder Stuff line-up, and again bafflingly on mid-afternoon, 10 past 3 in this instance. It’s as if the organisers didn’t notice just how well his last solo set (late Sunday evening in Reds and following a disappointingly received Teenage Fanclub headliner slot) went down, seeing out “Shiiine On” 2022 (gig 1,253) on a real inclusive singalong high. Nuts. Just nuts. Still, the mid-afternoon slot didn’t seem to dampen Miles’ bullish, buoyant mood, immediately giving us, “fair warning, I’m going to be calling for some audience participation,” thereafter noting, “I know my 20-year-old self would hate my 58-year-old self [for] sitting on a stool encouraging singalongs, but I like pissing that guy off!”

As expected, this was another jolly, inclusive and entertaining showing by a man totally at ease with himself and his history, and with the demands of the “Shiiine On” crowd. Give them what they want, and Miles is happy to do so, delving gleefully through the Wonder Stuff back catalogue for this set, and augmenting the selections with stories and vignettes from his near-40 years (!) in rock. So a couple of stories of near-interactions with Bob Dylan were interspersed into a meandering “Caught In My Shadow”; “Here Comes Everyone” followed a story about a brief fling during a US tour, and trying to subsequently dump his girlfriend in letter form; and “Maybe” saw Miles assuring the crowd that he means no disrespect to “the great Michael Stipe”, despite the possibly disparaging reference in said song’s lyric. 

Ploughing past the hour mark (“I hate the pantomime of the encore; it’s patronising on both sides…”), Milo rounded off with a few more upbeat singalong Stuffies cuts in “No For The 13^th Time”, “Don’t Let Me Down, Gently” and, following an audience vote, “Size Of A Cow” (“the no’s have it, but fuck you, I’m in charge!”), before finishing with “Give Give Give Me More More More” and a thought of how lucky we are to still be here, which hit home with us, and Miles personally too, given the recent loss of his beloved dog The Winkster. “Thank you for propping me up,” was the man’s comment, but the feeling as ever is mutual.

Then that was that! Given the swathes of Indie landfill subsequently on the Skyline stage, the musical element of our “Shiiine On” was done by half four on Sunday afternoon! We grabbed noodle tea from Chopstix and headed back to the apartment for the 5pm England game. Rach and Sarah drifted back into the arena rather than watch the footy, so I wandered back in to find them, running into old Level 3 friends Sara and Sharon and introducing them to Milo, hanging out in the Inn On The Green. Eventually found Rach and Sarah, hiding in the arena back bar from STARSAILOR’s admittedly proficiently delivered but to my ears oh-so-dull plodding material. We eventually headed back to the apartment where we all gathered for some fun and raucous card games, especially “Spoons”! Much more fun than Embrace, as far as I'm concerned, anyway!

Come 10 o’clock, and Matt and I popped back briefly to a spottily attended Centre Stage to catch a bit of young bucks THE RATS. Musically they were okayish in (yet again) a generic baggy way, but they soon put me in mind of a poor-man’s Stereo MCs, and the vocalist’s grating tones were hurting my head, so we headed back in short order, done for the night. Packed up and (eventually) gathered everyone together the next morning, popping in to book for next year and bid farewells to Martin and Simon (Matt having left earlier) before heading off, dropping Sarah off in Bristol and getting back to the ‘don just after 2. Another excellent weekend, with some surprising bonuses, music-wise, and great company and fun times during those musical black holes. “Shiiite On”? On reflection, that was harsh… it was a “Great Eight” after all!

 

SHERIFF’S SHIIINE ON SELECTION

Friday Best – MODERN ENGLISH

Saturday Best – THE WEDDING PRESENT

Sunday Best – THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG

Overall – 1. MODERN ENGLISH, 2 THE WEDDING PRESENT, 3. THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, 4. MILES HUNT, 5. KEELEY 

Best New Band – KEELEY! Well, first time I’ve seen them, so I’m counting that…

We Can Be Heroes – MY CREW as usual; kudos to new guy Simon! RACHEL for sensibly pacing herself. The ubiquitous KEELEY MOSS for being friendly and chatty, as well as a great performer. MILES HUNT, ditto actually. THE SOUND GUY for sorting me 3 lists. MAT FLINT for writing me one!