Dust has blown, years have flown, yet The Men They Couldn’t Hang are still going strong, and this tour marked the Magnificent 40th Anniversary of this enduring and pioneering folk/ punk band. I’d been on board “live” for 38 of those years (my first being November 1986’s Bierkeller gig, no. 63!), that and the other even dozen occasions I’d seen this band of desperados since being inclusive, raucous, singalong and wholly entertaining affairs, so of course I was up for a 14th for their 40th!
So
was Logan, so we made plans for a boy’s night out, donning sunglasses and riding
into the evocatively low setting sun; well, we drove down the M4 westward into
Bristol, at least! Squeezed into a dockside parking spot about 10 minutes
before doors, then grabbed a front of stage spot, house left, right next to
increasingly frequent Bristol gig friend Louise! So, some lively chat filled
the short time before openers Headsticks took the stage at 7.30. I’d not come
across this veteran folk/ punk rabble before, but after a couple of numbers it
became apparent that my 20-year-old, Red Wedge gig-going, anti-Thatcher
political march attending, radical young post punker self would have liked this
lot very much, and in all honesty, so did my current loony lefty Green party/
Greenpeace member 59-year-old conscientious dad self! Led by an impassioned,
in-your-face manic (eyed) street preacher in Andrew Tranter, they recalled the fervent
anti-establishment politico-punk of The Clash, New Model Army and tonight’s
headliners, with the strident early 80’s dark anthemic guitar feel of Spear Of
Destiny and even (on the snaking riffery of opener “Cold Grey English Skies”)
Big Country, topped with an ample helping of ramshackle and high-octane
Dropkicks folky jiggery pokery. Buoyed to be on this tour (“it’s nice to be in
Bristol! Mind, when you’re from Stoke, it’s nice to be anywhere!” quipping
Tranter), they delivered their set with conviction, their message powerful yet
never hectoring, even eliciting a loud audience participation for their early
Dead Kennedy’s-like (especially Tranter’s vocals, raising an octave for this
number and strongly recalling Jello Biafra) penultimate best-of number
“Apocalypse”. Fine forceful stuff; something tells me our paths may cross again
“live”…
Not long to wait for the main event, either; in fact, the time rather sneaked up on us before the sweeping orchestral intro saw the 6-piece Men take the stage prompt at 8.20. “It’s our 40th Anniversary,” announced vocalist Phil “Swill” Odgers; “we’re gonna raise some hell!” then easing into aptly named opener, “Raising Hell”, which, if a little too low-key to rouse Lucifer, was then totally eclipsed by the subsequent double of a ragged, acerbic and anthemic “Going Back To Coventry” and a stirring roof-raising singalong to “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, both of which sent soundquake shudders down through all the nine circles. Here we go, boys!
The
Men They Couldn’t Hang were magnificent tonight. Shorn of the more in-your-face
rabble-rousing approach of their sadly missed co-founder Stefan Cush, lost to
us in 2021, Swill, Simmo and co. relied on their innate musicianship, easy band-crowd
repartee and obvious connection with their audience, plus the timeworn familiarity
of their material to deliver a consummate performance. Newie “Red Kite”
(preceded by some, erm, well-refreshed punter nicking Swill’s pint and
Swill calling him out for it) was a folksy yet poignant tribute to their fallen
comrade, the subsequent off-mic audience singalong to Cush’s number, the
anti-war paean “Green Fields Of France” being genuinely heartfelt and
affecting. Thereafter, as WWE wrestler Sheamus would say, it was “banger after
banger”… “Smugglers” highlighted deep-voiced Bobby Valentino’s virtuoso violin
mid-section; Swill namechecked all the venues they’d played in Bristol before a
rousing “Bounty Hunter”, also quipping about going out in Bristol earlier then
realising how old they all are (!); “Shirt Of Blue” was dramatic, slow-burn and
still uncomfortably relevant; and the quite brilliant “The Colours” saw Logan
and myself sing along raucously to this affirming story of working class
validation. But my highlight was the rollicking rambunctious reading of “Ironmasters”,
as ever a potent clarion call to arms.
A couple of encores of “Night To Remember” and “Walkin’ Talkin’ ” rounded off a right proper night to remember. Swill kindly sorted Logan with a list, then a brief word with him and Simmo at the merch stand about their forthcoming “Shiiine On” debut (I’ll be down the front singing along!) and a chat with “gig life crisis” buddy Jeremy, before heading off into the murk, home at 11 via Jimmy’s Kebab (of course!). A night to remember indeed, and here’s to many more for this enduring and treasured band!
