1,346 RIDE, Junodream, Portsmouth Guildhall, Tuesday 17th September 2024

 

A bit further to go than I’d have liked for this one, but needs must when gig schedules clash; I’ve been on board with the post-reunion journey of Oxonian 90’s shoegaze innovators Ride, making up for lost time to a certain extent with a band I should have really liked and seen more back in the day. Since their 2016 reformation, they’ve been full-on noses to the grindstone, this tour pushing their third second-coming album “Interplay”. A fine collection of well-constructed tuneage with distinct nods to their history, this, striking a delicate balance between their effects-led shimmering wall-of-noise material and their difficult yet more song-focussed proto-Britpop/ post punk, so I was up for the tour. Unfortunately, their Bristol SWX date clashed with last Saturday’s Men They Couldn’t Hang Thekla gig, last time out, and I’d already booked tix for that, so this ticket to Ride came with a ride down to the next-nearest venue, down on the South Coast!

Happily, I had company in Ride uber-fan and 90’s Lev friend Robynne, whose husband wouldn’t take her! I picked her up just after 5 for a sunny South Coast drive, taking a wrong turn but eventually finding an open air car park near the venue. Got in 20 minutes after doors to find the auditorium almost deserted, and a house right barrier spot very easy to come by! Yikes! Chatted with fellow front-rower Chas, over from Singapore (!) to visit his Kent-domiciled parents and catch this one, before openers Junodream, on an 8 to a small smattering of folk. I’d picked up their debut album “Pools Of Colour”, finding it pleasant but unmemorable, and for me this set largely followed suit; opener “The Beach” was a meandering piece of unobtrusive dreampop, “Kitchen Sink Drama”, next up, was a more urgent drum-propelled early Death Cab-esque brooding US alt-bedsit pop number, and “Death Drive” a looser-limbed 80’s slice of baggy trip hop. To be fair, vocalist Ed Vyvyan regularly attacked his task with impressive gusto, particularly on the crescendo outros, although his claims of being the best band in the world (or second best to Ride) seemed somewhat far fetched. Closer “Nobody Wants You”, with its intricate upbeat strumalong recalling Real Estate or Rolling Blackouts, was the best of a nice enough set. Damning them with faint praise, I know, but there you go…

Unfortunately, the place still hadn’t really filled that much, and the auditorium seemed only half full (with the balcony shut and blanked off as well!) by the time Ride themselves took the stage at 9 to a suitably dramatic fanfare music backdrop. The straightahead indie rock stylings of newie “Monaco” kicked things into gear, although initially it seemed that the mix was a bit too polished and crystal clear, at the expense of the “sonic cathedrals of noise” that Ride were/ are so renowned for. An early “Dreams Burn Down” suffered particularly, its’ usual ball-crunching post-hook crescendo sounding sadly sedate, the thin sound rendering this usually mighty number a little ponderous, and I pondered this during the properly epilepsy-inducing strobe assault of a nevertheless dramatic “Killswitch”; have Ride eschewed their usual pedal-stomping modus operandi to accentuate the songcraft of the new material, but in the process lost that thrilling sonic assault? 

Happily, after an eerie, stripped-back reading of morose newie “I Came To See The Wreck”, the upbeat groove of “Twisterella” marked an ironic turning point, the balance between the crispness of sound and full-on thrilling wall-of-sound much better, as the hitherto taciturn band, initially playing within themselves, seemed to really warm to their task. The clipped, undulating hook and hypnotic krautrock beat of “Lannoy Point” was easily the best thus far, but that was eclipsed in short order by the crashing intro and sweeping strident hook of a brilliant “Taste”, seeing me give it loads in my front row spot. That’s what we’re here for!

The set denouement maintained this quality control; “Cool Your Boots” was all shimmering oscillation and cascading drums, “Vapour Trail” superbly widescreen and windswept as ever, and “Seagull” a barnstorming psych workout to close out a proper set of two halves. First encore “Light In A Quiet Room” featured a juxtaposition of the delicate choral harmony between main men Mark Gardener and Andy Bell and the noisy crescendo outro, before the lugubrious and meandering “Leave Them All Behind” required 2 takes (Bell labelling the short abortive first start as the “Tik Tok, short attention span” version! The embryonic heady rush of “Chelsea Girl” rounded off a damn fine overall set, the impressively bearded roadie then handing me a list, then we bade farewell to Chas and fellow front rower Ian, there with his son, before a quick and chatty drive up the A34/ M4 beat route saw me dropping Robynne back just after midnight. So, a slow burner, this, but one that really built up a head of steam and finished strongly, and was definitely worth the lengthy trip!

1,345 THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, Headsticks, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 14th September 2024

 

Dust has blown, years have flown, yet The Men They Couldn’t Hang are still going strong, and this tour marked the Magnificent 40^th 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 14^th for their 40^th! 

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 40^th 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!

1,344 MARTHA, Former Champ, Hamburger, Bristol Strange Brew, Thursday 5th September 2024

 

After yesterday’s shlep up that Big Smoke, here’s a closer one, down to Bristol’s relatively new Strange Brew for Durham’s own bouncy anarcho-punk popsters and queercore warriors Martha. A relatively quick return for Martha-punx, this, gig 1,254 at The Exchange in support of their spunky 4^th album “Please Don’t Take Me Back” being barely 22 months ago, and also one where prima facie they seem to have nothing in particular to push or promote. Still, that last one was a bit of a barnstormer, so I’m always up for more from this bunch of effervescent helium indie punk popsters!

 A pretty crappy day saw me nearly blow this one off, but I eventually hauled my ass into the car for a solo trip down a drizzly mood-matching M4, parking in Nelson Street and meeting Stu, Andy and Nigel in the venue about 10 to 8. First support Hamburger were already squeezed onto the stage at this bohemian Arts Centre-esque space; they ploughed a similar furrow to tonight’s headliners, some gauche 80’s-influenced DIY indie tuneage getting my toes tapping early doors before they diverted into more understated, slower-burn (and slightly dull actually) Weezer-esque proto-emo stuff. My best memory of them was their thanks to the early comers before their closer; “I know Thursday is a premium night for “Settlers Of Catan”…!” 

Much better was to come though, with main support Former Champ; a female fronted 5-piece, opener “Beginner’s Luck” was a splendid robust piece of indie powerpop, and an early newie “Big Surprise!” recalled current faves The Beths with it’s undulating and accelerating guitar groove. A later “Sunday Morning” showed a different dreamier side with a more crafted, expansive and widescreen mid-paced vibe, before they switched up gears again for the final few numbers, finale “Hold On” the pick of the bunch with a Summery strumalong Smiths/ early Byrds feel. The fact they packed 11 numbers into a half-hour support slot as well, most of them economical and fat-free, was great value, so I could even forgive the slight verse structure steal from 60’s staple “Got To Get You Into My Life” for their nonetheless highly melodic “Porcelain”, plus vocalist Claire’s tones being a little understated and occasionally lost in the mix. Nope, Former Champ were ace, happily continuing the run of excellent Martha supports initiated last time out by Bigfatbig (gig 1,254), and prompted me to grab a list and buy a tshirt off Claire on the merch stand.

A quick loo trip and a chat with a visiting Gareth from Los Campesinos! who remembered our chat at their recent Exchange gig (gig 1,338) and complimented my This Mortal Coil tshirt, before back with the boys in their spot, halfway back for Martha’s arrival in short order at 9.15 to the backing music of Rush’s “Spirit Of Radio!” As ever, the PityMe DIY punksters were in no mood to fuck about, setting the tone for their set with the rampant amphetamine gabble and snaking riffery of “Beat Perpetual” and the quickfire, acerbic “Every Day The Hope Gets Harder”, featuring that Clash “Tommy Gun” drum outro. Pow pow, take that, Bristol!

The reason for this tour then became evident, drummer Nathan announcing, “10 years ago we released an album called “Courting Big”… it’s good you [the audience] whooped at that as we’re going to play 6 songs from it… here’s 4!” So, an impromptu celebration of their debut (despite their later mentioning one theme of 2022’s aforementioned “Please Don’t Take Me Back” was about not romanticising the past!) featured that album’s pounding “Cosmic Misery”, Naomi’s helium Minnie Mouse vocals on “1997 Passing In The Hallway” and the overlaid call and response and undulating riff of a later “1967 I Miss You I’m Lonely”, rebadged as a “Horny” sexy number tonight! In between, the joyous hook of an effervescent “Heart Sink” and the irrepressible singalong hook and descending riff of “Goldman’s Detective Agency” were highlights of a set which galloped along at a cracking pace, like wild ponies on a windswept Whitby beach. 

An overheating Naomi joked about changing her undies (!) before the hobnail boot-stomping “Chekhov’s Hangnail” and the “Silver Lining”-esque guitar of set closer “Love Keeps Kicking”. Drummer Nathan then made an impassioned plea on behalf of 2 charities, Pro Palestine and anti-Fascist group Red Flare (highly worthy and necessary causes both), before the pointed “Flag Burner” and a dark, dramatic “Void” rounded off another breathless, buoyant yet (at its’ conclusion) politically charged Martha set. I’d moved forward and seen the last half dozen numbers from nearer the front, hanging with 2000 Trees friends Jamie and Marc; then patience eventually got me Nathan’s set list, before I hit the road for a swift drive, home at 11.30, kebab in tow. Glad I went, as Former Champ and Martha provided the perfect antidote for my crappy day!

1,343 MATTHEW CAWS, London Rough Trade East, Wednesday 4th September 2024

 

A late shout, this one, but once I heard about it, it was pretty much essential… Matthew Caws, leader of pretty much the best band making music over the last decade or so, the majestic and heartwarming Nada Surf, announced a run of record store appearances ostensibly promoting ‘da Surf’s forthcoming album “Mirror Moon”, out at the end of the month. I’d already booked for their November Islington date (unfortunately the closest to the ‘don on a limited run) but had no hesitation grabbing a dice ticket for this one too (again, the closest to the ‘don on a limited run!). Nada Surf have, for me, produced a consistently magnificent body of work across their almost 30 (!) years rivalling anyone else in rock ever (yup, ever…), journeying from their 90’s US underground alt-rock roots into all-encompassing and life-affirming purveyors of warm, heartfelt and melodic rock incandescence, so “Mirror Moon” is likely to be another top-quality addition to said canon, and an early AOTY candidate for me!

Stu was up for it as well, sorting very cheap train tix thanks to the missus’ work concessions, so we headed off just before 5, catching up on this year’s events given that this, rather disgracefully, was the first time I’d seen the man since Desperate Journalist’s Dareshack gig last October (gig 1,295)! Yikes! A slow tube to Aldgate East rather curtailed our pre-gig Brick Lane curry plans, however, so we hit the venue at doors, grabbing near-front spots, house left, and greeting young Mr. Caws as he wandered out of backstage. Our catching up took us right up to the appointed hour of 8 p.m., whereupon the lights faded to a dark blood red and Matthew took the stage, turned on the standard lamp next to his mic stand, and quietly strummed the intro to the yearning “Inside Of Love” on a shiny new acoustic, to utter hushed silence from the audience. 

“Friend Hospital” and “Never Not Together” deep cut “Come Get Me” followed, Matthew elaborating on “CGM”’s subject matter with, “it’s about the subway; I do a lot of my thinking on the subway; it’s like the shower commute!” He then treated us to the first of the newies, the upbeat round reel lyric and brain hugging choral joy of Track of the Year candidate “In Front Of Me Now”, preceded by a warning on the dangers of multitasking (Matt having recently flooded his house while vacuuming with noise cancelling headphones on!), the singer then rather ironically missing a few couplets but styling it out with this usual affable grace. A Minor Alps number, “Buried Plans” then followed, Matt teasing us with the suggestion that he and MA partner Juliana Hatfield “may do another [MA record] one day,” and wrestling with a temperamental squishy beat pedal during this number. Lower-key newie “New Propeller” and the strident cascading hook outro of “Looking For You” then preceded a reverential singalong to a hushed “Blonde On Blonde”, before, for me, the highlight of the night… Matt challenged himself to do “a long complicated one”, choosing the dramatic, undulating change of pace of “Mathilda” over “See These Bones” and preceding it with a story of his youth, in particular his father making a safe space for the young and rather feminine Matthew to be himself, concluding said story with a heartfelt, “thanks to the dads who let their sons be who they are”. Lovely.

A comment from the relaxed and unusually gregarious Matt about running over time (“we’ve gone over but I want to give you value for your hundred grand ticket!”) led into a story of the band treating him to the new guitar he was using tonight; then a singalong “Blizzard Of ‘77” preceded tonight’s finale... Matt commented, “it’s been the joy of a lifetime to play to really amazing audiences!” before bursting into an unexpected, upbeat and quickfire strumalong “Hyperspace”. Woah! Great though it was, I couldn’t do my usual thing of complimenting drummer Ira, who normally propels this one “live” with octopus-limbed gusto; no matter though, as this concluded a quite enchanting set from a marvellous and relaxed performer.

A short wait in the signing queue then got us some face time with the Star of the Show, and I chatted with him about “Matilda”’s premise, referencing my and Rachel’s unconditional support of our daughter Jami on their journey of gender exploration, changing their birth name and finding their “tribe”, which drew a comment of, “you’re one of the good ones,” from Matthew. Coming from a man who’s essentially composed of pure joy and sunshine, that’s praise indeed! We eventually tore ourselves away and dodged the Brick Lane curry barkers (too late for one now, sadly), settling for a pasty on the 10.40 train out of Paddington, then a wander back from the station, home for midnight. A quite delightful evening in the presence of a wonderful singer and (on tonight’s evidence) storyteller; now, bring on that November full band Nada Surf show…!

 

The Set:

 Inside Of Love

Friend Hospital

Come Get Me

In Front Of Me Now

Buried Plans

Oh Yoko

New Propeller

Looking For You

Blonde On Blonde

Mathilda

Intel And Dreams

Blizzard Of ‘77

Hyperspace