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!