Because it’s not a gig year these days without seeing The Chameleons at least once…!
Yup, once again (and for the 11th 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!
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