1,383 RIALTO, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 27th April 2025

 

Rialto were one of the most welcome surprises of recent “Shiiine On” festivals, their stellar Saturday night set in 2023 (gig 1,304), allegedly their first in over 21 years, securing them Band of the Day and Top 3 weekend overall honours for me. I’d seen this lot just the once back in the day, as they’d emerged from the ashes of roustabout indie guitar pop combo Kinky Machine (whom I’d also enjoyed “live” a couple of times) into a post-Britpop musical landscape, their sound developing into a more widescreen and orchestral 60’s Scott Walker-esque vibe, coupled with Pulp/ Suede/ Carter USM-esque lyricism full of the kitchen-sink drama, mundane minutae and faded glamour of London (or anywhere, actually…) big city life. Their then-twin drum powered attack blew a sadly-fading Sleeper offstage at the Oasis in 1998 (gig 368), but shortly thereafter they themselves fell off my radar, happily returning with that “Shiiine On” appearance which demonstrated they’d not missed a beat in the intervening years. I’d rather hoped that would amount to something more, so news of a new album, “Neon And Ghost Signs”, and a record store tour promoting said release and kicking off at Bristol’s excellent Rough Trade Records was one not to miss…

Oddly, Brizzle was another lunchtime “do” like Bob Mould’s recent one, so I set off down a sunny M4 about 11.30ish, wandering into a quiet RT and picking up a signed Jesus and Mary Chain book before taking a spot down the front in the back room venue. Rialto themselves – or at least 3 of them, namely guitarist Adam Chetwood, bassist Julian Taylor, and main man and vocalist Louis Eliot, emerged fashionably late at 10 past 1 in front of two-score or so hardy punters, Louis thanking us for coming down “on such a sunny day,” before easing into the set with the slow burn, stripped-back late night torch song newie “Put You On Hold”, thereafter informing us before the hazy sun-dappled Velvet Underground “Sunday Morning” vibe of “Remembering To Forget”, of their previous night out in Glastonbury; “don’t buy tickets, just go on a Saturday night – it’s mental!” 

Thereafter, the Rialto front row boys regaled us with an understated, economically delivered and entirely charming set of mainly new album numbers albeit with a smattering of oldies, the acoustic setting as ever revealing different nuances and elements to the material. The usually widescreen “Untouchable” (“do any of you know the old stuff?” quipped Louis beforehand) took on a brooding, almost menacing bass-led air, Adam contributing hauntingly sparse guitar licks, then “Sandpaper Kisses” was a more typical Rialto-sounding newie, with a melancholic 50’s crooner feel. Louis diplomatically fielded some shout-outs for Kinky Machine songs with, “are my family here or something?” before stark and almost elegiac oldie “Summer’s Over”. Then “Monday Morning 5.19” was again the set highlight for me, losing none of its’ deliciously mournful pathos in this acoustic setting.

A plug for some forthcoming support slots (one with Sleeper again later in the year, tix already booked!) and their own headlining date (at the Scala in May with Desperate Journalist supporting – booked when I got home!) preceded the Bowie-esque intro and naggingly familiar undulating choral hook to new album title track “Neon And Ghost Signs”, then the urbane, affable Louis asked for some audience participation with the Kylie-esque (that’s how I heard it, so I’ve got to say it!) “la la la-la la-la”s for the funky yet sleazoid, mid-period (I’m going “My Legendary Girlfriend”-era here) Pulp-like set closer “No One Leaves This Discotheque Alive”. 

Fine stuff from the mini-Rialto, then, the new numbers happily not falling too far from that haunting and widescreen cinematic oeuvre. Grabbed Adam’s list, then joined the queue to meet Louis at the desk, chatting with some fellow punters before falling to the back of said queue in order to chat with Adam (at some length) and Julian mooching around the store! Louis himself was open and friendly; we discussed the double drum set-up (“an idea which should have stayed in the pub,” according to him!), my previous Kinky Machine and Rialto fandom, and this current “Act 2” for the band (“I was writing new material, and friends said it sounded more like Rialto than anything I’d written recently,” admitted Louis), before bidding farewell for a slightly eventful drive home (nearly blacking out on the M4 thanks to a coughing fit – yikes!), back in the ‘don for 4. So, a welcome back to Rialto, now seemingly on a more permanent footing, and I’m now looking forward to hearing the full-band renditions of the new album stuff… next up in May?

1,382 THE LOTTERY WINNERS, The Valla, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Sunday 20th April 2025

 

A well deviated-from set-list, thanks to a fellow punter...

Another one, like Inhaler last time out, where I wasn’t entirely sure what I was letting myself in for, in more ways than one! I’d finally taken notice of The Lottery Winners at their Frank Turner show 3,000 support slot (my gig 1,370) and been thoroughly entertained by some buoyant and affirmative Summery indie pop, delivered with an open-hearted enthusiasm by main man Tom Rylance and his cohorts. Said date bookended an Academy-level jaunt in advance of new, 4^th (!) album “Koko” so I just missed them in their own right; however they then announced a slew of much smaller “Chart Celebration Out-Store” dates, the closest being at Oxford’s snug Bullingdon Arms, so I pounced quickly before it sold out in short order.

After an afternoon at Rachel’s 50^th birthday gathering, I set off at 6.15, again not knowing what to expect (low key? Short set + meet and greet, or full-on gig?). What I definitely didn’t expect or want, though, was to join a full on ma-hoosive queue 15 minutes after doors, thereafter taking another half hour to get in, thanks to one bloke only on the door checking names off a ledger (and missing plenty, including the group in front of me who took 2 or 3 minutes to get sorted!) when we all had Dice electronic tix which should have taken a second to scan. Utterly fucking pathetic, and I was glad I’d stopped for a wee in a layby on the outskirts of Oxford! Anyway, once in I squirmed my way to the merch stand to claim my CD and grabbed a viewing spot house left, right behind Swindon gig friend Joanne! So, had a bit of company as support The Valla took the stage, late at 8 due to some tech issues. Led by a vocalist sporting an excellent suit bearing slogans of things that clearly piss him off (the likes of homophobia, sexism, landlords and his boss falling into his crosshairs), they were initially quite chameleonic stylistically (opener “Making Waves” a Bowie Ziggy-esque glam tune, the next a big brassy 70’s funk number complete with falsetto vocal) before settling down into a ringing and upbeat Britpoppy powerpop noise not a million miles removed from tonight’s headliners. “Make It Stop” (incidentally the slogan on the back of the vocalist’s jacket) was their best number, a protest plea against all the inequalities of the world – so plenty, then! Overall, eminently listenable if hardly original openers.

More tech issues meant an extended and uncomfortable wait in this utterly rammed venue; no meet and greet tonight then – no room! The Lottery Winners took the stage at 9.10 to a rapt reception, Rylance confessing in his effete Alan Carr tones, “oh, we’ve had a stressful time! We might have to do this gig Acapulco!” before suffering even more gremlins, forcing him to go off and come back on again before kicking into opener “Worry” and the huge chant-along chorus of a subsequent “Meaning Of Life”. Nice start!

The Lottery Winners operate in a Summery, upbeat Britpoppy sonic envelope, with infectiously catchy choral hooks recalling the likes of Boo Radleys, Wonder Stuff and most notably Lightning Seeds for me. Again, not pulling up any trees stylistically then, but two elements set them apart, particularly onstage. Firstly, their lyrical subject matter, centring around affirmative and inclusive messages such as managing mental health issues and anxiety (the aforementioned “Worry”), ADHD (the brilliant “Superpower”) and feeling different and finding your tribe (set highlight, the later “Letter To Myself”); and secondly, the sheer joyful scattergun spontaneity of their performance, case in point being a totally unplanned (and pretty reverential actually) go at Joy Division’s classic “Love Will Tear Us Apart”. Why? They just felt like it…

This approach felt like a leitmotif for the set overall, Tom and co regularly going off on wild tangents. Snow Patrol and their number one album tally got numerous mentions, Rylance giggling at the comparison (“he’s Gary Lightbody; I’m Tom Heavybody!”); some punters threw Canada caps onstage, Tom donning a spangly one and prompting bandmate Rob Lally to comment, “if Elton John was in Limp Bizkit…” and a heckler was invited onstage to sing lead vocals on another unplanned cover, this one the Madness version of “It Must Be Love” (a song I’ve never liked, and honestly could have done without that piece of vaudeville tonight). That aside, it was mostly entertaining, and there was always a cracking original with a positive message just around the corner (e.g. newie “UFO”, preceded by Tom’s comment of, “if you don’t fit into a building, it’s the building that has to change, not you!”). “Letter” finished the set proper, a couple of encores including the slightly throwaway “Turn Around” (“it’s so fucking stupid, I love it!” exclaiming Rylance), and the herky jerky “Burning House” rounding off a fun overall 1 hour 20, the band happily making no concessions to the small crowd and delivering a full-length set. Caught my breath before giving Joanne a lift home to the ‘don, home myself for 11.45. As I mentioned, I wasn’t sure what I was letting myself in for with The Lottery Winners tonight; I’m still not entirely sure, but it was darn good fun overall, whatever it was!

1,381 INHALER, Permanent Joy, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 17th April 2025

 

This one seemed a bit of a puzzler beforehand… young Irish post-punk bucks Inhaler had announced a Spring 2025 tour in support of new, 3rd album “Open Wide”, unfortunately venturing nowhere near the ‘don, but then blue-tacked a trio of “Album Shows” on, post-tour, one being at Bristol O2 Academy, scene of the last “proper” Inhaler Brizzle gig a couple of years ago (gig 1,264)! Given the size of the venue, then, this was never going to be a Rough Trade-style “meet and greet” do (shame!), but tix (which predictably flew out) were very competitively priced (about a tenner less than usual O2 gigs) and included a copy of the new album, posted out beforehand! Nice! But what does this mean for the show itself? An unsupported short set? “Open Wide” new album only set-list? Stripped-back and acoustic, even? Who the fuck knows?

“Open Wide” itself is another set of big, brain-hugging crescendo-led oven-ready stadium anthemic tuneage and soaring choral infectiousness, delivered in vocalist Elijah’s predictably naggingly familiar yearning vocal style. Them apples continuing to fall close to the tree then, in more ways than one, but repeated plays also revealing hints of an introspective maturity; again, unsurprisingly, given that at their age (all mid-20’s now, the Inhaler boys), Eli’s dad’s lot delivered their more contemplative 4^th album “The Unforgettable Fire”, and stepped up to stadium level with their “Longest Day” 1985 Milton Keynes Bowl headlining slot (gig 29!).

Anyhoops, a frustrating work day saw me and Logan turn around quickly for a 5.15 getaway, hoping to arrive well before doors; however, Easter getaway traffic forced us off the M4 at J18 (good thing too, as 18-19 was at a standstill!), tooling along country lanes behind Polzeath boy on his way to surf in Cornwall, and parking up at 6.30 door-time. Both queues (normal and O2 priority) were utterly ma-hoosive but luckily moved quickly, and we grabbed a spot half a dozen rows back, house right on the floor, surrounded by the Inhaler massive of (again) very excitable young females. An uncomfortable wait, then, before support act (yes, there was one!) Permanent Joy, on at 8. Opener “Save My Life” had an upbeat 90’s pseudo-countrified Gin Blossoms vibe with some nice 2-part harmonies but very understated, almost polite vocals, and the set thereafter delved into an introspective melancholy that occasionally sounded a bit bored. A band that clearly have never met a major chord in their lives, I quite liked the morose musical sandbox they were playing in; it just sounded like they themselves weren’t having much fun playing in it…! “Josephine” (no, not that one, much to Logan’s chagrin) was a warbly stadium weepie, but at least they picked it up for set closer “I Wanna Go Home”, an urgent U2-like rocker with some duelling guitar work. Verdict? Not sure, but not bad…

Logan was getting hyped up for a mosh, eyeing up potential routes in, as anticipation grew; then the lights smashed to black at 9 prompt to screams from the jam-packed crowd and Inhaler took the stage, Eli giving a soft, “hello,” before the dubby backbeat opening to a dramatic, building “Open Wide”. The soaring chimes of 2^nd album “oldie” “Dublin In Ecstasy” followed up in short order, initiating a jumpalong moshpit that practically filled the whole floor. So no, not a stripped-back, low-key acoustic set then, this…! 

Nope, this ultimately turned out a slightly shorter set than the tour, focussing majorly on the new album (10 of its’ 13 tracks getting an airing tonight in this 12-song set!), and just tipping the hour mark overall. So, pretty much like last time then… and the time before…! What it lacked slightly in length, however, it made up in passion, conviction and inclusivity, much of the new material gaining extra depth and power “live”. “Little Things” was a regimented Strokes-like jaunt; “Concrete” was a hyped-up superfast Smiths-esque “Charming Man” jangle; and “All I Got Is You” (“we’ve not done this before – go easy on us!” pleaded an otherwise taciturn Eli beforehand) was my favourite of the new stuff, a robust yet contemplative rocker.

The brooding widescreen build of “Still Young” gave an obvious nod to Eli’s dad’s lot’s “With Or Without You”, and “Eddie In The Darkness”’ understated verse burst into life with a very 80’s, almost goth-tinged off kilter hook; however closer, oldie “Your Honest Face” was predictably tonight’s highlight, a full-on moshpit catnip euphoric and soaring air-puncher, bringing the hour up and the set to a slightly abrupt end, much of this young crowd hoping for (and expecting) more. Patience and politeness was rewarded with a list, a couple of girls taking pix and enquiring about my list technique; then Logan bade adieu to Grace, an old school friend he’d bumped into, before we hit the road for 11 home. So, shame we missed the tour, but at least we were treated to an entertaining Inhaler vignette tonight, Eli and co. continuing their upwards trajectory!

1,380 MIKI BERENYI TRIO, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 6th April 2025

 

Another Rough Trade early evening shindig, this one, and a chance to rectify a recent wrong by actually paying (more) attention this time… I’d very recently encountered “My Shoegaze Queen”, ethereal-voiced yet sweary sailor-mouthed former Lush frontperson Miki Berenyi, fronting her new atmospheric trio in Bristol on a late call at the end of January (gig 1,366), but the circumstances of the day had meant my head wasn’t fully in the game, and I actually dipped out of the Golden Lion’s busy back room venue for half of their nonetheless fine and resonant set. No such excuses this time, though, as this was another “meet and greet” with the band, celebrating the release of their debut full-length, “Tripla”, which by all accounts not only is a pretty decent piece of work according to early reviews, but would also likely be played in full tonight…

So, an early evening drive down a sunny M4 got me parked up about 7, to join a smattering of folk in for a relatively quiet Sunday evening event. Joined recent gig buddy Guy from Bournemouth (!) down the front for a chat about last weekend’s Wedding Present gig, whilst Miki and her back-up boys set up. Miki then announced the reason for her tardiness onstage, saying to Guy, “I remembered, I forgot your brownies! Fuck, the brownies!”, to which guitarist and partner Moose replied, “fuck the brownies!” Punctuation is so important…

Anyhoops, on to the music… this early evening, Miki Berenyi and her trio delivered another understated but beguiling and dreamy performance, those familiar aspects of Lush such as shimmering, dreamlike pedal effects, pulsing, often off-kilter beats (supplied of course by backing loops) and of course Miki’s own perfectly enunciated, high register vocals in full force and effect, weaving a heavy, intoxicating and almost trancey atmosphere. It’s not quite rock’n’roll but I still like it… “Vertigo”s slow pitter patter and moody, “breathe out, breathe in,” hook was a dreamy note of meandering melancholy; “Gango”’s backbeat percussive pattern and herky-jerky beat recalled early Talking Heads (not the only number to do so tonight) and required a more assertive and strident vocal from Miki, eliciting a remark of, “that’s my exercise for the day, I need a fucking sit down now!”; and “Kinch” featured a lovely minor chord choral descent. Throughout all this, our Shoegaze Queen was her usual affable and sardonic self, offering an over-emphasised, “thank yewwww!” after every number, bantering with the front rows about their Sunday night drinking (Miki’s remark of, “I wasn’t going to [drink] today… not because of god…” eliciting a murmured, “sounds a bit goddy to me…” from bassist Oliver) and relating a tale of a previous night’s punter asking if a later “Manu” was called Man U (!), prompting a punter (a Leeds fan) to advocate for a punching for the offender! 

The robust New Order-esque synth beat and infectious undulating repetitive hook of “8^th Deadly Sin” was again my set highlight as well as an early candidate for my “Best of 2025” compo CD, although set “closer” “Big I Am” was a buoyant close runner up with its “ba ba ba” harmonies; then on top of the out-of-sequence full album run through, old Lush number “Undertow” (“we really enjoy playing this so we may record it…” commented Miki) fit snugly onto the end, demonstrating the apples haven’t really fallen far from the tree. 

I’d taken a late-set break but still managed to squirm forward to be in prime position for Miki’s list, provided by bassist Oliver, then joined the back of the queue with Guy, eventually greeting Miki with “my Queen!” to her amusement and having a brief chat about the returning My Bloody Valentine and their Wembley gig in November. “I think we’ll be able to hear it from our house!” she deadpanned to Moose at the prospect. Farewells to Guy and an economy drive home, back in the ‘don for half nine (!). Another successful Rough Trade evening, then, a promising new Miki album to listen to, and I’m glad I got to pay more attention this evening!

1,379 OCTOBER DRIFT, The Youthplay, Coast, Southampton Joiner's Arms, Tuesday 1st April 2025

 

After a very promising band of pretenders to the throne of current post-punk last night in Thus Love, tonight here’s the real deal in Taunton’s brilliant October Drift. Not only had this lot lain waste to The Thekla last time out in October 2024 (gig 1,353), their performance nailing down a spot in my Top 5 “live” acts of the year (in a pretty darn high-quality field…), but they’d also restored my appetite for “live” music after a fraught month dealing with the news of my wife Rachel’s cancer diagnosis. So, I’d eagerly booked for this, the opening night of a seeming continuation of their tour pushing their third album, “Blame The Young”, not only to immerse myself in another potentially incendiary post-punk night out, but also to share with the boys the news that things are now generally going well with Rachel’s treatment, and prognosis seems hopeful.

A busy school parent’s evening still saw me setting off down a sun-kissed M4/ A34 route down South, parking around the corner from the excellent Joiners and hitting the scuzzy back-room venue just after 7.30. Painfully young openers Coast were already rounding off a rocking opening number in front of a busy early-doors turnout of evident friends and family. The follow-up was more slower-burn, yet “This Time”, next up, really nailed their influences to the mast with some intricate Edge-like guitar licks either side of a big yearning chorus, and the subsequent “Outside On A Friday”, an aspiring proto stadium anthem, even had a bit of an early singalong! Clearly earnest and ambitious, then, this lot (plugging their forthcoming Heartbreakers headline slot with some enthusiasm), but nowt wrong in dreaming big, I guess… Main support The Youth Play were older, more practised and accomplished, with some galloping textural mood music giving obvious nods to dour post-punk and morose shoegaze; their amphetamine-fast opener recalled My Vitriol, and more atmospheric later material touched on recent finds Soft Kill. “After A Moment” was a moody, early Ride like number and probably the best of a promising, intriguing and idea-filled set, delivered with confidence and a resonant low baritone from the vocalist.

By then, I’d once again encountered Liz from Chandlers Ford, greeted OD soundman James from Indoor Pets as he disappeared upstairs, and also enjoyed a Bunnymen-centric chat with Jonathan and Faith from Fareham, in my spot down the front, house right. At 9.20, “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” swaggered out of the pa, and white-clad vocalist Kiron Roy led the band onstage, the huge swelling hook of the swayalong “Waltzer” igniting a mass singalong and getting the party started proper. “Southampton, we’re October Drift… let’s do this!” announced Kiron, already bent double and sawing away on this guitar nineteen to the dozen for the subsequent jagged and ragged “Demons”. Blowing the cobwebs away, and no mistake… 

I seem to be on a run of opening nights of October Drift tours; like that Thekla gig, last time out, they were once again “on it” from note one, delivering the kind of scarily committed and rocket-fuelled full-on energetic performance that has now become their trademark. “Hollow”’s massive anthemic hook ceded to a Bob Mould-esque squalling outro; “Blame The Young”, thrown casually in mid-set, accelerated into a hurtling, inexorable climactic build; and Kiron, who’d gestured and exhorted the crowd to get more involved from the off, had his first foray into the audience during the brooding, drum-dominated “Bleed”. A later “Airborne Panic Attack” also accelerated from a dead stop start into a thunderous intro, then dropped right back for an almost mumbled hushed verse before the massive roaring Nirvana-esque chorus, but the subsequent “Cherry Red” was the cheery on the cake and set highlight for me; this time it was wild-eyed and wild-haired guitarist Dan Young who ploughed into the centre of the mosh, initially coaxing squalling noise from his instrument as a punter fanned him, but thereafter leading the bounce-along to the dark gothy chorus.

After a fist-pumping “Oh The Silence”, Kiron again took floor central, dedicating the final number “Not Running” to his recently-lost grandmother, calling the elegiac yet soaring finale a “song for solidarity”, and ending another tremendous, incendiary October Drift set on a desolate yet triumphant note. Drummer Chris happily heard my shouts for his list, then after a short wait I caught up with the man in the bar, filling him in on our current family news. Again, Chris provided an understanding ear, typical of this band’s deep connection and genuine care for its’ audience. Pondered this on my swift drive home, back in the ‘don for 12.30. Why October Drift aren’t stadium massive already is a mystery for the ages; they absolutely deserve it not just because their canon is now chock-full of humungous oven-ready stadium bangers, but because they’re just about the nicest guys in rock’n’roll today. Indeed, October Drift are very much the Real Deal!

1,378 THUS LOVE, Ain’t, Bristol Strange Brew, Monday 31st March 2025

 

First of a two-in-two of young bands harking back to that growling post-punk sonic template; familiar faces tomorrow, but first here’s new Vermont 4-piece Thus Love. A self-styled “queercore” post-punk lot, I’d discovered them earlier this year via the good offices of the new band-breaking “Revolt Into Style” Facebook page, a little too late for their sophomore 2024 release “All Pleasure” to inveigle its’ way onto my “Best of 2024” Compo CD, but in plenty of time to book for their subsequent UK jaunt. “All Pleasure” is an intriguing blend of moody, tuneful and hooky Joy Division-esque post-punk with strident overlays of glammy 70’s NYC New Wave, similar in mood to last year’s finds Been Stellar and Slow Fiction, albeit with a little less shoegazey introspection and a bit more dynamism. And by all accounts, the dynamism and swagger is ramped up a few more notches “live” too; OK then, let’s see… 

Left a little late for a jaunt down a sunny M4, but parked up about 7.30 and wandered into this arty storefront venue, running into Bristol gig face Louise, a Thus Love fan of a couple of years standing, and chatting Suede briefly with her and her Suede-obsessed friend. Took a central spot for openers Ain’t. A 5-piece fronted by a striking pre-Raphaelite dressed hippychick vocalist with (initially) bunny ears, with an intriguing sonic template blending metronomic post-punk and considered, mid-paced Pumpkins-like angsty slacker grunge, they unfortunately suffered with a bad sound mix, rendering a lot of their material (and particularly said singers rather understated, lilting tones) struggling against the fuzzed-out guitar noise and pounding drums, making this set heavy going on the ears. A shame, as there sounded as if there might have been some decent material under there, to go along with the vocalist’s entertaining moves…

A respectable crowd had gathered as Thus Love took the stage dead on 9, to pulsing disco feedback, easing into oldie (and thus “newie” to me!) “Repititioner”, the plangent opening riff and ascending bass building into a languid mid-song wall of sound, recalling my 2000’s NYC faves The Stills, no less. “On The Floor” the opening track of “All Pleasure” followed, the hypnotic pulse and upbeat Joy Division-esque guitar riff sounding clear and purposeful, setting the tone for a tough, road-tested, robust and fulsome performance of their intriguing, hooky and resonant US alt-rock. “You guys good?” offered wonderfully-named vocalist Echo Mars (yes, Echo Mars, I shit you not!), to which Some Wag Down The Front (OK, me…) countered with, “yeah, how are you?” “Fucking living the dream, bud…” came the languid, drawled reply… 

I’d be inclined to believe that, actually, as Mars proved a natural frontperson, laconic and relaxed yet also dynamic and committed, backed up ably by an excellent, intuitive band. “Were any of you here when we last played this room? I was climbing that [speaker stack] like a monkey…”, ventured Mars, this time remaining confined to the stage and their guitar, nonetheless throwing shapes with abandon. “Birthday Song”’s slow burn, moody intro built to a sweeping choral crescendo; “House On A Hill” kicked in with a herky-jerky new wave rhythm underpinned by a sleazy, sinister Pixies-esque bassline before the wolverine growl of its’ denouement, bassist Ally Juleen screaming the hook to the rafters; and oldie “Put On Dog” was absolutely superb, a careering hellride with green strobes augmenting the mood of mutant madness. The kind of number most bands save until the end, but Thus Love stick it casually in mid-set. Confident…

A merch plug (“we get to buy dinner at home if you buy shirts!” pleaded the drummer) and an anti-Trump rant from Juleen preceded the brooding gothic death march of “Centerfield”; then the dissonant building hook of “Show Me Patience” recalled aforementioned recent US finds Been Stellar, before the eerie and growling Pixies-esque plod of “Lost In Translation” ended a damn fine set punctuated by a 2-song encore culminating in funky closer “Family Man”, and Juleen happily throwing the drummer’s list my way. By this time my knees were barking a little, so I decided to head off, wandering alongside the crowd just leaving the nearby SWX and dropping in for a snack in Taka Taka on the corner. Had an entertaining conversation therein with Ain’t’s relatively new (7 gigs in tonight) bass player, who during a meandering conversation about the current state of rock, made the mistake of asking me what I thought of them! I think he appreciated my honesty – at least he didn’t hit me! He did persuade me to give Ain’t another chance, which tbf I would have done anyway… No such persuasion required for tonight’s headliners though, Thus Love showing promise “live” even beyond my expectations. A band to see again… and again…

1,377 THE WEDDING PRESENT, Evy Frearson, Stroud The Sub Rooms, Saturday 29th March 2025

 

Alright Gedge me laddie, you did it on the big stage, let’s see if you can do it on the indie equivalent of a rainy night in Stoke…!

Lovelorn Indie guitar veterans The Wedding Present were undoubtedly the revelation of last year’s “Shiiine On”; I’d of course known them since their early pomp, first seeing them back in 1986 (on a Mighty Lemon Drops support slot at ULU, gig 58!), being astonished by the dexterity of main man and sole remaining original member David Gedge’s superfast guitar wrist action, and thoroughly enjoyed the headlong hurtle and thrashy rush of their early material, whilst the weekly music inkies positioned them as heirs to the Indie crown then recently vacated by The Smiths. Our paths diverged in the early 90s, however, and my interest had waned somewhat since, a decent showing at Swindon’s 12 Bar in 2008 (gig 751) notwithstanding. This had actually been the most recent time I’d paid specifically to see the Weddoes; the 3 occasions our paths had crossed since were on a Stuffies support bill and at previous “Shiiine On” showings, when each time they’d been lacklustre at best, so I’d taken some persuasion to check out their 2024 “Shiiine” appearance.

Well, they simply blew me away on that night, their performance possessing a caustic power and seething dynamism lacking for me since the 80s, running the excellent Modern English close for my Band of the Festival. A Million Miles better than recently, so Nobody’s Twisting my Arm to see them again! An early opportunity for a close quarters repeat came with this one-off Saturday show in nearby Stroud, so off I set just after 5ish, dumping the motor at Parliament car park (free after 5!) and wandering down the hill to this splendidly appointed town hall. Eventually got let in out of the cold at 6.30 doors, although the rope took another 10 minutes to come down for entry to the large upstairs hall venue, resembling a bigger Guildhall. Took a side-seat and watched the place slowly fill up, most arrivals also chatting with a merch-stand bound Gedge, before opener Evy Frearson took the stage at 7.30. A young and striking goth-esque solo acoustic gal, she regaled us with some octave-straddling vocal gymnastics and impressive off-mic work overlaying her distinctly 80s/90s US angsty alt-Americana-tinged material. A couple of early morose and moody numbers recalled Kristin Hersh, a more pastoral and plaintive “Better For You” had Lisa Loeb vibes, and a later, more conversational number evoked Suzanne Vega. Overall, eminently listenable and charming, if a little low-key for an indie rock support. Short too at barely 20 minutes…

Met and caught up with Gloucester mate Simon and his wife Sarah, and “Shiiine On” buddy Martin, here as part of a lads weekend in Nailsworth! The lights dimmed at 8.30 and I squirmed back to a slot 1/ back, house left, as Gedge led the Weddoes on prompt at 8.30, easing into newie “Two For The Road”, which initially seemed worryingly polite and understated, but happily sped up several gears midway through, really taking flight during the instrumental breaks and outro. “We’re the semi-legendary Wedding Present!” announced Gedge, then stating, “this is our first concert in Stroud; only took us 39 years…” before oldie “A Million Miles” took a similar pattern, sneaking in slowly then gathering serious momentum throughout its yearning, personal length. 

This pretty much set the tone for another impressive Wedding Present set, happily continuing that “Shiiine On” form. A longer and consequently less focussed and consistent set, maybe, but even tonight’s troughs were miles better than their flat and perfunctory mid to late 20-teens sets. And the highs? Well, most usually arrived towards the end of particular numbers, when the choppy and thrashy dual guitar attack interplay between Gedge and new guitarist Rachael was, well, no less than utterly thrilling, and occasionally quite breathtaking, actually… “Dalliance”’s slow brooding burn built to a noisy crescendo for an early highlight, Gedge throwing shapes and growling the hook in his low yet strident tones; “Corduroy” segued from droney verse into faster choppy guitar chorus and squalling finale; and a brisk “You Should Always Keep On Touch With Your Friends” was excellent, Gedge displaying that wrist dexterity of old. Throughout all this, the old chap was in fine fooling too, reacting to good-natured boos from the front rows to his intention to take things down a notch for an early “Sports Car” with, “blimey what a confrontational audience!” and asking Stroud, “is it posh here, or rough?”, eliciting mixed comments in response. 

By this time, I was nearer the front, extreme house right, courtesy of a quick loo break, but was enticed into a good-natured (well, despite one, erm, “well refreshed” bloke in orange throwing his weight around) mosh during a later “Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm”, running into old mate and Weddoes acolyte Stu (here with some mutual friends) in the front rows! Thereafter, it was Hitsville, West Yorkshire, to the finish; the metronomic clatter of “Kennedy”, an undulating, heartfelt “My Favourite Dress”, a potent and powerful “Bewitched”, then, after thanks from the main man (“What a great night this has been! We should come back in another 40 years… in [20]65…”), a Tex Mex instrumental version of closer “Brassneck”, which ultimately segued into a terrific breakneck-pace full rendition, to end another redemptive Weddoes set. 

Grabbed a lucky list and said farewells to Simon and Sarah, then spotted Stu talking to a familiar face in Ride’s bassist Steve Queralt, so I again took the opportunity to petition his band to play “Shiiine On”! Not this year, but never say never, came the reply… A signature and brief compliments with Gedge at the merch stand before I hit the road for home, with old mates Stu and Paul in tow this time, and all in agreement that this current Weddoes line-up is top-notch, with excellent new guitarist Rachael imbuing them with new life, power and purpose. So, back on my Gig Radar with a vengeance, and hopefully this time for good!

1,376 THE HORRORS, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 23rd March 2025

 

Another Rough Trade album release show, and this time it’s from a band that time (almost) forgot… The Horrors, cartoon goths turned post-punk acolytes turned increasingly synth-powered purveyors of eerie atmospheric and metronomic Krautrock, had last been sighted on their “V” album tour, on another splendid “live” showing at the now-sadly defunct Bierkeller back in Autumn 2017 (gig 1,058). Since then, however, nothing. Nowt. Nada. Zip. For eight long years it actually seemed The Horrors had crept back into their crypt, joining Bela Lugosi in the long sleep of the eternal. That is, until news filtered through from the beyond, of a new album, and a Bristol release show. Aw, go on then…

Knowing that that damn bridge was still keeping the M4 shut between J18 and 19, however, I kept an eye on my SatNav ETA all afternoon, although I nearly ended up leaving late due to getting hooked in on a film (the schmaltzy “It Ends With Us”, I have to admit...) However, my 5.30 departure was still showing a 6.45 arrival as I left the M4 at J18, deciding on a whim to follow my SatNav directions down a country lane to shave 5 minutes off the journey. Big mistake. 5 minutes later I was sat in an unmoving queue as my ETA extended… and extended… and extended. Bah! After another 5 minutes of moving about 10 yards, and with my ETA now at 7.30, I flipped it around and hared back to the main road, tanking it as much as possible along winding but at least moving country roads, eventually coming in trough the armpit end of Brizzle and dumping the motor at 10 past 7. Luckily reports of The Horrors starting their set at 7 proved inaccurate, so I had time to catch my breath, squeeze into a house right spot a few rows back in this busy room (this one being so popular, in fact, that they’d added a matinee event earlier today!) and enjoy some chat about The Chameleons and The National with a fellow punter, before The Goblin King, Faris Badwan, led a contracted 3-piece version of the band on, fashionably late at 7.40. “A Horrors experiment, playing as a 3-piece,” Faris later said, but with a huge bank of keyboards sufficient to land a 747 with, this was no “stripped back” or “acoustic” performance…anyway, they’re more synthetic than acoustic?! 

Anyway, opener “Mirror’s Image” snuck in surreptitiously with a synth pitter patter courtesy of keyboardist Amelia Kidd, followed by a big bassy beat overlay, whilst Faris, resembling a “Saint Julian”-era Cope only more like a distorted City Hobgoblin, ten times his height and one tenth his weight (!), draped himself over his mic stand like a half man, half preying mantis, to deliver his haunting baritone vocal, whilst bassist Rhys Webb underpinned the beat with a distinctly Peter Hook-like low, resonant bassline. New number “The Silence That Remains” featured a muffled synth beat redolent of “She’s Lost Control”, with Faris’ vocals particularly echoey, adding to the spell of mystery and menace woven by the atmospheric synths, and oldie “Who Can Say” was more upbeat, propelled by a growling, almost gravelly bassline.

“More Than Life”, another “Night Life” cut, was for me the best of the 3 new ones tonight; almost an 80’s throwback in mood and songcraft, this pulsing and pulsating number gave reverential nods to the likes of early Human League and Talk Talk. Then Faris quipped, “this [room] is literally what Rhys’ living room is like! We did most of the record there…”, before the sweeping, almost stately Bunny-esque feel of a swaying “Still Life”. The absorbing and occasionally discordant “Sea Within A Sea” saw a beatific Faris clasping a front row punter’s hand, almost as if to keep himself upright (!), then this 7-song vignette concluded with the Krautrock industrial bleakness and Chameleons-like verse construction of a final new number, “Lotus Eater”, before Faris thanked us for our attention, leaving with, “see you in a moment…”

By now I’d wormed my way to the back of the room so was one of the first in line for the signing, chatting with a fellow punter (and fellow David!). On my turn, Rhys complimented my old school goth Bauhaus tee and Edvard Munch “Scream” shirt ensemble, so I retorted with a story of my first Horrors “live” experience, the black balloon fiasco of gig 723, waaay back in 2007 (!), causing Faris to recoil at the memory and declare that, “a one-off…”. Despite this gentle ribbing, I found them personable folk and left declaring my intention to catch them on their proper tour later this year, before a much easier drive home (ignoring my SatNav and following the diversion signs!) got me home in half the time it took to get there! So, hibernation now being over, The Horrors have re-emerged, blinking into the light. Welcome back!

1,375 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, Ricky Warwick and the Fighting Hearts, Bristol O2 Academy, Friday 21st March 2025

 

Tale as old as time… or at least one as familiar as old socks! Every year the SLF tour is announced, every year a thought flits through my mind saying, maybe it’s time to pack this in, pop this tradition on the shelf after a couple of decades… yet pretty much every year I find a reason to go. This time it was its’ very familiarity that gave me the impetus; after initially hesitating, I then considered that, given the awful events of late last year with my wife’s cancer diagnosis (which happily seems to be responding to the prescribed treatment), a familiar night out in the company of old friends, singing along raucously to some equally familiar anthemic old school punk, might be just the ticket. So, my Chrimbo list ultimately included one Fingers Brizzle ticket, and “Mad March to Bristol” Take 17 (in 21 years, and 22^nd SLF gig overall) was on…!

As the date arrived, however, I unfortunately wasn’t the only one in need of some familiarity; my long-time best mate and constant “Mad March” gig buddy Rich sadly lost his dad in the preceding week. Gratifyingly, Rich took the same stance that I did after hitting the gig trail a couple of days after my mother’s passing, insofar as doing something that gives life meaning and value, such as “live” music always seems to do for me, is the best way to honour those passed. I therefore picked The Big Man up, also scooping up old school friend and, astonishingly, SLF first timer Keith on the way for a swift drive down before the M4 shut at 7. In the venue, we toasted to the memory of Rich’s dad, before taking our usual house left spot on the fringes of the anticipated mosh area (this becomes a bit more relevant later!) for openers, SLF main man Jake Burns’ old mate Ricky Warwick and his Fighting Hearts. The hard-hitting and hard-rocking opener set the tone, with strong-armed US rock riffery overlaid by Warwick’s Phil Lynott-esque delivery (no surprise, that, given I saw him fronting an ersatz Lizzy line-up at the Meca, many moons ago – gig 819!) and lyrical references to “roads to ragged ruin” and “angels of desolation”. Some musical nods to Thin Lizzy as well, in a later “new” number, and I also liked both the tinges of Gaslight Anthem in the singalong “oh-oh”s of “When Patsy Cline Was Crazy”, albeit shot through an Aerosmith rather than Springsteen filter, and the ragged cover of old US punker Johnny Thunders’ “Born To Lose”. Overall, though, this was earnest music to spit tobacco and ride Harleys to, which whilst palatable, wasn’t my thing.

Took a loo break and bumped into Rach’s old friends and fellow “Shiiiners” Duncan and Rick, also popping their SLF cherries tonight (Duncan exclaiming this as his first “punk rock show!”), before shoehorning my way back to our now very crowded spot. If this wasn’t a sell-out on the night, it was damn close… The Greatest Intro Music in Rock, the pounding drums and soaring “diddly-doo!” singalong of “Go For It” saw the imposing girth of Jake Burns lead the band onstage at 9, greeting us as ever with a cheery “Bristol, how you doing? Y’allright?” then hurtling into opener “Roots Radicals Rockers and Reggae”, the buoyant and engaged crowd lustily chanting back the “Go For It!” hook, the band then segueing seamlessly into the dramatic drumroll opening of “At The Edge”, followed again in equally short order by a venomous “Wasted Life”. Not fucking about tonight, this lot…!

Thankfully, momentum was maintained; despite going off-piste with some mid-set song choices, Stiff Little Fingers delivered one of their better performances of recent times and ended their tour (tomorrow’s London date notwithstanding) on a real high. An excellent “Strummerville” preceded “story time” from Jake, explaining the sleazy slum lord ancestry of “the greatest spoiled brat the world has ever seen!”, i.e. the orange buffoon incumbent of the White House, a pointed newie “Mary’s Boy Child” (no, not that one) hammering the point home that, “Mary’s parenting skills were shite!” An unexpected “Straw Dogs” nearly saw me joining the mosh, but, after an unexpected deep cut of a fine “Piccadilly Circus” and a diatribe about looking out for each other’s mental health prior to “My Dark Places”, I was eventually swept in thanks to a flurry of big blokes piling past me for “Nobody’s Hero”, detaching me from my crew. So, why the fuck not? Thereafter, the rest of the set for me was an object lesson in staying upright in the hectic mosh, grabbing on to folks for dear life (including my old punk buddy Plum!), and blasting out the lyrics of “Hero”, a brilliantly widescreen “Tin Soldiers”, a savage “Suspect Device” and unexpected set closer “Gotta Getaway” into fellow moshers’ faces, and having them shouted back with equal conviction. Nice!

Rakish bassist Ali McMordie then addressed us “old scrots, like us!”, also noting some younger fans amongst the crowd, before the first encore of “Barbed Wire Love” saw me finding Rich for our traditional mid-song doo-wop waltz. “Alternative Ulster” ended a breathless (quite literally from my mosh position!) and redemptive set, the band taking a deserved bow, then a relatively easy setlist and a pause for breath got us back in the car in short order to tackle a less arduous than expected diversion, home just after midnight, late kebab tea in tow. “Thanks, that was just what I needed,” said The Big Man as I dropped him off, although the feeling tonight was entirely mutual. The tale continues…

1,374 EXTC, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Saturday 15th March 2025

 

Night 2 of my late “Dance Card” additions thanks to my old friend Paul Crowfoot’s UK visit, and this is a closer one as promised, just up the A419 to Gloucester to see EXTC at the splendid Guildhall! This lot, ex-XTC drummer Terry Chambers’ brainchild to keep on performing his iconic former band’s classic idiosyncratic back catalogue mix of 70’s herky-jerky new wave and smoother, 80’s Beatles-based melodic and slightly-delic pop “live”, had of course been recent regulars on my gig schedule. However, our paths hadn’t crossed since late 2021 (gig 1,188), as Chambers and co. had taken their music beyond the ‘don to more far-flung fields, also trimming their number down to a 3-piece in the process with the departure of wide-eyed, wild haired centre-of-attention vocalist Steve Tilling. This latter point had, in all honesty, been on my mind when I initially eschewed the chance to book for this one, but when Paul suggested this one as well as last night’s trip, I didn’t really need too much persuasion…!

He picked me up this time in his rental, and we hared off up the A419, parking around the back of Gloucester’s Leisure Centre, scene of some legendary 80’s gigs from the likes of The Smiths and The Bunnymen, then we met Roger and a group of locals he’d befriended in The Thirsty Pine pub, enjoying some rock chat to the backdrop of some noisy locals cheering on the egg chasing on the big screen. They carried on to another local hostelry, but I popped into the venue early to suss out the scene and running order. A couple of sets with interval and no support awaited, and I picked up a fully signed setlist from the merch stand for a tenner, to avoid the bunfight afterwards, because do I really care where I get a list from, so long as I get one? I do not! The guys arrived and we grabbed a spot near the front, house left, as the 3-piece band arrived at 8.15, opening with an understated version of angular oldie “This Is Pop”, with bald, wizened guitarist Steve Hampton taking a growly lead vocal on this one, then exclaiming, “look at you! There’s millions of you!”

Fears that the performance may suffer in comparison to the 4-piece line-up happily didn’t come to pass; despite Hampton lacking the manic ebullience of former frontman Tilling, he was a relaxed and affable main man, at ease with the crowd and bantering with the front rows. That said, the initial set was a little muted and low-key, the song selection mainly drawing from latter day deep cuts and album tracks. “No Language In Our Lungs”, for example, plodded along, enlivened only by a lengthy outro note from Hampton, causing him to exclaim, “can someone hand me my spleen back?”, although the lugubrious “Towers Of London” was an early highlight, followed by Hampton’s story of borrowing the XTC album “Black Sea” from bassist and long-time comrade Terry Lines, and hating it! We also got an early singalong for the jolly chorus of “Senses Working Overtime” and I enjoyed the descending plaintive hook of “Peter Pumpkinhead” but overall, this opening set was proficient, sedate and reverential, with the “Handle With Care” warnings fully observed.

Took a late loo break and ran into old 80’s gig buddy Tim Lezard, who then joined us for the second set which, following the pastoral breeze of opener “Grass”, happily took things up several notches. The undulating pop of “Mayor Of Simpleton” got me shaking a leg, and the excellent growling backbeat of “No Thugs In Our House” kept it going. Thereafter it was Hitsville, North Wiltshire, as the fist-pumping “Sgt. Rock” (a song with, “more hooks than a longhaul trawler!” quipped Hampton) and the jagged angular rhythmic shapes of “Rocket From A Bottle” kept the momentum high. The bluebeat chant of “Living Through Another Cuba” segued effortlessly into a brilliantly bouncy “Generals And Majors”, the singalong middle-8 “almost sexual!” according to the vocalist. The inevitable “Making Plans For Nigel” capped the set proper, although Hampton announced their intention to plough through into the encore, mainly to avoid, “going down the [venue’s] Death Stairs – [they’re] like going down to Mordor… or Portsmouth!” Overall set highlight, the ridiculously infectious hook of new wave classic “Life Begins At The Hop” ended a superb sweaty second set, the band, with Chambers deferentially front and centre, taking a bow after a right proper game of 2 halves, but one which rightly saved the best till last. 

A gathering of breath and farewells to our accumulated gang, then Paul and I hit the road, grabbing a Penhill kebab on the way home. So overall, another excellent night out with old friends, but this time – the second EXTC set in particular – the entertainment matched the company. Safe travels, Paul, let’s gig again when you next muddy these shores!

1,373 THE LOFT, Yeah Yeah Noh, Birmingham Castle and Falcon, Friday 14th March 2025

 

A couple of late additions to my Spring Dance Card for tonight and tomorrow, courtesy of my old friend Paul Crowfoot! Seattle-domiciled Paul gave me the heads-up earlier this week that he was flying in for a business meeting in France and had finagled a weekend family visit in the ‘don, but had also arranged a couple of gigs whilst in Blighty, and would I fancy joining him? A chance to catch up with an old friend with “live” music as a backdrop… why the hell not? Tomorrow is a closer trip to see some hometown heroes, but first, a long jaunt to catch jangly proto-C86 janglers The Loft in Birmingham, near where mutual friend and another expat Townie Roger Herman lives. The Loft had already split by the time I picked up on them back in the 80’s, singer/songwriter Pete Astor and drummer Dave Morgan then forming the more countrified guitar merchants The Weather Prophets, whom I did like, picking up their albums and seeing them one time in 1987 (gig 76!). My musical tastes had subsequently led me elsewhere, so I was unfamiliar with Astor’s post-WP activity, so tonight, musically at least, was a voyage of discovery…

Speaking of voyage… I picked Paul up from his sister’s place at 5, and a swift drive catching up on family matters and putting the world to rights got us street parked up a stone’s throw from the venue just after 7. The place wasn’t yet open, so we met Roger and his charming wife Kate in the queue, before continuing the chat in this pub back-room venue, which reminded me in size and orientation (if not altitude!) of Cardiff’s Clwb Ifor Bach! A smattering of old musos and locals had gathered for 6-piece support Yeah Yeah Noh, on at 8.10. Of similar vintage to the headliners, they’d passed me by back then and honestly gave me no reason to regret that tonight. I liked a few of their numbers – opener “Bias Binding” was a racey rambunctious number with a chanted hook, “Beware The Weakling Lines” was a jolly Fall/ Sultans Of Ping-esque droney rant and my favourite of their set (despite the vocalist warning, “this is terrible, but what the fuck…”), and a little vignette from The Shop Assistants’ “Train From Kansas City” enlivened the final number – but overall their basic ramshackle DIY toytown jangle sounded dated and even incongruous, particularly when played by be-suited 60-somethings. At nearly an hour as well, this was one to file under, “Heavy Going”…

We’d secured a table, house left, on entry, and I stayed there while my gig companions grabbed a spot nearer the front for The Loft’s entrance at 9.45. “You’re all looking fine,” complimented guitarist Andy Strickland (whom I’d recently seen in the reformed Chesterfields line-up) before dapper turtle-necked vocalist Astor counted them in to opener “On A Tuesday”, a robust Byrds-esque jangle-fest with a slight hint of underlying menace. This pretty much set the tone for a melodic, accomplished sounding and well-crafted set of thoughtful and erudite indie pop, with various classic 60’s influences at play (The Byrds being an obvious signpost, although a louche early “Elephant” had hints of Jonathan Richman, and a mid-set “Up The Hill And Down The Slope” – a track I did know well before tonight – featured Astor going all Lou Reed on us with his garbled yet languid vocal delivery, over its’ taut, tense duelling guitar riffery), and delivered with an understated laconic wit. “It may stun you, but I actually have a job,” deadpanned Astor before the more trad-country rockisms of “Got A Job”, “[as] a garbage collector…!”

I missed most of the mid-set layered textural guitar workout of “Winter” as I took a call outside from my son Logan, off with his mates in Bournemouth this weekend, but grabbed my seat back for their rendition of The Weather Prophets’ late-period Violent Femmes-esque murder ballad “Worm In My Brain”. Then the plangent and plaintive harmony of a late “Why Does The Rain” was my overall set highlight, a hooky “Dr. Clarke” rounding off the set before a 2 song encore took us up to a late 5 to 11. Roger and Kate had already headed off to catch their local train home, so Paul and I made a quick getaway on The Loft’s final note, a confusing SatNav route initially taking us North before getting us onto the M42 and M5 for an equally swift chat-enlivened drive home, getting Paul home at 12.30.

So overall, Yeah Yeah Noh were a no no no from me, but The Loft were better than I anticipated, despite a fair percentage of the material being a little too trad-countrified for my tastes, and I’d certainly be happy to catch them again. However, tonight was all about catching up with old friends, so in that regard, this was a splendid and entirely successful evening out!

1,372 BOB MOULD, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 9th March 2025

 

These Rough Trade “Meet and Greet”s are going to serve me well this year, it seems; this is the first of four such instore CD release shows I’ve got booked on my Spring Dance Card, and let’s face it, they don’t get much bigger, either in size or reputation, than Bob Mould! Mould, the iconic US alt-rock figurehead of both seminal 80’s popcore pioneers Husker Du and equally influential 90’s power trio Sugar, announced some instore shows in support of his forthcoming new release “Here We Go Crazy”, his 13^th (!) solo release (on top of 7 for the Du and 3 for Sugar!) yet first since 2020’s “Blue Hearts”, and happily Bristol was on the list, albeit on a Sunday lunchtime. Hopefully this would mean a decrease in volume for both the small RT back room and with respect to the Sabbath, given that my last time out with The Man was “Shiiine On” 2019 (gig 1,161), when he singlehandedly burst 3,000 eardrums in Centre Stage with a palpable assault of noise…

A lunchtime gig meant a morning departure, so I dragged Logan out of bed and gave him a quick crash course on Bob’s works on a sunny drive down, grabbing my hungry son some breakfast in Taka Taka before we hit Rough Trade to grab our CDs. Did a bit of shopping as well, Logan filling up my useful bag with flexidiscs and books before we wandered into the already-busy back room 20 minutes before Bob was due on, grabbing a spot house right, about 4 rows back from the stage. Spotted Devizes gig Alfie front row centre; he must have been first in the queue! Also had a nice chat with fellow punters Mary and Dave, Mary having seen Husker Du at the Bierkeller in 1986! Jealous!

The Man Himself wandered on prompt at 1 p.m., arranging his backline before strapping on his faithful Strat, greeting us with a surprisingly softly spoken, “good afternoon,” then ripping into buoyant and upbeat opener “The War” with his usual fierce and intense conviction, blasting out his vocals with his usual stentorian Smilodon roar and striding around the small stage like a caged tiger. Having said that, the sound was loud but not overpowering this time, the riffs strident but not brutal, so a definite improvement from “Shiiine On”, I’m glad to say! Husker Du oldie “Flip Your Wig” flew by in an effervescent hooky flash, before the energetic attack of “Hard To Get” heralded a slew of the new album material. “It’s gotten warm in here in a hurry,” admitted an already-perspiring Bob, replying to a punters’ heckle with, “that’s because I’m hot as fuck!” 

Hot stuff indeed! The new album numbers trod the same time-worn path of his previous extensive and impressive canon of work; strident hard-rocking punk rock electric guitar sandblasting your ears, then the underlying irresistible hooks and melodies kissing them better. The Trail Of Rage And Melody, as his revealing autobiography states, indeed! Title track “Here We Go Crazy” was next up, slower burn yet potently melodic, then Bob blamed the pandemic for the unusually long interval between album releases, prior to a more understated and even melancholy “Breathing Room”. The affable and unusually voluble singer then shared his thoughts on the state of the world, and particularly his home country of the USA, admitting, “I’m so embarrassed for my country,” then explaining US politics through the filter of “MAD” Magazine. Sounds about right…

A brilliant, desolate and mournful “Too Far Down” followed a pro-Trans rights speech from The Great Man, before he left us on a high note with a triad of deep cuts from his past; firstly, the irresistible hurtle and sinuous tempo-change of the Du’s “Celebrated Summer”, then the soaring metallic resonance of Sugar’s “Hoover Dam”, and finally, after sincere thanks to the audience, the cherry on the icing that was “Makes No Sense At All”, Bob eliciting the help of the audience to sing back the ridiculously infectious hook. In any other world, this song would have dominated the airwaves for decades, but on this, it was just an excellent way to finish a rather splendid 40-minute vignette from The Man and, appetite whetter for the new album. 

We caught our breath and chatted to Alfie (who’d got Bob’s list of course… nice one!), then joined the back of a happily swift-moving queue to meet The Man. I’d brought along my Gig Book No. 1 to show him the flyer for my first Bob “live” experience, on the “Workbook” tour back in 1989 (gig 146!)… he signed said flyer, took a pic of my book and called it, “a beautiful thing!” Whoa, I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy etc… A Taka Taka for late lunch before a swift drive home for just after 4pm. Great stuff, and a most agreeable way to spend The Sabbath; Bob is back and restored to his full plangent glory (noisy, sure, but not too noisy!), and the new album material sounds very promising indeed…!