1,388 TONY VISCONTI AND WOODY WOODMANSEY’S HOLY HOLY, Bristol O2 Academy, Friday 30th May 2025

 

So, once again the age-old question rears its’ head… is it a “tribute” band if there’s still one of the original members still on board? And, in this particular instance, do I give a shit either way?!

David Bowie’s “Life On Mars” was the first song which made me prick up my ears at age 7, his music subsequently influencing pretty much every musical phase, genre or type I’d been into since. I got to see the Great Man just the once, in 2003 on his final “Reality” tour (gig 617), for one of the best gigs of my life, and I’ve even attended a couple of Bowie tribute gigs down the years (!). This one, however, was no mere “tribute”, at least in the current “pub back room covers band” sense of the word; featuring a duo of former Bowie backing boys in ex-Spiders From Mars drummer Mick “Woody” Woodmansey, and longtime bassist and producer Tony Visconti, Holy Holy are a “supergroup” ensemble cast dedicated to keeping the works of the original musical innovator, re-inventor and chameleonic genius alive onstage. And starring on vocals was none other than Glenn Gregory, 80’s synth survivors Heaven 17’s stylish frontman lending his delicious baritone to the Thin White Duke’s works. A match made in rock heaven, surely? I snapped up tix for me and my gig buddy son (and increasing rock student, if his frequent plays of Jonathan Richman and The Velvet Underground are anything to go by!) Logan pronto, for what promised to be a proper Bowie celebration…

Mindful of last night’s M4 traffic plus plenty else going on near the O2, we headed off early for an easier than anticipated run, joining the O2 priority queue and getting barrier spots, house right on entry, next to chatty and excitable mother and daughter duo Jude and Liv early doors, then my old friend Ben and his lovely wife Brinda later. Much rock chat ensued, the intended 8.30 start passing by, before the lights dimmed, the photo pit boys popped out (affording us a brief conversation with old friend and lensman maestro Martin), and the 8-piece Holy Holy took the stage to the austere synth strains of Bowie’s “Low” period masterpiece “Warszawa”. Gregory, stylish in black and hastily discarded white sports jacket, sashayed onstage last as the band then burst into the tempo-changing and undulating early deep-cut psych-folk collision of “Width Of A Circle”. He was immediately the focal point, a showman, expansive of gesture and deep and authoritative of voice, but he laudably deflected attention to Messrs. Visconti and Woodmansey (“the last Spider From Mars!”), before announcing, “I’m a massive David Bowie fan – as you all are – but I have the privilege of standing up here with this motherfucker [brandishing his mic]!” 

T'was a privilege he did not squander; relating the story of his first meeting with Visconti who immediately told him, “There’s quite a bit of David in your voice!”, Gregory was the perfect man for this job, leading this virtuoso band through a set happily drawn primarily from Bowie’s utterly flawless 70’s canon. An early, fulsome and muscular “Ziggy Stardust”, the ultimate glam (goth?) anthem, was followed by Gregory incredulously exclaiming, “I can’t wrap my head around that Woody did that [with Bowie] for real!”; “Time”’s off-kilter claustrophobic 30’s music hall staccato cabaret dance was unsettling and sweeping in equal measure; and “Changes” was a quite magnificent early highlight, blending introspective melancholy and anthemic joy. The slightly frail looking Visconti (no surprise, as he’s topping 81!) then took centre stage, having learned “slap bass” for the skewed Neo-New Romanticisms of “Ashes To Ashes”, then the ebullient doo-wop and soaring chorus of “Drive In Saturday” (a number reminding Gregory of a long hot Summer in Sheffield – “yes there was one!” – with his first girlfriend) was another unexpected highlight, and an earworm which remained with me for days afterwards. A lyric slipup from Gregory during the eerie strum of “Space Oddity” necessitated a restart (“just press erase!” he demanded of the phone recorders in the crowd), the man flicking the “V”s at the cheering punters as he nailed the lyric second time around. But the playful mood switched to sombre reflection as, much like “Dreams Of Leaving” during that brilliant Gregory-led Heaven 17 first 2 Human League albums performance (gig 1,189), the elegiac post-apocalyptic “Ziggy” opener “Five Years” was stunning, a lugubrious and haunting build to a climactic rage against the dying of the light, Gregory delivering his best and most expressive vocal of the night. 

The set highlight, however, was reserved for one song and one song only; Gregory shared a painful memory of touring with Holy Holy at the time of Bowie’s death in 2016, Tony Visconti (one of a very small inner circle who knew of the extent of Bowie’s illness) advising that if they carried on, it would be with the Great Man’s blessing; so they did, albeit initially to tearful audiences, particularly for one number… The unmistakeable sole piano note of “Life On Mars” then led into a breathtakingly beautiful version of likely The Greatest Song Ever Written, Woodmansey’s drum build to the skyscraping chorus and that high out-note (nailed perfectly by Gregory) strident and potent, the heartfelt singalong all-inclusive and communal. Wow. You know, just one of those moments when all you can say is… Wow.

The cosmic psych-folk of “Moonage Daydream” rounded off the set proper, Gregory commenting on my “H17 play Reproduction and Travelogue” tee from the aforementioned gig 1,189 as he took the stage for the encore, so I couldn’t resist retorting, “I just love hearing you sing other people’s songs!” The potent backbeat of fist-pumping glam anthem “Rebel Rebel”, featuring a stellar hard-hitting performance from Woodmansey, working over his snare with the vigour of a man a third his 75 years (!), drew the music to a close, although both Visconti and Woodmansey then took centre stage to pay their tributes to their departed friend, and thank we the crowd for keeping his legacy alive. Farewells to our gig companions then, before a friendly roadie sorted me with Gregory’s own list; we then lurked around a brief while in the foyer and were happily rewarded with Mr. Woodmansey himself making an appearance, so we managed a quick word, signature and pics with a true rock’n’roll legend. Result! Late home after midnight with another late kebab tea in tow, but this one was well worth the lost sleep. Bowie’s ground-breaking imprint, influence and sheer force of presence and personality resonates down the years and still permeates through everything that is challenging, innovative and worthwhile in music. And tonight, his old friends and comrades, along with their brilliantly chosen musical companions, did the great man total justice, delivering the ultimate tribute to the ultimate innovator himself; David Bowie!

1,387 SPORTS TEAM, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Thursday 29th May 2025

 

Another of those entertaining Rough Trade “in-Stores”, this, and this time it’s for one of Logan’s favourites, upbeat and swaggering post-millennial indie roustabouts Sports Team. We’d caught them a couple of times in 2022, firstly at our Victorious Festival day trip (gig 1,240) and a month later at this very venue, pushing their then-current album “Gulp” (gig 1,244) and marking Logan’s first ever participation in a moshpit! Unfortunately, we’d not had the chance to catch them since, but as soon as I heard about this one, I remembered that the last such event here had sold out so booked immediately. Good thing too, as tix for this one flew out too, prompting the band to add a matinee as well! 

So, this gig was again in support of a new release; their 3^rd full-length, “Boys These Days” which came out earlier this week. I’d only heard snatches of the new material prior to this gig, particularly leadoff track “I’m In Love (Subaru)” which marks a definite departure from their knockabout Britpop-inflected, slightly trad but catchy upbeat singalong indie, and into a smoother, synth- and saxophone embellished radio-friendly 80’s sound – if I’m feeling kind, I’d say reminiscent of Prefab Sprout or even personal favourites Furniture or Big Dish; if not, Hall And Oates! However, in a current “indie” landscape seemingly smothered by cookie-cutter homogenous shouty and laddish indie landfill bands (Ks, Rosadocs, Lathums, Sherlocks et al), I admire them for trying a different approach, but is this a bit too radical a shift? Would they lose their slightly naughty boy charm in the process? And, most fundamentally of all, would it be any good? Questions, questions… 

Logan and I pondered this whilst listening to the new album on the way down, breaking one of my gigging rules in the process, that being… don’t listen to the band you’re going to see on the way there! Still, t’was Logan’s shout, and it was a pretty decent listen, if lower-key than previous releases, and featuring one particularly startling departure from their previous buoyant and boyish oeuvre (more on that later). So, hopes were buoyed as we hit a practically deserted Rough Trade shop at 6.45 – no wonder, everyone was already in the venue! Had a poke around before joining the crowd at 7.15 and squeezing into a viewing spot halfway back, house right against the side curtain, for a hot and uncomfortable wait. I’d noticed that our CDs, collected on entry, were all pre-signed, but a quick chat with ST bassist Oli Dewdney in the RT café after a last-minute loo dash revealed this was just to save time, as one of the band had to catch the last train without fail to get home for their 5 month old baby, but the band were still doing meet and greet afterwards. So! 

Anyhoops, back in for Sports Team’s onstage arrival at 20 to 8 to the backing track of Meat Loaf’s “Bat Out Of Hell”! Yipe! Nonetheless, they set to their task with their usual vigour and enthusiasm, ultimately packing 9 songs into a performance clocking in at just over 35 minutes! “Gulp” standout “The Drop” opened, then the Woodentopsy rockabilly Wild West vibe of “Bang Bang Bang” saw vocalist Alex Rice don a cowboy hat to deliver the gabbling, galloping lyric. “Apologies for the voice,” he pleaded, “this is the final one of 23 shows in 6 days!” The Violent Femmes-like descending bass of frantic oldie “Camel Crew” saw a circle pit form to our left, so I rather predictably lost Logan at this point; “Subaru” followed, all louche and Sprout-tastic, yet still possessing a big hook sung back by Logan and his mosh cohorts; and Alex requested one last chart push for the new album (“peel off all the “Brit-nominated” stickers and put them on it!”), bigging up Ron Mael-like pianist Ben Mack before the keys-led and expansive, Blur-like new album title track. 

Dynamic and punky oldie “Here’s The Thing” was one final clarion call to arms for the mosh; then Alex thanked the attendees and announced, “one more song”, so I found Logan in the mosh to get him to meet me in the queue, before listening to the closer at the back. Said number, “When I’m 30” was the one I’d alluded to earlier; a real departure, this, all brooding, introspective and moody in both atmosphere and its’ “coming of age” lyricism, building along its early-Pulp-esque length into a symphonic and quite lovely climactic outro. Quite possibly my favourite Sports Team song, then, and a fitting finale to this ST sampler! 

I grabbed an early spot in the queue as my breathless and dishevelled son joined me; a quick chat and pics with a bullish and chatty band later, we were back in the car before 8.30, and home, late tea kebab wraps in tow, before ¼ to 10! Looking forward to getting to know “Boys These Days” better now, which promises to be an admirable new attempt to widen the Sports Team musical brief. Hope it works. Good luck to them!

1,386 IST IST, Oliver Marson, Southampton Joiner's Arms, Thursday 22nd May 2025

 

Happy World Goth Day! And, after a turbulent day today, I was in need of the healing power of some brooding, Goth-adjacent post-punk rock’n’roll from recent find Ist Ist. I’d picked up on their 4^th album “Light A Bigger Fire” last year and caught a splendid rousing performance at Bristol Exchange last October (gig 1,352), which also included a lengthy post-gig chat with knowledgeable bassist and then-birthday boy Andy Keating. So that was enough in itself to shoehorn them onto my gig radar for future tours, especially if any such tours include a gig at likely my favourite current venue, Southampton’s Joiner’s Arms! 

So,, a solo shlep down the M4/ A34 on this sunny Thursday evening got me road-parked up a stone’s throw from the venue about 20 to 8, and in a slightly different house left spot in this evocative old pub back room. I’d been feeling a little, erm, uncomfortable on the drive down, maybe as a result of the day, so I thought a house left spot in easier reach of the, erm, facilities, would be prudent, and so it transpired… Anyhoops, I was in place for opener Oliver Marson at 8. A solo vocalist/ guitarist with a computer full of backing tracks flashing out a very 80’s radio-friendly AOR synth-poppy sound which, when decent, recalled the likes of Tears For Fears, Talk Talk’s chart singles and, most obviously OMD (his “Past Life” being very “Electricity”), only actually not as good as that sounds. The material itself was a bit dodgy and haphazard – odd chord changes providing a bumpy transition between verses and choruses, for example – which rather wasted a rather decent Glenn Gregory-esque baritone voice and Andy McClusky-like dancing. 

A necessary comfort break still saw me keep my front-row spot, extreme house left, as the place filled to capacity. Quite the sausage-fest too, black-clad balding/greying old muso chaps proliferating… so, my people…! The similarly black-clad Ist Ist were ushered onstage by security, vocalist Adam leading the band into the growling intro and pounding dynamic punk-rock drumbeat of opener “Stamp You Out”, followed by the more metronomic Interpol-esque “Lost My Shadow” and slower, stately and haunting marble statue synth of “Something Else”. The taut low-slung bass-led Joy Division-isms of oldie “Silence” followed, after which the leather jacket and Ray-Ban clad impossibly cool bassist Andy remarked, “there’s fucking loads of you! I’m as hot as I’ve ever been in my life… but as a professional, I’m going to persevere with the leather…!” 

Fair play to him, so he did, the glasses coming off a couple of numbers before the end but the jacket remaining in situ throughout. And this commitment to insouciant rock’n’roll cool was underlined by his and his bandmate’s performance tonight… simply put, Ist Ist were ace! Okay, their dark, dramatic and brooding Goth-tinged post-punk material is slap bang in the middle of my wheelhouse, evoking the 80’s likes of Joy Division, Echo And The Bunnymen and The Chameleons, so would work for me in any format, but “live” it takes on added widescreen power and dynamism and, well, just makes more sense, particularly in a tight, sweaty and evocative venue such as The Joiners. The New Order synth flourish of the tremendous “I Can’t Wait For You” rounded off a brilliant opening 5-spot, but honestly there was no discernible drop-off in either song quality or commitment of delivery thereafter. “Something Has To Give” featured an abrupt gearshift from moody and slow-burn to fast and frantic; newie “Burning” had an almost swampy blues feel in its’ guitar riffery, a slight departure from their usual post-punk template; and “Dreams Aren’t Enough” was proper Bunny-esque in its’ stately sense of space. A robotic “Makes No Difference” was my favourite of the 3 newies on show, Adam thanking us for paying attention to them (“I know they’re often a convenient piss break!”), then “Hope To Love Again” was the poppiest number on show, evoking late period White Lies. Compliments from the band then preceded a final “Slowly We Escape”, the synth-led and elegiac opening bursting into thrilling punk rock life before accelerating to a thunderous finish, rounding off a marvellous set. 

The front row lists went early, of course, and the drummer’s list was handed to a stage-side chap, seemingly destined for someone else, despite my entreatments to said gent. Fair enough, I thought, no harm in asking anyway… However, a couple of days later, the self-same bloke (the Joiners’ manager, as it happens!) posted on the Ist Ist facebook page seeking out “the bloke from Southampton who was desperate for a list!”, so I got in touch and was promised a spare through the post, which I received a week later. As if I needed another reason to love the Joiner’s any more…! So, easily sloughing off the dead skin of a crappy day, Ist Ist were the perfect antidote and excellent hosts for a World Goth Day Celebration!

1,385 THE PIXIES, Big Special, London O2 Brixton Academy, Saturday 17th May 2025

 

This seems to be becoming a habit, and happily a quite welcome one… for the third year in a row, I get to take my son Logan to see veteran US alt-rock innovators The Pixies! This time it’s a first for me since 2016 (gig 1,012) at their spiritual London home of Brixton Academy, the band promoting another post-reunion album in 2024’s “The Night The Zombies Came”. Another set of jagged and seething garagey grunge and acerbic backwoods psycho-hillbilly riffery and imagery, it’s another pretty decent addition to their post-reformation body of work, whilst still not matching the startling and groundbreaking quality of their 1980’s canon. I guess main man Black Francis just can’t stop churning them out, so carry on mate!

Second night oop the Smoke this week too, and good thing too, having noted on Wednesday that the Piccadilly line was closed today, so our usual Osterley parking plans were out! Instead, we set off just after 3 and drove all the way through London (skirting the Thames, Clapham Common and the Chelsea Flower Show site!) to our intended pre-paid parking spot. However, on arrival, said spot was chaotic and wholly shonky, a rammed and tiny backstreet car wash with no discernible parking spaces in sight, and cars backing in and out with careless impunity. I quickly gave that up as a bad job and drove off, luckily finding a street spot practically across the road from the venue. Result! Had to circumnavigate this cavernous old theatre venue to join the priority queue but we grabbed a barrier spot, house left, on entry. Result two! Chatted with fellow barrier-grabbers, including a gent whom I’d seen at recent Skids and Wedding Present gigs (!), before 2-piece support Big Special kicked off at 8. “This is our new national anthem, it’s called “Shithouse”,” announced the drummer of this 2-piece early doors, which nailed their colours to the mast somewhat! With their relentless thudding taped hardcore backing track and bilious barked polemic lyrics, they struck me as a white Brummie Bob Vylan; no bad thing on the whole, but a bit harder on the ears than Bobby and Bobbie… An early, slower “Coming Around” gave brief respite in its’ gothic Nick Cave-isms, and they finished on their best number “Dig”, a synth pulse backing track overlaid by the frustrations of inner city life, but apart from that I admired their conviction and politics more than their sound…

The Pixies themselves sauntered on at 9 to an eerie backing track, opening with a galloping triad of newies, “You’re So Impatient” with its groovy descending choral hook being the best of this early trio, before a breathless “Planet Of Sound” seemed set to fire the gig into life. Being the contrarian he is, however, Black Francis then switched both guitars (to a time-worn strumalong acoustic) and gears into a sleazier, slower-burn and more Violent Femmes-like backwoods murder ballad vibe, nonetheless pleasing the masses with a jaunty “Here Comes Your Man”, then astonishing this old fan with a low-key but still brilliant reading of “Ed Is Dead”, possibly my favourite Pixies song. Full of surprises tonight, then, the old bugger…! 

More akin to my last time here in 2016, then, this was a return to the usual Pixies trope of whatever the utterly non-communicative Francis is in the mood to play, in whatever order he feels like! So this slower burn early section took us up to another guitar swap for Francis, back to the electric for the sinister build and roaring climax of “Gouge Away”. Logan noticed a nascent mosh to our right, so off he went, and his timing couldn’t have been better, with the strident chimes of a thunderous “Debaser” next up… The place predictably utterly erupted for this, easily tonight’s set highlight, which also heralded a stupendous mid-set moshpit catnip run, including the 4-alarm blare and breathy interlude of a careering “Tame”, the brooding anthemic “Monkey Gone To Heaven”, and an eerie yet excellently off-kilter “Velouria”, guitarist Joey Santiago coaxing squalling noise for its’ intro from his massive bank of pedals.

On went the acoustic again (hey, it’s a marathon, not a sprint!) for a swayalong “Hey”, tall and willowy new bassist Emma Richardson thereafter taking vocals for the more plaintive “In Heaven” and chuntering set closer “Into The White”, by which time I was in the mosh myself, seeking out my offspring. “White” rounded off a mammoth 33-song 2 hours (!) set, Francis then leading the band in a well-deserved bow before we gathered breath, thoughts and dropped keys (!) and hit the road, a slow egress through London onto a clear M4 getting us home about 1.15. So, in stages frustrating, contrary, unpredictable, quixotic, incendiary and quite quite brilliant, this was as ever a typical Pixies gig... But let’s face it; if they want to keep coming back as regularly as recently and delivering these types of performances, I guess so will we…!

1,384 RIALTO, DESPERATE JOURNALIST, London Scala, Wednesday 14th May 2025

 

Yup, it was next up… after their splendid acoustic Rough Trade set, last time out, I booked to see returning stylish post-Britpop glam-dram purveyors Rialto at their headlining London show. I mean, I didn’t need too much persuasion anyway; if another dose of their widescreen 60’s inflected kitchen sink drama soundtrack music (amply displayed on their very listenable new “reunion” album “Neon And Ghost Signs”) wasn’t enough, then there was also the identity of their support… only Fierce Panda label-mates Desperate Journalist, who as we know are pretty much as good as it gets right now for UK bands, their insouciant goth-Smiths vibe particularly soaring in the “live” environment. A slightly odd couple, this, labelmates rather than soundalikes, but both are well within my wheelhouse, so a midweek shlep up the Smoke it is!

I hit the road at 4 straight from the office for a good run, parking up in Osterley and tubing over to Kings Cross for 6.30. Doors at 7, so I joined a modest queue, then grabbed a not-to-be-relinquished barrier spot house right, chatting to some fellow front row punters to take us up to Desperate Journalist’s emergence, prompt at 7.30 for this early one. Kicking off with the dramatic Simple Minds “Sons”-esque bass-led slow burn build into the plangent chorus of “Everything You Wanted”, then juxtaposing that with the dismissive snark of the bouncy “Why Are You So Boring?”, it was clear from the off that this was a band in a hurry tonight, keen to take this one-off opportunity and slam-dunk it big time. All elements in perfect synchronicity as ever, but props to the solid driving bass of Simon Drowner, the foundation upon which the Desperate Journalist sound is built, as well as the strident vocal performance (rising above an initially slightly echoey vocal mix by mid-set) and scary kinetic conviction of wild-eyed vocalist Jo Bevan. She means it, maaaan… 

A brilliantly chosen 10 song DJ vignette showcased all aspects of their dark, goth-tinged post-punk canon, from the “Passion Of Lovers” proto-goth backbeat of “Afraid”, through a slightly understated but still widescreen “Cedars” (which also featured a stellar mid-8 guitar break from Rob), to the beetle-stomping hurtle and circular mid-8 hook of oldie “Cristina”, my highlight tonight. We even got a greeting from the Ice Queen herself, with, “everyone having a good Wednesday?” although this was quickly qualified with, “that’s the extent of my banter…!” A brooding, sweeping “Be Kind”, which featured the usual mid-song pregnant pause, catching most folk out tonight, was followed with set closer “Satellite”, slightly understated and slower paced yet still its’ usual soaring self, to round off a dynamically delivered 45 minutes. Bloody lovely! 

Follow that Rialto! Grabbed a breath after bouncing along to DJ’s set, before a pit photographer asked to take a pic of my Comsat Angels t-shirt; turned out he was best mates with erstwhile CA bassist Kevin Bacon! Then a quick loo break (loads of steps in this place, so this was like climbing the Matterhorn, or taking a piss in Wetherspoons!) nonetheless got me back in place for the full 5-piece band’s onstage arrival, just after their scheduled 8.45. Easing in with glitter-stomp newie “I Want You” and Boo-slightlydelic oldie “Hard Candy”, it was evident that they weren’t out to match their support for sheer dynamism, instead relying on the louche 60’s atmospherics of the material, and their moody yet melodic delivery. An early “Untouchable” was case-in-point; preceded by vocalist Louis wrestling with a water bottle cap then telling a story of seeing The Fall’s Mark Smith do the same one time at Glasto, albeit less successfully (the contents ending up down MES’ leg!), this was shorn of the lush orchestration of the recorded version but still managed to feel soaring and stately, with Louis giving it full beans on the vocal outro. “When We’re Together” was an eerie late night torch song and early highlight, Louis delivering the hook off-mic, before they tried a second album oldie, “London Crawling” coming across all slow burn Ziggy-era Bowie. Backing vocalist Liz joined the band for the Pulp-esque funky stomp drama of “No-one Leaves This Discotheque Alive”; then my set highlight, oldie “Broken Barbie Doll” was euphoric and desolate in equal measure, delivered with insouciant understatement. 

“I’ve always wanted to play this venue!” gushed Louis, also informing us of his mum’s attendance tonight (!), before the most Rialto-sounding of the new numbers, the sweeping 60’s “Put You On Hold”. Eschewing the encore ritual, Louis teasingly asked, “is there another one you want to hear?”, a tremendous “Monday Morning 5.19” sending everyone home early and happy. A quick chat with Fierce Panda boss Simon Williams, then I was off and running, nearly jumping on the wrong tube but turning myself around, home for just before 1. A great night out, then, well worth the midweek shlep; I think the overt oomph of DJ shaded it for me over Rialto’s more considered languid style, but nonetheless 2 contrasting yet equally worthy sets!

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!