1,357 THE 2024 “SHIIINE ON” WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 15th – Sunday 17th November 2024

 

For the 8^th time in a row, November means “Shiiine On”! However, and even more so than last year, this was one I really wasn’t that keen on beforehand. Definitely more of an impending “Shiiite On” than a “Great Eight”, this, thanks to the weakest and most unimaginative bill in the festival’s history by some considerable distance; plodding dullards and indie landfill aplenty, and the very real prospect of absolutely nothing to do, musically at least, after mid-afternoon on Sunday thanks to utter crushing bores Starsailor and Embrace “headlining” the main stage. This left me, prior to the weekend at least, putting my faith in Saturday headliners Echo And The Bunnymen to deliver, which these days, even from my mid-teens “home team”, is a dangerous prospect. And further salt was rubbed into the wound with the announcement of a 10^th Anniversary special in Skegness in March, featuring highlights from the first 10 years and including such luminaries as The Wonder Stuff, Ash, Peter Hook, Boo Radleys, Glasvegas and more, thereby making our weekend’s entertainment look even more anaemic by comparison. Bah!

Oh yeah, also about Sunday; a scheduling mess-up (and IMHO a real opportunity lost by the organisers… more on that later) meant our usual Old Ship Aground lunchtime carvery, one of the highlights of the weekend, had to be cancelled at short notice. Bah! Again…

Last month’s awful news of my dear lady wife’s lung cancer diagnosis furthermore threatened to scupper the whole weekend for us; however, Rach responded very well to the first few days of her immunotherapy tablets, so we decided to go for it anyway, organising a last-minute change to a ground floor apartment and disabled platform access, and anticipating plenty of rest breaks back at the apartment. Suddenly, the prospect of a poor musical bill didn’t seem so terrible; at least Rach might have plenty of company! So, at least looking forward to a nice weekend away with Rach and good friends, we hit the road just after 10, encountering a bit of queueing traffic on the outskirts of the ‘head so meeting up with Matt on the seafront for the traditional fish’n’chips lunch slightly later than planned… although not as late as the Truro contingent, who had to turn back to get meds 2 hours into their journey! Sarah turned up with her friend Rich in tow, and her 2 chalet-mates Duncan and Rick arrived, so we all booked in, sorted wristbands in short order and settled in, before popping out to the Inn On The Green for mid-afternoon. ELECTRIC SHEEP INC. were on in front of a respectable early crowd, a young lot peddling fairly generic baggy-influenced stuff, so Matt and I wandered into the sparsely populated Skyline Arena for the last knockings of EASY. A band whose name I remember from those 90’s baggy days but whom I largely blanked on, they gave me no reason to regret that with some (again) unobtrusive generic baggy Britpoppy noise.

Popped back to the Inn, then to the benches outside for socialising. Caught up with the Abstraction Engine boys, here as punters only this year; shame! Martin and Simon arrived after their medical double-back, so we met our new Shiiiner; an amiable, softly spoken chap with a dry wit which emerged and entertained us throughout the weekend, so another welcome addition to our coterie. Glad you could join us, Simon! We all wandered in for JIM BOB at 5 to 6 in the Skyline, running into erstwhile 2000 Trees buddy Mal in the process! Jim, my former Jamie Wednesday correspondent and of course long-time Carter USM main man, tried something different this year, taking the stage with a Ramones “Gabba Gabba Hey” placard and delivering a set of Carter classics via the medium of voice and piano only. Quite a polarising idea, this, not least with the man himself (Jim commenting at one point, “this is a weird idea! What was I thinking of, just me and a piano on this enormous stage!”); when it worked, it gave a slightly different slant to the material (“Is Wrestling Fixed” taking on a jaunty Vaudevillian air, and the old JDub number “Prince In A Pauper’s Grave” inheriting a heavy, menacing feel slightly removed from its normal sea shanty march), but other tracks felt shorn of their required dynamism. Jim himself paced the stage like a latter-day Mark E Smith, firing off pithy comments in line with his sardonic lyricism (e.g. “I wanted to put on my backdrop, “Fuck Pontins”!”), and bigging up his book talk with “Steve Lurpack” and his old Carter mate Fruit Bat’s Abdoujaparov set, both tomorrow, but overall this was a curious and slightly understated set.

We took a break for tea, leaping into the pasty shop as it opened at 7, and partaking of its scalding wares (although not as lava-hot as feared) before Rach and I took advantage of the disabled platform, house left, for REVEREND AND THE MAKERS’ early evening slot to an already packed house. Hefty rabble-rousing main-man Jon McClure took the stage, promising us, “Friday night music! Good time music!” but a couple of poor and dated-sounding baggy dance numbers later, I feared that the reason the Salford Village Idiot Shaun Ryder wasn’t on this year’s bill was because he’d sent his understudy instead…! Happily, the set improved notably, an early “Heatwave” a schmaltzy but tuneful 70’s funk track, and a bouncier “Bandits” fairly decent actually, and I warmed to McClure, who clearly cared about his massive, with constant exhortations to look out for each other’s mental health. Overall, though, this strange melting-pot of slower funky and upbeat bouncy, almost ska stuff didn’t do a great deal for me, despite McClure’s tongue-in-cheek boasts that, “I’m a big deal in Sheffield – Bono level, me…!”, but the brass blare of the “Marmite” ad song, “Silence Is Talking”, got the whole arena bouncing, so it seemed I was in the minority there… 

We were however back in our usual house right spot by the pillar for headliners KULA SHAKER. Again, I’d largely blanked on them in their early 90’s pomp, finding the bits I’d heard a little dull, and thinking main man (and nepo baby before there was an actual term for it) Crispian Mills a bit of an Indian culture appropriating, pretentious pillock. From the off however, he set out to prove me wrong; “Hey Dude” was a potent psych pop opener with a very 60’s Byrds/ Love US West Coast feel, setting the tone for the set, and an early “Gaslighting” was a herky-jerky rhythmic Kinks-esque pop choon with a stream of consciousness vocal from the annoyingly slim and youthful Mills, who was a relaxed and engaging performer throughout. “It’s Friday night, it’s a full moon, we’re going to do a spiritual detox,” Mills announced before the rocking upbeat psych-blues of “Naryana”. I didn’t enjoy the Mondays’ “Hallelujah” reference during an otherwise okay actually “Tattva”, but they redeemed themselves afterwards with the powerful descending riffery of a big harmonic singalong “Hush”. “It’s been a great pleasure to play for you – I hope we don’t fuck this up…” announced Mills before closer, an unexpected and jolly run-through of John Lennon’s “Instant Karma”, rounding off a very pleasant surprise of a set, from (dare I say it) worthy Day 1 arena headliners! 

Rach, sensibly pacing herself, decided that was it for the day, so Matt and I popped up to the already-rammed Centre Stage for ECKO. A pet “Shiiine On” band, this lot (along with Deja Vega), they were sonically okay in an early 90’s psych rock/ baggy trance dance vibe, but I didn’t appreciate the Scottish vocalist’s put-on fake Mancunian sneer, or the fact they went massively over time, not clearing off until 10 past 11. So tribute act TRUE ORDER, due on at 11, didn’t make an appearance until 11.30… Having seen Hooky recently, I was in a New Order frame of mind, but this lot were terrible; I didn’t even recognise opener “True Faith” until the vocalist started singing it, badly too, I might add… By the 3^rd number, an equally savage massacring of “Perfect Kiss” sung totally out of key (I know NO’s Barney isn’t the best vocalist in the world, but he’s like Scott Walker compared to this guy), we’d had enough.

Over to Reds for SACK, then, joining Martin and Simon in the seats house right. I initially found them pretty decent in an early Inspirals/ Divine Comedy jangly groovy singalong kind of way, and was encouraged that at least they could play and sing (some decent 3 point harmonies particularly appealing to me); however they were ultimately let down by their material for me, which seemed clumsy and very average, one number featuring a piano part which sounded as if a cat was wandering up and down on the keys! A shame really, but at least they got me to the final act tonight… 

On the barriers then for the 12.45 emergence of MODERN ENGLISH, early 80’s pioneering proto-goth/ shoegaze post-punkers. I wasn’t a massive fan at the time, more in thrall to my Liverpool post-punk sound, but I remember enjoying what I’d heard back then (usually played to me by old buddy Paul Crowfoot), and also, during my more recent mid-2010’s voyage of post-punk rediscovery, enjoying delving into them (and the likes of The Sound and particularly The Chameleons) a little further via their “Life In The Gladhouse” collection. This veteran band took the stage to a “standby for danger!” tape loop, opening with the taut, urgent off kilter hurtle of “16 Days”, dapper vocalist Robbie Grey yelping off-mic like an Adam Ant or Robert Smith. This pretty much set the tone for a tense, menacing and deliciously brooding set of textural guitar-driven atmospheric post-punk, with more than a few nods to early (so, good) Cure for me. “Gathering Dust” was a building and careering thrill ride, and even the new material, such as “Long In The Tooth” from 2024’s “1 2 3 4” release, stood pat with the oldies, albeit slightly more conventional and harder edged. “Tables Turned” was a synth and bass-propelled chugger, featuring some almost virtuoso low-end manipulation from Michael Conroy, however the set was climbing inexorably up to the summit… 

The sturdy and unmistakeable strum along opening to post-punk classic “I Melt With You” was stupendous, plunging into a taut and utterly joyous hooky chorus, a stripped-back atmospheric break and a wonderfully extended and speeded up outro, ending both the Best Song and, ultimately, the Best Set of the Weekend on a none-more-higher note. Tremendous stuff – and more so because I’d been bouncing in my barrier spot alongside Irish post-punk songstress, recent facebook friend and potential musical highlight for tomorrow, Keeley Moss! A quick chat then, before I headed off to conclude Day 1! 

Day 2 dawned slowly and lazily, before we gathered for the usual Saturday “Big Man Big Breakfast” – serving 7 this time, as Sarah and friend Rich joined us later. A slight deviation from the norm thereafter; as Rach had just started her meds and wasn’t up to the usual pool party, we headed to Studio 36 to catch the last knockings of Jim Bob’s chat on his new book “Where Songs Come From”, catching the end of a witty and laconic – and very well attended, over 1,000 in! – discussion. Matt and I bought a book and got them signed by the man; then we grabbed a table for the 90’s quiz, compered by former Shed Seven drummer Alan Leach, with Matt, Rach and myself being joined by Sarah and Rich plus a couple of Sarah’s friends in “TheFookinButlins” team, which (once the quiz got going after a few technical hitches) finished a creditable 23^rd out of over 100 teams – but nowhere near top in the Best Team Name stakes, which was clearly won by “Your Dad Wanks On All Fours”! 

A 3 way band clash split us up thereafter; whilst various folks headed off to see Bentley Rhythm Ace or Kingmaker 4AD, I plonked myself front and centre on the Inn On The Green barrier for KEELEY, eponymous musical vehicle for my fellow Modern English dancer Keeley Moss. And, to return the favour, all of Modern English had turned up to see Keeley, so I grabbed a quick chat and pix with a couple of the boys, discovering bassist Michael Conroy had played on the 80’s proto-dreampop classic This Mortal Coil album, so appreciated me rocking a TMC tee-shirt today! Anyway, Keeley and her backing band kicked off promptly at 2; opener “Last Words” was a buoyant and jangly indie-pop opener, and “Inga Hauser”, second number up, featured a dark, melancholy choral hook delivered with conviction by Keeley, and accentuating the gravitas of the subject matter…

Oh yes, about that subject matter; “Inga Hauser”, like ALL of Keeley’s songs, without exception, are written for and about the eponymous Ms. Hauser, a teenage German student shockingly murdered whilst backpacking in Northern Ireland in 1988, a case which has never been solved. This understandably imbues Keeley’s material – even the more upbeat jangle-alongs – with a heavy pall of melancholy, a bleak and poignant atmosphere which conversely makes the material (for me at least) more intriguing and captivating. Add to that Keeley’s own deep and mahogany-rich low tones and insouciant onstage persona, and you’ve got a potential-loaded new post-punk/ dreampop find. “Arrive Alive” was a racier wall-of-sound shoegaze rocker recalling early Ride and my set highlight, and the absorbing metronome of “Trans Europe 18” rounded off a fascinating and evocative (if short at 6 songs only) set. 

I hung around afterwards and grabbed a chat and pics with Keeley and the band, then wandered off to Reds, bumping into lurking Wonder Stuff main man Miles Hunt on the way for a brief chat about my recent Barcelona trip to see his erstwhile 90’s support act the Gigolo Aunts (gig 1,348). Gave YOUNG KNIVES another go; they’d raised my pretentiousness hackles the last time I’d seen them, and after a couple of messy prog numbers (one of which sounded as if it was being played out of time!) and a clear feedback attempt to find the brown note (!), I was gone, their repetitive cries of “Barbarism! Barbarism!” ringing in my ears. Back to the chalet for a mid-afternoon chill for an hour or so, eventually being joined by Rach for a while before we wandered back into the Skyline Arena for the last number of THE FARM’s popular set, predictably an inclusive and roof-raising singalong to unofficial “Shiiine On” anthem “All Together Now”. 

However, t’was back up onto the Disabled Platform for Rach and myself, for the second act in the Scouse Saturday triumvirate, namely THE LIGHTNING SEEDS, on at 7.20. The only previous time I’d seen Liverpool post-punk veteran Ian Broudie’s band of wide-eyed popsters was their frustratingly tech gremlin-beset “Shiiine On” 2019 performance (gig 1,161), so I was at least hoping the sound would be kinder this time. It was – and how! Opener “Marvellous” sounded great, clear as a bell, the hook singalong, buoyant and Summery, setting the tone for a shiny, happy and perfectly delivered set of ebullient pure pop. “Ready Or Not” was a slightly harder-edged outlier to all the magic pop thrills, featuring a descending choral hook and a false finish; the Beatles-esque orchestral swell of “Perfect” saw Broudie manfully raise an octave to the higher choral vocal line; and a robust “Lucky You” saw Broudie challenge the crowd (“you’re a bit restrained…!”), prompting an “ooh ooh” singalong which elicited a fists-aloft response from the singer. 

A tune-packed, redemptive and timely performance culminated in a touching and rather lovely “Pure”, still their best number, and the “God Only Knows” soundalike intro (only just noticed that today!) to a cheesy but singalong “Three Lions”, Broudie happily leaving the stage with a broad grin and the audience’s cheers ringing in his ears this time, rather than a tech glitch-induced scowl. Nice one, lad! 

I was then back onto the floor for tonight’s headliners, greeting my crew then leaving them to it as I ventured nearer the front! Had a chat with Keeley again, as the anticipation grew (or was it just me?), and dry ice predictably swathed the stage in advance of the entrance of ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN. A band I’ve loved for over 40 years and hosts of my second ever gig, back in December 1981, but a band whom these days stand or fall “live” on the whims and mood swings of main man and “voice” Ian McCulloch. Mac’s longtime oppo Will Sargent’s virtuoso guitar may shimmer, swoop and weep, the young band may ably back them up musically, but if Mac’s head’s not in the game (or if his nose has been in the drinks cabinet, or worse, in the powder beforehand), this could be a car crash…

Overall, I was pleased to report that it was, well, okay… Opener “Going Up” crept absorbingly in with its’ air of menace and mystery, then Mac’s vocal was stripped bare for all to hear; low, moody, understated, a little throaty and raspy, but definitely Mac. The backbeat drums of “All That Jazz” followed, Mac delivering a clipped verse vocal before Will’s strafing riffery bounced off the tent ceiling, and an early “Rescue” was relaxed, plangent and singalong. However, there had clearly been some, erm, “imbibing” beforehand on Mac’s part, although at least he was a happy drunk tonight, rambling on about Al Pacino’s new baby, Arne Slot and VAR, and bigging his material up as expected, introducing a tremendous, careering “Over The Wall” with, “this one is a bit mad, sort of neo-psychedelic,”, commenting, “I’m not going to boast but this feels great,” prior to the Doors-like keyboard-fuelled, loose-limbed “Bedbugs And Ballyhoo”, and proclaiming, “this next one is brilliant,” before “The Cutter”. Because, well, it was. So. 

Not without its faults, this, though; the band were constantly enveloped in dry ice and the side-screens were off, so they were often impossible to make out through the murk, the set selection was again one for the purists rather than the casual fan (generally fine for me, but fine for Shiiine? Debateable…) and even despite pacing his voice and making infrequent use of the higher octaves, Mac’s vocals became increasingly ragged towards the end, the singer making increasing use of the tactic of muting the band to allow the devoted down the front to fill in on vocals, a rather divisive move which earned a fair bit of criticism from my crew afterwards. I guess I was just pleased that I wasn’t disappointed, which I appreciate may be damning Mac and The Bunnymen with faint praise, but these days, you never know…

A stripped back “Killing Moon” rounded off the “set”, after which the band took a pause before returning for “Lips Like Sugar”, which finally saw Mac’s voice soar during the choral hook. Caught up with the crew via the mixing desk, the excellent arena sound-guy making good on his promise beforehand to save me a list, then we headed back to the chalet for a cuppa! Rach then decided that was her limit for the day, so it was Matt, Martin, Simon and myself who headed back in, for a Saturday night revelation… 

I’d seen David Lewis Gedge’s frantic jangly C86 survivors THE WEDDING PRESENT a few times in the last 10 years or so, once on a Wonder Stuff undercard in 2016 (gig 981) and then at “Shiiine On” in 2017 and 2019, and, the opening salvo of that 2017 set aside, had been mostly disappointed, finding the choppy guitar onslaught of legend largely absent, and both material and performance understated, turgid, samey, dated and really rather dull. So I was semi persuaded, semi press-ganged by the boys to give the Weddoes another chance, but honestly I was expecting to give them 3 numbers, then piss off and leave them to it.

Hoo boy, was I wrong, or what? The snowy-topped Gedge led his troops onstage at 11.30 to a rapturous reception from an utterly rammed Centre Stage, cantering into the strident descending riff of opener “A Million Miles”, overlaying this lovelorn paean with his low stentorian growl, and from the off it sounded great, purposeful, big, fulsome, guitar-led, and with a dynamism, conviction and cutting edge sadly lacking for oh so long. The edgy slow/ fast “Don’t Talk Just Kiss” saw Gedge bent double, sawing at his battered guitar for all he was worth, recalling visions of the first time I saw them supporting The Mighty Lemon Drops in 1986 (gig 58) and being utterly astonished by his wrist dexterity! Even early newie “I Am Not Going To Fall In Love With You” was imbued with power and purpose, the mosh causing the sprung floor to bounce along in time. Who is this band, and where have they been since the 80’s??! 

Yup, that cutting edge restored, The Weddoes were easily band of the day for me and a close runner-up to Modern English for the overall weekend honours. “Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm” was an unexpected huge singalong, segueing into a powerful, bouncy “Kennedy”, then the yearning ascending chorus of “My Favourite Dress” was a set highlight, until the inevitable finale of a breathless, roaring and hurtling “Brassneck”. Just a great set, and I wasn’t the only one so surprised, as we discussed this triumphant and restorative set with a vindicated Martin (who’d had no doubt), before I headed back for the night. 

So, onto day 3 of a swift and, happily, very surprising “Shiiine On”, musically at least! Another fried breakfast today, as, as previously mentioned, our usual Sunday carvery was postponed after the line-up timing announcement last week, given that the only 3 acts I/we were interested in today were all on in Centre Stage, consecutively from lunchtime! Bah! Anyhoops, off we wandered after brekky, through the drizzle to the first of the three… MAT FLINT, 90’s genre-hopping guitar roustabout but best known, by me at least, as frontman for sadly short-lived melodic shoegaze/ dreampoppers Revolver, had actually initially been scheduled to play the Inn On The Green, but was bumped up (?) to the 12.45 opening slot for Centre Stage Sunday, following the announcement that he intended to play a full Revolver set with a new 3-piece band. So, we headed in 10 minutes beforehand, only to find the place utterly deserted! Yikes! 

Nonetheless, Matt and I took barrier spots, along with a mere dozen or so bleary-eyed interested parties, for Mat’s entrance. He and the band opened with Revolver’s best number, the brilliant “Crimson”, a regular handover number for me during my 1991 Lev DJ-ing days (finishing my stint and asking DJ partner The Big Man to start his sesh with it, so I could head down and dance to it!). Slightly thin, echoey and understandably understated as Mat and the band bedded themselves into the set, it was nonetheless great to hear it again after so long. “Drowning Inside” was an early, eerie textural affair, Mat jumping on the pedals with glee to overlay his lilting, high-pitched vocals, and a later “Cradle Snatch” was an elongated and atmospheric psych workout. Revolver’s best-known number, the debut “Heaven Sent An Angel” was a lengthy, loose-limbed piece of absorbing loveliness, and the off-kilter tumbling drums and discordant psych of “Venice” closed out a slightly uneven, taciturn but welcome slight return from Mat… and Revolver? 

I chatted with Mat’s charming wife Emma briefly afterwards, as Mat responded to my request for a set list by writing me one out especially! Chap! Kept my spot for “live” favourites of mine (and my son Logan’s!), 80’s folk/ punk class warrior veterans yet “Shiiine On” virgins THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, due next up at 10 to 2. I’d actually chatted with TMTCH mainstay Paul Simmonds about “Shiiine On” at their recent triumphant 40^th Anniversary gig at the Thekla (gig 1,345), trying to allay his misgivings about their being booked to play what seemed to them prima facae a Madchester/ Britpop Festy by saying it’s about all 80s-90s indie, you’ll do great, if you’re on late on Saturday night or something like that it’ll be a raucous drunken singalong encapsulating the spirit of the band etc. etc… to which he then replied, “we’re on Sunday lunchtime…” I mean, “Shiiine On” organisers, WTAF???

Making it a bit worse was a lengthy, fiddly and seemingly unnecessary backline soundcheck, delaying their start until 2 in front of a more respectable (if still no more than half full) dance floor. “We’re going to liven things up a bit!” announced main man Phil “Swill” Odgers, opening with the rambunctious if a little low-key fiddle-diddle of “Raising Hell”. A more robust “Going Back To Coventry” got me bouncing down the front, after which Swill remarked about being up all night (“so it’s late for us!”) then called for a sing-along to a bolshy, anthemic “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, pointing me out and saying, “I know you’ll sing!” 

So sing I did, giving my pipes a proper workout (my usual TMTCH duetting partner Logan being absent from “Shiiine On”, I had to sing for two!) as The Men maintained their jolly fun, inclusive folky punky form from that Thekla gig, occasionally going slightly off-piste with the set selection (the sea shanty feel of “The Lion And The Unicorn” and a slow-burn “Silver Gun” being unexpected inclusions) but bringing it right back with a poignant and emotive “Green Fields Of France”, particularly the haunting, stripped back lump-in-the-throat 4^th verse. “Smugglers” enlivened the mood thereafter with its’ soaring terrace chant chorus, then the subsequent Miners’ Strike story of “Shirt Of Blue” was moody and menacing, and “Island In The Rain” a touching ballad featuring some virtuoso sawing from veteran violinist Bobby Valentino (Swill announcing beforehand, “[this one is] Bobby’s favourite – and he works us hard!”). Damn that lengthy soundcheck, as they had to cut “Colours” from the end of the set at short notice, but absolutely nailed a brilliant and breathless “Ironmasters” to conclude a joyfully singalong and, ultimately, well-attended and well-received set. See, you do belong here at “Shiiine On”, Simmo!

I’d been bouncing and singing along, so, hoarse and a little knee-sore, I joined the crew in their seats, house left at the edge of the dancefloor, for “Shiiine On” regular MILES HUNT, this time doing the solo thang instead of being backed by the full Wonder Stuff line-up, and again bafflingly on mid-afternoon, 10 past 3 in this instance. It’s as if the organisers didn’t notice just how well his last solo set (late Sunday evening in Reds and following a disappointingly received Teenage Fanclub headliner slot) went down, seeing out “Shiiine On” 2022 (gig 1,253) on a real inclusive singalong high. Nuts. Just nuts. Still, the mid-afternoon slot didn’t seem to dampen Miles’ bullish, buoyant mood, immediately giving us, “fair warning, I’m going to be calling for some audience participation,” thereafter noting, “I know my 20-year-old self would hate my 58-year-old self [for] sitting on a stool encouraging singalongs, but I like pissing that guy off!”

As expected, this was another jolly, inclusive and entertaining showing by a man totally at ease with himself and his history, and with the demands of the “Shiiine On” crowd. Give them what they want, and Miles is happy to do so, delving gleefully through the Wonder Stuff back catalogue for this set, and augmenting the selections with stories and vignettes from his near-40 years (!) in rock. So a couple of stories of near-interactions with Bob Dylan were interspersed into a meandering “Caught In My Shadow”; “Here Comes Everyone” followed a story about a brief fling during a US tour, and trying to subsequently dump his girlfriend in letter form; and “Maybe” saw Miles assuring the crowd that he means no disrespect to “the great Michael Stipe”, despite the possibly disparaging reference in said song’s lyric. 

Ploughing past the hour mark (“I hate the pantomime of the encore; it’s patronising on both sides…”), Milo rounded off with a few more upbeat singalong Stuffies cuts in “No For The 13^th Time”, “Don’t Let Me Down, Gently” and, following an audience vote, “Size Of A Cow” (“the no’s have it, but fuck you, I’m in charge!”), before finishing with “Give Give Give Me More More More” and a thought of how lucky we are to still be here, which hit home with us, and Miles personally too, given the recent loss of his beloved dog The Winkster. “Thank you for propping me up,” was the man’s comment, but the feeling as ever is mutual.

Then that was that! Given the swathes of Indie landfill subsequently on the Skyline stage, the musical element of our “Shiiine On” was done by half four on Sunday afternoon! We grabbed noodle tea from Chopstix and headed back to the apartment for the 5pm England game. Rach and Sarah drifted back into the arena rather than watch the footy, so I wandered back in to find them, running into old Level 3 friends Sara and Sharon and introducing them to Milo, hanging out in the Inn On The Green. Eventually found Rach and Sarah, hiding in the arena back bar from STARSAILOR’s admittedly proficiently delivered but to my ears oh-so-dull plodding material. We eventually headed back to the apartment where we all gathered for some fun and raucous card games, especially “Spoons”! Much more fun than Embrace, as far as I'm concerned, anyway!

Come 10 o’clock, and Matt and I popped back briefly to a spottily attended Centre Stage to catch a bit of young bucks THE RATS. Musically they were okayish in (yet again) a generic baggy way, but they soon put me in mind of a poor-man’s Stereo MCs, and the vocalist’s grating tones were hurting my head, so we headed back in short order, done for the night. Packed up and (eventually) gathered everyone together the next morning, popping in to book for next year and bid farewells to Martin and Simon (Matt having left earlier) before heading off, dropping Sarah off in Bristol and getting back to the ‘don just after 2. Another excellent weekend, with some surprising bonuses, music-wise, and great company and fun times during those musical black holes. “Shiiite On”? On reflection, that was harsh… it was a “Great Eight” after all!

 

SHERIFF’S SHIIINE ON SELECTION

Friday Best – MODERN ENGLISH

Saturday Best – THE WEDDING PRESENT

Sunday Best – THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG

Overall – 1. MODERN ENGLISH, 2 THE WEDDING PRESENT, 3. THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, 4. MILES HUNT, 5. KEELEY 

Best New Band – KEELEY! Well, first time I’ve seen them, so I’m counting that…

We Can Be Heroes – MY CREW as usual; kudos to new guy Simon! RACHEL for sensibly pacing herself. The ubiquitous KEELEY MOSS for being friendly and chatty, as well as a great performer. MILES HUNT, ditto actually. THE SOUND GUY for sorting me 3 lists. MAT FLINT for writing me one!

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

 

Dust has blown, years have flown, yet The Men They Couldn’t Hang are still going strong, and this tour marked the Magnificent 40^th Anniversary of this enduring and pioneering folk/ punk band. I’d been on board “live” for 38 of those years (my first being November 1986’s Bierkeller gig, no. 63!), that and the other even dozen occasions I’d seen this band of desperados since being inclusive, raucous, singalong and wholly entertaining affairs, so of course I was up for a 14^th for their 40^th! 

So was Logan, so we made plans for a boy’s night out, donning sunglasses and riding into the evocatively low setting sun; well, we drove down the M4 westward into Bristol, at least! Squeezed into a dockside parking spot about 10 minutes before doors, then grabbed a front of stage spot, house left, right next to increasingly frequent Bristol gig friend Louise! So, some lively chat filled the short time before openers Headsticks took the stage at 7.30. I’d not come across this veteran folk/ punk rabble before, but after a couple of numbers it became apparent that my 20-year-old, Red Wedge gig-going, anti-Thatcher political march attending, radical young post punker self would have liked this lot very much, and in all honesty, so did my current loony lefty Green party/ Greenpeace member 59-year-old conscientious dad self! Led by an impassioned, in-your-face manic (eyed) street preacher in Andrew Tranter, they recalled the fervent anti-establishment politico-punk of The Clash, New Model Army and tonight’s headliners, with the strident early 80’s dark anthemic guitar feel of Spear Of Destiny and even (on the snaking riffery of opener “Cold Grey English Skies”) Big Country, topped with an ample helping of ramshackle and high-octane Dropkicks folky jiggery pokery. Buoyed to be on this tour (“it’s nice to be in Bristol! Mind, when you’re from Stoke, it’s nice to be anywhere!” quipping Tranter), they delivered their set with conviction, their message powerful yet never hectoring, even eliciting a loud audience participation for their early Dead Kennedy’s-like (especially Tranter’s vocals, raising an octave for this number and strongly recalling Jello Biafra) penultimate best-of number “Apocalypse”. Fine forceful stuff; something tells me our paths may cross again “live”…

Not long to wait for the main event, either; in fact, the time rather sneaked up on us before the sweeping orchestral intro saw the 6-piece Men take the stage prompt at 8.20. “It’s our 40^th Anniversary,” announced vocalist Phil “Swill” Odgers; “we’re gonna raise some hell!” then easing into aptly named opener, “Raising Hell”, which, if a little too low-key to rouse Lucifer, was then totally eclipsed by the subsequent double of a ragged, acerbic and anthemic “Going Back To Coventry” and a stirring roof-raising singalong to “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, both of which sent soundquake shudders down through all the nine circles. Here we go, boys! 

The Men They Couldn’t Hang were magnificent tonight. Shorn of the more in-your-face rabble-rousing approach of their sadly missed co-founder Stefan Cush, lost to us in 2021, Swill, Simmo and co. relied on their innate musicianship, easy band-crowd repartee and obvious connection with their audience, plus the timeworn familiarity of their material to deliver a consummate performance. Newie “Red Kite” (preceded by some, erm, well-refreshed punter nicking Swill’s pint and Swill calling him out for it) was a folksy yet poignant tribute to their fallen comrade, the subsequent off-mic audience singalong to Cush’s number, the anti-war paean “Green Fields Of France” being genuinely heartfelt and affecting. Thereafter, as WWE wrestler Sheamus would say, it was “banger after banger”… “Smugglers” highlighted deep-voiced Bobby Valentino’s virtuoso violin mid-section; Swill namechecked all the venues they’d played in Bristol before a rousing “Bounty Hunter”, also quipping about going out in Bristol earlier then realising how old they all are (!); “Shirt Of Blue” was dramatic, slow-burn and still uncomfortably relevant; and the quite brilliant “The Colours” saw Logan and myself sing along raucously to this affirming story of working class validation. But my highlight was the rollicking rambunctious reading of “Ironmasters”, as ever a potent clarion call to arms.

A couple of encores of “Night To Remember” and “Walkin’ Talkin’ ” rounded off a right proper night to remember. Swill kindly sorted Logan with a list, then a brief word with him and Simmo at the merch stand about their forthcoming “Shiiine On” debut (I’ll be down the front singing along!) and a chat with “gig life crisis” buddy Jeremy, before heading off into the murk, home at 11 via Jimmy’s Kebab (of course!). A night to remember indeed, and here’s to many more for this enduring and treasured band!

1,200 THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, Gerard Starkie, Bristol Thunderbolt, Friday 19th November 2021

 

Another key landmark reached in my gigging days; the big 1,200, and prospective fine hosts in long-time “live” favourites, folk-punk veterans The Men They Couldn’t Hang, only this time a potential triumph laced with sadness… The Men, like so many bands, had had tour plans disrupted by Covid 19, but more tragically, founder member, co-vocalist and chief “live” rabble rouser Stefan Cush sadly passed away in February this year of a heart attack, aged only 60. Heartfelt consideration was understandably given as to whether these pre-Covid dates would be honoured when possible; indeed, whether The Men They Couldn’t Hang could or should continue as a going concern without Cush’s towering presence in the band. Thankfully, the answers to both questions were ultimately decided in the affirmative, although this might prove a somewhat different “live” experience to that originally anticipated. Hopefully one which honours the life and contribution of a true working class rebel and spokesman, with dignity and humour…

 

I’d of course been playing TMTCH songs to the kids in the car from the get-go, and had been able to expose Logan to their unique brand of folk-punk tomfoolery at Wickham Festival in 2019, so my 14 year old gig buddy was well up for a rousing singalong in a small Bristol pub, particularly if there was a kebab on offer at the end of it…! My first time at The Thunderbolt, then, and on arrival, after being expertly navigated in by Logan, I was gratified to see it was just as advertised – a dingy, run-down small pub venue, capable of holding about 150 souls, and understandably sold out tonight. We took a spot near the front of the stage for opener Gerard Starkie, on at 8. He played some dark, baroque and typically English sounding folky stuff initially recalling the 70’s likes of Cat Stevens and even pre-Glam David Bowie; then “Closing Up”, a song from his old band Witness sounded a proper old school Britpoppy anthem and was the best of his set by miles; then he followed that up with a number he used to play when he was a member of Blue Aeroplanes – he lives in Bristol, he owns a guitar, of course he used to be a member of Blue Aeroplanes!

 

His lilting, melancholy and alright-actually set rounded off at 8.45, after which things got a bit crowded on the postage stamp dancefloor, but we held our spots, front and centre, as Phil “Swill” Odgers led the 6-piece band onstage, understandably looking quite cramped up there! A jolly “Raising Hell” opened the show, after which the elephant in the room was quickly and elegantly dispensed with, Swill eloquently paying tribute to Cush, advising us that the band intended to continue for this tour at least, and quip, “this feels like the first soundcheck Cush has turned up to [in spirit] – he’s having a mojito across the road!”

 

Thus informed, band and audience visibly relaxed and proceeded to go about the business of having a bloody good time, celebrating life, music and Cush’s memory the right way. “Going Back To Coventry” (“part of [songwriter Paul Simmonds’] folk rock trilogy? Or even quadrilogy?”) was powerfully rousing and rocking, Swill subsequently commenting on the song’s fast pace with a story of how, early in their career, an A&R man thought all their songs were that fast, and ended up playing “Ghosts Of Cable Street” at the wrong speed! Then, an emotive, heart-cracking “Green Fields Of France” was next up, Swill doing “Cush’s song – and his dad’s song” stark, beautiful justice and respect, vocalising off-mic to lead the crowd in a genuinely emotional and affecting singalong. Just lovely stuff.

 

A rollicking “Smugglers” singalong served as an upbeat mood changer, before the acoustic interlude saw Logan (front and centre, remember…) hold up the lyric sheet to “Pieces Of Paradise” for Swill to sing! Thus followed more road stories about Cush (including one where he interrogated Swill about breaking a tour taboo – no shitting on the tour bus!), a couple of unexpected gems (including the languid Spanish Stroll of “Salutations” and “Gold Rush”, a personal favourite), and raucous, rousing singalongs to the fist-pumping, blue-collar class struggle likes of “Cable Street” and set highlight “The Colours”. A frantic “Ironmasters” closed out a celebratory set, before encores including “Walking, Talking” saw Swill ask the by-now raucously dancing crowd to, “step back, 75% of you probably have knee problems already!”

 

A merch stand visit, a quick chat and pic with Swill, and home via the kebab kiosk around the corner from home as promised for two happy boys. This was done beautifully well, The Men They Couldn’t Hang delivering a superbly fun evening’s entertainment and honouring their fallen comrade in exactly the right way. I can just picture Cush raising a glass to them, in thanks and salutations…

1,149 WICKHAM FESTIVAL (Saturday only), Saturday 3 August 2019

I’d been looking for an opportunity to take nascent gig-goer Logan along to his first Festival – we’d considered a day at Reading this year but he wasn’t too keen – and this small-to-mid size event seemed a perfect opportunity to start. A well-established 3-day event down near Portsmouth, this one has its’ roots firmly in the traditional folk and blues genres and still majorly catered for those styles on its’ bill, but a few enticing acts peppered the Saturday bill, none more so than headliner Frank Turner, popular folk/punk troubadour, live favourite of ours and (given the proximity of his home town Winchester to this venue) homecoming hero! Another advantage was that research indicated the 2 main stages were both under big top cover, thus allaying any fears Logan particularly had about weather. The weekend also coincided with a visit from Evan, my now grown-up son; he’d accompanied me to a Reading Fest slight return in 2013 (gig 884) and was happy to subject himself to unfamiliar music for another day, so it turned into a Boy’s Day Out!

So we set off promptly just after 10, looking out for holiday getaway traffic but avoiding a chunk of New Forest-bound stuff thanks to Evan’s navigation skills taking us cross-country to Wickham village. Parked up therefore just before 12 in the hay field opposite the Festival site, wandering around to the entrance. A compact, 7,000 capacity site clinging to the side of a small hill overlooking a picturesque Hampshire valley, a quick wander revealed a bohemian collection of Festival stalls and small side stages, and a wide variety of eats. The clientele reflected this too; a wide spread of ages, families and styles giving the Fest a relaxed and inclusive feel. After sorting the boys with Festival sunnies (not much use early doors as it was overcast, but still…), we set folding chairs up on the skirts of the smaller Village Stage tent for an initial base camp. First act proper (we’d popped briefly into a side tent where a makeshift band from local college St. Vincents’ music department – featuring a female vocalist with an impressive strident range – were stomping over some rock covers) were THE WILSONS, an acapella trio delivering some charming lunchtime folky sea shanties. Nick Parker showed up, shaking my hand and remembering Logan, and we also chatted to a fellow Nick fan Claire, who was there for the weekend with her kids and who remembered Logan from his Gaz Brookfield Southampton onstage antics! Second act WINTER WILSON, with their more sparse and baroque, and occasionally almost medieval feeling, pastoral folk, provided the background to our conversation, but thereafter Logan and I were bound for the stage, front and centre!

Our first act of interest, at 1.45, was indeed the aforementioned Mr. P, with his full band. The first time, shamefully, that I’d seen NICK PARKER AND THE FALSE ALARMS in all their glory, and they were great, the full band adding an extra dimension to Nick’s easy folky-pop melody and wry observational lyricism, “Never Been To Dublin Before” proved an apposite opener, Nick remarking, “all the people mentioned [in the chorus] have played here!” the rendition featuring some excellent sawing from fiddle player Ben Wain (also of Gaz’ Company Of Thieves), much to the delight of a woman behind me, who’d recognised Ben from school music lessons! “Down With The Yoof” was rambunctious and ramshackle fun, an oldie “Jerusalem” (“from an earlier album – I found 250 copies of it and they’re all over by the merch stand!” deadpanned Nick) featured a yearning and soaring chorus, and “Departures” was my set favourite, slow burn and slow building, the excellent lyric reflecting the glorious mundanity of an airport departure lounge. Overall, cracking, joyous and uplifting stuff with huge smiles all around; definitely not the last time I catch the full band, and I also appreciate a performer such as Nick who sweats profusely for his art!

Congrats afterwards, then whilst the boys went off to check out other attractions (Logan to the bouncy castle laser tag, Evan to watch some circus jugglers), I caught THE NEWCRANES set from base camp, as the sun attempted to break through the hazy cloud cover. Festival veterans, they played a raucous and upbeat, slightly punky fiddly-diddly set of the type which, post-Gaz, I’m much more kindly disposed to these days. Shades of Pele and Mick O’Toole in a diverting set, my favourite number being one which started slowly and funereally, but then sped up to raucous moshpit catnip. The boys returned and we checked out LIL’ JIMMY REED AND THE “A” TEAM, next up. Reed, an 80 year old old school Mississippi delta bluesman, alongside his virtuoso pianist sidekick, played a mix of piano and guitar-led tears-in-the-beers blues, proto-rockabilly and impressively groovy and more upbeat honky tonk material. The first number reminded these admittedly uneducated (in this genre, at least) ears of The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues”, and others recalled the likes of Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” and suchlike. Not my normal cup of tea, but I enjoyed this and could appreciate a master craftsman at work; as could not only a large crowd assembled in the tent, but also Evan, who disappeared in after 2 numbers and emerged at set-end, declaring Jimmy, “awesome!” So much so, if fact, that the next step was to join a large queue to pick up a Jimmy Reed CD, for Evan to get signed, and to meet the great man to exchange some words about the blues. Awesome, indeed!

This led us to a relative lull in proceedings, so we grabbed some tea (nice Thai green curry for me!) and plonked ourselves by the main Valley Stage tent overspill, chowing down with DERVISH’s more traditional and plaintive Irish folk as a pleasant background. A trip back to the car to dump foldaway chairs, and we were ready for the evening’s mainstage festivities. Back into the Valley Stage tent just as the Dervish crowd were dispersing, so we got some splendid viewing spots in front of the speaker stack, house right, for GRACE PETRIE, on at 6.30. A soloist, political (personal and party) activist singer-songwriter, she’d impressed mightily during her Frank Turner support slot earlier this year (gig 1,121) not only with an excellent clutch of thought-provoking folk/Americana tinged numbers, but also some passionate yet easy repartee and connection with her audience. More of the same tonight with some witty yet barbed comments (“[I’ve released] 6 albums about how not to vote for the Tories; another one out next year – I’ve got a good feeling about this one!” and “I’ve noticed a number of nippers in the audience; I’m sorry, but I’ll be using bad words – I’ll be saying “Tories” a lot…!” were a couple of early rejoinders), an anti-Theresa May tirade, and an excellent early “Farewell To Welfare”, committed, impassioned and riveting. The one “happy” song, about her niece, was dispensed with early so she could concentrate on the other 2 aspects of her oeuvre – angry and sad! – yet most of the material was as uplifting as it was pointed, “Black Tie” (preceded by the comment, “I’m dressed like this [in black tie and waistcoat] because… I’ve got a snooker match after the gig!”) being a case in point, a letter to her 15-year old self to say everything’s gonna be OK. “Northbound” rounded off another fine set from Grace, after which I noticed (during a quick loo trip) that she was utterly besieged at the merch stand, having clearly resonated with a large part of this audience.

I was back in, however, for my 2 highlights; firstly THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, 80’s folk-tinged political punk rockers and class struggle historians, on at 8. I’d been playing TMTCH stuff to Logan for years but this was the first opportunity to subject him to a live performance (their clutch of 2010-13 Swindon gigs coming too early, and their more recent SLF O2 support slot falling on a school night), and thankfully they delivered in spades. “Ghosts Of Cable Street” was a brilliant singalong opener, pointedly dedicated by vocalist Stefan Cush to, “Tommy Robinson and his ilk… it’s like Hitler never existed!” and even more relevant now than ever, reflecting the tension of these troubled political times. “Wishing Well” and “Coventry” was a superbly rocking double salvo, “Bounty Hunter” slightly understated but still a raucous singalong, and “Smugglers” likewise, Logan gleefully pogoing on his barrier spot. “Green Fields Of France” was a gut-wrenching and poignant reminder of the horrors of war, however “Ironmasters” was the brilliant highlight, the boys cutting loose with a rabid and rattlingly good rendition, during which I conducted the crowd behind me in the singalong chorus. (Evan had taken a loo break halfway through the set and claimed he couldn’t get back… I suspect he didn’t want to hear his dad singing embarrassingly loudly!).

Brilliant stuff overall from The Men! A friendly roadie scrunched up the set-list and tossed it over to me, and a quick loo break revealed a small queue at the merch stand, so I got it signed by The Men, along with a hasty selfe with Stefan and fellow vocalist Phil Odgers. Result! Back in to the increasingly busy stage-front – Evan took a wander, deciding the Frank crush wasn’t for him, but Logan and I stayed on out bit of barrier for the prompt entrance of FRANK TURNER AND THE SLEEPING SOULS at 9 to a huge roar from the biggest crowd of the day. Punk rock for starters; Frank led the band through rip-roaring versions of “Get Better”, “1933” and a punky “Long Live The Queen”, racing around the stage and standing on the bass drum to emphasise his already impressive height. A breather thereafter allowed him to introduce us to, “show 2,372!” along with the usual rules (“don’t be an asshole, sing along), and “If Ever I Stray” and “The Road” really got the crowd roaring along, shaking this tent to its’ foundations.

Frank was his usual buoyant and riveting self, a consummate performer, making light of an early, erm, wardrobe malfunction during “Photosynthesis”, and declaring, “My mum is here tonight!” thence organising a hardcore circle pit (“not a Dorset circle, a proper Hampshire circle!”) in her honour. Frank introduced stand-in bassist Cahir O’Doherty, covering from new dad Tarrant before a poignant yet rocking “Polaroid Picture” and a funky “Blackout” which, as usual saw Frank in the photog pit, communing with the faithful. A touching “Don’t Worry” was preceded by an interesting exposition from Frank (“we were worried about bringing out an album called “Be More Kind” – we thought it might be out-of-date quickly as things might get better…  but it’s all turned to shit!”), and, as ever, a brilliant “I Am Disappeared” was my highlight.

An hour in, Frank paused for his usual solo interlude and we took a wander out for a loo trip, catching another couple of numbers from the outskirts of the tent, “Where I Tend To Be” and a manic “Try This At Home” being late-set highlights. Logan was tiring after a big Festival day, so when Evan reported in at 10.45, we took the opportunity for a quick getaway, those 10 minutes allowing us quick egress from the car park and environs, a swift drive getting us home for 12.20, reflecting on the day. Well done Wickham Festival, you were everything it said on the tin; relaxed and inclusive with excellent facilities, and all the bands we came to see delivered big time. A splendid first Festival for Logan and a great Boy’s Day Out!

940 THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG, Charred Hearts, Swindon Level 3, Saturday 21st February 2015

Given that I was contemplating grabbing a ticket to The Men They Couldn’t Hang’s upcoming gig at London’s Shepherd’s Bush Empire, this one was an utter no-brainer for me, a chance to see these enduring folk/ punk “live” favourites for the 11^th time overall, my first time for a couple of years since a rambunctious and totally appropriate Stiff Little Fingers support slot a couple of years ago, and the first time in Swindon for 4 years! This time, there was little chance of their falling prey to the law of diminishing returns (3 gigs in 3 years at The 12 Bar sadly saw reduced attendances each time), as this one was organised by Charred Hearts’ maniman Dermot Fuller for his 50^th birthday celebration, which surely guaranteed a proliferation of old punk rockers through the door at the rebadged Level 3!

I sorted tickets out for the boys as well (some more eager than others, it’s fair to say), and, after I’d spent the early evening cheering on Rach in her Gala swimming event, we met up in the Rolly for a rare TTP drinkie night! I popped downstairs about 9 pm into the already utterly jam-packed Level 3, where Dermot was already leading Charred Hearts through their usual growling wall-of-noise street punk, and, also as usual, going walkabouts during the set to greet punters and old friends. I did likewise during their set so didn’t pay as much attention as previously, but my ears did prick up for their sincere cover of The Damned’s “New Rose”, set closer “I Wanna Be Your Dog” and Dermot’s final words of fulsome praise after his set; “it’s been a great night but it’s not over yet…”

More chats with old friends and Level 3 faces as the boys arrived, and I joined an enthusiastic Phil on the dancefloor for the unheralded arrival of The Men They Couldn’t Hang at 10. After the usual chuntering, low key opener “Devil On The Wind”, Mr. Fuller was located to do the intended introduction, one song late(!), and we were then into the singalong “Ghosts Of Cable Street”, which got a small dancefloor crowd singing raucously along. A splendid “Bounty Hunter” followed “Wishing Well”, although at this stage it all seemed a little low-key and understated, The Men easing their way into this, their first “live” performance of 2015. We also had a the first of a smattering of new numbers from their recent PledgeMusic-funded album, following a lament from co-vocalist Stefan Cush about the closure of the 12 Bar; “Night Ferry” was a ramshackle acerbic folk-punk powered number, proving the new apples still don’t fall far from The Men’s usual tree.

Things were still a little ragged at this stage, a messy “Going Back To Coventry” inadvertently repeating a verse then being offered up afterwards by co-vocalist Swill as, “an alternative take”, however their self-effacing, all-inclusive attitude, plus Cush’s regular anti-UKIP references, were still winning them through. It’s sad to comment ast this juncture, that, with the current rise of racist idiots such as the UKIP mob, The Men They Couldn’t Hang’s central themes of class struggle, anti-racism/ fascism and equality and inclusion for all are equally as relevant today as they were in Thatcher’s divided Britain of the 80’s, perhaps in some circumstances even more so. A Cush solo version of The Jam’s “Down In The Tube Station At Midnight” also underlined this point, the antagonists in Cush’s version referenced of smelling of “too many UKIP meetings”, and going down a storm with the packed audience of old punk rockers as a consequence.

Things picked up notably, post-Cush solo break, with a tremendous “Smugglers” a barbed diatribe and superb singalong, “Shirt Of Blue” as chilling as ever, and “Colours” a terrace chant manifesto for the common man. However, set closer “Ironmasters” was the jewel in the crown tonight for me, a breathless blast through their strident, manic best number, which got me jumping about crazily despite 2 dodgy knees. We also got an encore run-through of the sprawling, poignant anti-war anthem “Green Fields Of France” following exhortations by Mr. Fuller, and a jigabout “Walkin’, Talkin’” saw a 1 ½ hour set of initially low-key, but ultimately as raucously fun as ever folky punk to a close. The birthday boy was elated, and so were we; and you were right, Mr. Fuller, Sir; it was a great night!