1,425 THE SKIDS, Au Pairs, Bath Komedia, Friday 23rd January 2026

 

My old school punk rock intro to the 2026 gig year continues, with a return to the boards of my first punk rock loves The Skids! This, the 10^th time of asking but the first for just over a year (December 2024, gig 1,362) sees these veteran Scottish anthemic punkers – now down to the one original member in vocalist, lyricist and “face” of the band, the irrepressible Richard Jobson – go out on tour in celebration of their final “first time round” album, 1980’s “The Absolute Game”. Said album, the third in a shade over 18 months, saw a further progression from their savage yet hooky punk beginnings to a more stylish and expansive Berlin-era Bowie-esque soundscape, infused with a sheen as marbled and epic as its cover, and almost bridging the gap between punk and the imminent 80s New Romantic sound. “Gloss pop,” as Jobbo termed it at the time… Anyway, this tour promised an emphasis on this album and a chance to hear some lesser-played classics (one in particular which I’d been hoping to hear since The Skids returned in 2017), so bring it on… 

An added bonus was the addition to the bill of fellow veteran post punkers Au Pairs, a band who’d passed me by back in the day but whom I’d latterly come to appreciate more, so I was aiming for an early arrival. I set off at 5.45 for a chilly drive and wander along from the Podium car park, arriving just after doors and grabbing a barrier spot, house left, next to a lovely couple in fellow veteran gig-goers Nat and Mark, Nat having apparently seen The Skids first time round! The arrival of the support interrupted our gig chat, however; The Au Pairs – like the headliners tonight – are effectively the original frontperson plus a backing line-up of hired hands, but said frontperson Lesley Woods was a stylish, black clad visual focus, with the passing years imbuing her old barked, atonal vocals with a gravelly gravitas befitting their tense, often eerie and claustrophobic austere cold war post-punk material. Opener “Come Again” was a hectic, robust Gang of Four-esque chant-along, with the follow-up “Love Song” more off-kilter and rhythmic, with a haunting Patti Smith-esque mid-song break. Also, like Lydon last time out (and indeed, Jobson later this evening), Woods has surrounded herself with excellent players for this ersatz Au Pairs line up; the slow burn, sprawling menace of “Diet” and a later creepy “Headache” featured some excellent bass, and my set highlight, the funky yet prescient “Armagh” was propelled by some fine militaristic drum rolls. The urgent alarm blare and still relevant hook of “It’s Obvious” rounded out a fine support set from Woods and co; a welcome return!

A long queue for the gents (the clientele being about 95% male tonight!) before I was back in place for The Skids’ arrival at 8.30, the band plunging into strident, fist pumping opener “Happy To Be With You”, initiating the first of many terrace chant singalongs tonight. “Is this the first time The Skids have played in Bath? It was always a bit posh for us!” announced the gregarious vocalist before maintaining momentum with the slashing and undulating riffery of “Out Of Town”. “ “The Absolute Game” was [fellow Skids founder and original guitarist, the late, lamented Stuart Adamson]’s finest work with the Skids,” reflected Jobbo, spotlighting current guitarist Connor Whyte with a throwaway, “so no pressure on this guy…!” 

Jobbo was as ever his usual effusive self, regaling us with stories from those late 70’s times touring and promoting “TAG”, throwing himself around with his usual shadow-boxing abandon, and quipping, “we seem to be attracting a younger audience; that guy over there is only 57!” But for me tonight young Mr. Whyte was the MVP; the only guitarist in the current 4-piece line-up, and with obvious big boots to fill, he delivered a masterclass in intricate rock riffery, brilliantly embellishing the likes of the siren cry of “One Decree” and the stately singalong “Woman In Winter”. But it was “Goodbye Civilian”, my hoped-for number, that was my highlight, the squashy synth pulse being replaced brilliantly by Whyte’s grandiose and glorious picking.

The epic “Arena” rounded off the “TAG” homage, building to a huge crescendo outro, with Jobbo delivering his best and most commanding vocal of the night. Then a few old faves in “that U2 song!”, namely a savage “The Saints Are Coming”, the inevitable but still welcome “Into The Valley”, an uncomfortably relevant “Working For The Yankee Dollar” (Jobbo commenting “[this] means more today than when we wrote it at 16 years old”) and an unexpected encore of a pacey and ragged “Olympian” (delivered as folk were milling off following the anticipated set closer “Charles”) rounded off another fine Skids set. My promotor friend Kieran (whom I’d bumped into earlier) was roadie-ing tonight and sorted me with Jobbo’s list (hooray!), before I headed off for an early home arrival just before 11, catching up with “The Traitors” final over a late kebab tea. No treachery tonight from Jobbo and his boys, however; powered by a stellar performance from the virtuoso Whyte, they were entirely faithful to the superb “Absolute Game” album material tonight!

1,362 THE SKIDS, Spear Of Destiny, Bristol Trinity, Thursday 12th December 2024

A double-header of old school 70’s punk acts to head towards the end of the 2024 gig year; The Damned tomorrow night (ironically, Vanian’s mob are across town at Bristol Beacon tonight!), but firstly, my nascent musical loves, 70’s Scots anthemic punks The Skids. Since their reunion odyssey started in 2016, I’d seen them 8 times as their line-up swirled, morphed and circulated around main man Richard Jobson, to the point that the line-up on their most recent sighting in 2023 (gig 1,298) was Jobbo plus 4 young, hired hands. Still, since the sad passing of his Skids partner Stuart Adamson in 2001, The essence of The Skids is and has always been Richard Jobson, both for his dramatic and baroque lyricism, and for his enthusiastic and effervescent “live” performances. Consequently, if he/ they are playing, I’ll be going to see him/ them! 

So, a trip down to Trinity was called for, the nearest The Skids come to the ‘don on this, a 45^th Anniversary tour celebration of their sophomore album “Days In Europa”, which saw them infuse the anthemic punk of their “Scared To Dance” debut with a more expansive, synth-embellished, Bowie-esque sound. I had company too in Rich and Stu and set off to scoop them up about 5.30. 1 hour later, we still hadn’t left town, as an M4 closure due to a hydraulic fluid spillage had clogged it with traffic. Bah! Still, once we hit the M4, we zoomed down and parked up in Cabot, wandering in at 20 to 8. Luckily openers Spear Of Destiny, due at 7.30, were 15 minutes late on, opening with the swaggering rock strut of “Land Of Shame”, sounding street-tough and hard-rocking, although Kirk Brandon’s distinctive high operatic vocals were clipped and a little submerged in the mix. A reason for this became evident when he spoke between numbers, a gravelly rasp (and more than a few off-mic coughs) indicating a touch of man-flu maybe? Nonetheless, he and the band soldiered on gamely, with the robust military-march double of “Rainmaker” and “Young Men” early highlights. The set wavered for me a little midway, Brandon clearly pacing himself vocally, but the parched, Navajo Desert Western movie theme feel of “Never Take Me Alive” was a mid-set highlight and a precursor for a fine final trio; an epic “World Service”, always my favourite, Brandon conducting the “I hear music” singalong, then the desolate, anti-war paean “Mickey”, and finally the pacey moshpit catnip of “Liberator”, Brandon struggling a bit to get over the line, but thanking us “cider drinkers” after a hard-fought set.

Chatted with a bloke down the front as we kept our house left spots, a couple of rows back; then the bubbling backwards synth of a taped “Peaceful Times” heralded the 4-piece band onstage, Jobson on last and crashing into the rejigged militaristic backbeat of “Animation”, the man already St. Vitus dancing and shadow boxing to the music in his inimitable way. A hurtling “Thanatos” and the timebomb tick of a terrace chant-chorused “Charade” later, he admitted, “you come onstage and feel 16 again; 3 songs later and you’re fucked!” 

Nonetheless, this was another age-defying performance from the muscular Jobson, challenging the crowd to get involved in the regular anthemic terrace-chant choral hooks, and regaling us with stories from the time, such as a “Top Of The Pops” performance when he was complimented by a sultrily-voiced Diana Ross! The band were also on top form, young guitarist Connor Whyte again leading the charge with beautiful homages to Adamson’s distinctive intricate guitar patterns, but Jobbo as ever was the rabble-rousing focus, calling for a “Donald Trump’s A wanker” chant during the expansive “Yankee Dollar”, and giving a nod to Adamson before “A Day In Europa”. “Into The Valley” was as ever an epic singalong, if a little heavy-legged (or was that just me?), and, following the debate for and against “Albert Tatlock” (“what a pile of shite! It was credited as Jobson/ Adamson, but Stuart had nothing to do with it as he had class!”), the propulsive “Circus Games” was my set highlight, before the ragged march of “Hurry On Boys” ended a swift hour set.

An encore of their embryonic debut “Charles” and their own homage to Jobson’s heroes The Clash, a cover of Strummers boys’ “Complete Control” rounded off a great Skids performance; I’d grabbed a barrier spot front and centre by then, at the front of a boisterous moshpit, and was staring down Jobson during “Charles” and singing the words back to him, so was in prime position to catch the scrunched-up set-list lobbed over by guitarist Whyte. Nice! A quick chat with this talented young man, before we hit the road for a diversion-affected run to the ‘don, which was still way quicker than our outbound journey and got me home before midnight after dropping the boys off. Another great gig from The Skids (even if they’re not THE Skids these days, but you know what I mean…!), lovely to hear some of the lesser played “Europa” highlights, and great to see Jobbo as ever in ebullient form, continuing to enjoy himself onstage. Long may that continue!

1,298 THE SKIDS, Supporting From The Jam, Swindon MECA, Friday 13th October 2023

 

Rounding off the current flurry of gig activity is a welcome return to my “Dance Card” of my first proper “Favourite Band”, 70’s anthemic punks The Skids. As a 13 year old, I’d fallen for Richard Jobson’s manic dancing when I first saw them perform the fist-pumping “Into The Valley” on “Top Of The Pops”, and so revelled in their recent reunion shows. We’d been “on a break” since the last time (October 2021, gig 1,193) as the Skids line-up essentially morphed into the still-up for it Jobson plus a backline of hired hands; however I wasn’t going to miss them playing in Swindon, moments from my doorstep (ironically at the criminally underutilised MECA, where they were due to play waaay back in January 2019!), even if it was as support to an ersatz Jam line-up. Also, as Mark E Smith used to say, “if it’s me and yer granny on bongos, it’s The Fall,” so surely the same hold true of the effervescent frontman Jobson and The Skids?

 Only one way to find out, so off I went, finding the Wyvern car park full so dumping the motor in the cinema car park, running into Rich in the queue, getting drinks in then taking a wander down the front, bumping into Beef on the way! I’d grabbed a bit of barrier, house left, by the time The Skids took the stage, 4 black clad desperados followed onstage by the muscular Jobson, usual St. Pauli t-shirt firmly in place, still looking fit and well for 63, perma-grin affixed to his rugged granite features and quipping, “fuck me, how much rain fell in Swindon today – and I’m Scottish!” before leading the band into the staccato rhythm of “Charade”, followed in short order by a thrillingly headlong, hurtling “Of One Skin”. “The last time I came to Swindon was 1978,” remarked the frontman; “it hasn’t changed!” 

Any fears about the quality or proficiency of this Skids line-up were immediately blown away. They sounded great! Young guitarist Connor Whyte particularly had some seriously big shoes to fill but handled the late Stuart Adamson’s intricate snaking guitar patterns with aplomb, and drummer Nick Hernandez was a strong-armed, hard-hitting beast, driving the sound with relentless force, a worthy successor to Messrs Kellichan, Egan and Baillie. But of course the jocular, kinetic Jobson was the main focus; joking about ageing (“there’s a time when your cock gets smaller…!”), taking aim at usual targets Savile and Sayer (Leo of course having deprived The Skids of a number one album, some wag down the front – OK, me – shouting, “get over it!”, Jobson replying, “I can’t! I’m still bitter!”) and lending his rich, stentorian vocals to classics such as the fist-pumping terrace chant “Yankee Dollar” and the soaring “Circus Games”. A ragged rant through “TV Stars” (“the worst song in the history of punk rock!” according to Jobbo) was throwaway fun, preceding an equally breathless cover of The Clash’s “Complete Control” (“the best!”); then the inevitable, towering “Into The Valley” was a brilliant finale, Jobson punching the air with furious intent, then leading the enthusiastic early comers through an a capella singalong of the hook. Tremendous stuff! 

Drummer Nick kindly supplied me with a list, and we took a breather before taking a spot a little further back for From The Jam, original Jam bass player Bruce Foxton and long-time oppo Russell Hastings the main man in this 5-piece line-up. The Jam had never been massive favourites of mine – I’d owned 2 singles of theirs, back in the day, both bought in the Woolworths cheapo “Ex Chart” box! – and after the roaring, terrace chant dynamism of The Skids, this iteration of FTJ sounded flat and insipid, statically going through the motions like a poor pub band, and Foxton (who took bass duties on a few Stiff Little Fingers tours a dozen or so years ago) sadly looking fragile, every one of his 68 years, and sounding particularly shaky on lead vocals for an early “David Watts”. Distracted, I took a walk, running into a number of old friends and faces for catch-up chats, including Jobbo himself, whom Rich had located at the merch stand and who happily recalled our previous meetings at other Skids gigs. Nice!

 Went back in for FTJ, who at least were finishing strongly with a sinuous, sinister “Down In The Tube Station At Midnight” and a fine “Butterfly Collector” but who never rose above workmanlike for me. Still, they had a sizeable moshpit of Fred Perry-clad old blokes, particularly for encores of the jagged clarion call “In The City”, a lengthy, slightly self-indulgent “Eton Rifles” and the inevitable “Going Underground”, so what the fuck do I know, eh? As for me, I ran in to another old friend – hi Charlie! – on the way out, dropped Rich up the Vic then headed home for just after 11 with Jobbo’s early set proclamation ringing in my ears. He may have meant it as a joke, but it was totally true for me – tonight the headliners played first!

1,193 THE SKIDS, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Saturday 16th October 2021

 

The last time I saw The Skids, ironically at this very venue 2 ½ years ago (gig 1,124), it felt as if the relentless touring schedule that this veteran Scottish anthemic original punk band had adopted since their 40^th Anniversary reunion in 2017 was winding down, that a less hectic approach would be adopted going forward, that being exemplified by a splendid acoustic set from lead vocalist Richard Jobson and the Watson boys later that year (September 2019, gig 1,151). Then of course Covid hit, and the world was put on pause, providing an unwelcome yet natural break which actually seemed to serve as a rest and reset for The Skids! Not much of a surprise then, that as soon as the venues opened after a near 18-month absence, The Skids announced an Autumn full-on electric band tour. Even less of a surprise was that me and my gig buddy Logan were up for seeing them again!

 Gloucester on a Saturday night was the best choice, so we headed off about 7ish, hitting the venue and opting to grab a drink in the ornate wood-panelled bar over catching support Borrowed Time, whom I’ve seen enough to realise they’re not my cup of homogenous UK82 street punk snakebite. Ran into my Gloucester friend Simon (who’s not only a BT fan but a mate of the vocalist!) and his charming wife Sarah after their set for a long-overdue catch-up, before we took a wander into the half-full old school hall venue, Logan still managing to find a bit of barrier, pretty much front and centre! Whiled away the interval singing along to the 70’s punk PA soundtrack – as I mentioned to a fellow punter, this is our church, and these are our hymns!

 The bubbling synth intro of “Peaceful Times” as ever heralded The Skids onstage, the bomber-jacketed Jobbo last on, yet fully ready to conduct the choir. The regimental drums and riffery of usual opener “Animation” led us in, Bill Simpson’s bass initially sounding a little off, but by the titanic, hard and heavy second number, the brilliant “Of One Skin” it was all sorted.

 

Jobbo was in playful, voluble mood tonight, clearly glad to be back in his natural habitat, i.e. in front of an attentive and enthusiastic audience, and sounded off extensively between songs on subjects such as Bill’s alleged porn career (!), calling out hecklers (at one point offering the whole crowd outside with a, “you think you’re tough enough Gloucester?”), Rod Stewart’s cock (!!), recent “Burning Cities” CD producer – and Killing Joke legend – Youth’s marijuana habits (!!!), and his appearance in Paula Yates’ tacky 90’s book “Rock Stars In Their Underpants” (“a shameful story!”). This, of course, was on top of his fist-pumping, rabble rousing frontman performance, usual shadow boxing “dancing” and stentorian, gut busting vocals, particularly to the fore on a quite brilliant “The Saints Are Coming”.

 The band sounded tight and tough too; clearly the break has done them good, with the Watson father and son guitar duo providing interweaving, snaking riffery of which Stuart Adamson himself would be proud, Bill Simpson pounding out a bass foundation as solid and rock-steady as the springy venue floor wasn’t (!), and – with due deference to usual drummer Mike Baillie – guest drummer, Big Country’s Mark Brzezicki, giving his usual virtuoso masterclass in hard-hitting rock drumming. The staccato opening to “Charade” ceded to a huge choral hook, the excellent “Kings Of The New World Order” showed there’s songwriting life in these old dogs yet, and after a more reflective yet still rousing singalong mid-set double of “Hurry On Boys” and “A Woman In Winter”, it all went a bit old school punk rock, the Boris-baiting terrace chant “Albert Tatlock” segueing into truncated versions of The Sex Pistols’ “Pretty Vacant” and Buzzcocks’ “What Do I Get”, before the inevitable “Into The Valley” and a galloping “Olympian” closed the set out.

 The punk rock wasn’t finished, though, with a rambunctious run-through of The Clash’s “Complete Control” (a stand-out track on their recent “Hymns From A Haunted Ballroom” covers CD) the encore punctuation point on a 1 hour 20 set, proving there’s still life in these old Scottish terriers yet, particularly after the Covid break. A quick catch-up with Simon and Sarah before a false start home due to a road closure still got us back in time to grab a kebab and watch some Red Sox playoff baseball before hitting the hay. A good day, a great boys night out with Logan, and a triumphant and welcome return from The Skids!

1,151 RICHARD JOBSON, Bruce and Jamie Watson, Bristol St. Georges Hall, Tuesday 3rd September 2019

An intriguing way to kick off a packed and ever-evolving Autumn Dance Card, this; something a little different from a recent “live” favourite! My first real musical loves, anthemic Scots punks The Skids, had barrelled a swathe through my recent gigging days with epic and unforgettable performances since their 40^th Anniversary reunion in June 2017, not the least being a cracking gig in Gloucester earlier this year (gig 1,124). At that one, it felt as if The Skids were in the process of winding down operations for the time being (a June slot at the Albert Hall on the Pete Shelley memorial gig notwithstanding), and a subsequent acoustic album and Richard Jobson solo tour was announced as a result. Acoustic Skids? Hmmm… Nonetheless intrigued, I looked into tix for this St. Georges gig, remembering the excellent acoustics in this former church hall seated venue, blanched a little at the £47.50 front row ticket price but thought, better that than pay half that for halfway back, and subsequently discovered said price included meet and greet! Looking a bit better value now, methinks…!

 

A 5.45 start to this social session necessitated an early departure straight from work; I was buoyed to note all the traffic was coming out of Bristol rather than in, so chanced my arm up Park Street, finding a parking spot directly outside the venue. Result! So, in for the meet and greet with a small handful of aficionados; Jobbo happily remembered me (and my son Logan, absent tonight!) from the Oxford meet and greet 2 years ago, complimented my write-up (I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy!) and I was able to show him the letter I’d written to “Smash Hits” as an indignant 14 year old fan defending his honour. Bruce and Jamie Watson, Jobbo’s guitar wingmen tonight, also remembered me, and a convivial time passed by in conversation with the performers, fellow punters and merch man/ tour manager Gordon.

 

Grabbed a drink in the new atrium, bolted onto the side of this venerable old venue, before taking my front row seat, house right, for the “performance”. A larger stage than I’d recalled from previous visits, and proper seats too, not church pews! Not a sell-out, so back-row punters were encouraged to come forward to make for a more intimate gathering. Bruce and Jamie came onstage at 10 to 8 for a couple of warm-up numbers (one a Tex-Mex galloper, the other a more poignant number, which Bruce introduced as the last number he’d written with Stuart Adamson… He then introduced Jobbo onto the stage…

 

Straight from the off Richard Jobson was his usual voluble and articulate self, commanding your attention with his stories and songs. Explaining tonight’s format, the plan being to give the lyrics more emphasis through these interpretation, he also mentioned a mid-set break; “some of you might need it – it’s a Bruce thing!” “Hurry On Boys” started the proceedings, the singalong hook still as powerful and resonant stripped back, a couple of newies from the recent album following, each benefitting from not only this interpretation, but also from extensive intro explanations from the Great Man.

 

Tonight being billed as “Songs And Stories”, both were balanced perfectly. Jobbo touched on his childhood epilepsy and his introduction to music by his brother, an early love of Bowie teaching him it’s OK to be different, before a haunting and beautiful “Animation”; he joked about Big Country’s mid-80’s success throughout (tongue-in-cheek, I hope!), juxtaposing this with the ill-fated final Skids album “Joy”, before a baroque, folky “Fields”, and a lengthy story regarding U2 and Green Day’s version of the subsequent “Saints Are Coming” saw us into the break at 9. Ten minutes later he was back, delivering a chilling acapella “The Band Played Walzing Matilda” in his commanding, dark and resonant voice, before throwing the evening open to some Q&As. This prompted a brilliant story about him and Adamson motorcycling down to London from Dunfermline in the snow to buy some leather trousers (!), hanging out with Sid Vicious and attending the first Siouxsie And The Banshees gig as a consequence; gobbing on a Nolan sister on Top Of The Pops (!!); and the sheet joy of hearing “Charles” played on John Peel’s radio show, before an excellent version. I got a question in (about old Skids fans introducing their sons to the band and bringing them along), before an unexpected “Castles In Spain”, a single from Jobbo’s underrated post-Skids project The Armoury Show, together with enough information about his band members to suggest that project was ill-fated at best… Musically, the penultimate “Woman In Winter” was probably my highlight of the night, the mournful tones of the harmony weaving an eerie atmosphere, before the inevitable “Into The Valley” ended a startlingly entertaining 2 hours.

 

Off at the end for an unencumbered drive home, reflecting on this different interpretation of songs I know so well. The hallmark of great material, I always say, is seeing it seamlessly adapt to different interpretations, and that being the case The Skids oeuvre is quality indeed. Also, Richard Jobson once again proved himself to be a frontman and raconteur of rare and unique talent. Different, but another breathtaking evening from my first musical loves - or at least their main man!

1,124 THE SKIDS, Borrowed Time, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Saturday 23 February 2019

The Skids 40^th Anniversary “live” odyssey continues, but also shows signs of winding down… Having seemingly been “on the road” ever since their June 2017 sole-intended 40^th Anniversary London Roundhouse date turned into a tour, and then another tour, then another (!), my early teenhood anthemic punk rock faves announced a further clutch of gigs to welcome in 2019, albeit with the accompanying warning that these may be the last electric band dates for the foreseeable future. So, following the cancellation of their January Swindon MECA gig, I thought I’d better grab “One Last Chance” to high-kick, Jobbo style, until my knees cried “enough”, and sing these cherished choruses loudly and lustily. Gloucester Guildhall was the closest, so I relished the chance to bounce to The Skids on one of the springiest dancefloors I’d ever been on!

Strapped my knees up (still sore after Thursday’s Brand New Friend gig!) and hit the road at 7.15, with some road closures in Gloucester throwing some diversions into my planned route, nonetheless not keeping me from my usual Gloucester car park (free after 6. Yay!). Noise was already emanating from the upstairs hall as I entered; I’d got the timings all wrong, with doors at 7 not 8, and support Borrowed Time already halfway done. I chatted to friendly merch guy Gordon, set up by the hall doors, discovering from him that the Swindon cancellation wasn’t at The Skids’ request, they were just told about it. Hmmm… Popped in for the last couple of Borrowed Time’s set, a couple of buzzsaw formulaic leather and studs numbers to round off what seemed a crowd-pleasing set from this gang of local punks. Not my cup of Pasti-Chron-Partizan Discharge though…

Had a chat with some fellow punters, before getting a tap on my shoulder just before The Skids were due on… “are you David Rose?” I sure am, I replied, as I happily – and finally! – met up with Simon, a Gloucester native who for a few years had been commenting on my blog under the (surely Aardvark-inspired!) name of Cerebus 660. Great to meet him at last! We were front and centre for The Skids’ entry onstage at 9, as usual to the backwards loop of “Peaceful Times” and a roar from the full and enthusiastic crowd. Gloucester were representing in style, no messing… The low rumble of “Animation” segued in perfectly to open proceedings,  moshpit breaking out, forcing me and my dodgy knees back to its’ periphery. Vocalist Richard Jobson, as ever, was in fine, voluble fettle, remarking, “Gloucester! It’s been 38 years! You’ve aged well… I can see more hair, so you’re either younger or you’re all wearing wigs!”, then, after another preamble about The Forest Of Dean (“my brother moved there 35 years ago and I’ve not heard from him since!”), he introduced the staccato riffery of “Charade” with, “let’s raise the roof! Really.. we want to nick the lead, as we’re thieving Scots!”

Once again this was a superb rock performance by a practised and finely-honed band in absolute top form, and loving every moment. The perma-grin across the shadow-boxing, wise-cracking Jobbo’s face, the solid base of bassist Bill Simpson and drummer Mike Baillie, and the deft, synchronised interplay of the excellent duelling guitar duo of Bruce Watson and son Jamie. What a band. In the last 2 years “live”, they’ve had few peers and no superiors. “Yankee Dollar”, more so pointedly relevant now than ever, “Woman In Winter” both mournful and triumphant at the same time, “Circus Games” racy and rambunctious, and the classic “Into The Valley”, causing the old dancefloor to take on trampoline proportions as the mosh bounced along. “Out Of Town” closed out a set which seemed barely minutes long, but the encores were utterly magnificent; “Albert Tatlock” (which saw Jobbo wave a laminated pic of the man, handed up from the crowd!), a rampant run-through “Pretty Vacant” then “What Do I Get” in homage to Pete Shelley, a brilliantly snaking, sinister and creepy “Scared To Dance” to mark the 40^th Anniversary of their debut album’s release (today!), then an unexpected and reverential reading of Bowie’s “Heroes” (“something we’ve never done before!” quoth Jobbo), before a rampaging “Of One Skin” reprise took us right up to the curfew, and a huge ovation to close the night.

Waited outside awhile, catching my breath and reflecting on the gig before a swift drive back topped with a Penhill layby kebab (!) for a (very) late supper. As I’d remarked to Gordon on the way out, if this is The Skids winding down “live” shows, they’re going out on fire. And honestly, it’s been one of the greatest pleasures of my gigging days to accompany them on this odyssey. Songs I’ve cherished for 40 years, songs which until 2 years ago I never thought I’d hear “live”. And for that, boys, you have my sincere and heartfelt thanks.

1,117 THE SKIDS, Knock Off, Borrowed Time, Bristol Fiddlers, Sunday 9th December 2018

The comeback kings of 2017 continue to cut a rampaging swathe across the 2018 musical landscape, and this time there's happily another witness to this; my old friend Paul Crowfoot! Having monitored The Skids' triumphant return from afar (let's face it, you can't really get that much further "afar" than Seattle!) and having reconciled to the fact they're not likely to come his way, Paul got in touch (ironically as I was queueing up to get in the Buffalo Tom gig!) to confirm he was combining some personal UK business and a Chrimbo visit to his folks with a Skids gig run! Stuart and I were already booked for this one, but were more than happy to be joined by another Skids devotee, for what promised to be another epic titanic night of anthemic punk rock.

 

So I picked Paul up early from his 'rents and we caught up at my place awhile (it seems like 5 minutes, but it's actually been 2 1/2 years since we were plane-spotting from his Heathrow hotel before that Close Lobsters 100 Club gig, no. 988!), before Stuart silently rolled up in his electric car, and we had a gig-chat fuelled drive down to Brizzle, avoiding some traffic queues and parking up around the corner from this scuzzy old venue, located in the middle of a run-down industrial park. Only been here the once before (The Wannadies, gig 433, waaaaay back in March 2000!) but it all came flooding back when we got in prompt at 7.30 and I saw the corner stage! A quick chat with our friendly merch guy Gordon, before we were assaulted by the first of 2 formulaic punk supports, Borrowed Time, on at 7.45. The spiky peroxide vocalist threw his sock into the sparse early crowd after their opener, which was more entertaining than the song! However, at least their ramalama punk was stuck in a 1978 groove, recalling a number of second-tier shouty punk acts such as Drones, Killjoys etc, rather than the 1980's homogeneous leather'n'studs dreck, and often showing some semblance of a tune here and there. One number nicked Iggy's "Lust For Life" rhythm, and I enjoyed the sincerity of a couple of numbers dedicated to local punk Sue Barnett, and The Buzzcocks' mainman Pete Shelley, both tragically lost too soon this week. So, much better than other support Knock Off, a Fred Perry-clad trio of 1,000 mph noiseniks channelling sub-Upstarts "street" Oi/ punk, the type that put me off punk back in the day. The vocalist's banter was way better than the "music", which felt like the aural equivalent of a Julian Dicks late tackle, and I escaped to the loos to avoid a chunk of the set and look up the Strictly results! (No, I'm not joking...)

 

We took a spot near the front, house left, as the roadies set up. Sure enough, at 9.30 the backwards loop of "Peaceful Times" kicked in and The Skids took the stage, vocalist Richard Jobson last but first to speak, announcing, "here we are, let's raise the roof!" as the band powered into the strident march of "Animation". The marvellous descending riff of "Of One Skin" followed, a boisterous yet good-natured moshpit accompanying it, prompting Jobson to warn, "pace yourselves... there's a long way to go, and a long way to Bristol A&E!"

 

The Skids were on top form tonight, tight, road-tested and together, and none more so than their leader; whether gleefully shadow-boxing and twirling in his usual strong-armed dervish dance, or quipping along with the relaxed demeanour of a stand-up comedian (a lengthy diatribe about what goes on in the nearby Forest Of Dean, a comment about his energetic dancing - "I started this tour 235 kilos and I'm [now] practically withering away! " - and his story of how bassist Bill Simpson started the band in 1916 after the Battle of Flanders (!) all drawing some laughter), Jobbo was the mesmeric focal point throughout. Wingman Bruce Watson, again a more than able deputy for the sadly-departed Stuart Adamson, was in fantasy band camp throughout, perma-grin fixed in place, furious riffery underpinning the seething anthemic power of the material. And a few curveballs too - following a superb, roof-raising double singalong of "Hurry On Boys" and "Woman In Winter", Jobbo announced a never-played "Sweet Suburbia", getting halfway through a messy rendition before segueing into "Albert Tatlock" (drummer Mike Baillie again playing the off-kilter Devo "Satisfaction" drum pattern!), then into an unplanned "Pretty Vacant"! "Circus Games" was as usual a stately and robust highlight, the epic thrill-ride of "Into The Valley" was earlier than usual ("we normally finish with [it] but we love you so much we want to keep going!"), and the drum-propelled gallop of "Olympian" closed out the set proper.

 

The voluble vocalist also hit the "Serious" button a time or two, dedicating an early "Saints Are Coming" to Stuart Adamson, then during the encore, he delivered a heartfelt tribute to Pete Shelley, conducting the audience in an impromptu singalong of the hook to "Ever Fallen In Love", either side of a full-bodied yet reverential run-through of The Buzzcocks' "What Do I Get?" Newie "One Last Chance" ended a brilliant set; the band, dripping with sweat, had given their all and so had we, being buffeted about at the edge of the mosh, but not caring a jot. And we all scored setlists, Stuart having his handed to him by Jobbo. Result!

 

Caught our breath, then home. Glad Paul got to see The Skids in such rare form; long may this comeback continue!

 

1,094 THE SKIDS, Theatre Of Hate, London Shepherd’s Bush Empire, Saturday 30th June 2018

And now, back to our usual scheduled programme…!

 

Following last weekend’s Taylor Swift pop extravaganza at Wembley with Kasey, today’s mid-point of 5 weekend gigs on the bounce (and 2^nd of 3 in a row “oop the Smoke”) saw a semblance of normality restored, with a punk rock boys night out! Said night out being hosted once again by The Skids, continuing their recent reunion renaissance with a first London gig since the release of their first album in 37 years, the fire-breathing, anger-fuelled and reactionary “Burning Cities”, and the boys in question being myself and Logan! Having loved the full-on Skids “meet and greet” experience in Oxford last June (gig 1,040), Logan was up for seeing these vintage anthemic punks (and his dad’s real first musical loves) again, so a Saturday gig at the favourable Empire (the right side of London for us!) afforded us the chance for Logan’s first London gig, the first of many no doubt…!

The girls were in Bristol seeing “Flashdance”, so Logan and I set off at 4, listening to Argentina’s extraordinary World Cup exit on the journey. We parked in The Bush at 6.15, waiting by the car for 15 minutes until we were legal (! Again…) before heading around the corner; doors were at 7, so we were one of the first in, securing a barrier spot, house right. The place filled up early doors, a number of early punters seeming to primarily be here for the support! Old stagers Theatre Of Hate (for t’was they), joined us at 7.45, the pairing of Kirk Brandon and faithful wingman, bassist Stan Stammers, leading the charge into “Original Sin”, Brandon’s familiar and unique operatic tones and the saxophone blare competing for attention throughout. “We’re your fun-loving Theatre Of Hate!” quipped the vulgar-shirted Brandon, in relaxed and effusive mood tonight, making light of playing the wrong song early doors with, “OK, you sometimes get things fucking wrong!” This was a solid set of their dark, dramatic and occasionally politically-tinged dense post-punk rock, with occasional swipes at Trump (“that guy with the small hands”) and, in the still-strident “Propaganda”, tonight’s first full-on mosh-fest. At a full hour, their set wore on me a little, but as ever, the pointed and still-relevant cowboy gallop of “Do You Believe In The Westworld?” was splendid and ended the set well, at which point Stammers handed Logan a pick. Nice!

A chat with a fellow punter, a veteran fan who’d seen The Skids a bunch of times first time round, passed the time until The Skids took the stage at an early 9.10 to the chiming intro of “This Is Our World”, delivering a pulsating rendition of the new album’s opening track. The metallic staccato riff opening to “Charade” followed, Jobson’s voice a little down in the mix and sounding (if I’m being harsh) slightly ragged, maybe bearing the weight of their current hectic touring schedule somewhat, but the frontman was as usual nothing less than mesmeric, whirling away in his trademarked dervish dance and with a constantly beaming grin on his face the width of the Forth Bridge. In good fooling too; “being in our band is “Spinal Tap” every day – so fucking funny! [Backstage, it’s all] cups of tea and Kit-Kats, apart from Bill – he’s on the Tunnocks Teacakes!” was an early comment, then, after a fist-pumping “Melancholy Soldiers” he admitted, “you start full of euphoria and effusiveness and just go for it – then you look at the set-list and think, shit, there’s 42 numbers to go!”

“Working For The Yankee Dollar” was an early set highlight, and the dramatic slashing riffery of “The Saints Are Coming” saw an early mosh develop, as I formed a human shield around my little man. The new numbers stacked up well once more, “Desert Dust” again heart-rending and bleak, and “Into The Void” (reflecting “the fragile scary world of today”) galloping and ominous. After a reverentially received shout out for Stuart Adamson, “Hurry On Boys” was again an epic, stately singalong (this one never ceases to amaze me “live”, always a step up from the recorded version), then a singalong “Circus Games”, which got my little man really animated, immediately segued into an unannounced “Albert Tatlock”, which oddly ended with some Devo “Satisfaction” drumbeats from Mike Baillie. As ever, “Into The Valley” was a raucous, anthemic and brilliant punctuation on another superb Skids set – as I mentioned, slightly road worn but never less than enthusiastic.

A galloping “Olympian” (featuring some frantic fretwork from the splendid Bruce Watson) rounded off the encores, at which point Bill (onstage in front of us) handed Logan his list, this being followed by one of Jamie’s picks as the guitarist crossed the stage in front of us. Nice! A brief chat and signature from Mike Baillie afterwards was the icing on the cake for my “wee man”, who excitedly burbled all the way home for a 12.30 arrival. Another successful London gig with one of my offspring then – this one much more to my tastes!

1,090 THE SKIDS, TV Smith, Charlie Harper, Reading Sub 89, Thursday 7th June 2018

After seminal 70’s anthemic punks (the self-styled “first punk band in Scotland”, at least according to lead singer Richard Jobson last year!) and my first real band crush from age 13, namely The Skids, performed the greatest musical comeback since Adam Ant with a couple of frankly magnificent gigs last June, hopes were high that there’d be more to come. And I wasn’t to be disappointed; determined to not just be part of “that nostalgia circuit” (again, according to Jobbo), they released a PledgeMusic-backed new album “Burning Cities” earlier this year, announcing a slew of 2018 dates to support it. Aptly titled, this, as it burns with the fire of righteous fury and indignation, the band rightly appalled at the fact that “the world couldn’t get any worse [than the 70’s]… and it has!” and making their anger known with pointed lyricism and venomous yet toweringly hooky punk rock electric guitar. It’s a worthy addition to The Skids’ canon, so a gig or two was definitely on the cards. This one, in fact, was thanks to my old friend Stuart “Langers”, who booked a ticket then booked a coinciding holiday. Whoops! So I was happy for a free ticket for this one to fall into my lap – cheers Stu!

Drove down the M4 to Reading, a place where (Festival apart) I’ve been to comparatively few gigs despite its’ proximity to the ‘don. No street parking available, so parked up in the local Garrard Street NCP, having a bit of a shock when I realised I’d be on the hook for £12 parking charges for the evening! Bloody hell! Still, into the venue for 10 to 8, opener Charlie Harper taking the stage as I arrived. Old (and I mean old - he’s 74 (!)) punk Charlie bumbled his way through some acoustic versions of his band UK Subs’ numbers, sounding surprisingly bluesy given this acoustic treatment. Sadly, Charlie came across like a Sarf London punk rock Uncle Albert (from “Only Fools And Horses”), making a bit of a mess of quite a few and remarking, “drunk? I’m not drunk… it’s my guitar [that’s] been drinking…” Despite a bit of a singalong to closer “Warhead”, this was somewhat of a carcrash of a set, the only positive being that at 20 minutes, it was mercifully short.

TV Smith was next up in short order, the former Adverts frontman looking positively youthful in comparison, swaggering on, lean and mean, in 70’s punk chic and remarking, “Charlie Harper, me and The Skids on the same night – don’t tell me music is bland!” From the off, his set was way more coherent and passionately delivered, an early “No Time To Be 21” frantic and urgent. Smith then delved into his post-Adverts material, much of this stuff surprisingly possessing a tinge of the shimmering Americana of Grant Lee Buffalo to it, particularly “Generation Why”, a poignant and disaffected protest ballad. Smith was then joined by Ruts guitarist Leigh Heggarty to flesh out the likes of an excellent “Gary Gilmore’s Eyes”, “Bored Teenagers” and “One Chord Wonders”, closing out an impressive set with some old punk classics.

Talking of which… I wandered down the front, taking an easy spot, house left, amongst the old lags – a real punk rock sausage-fest, this (as The Dickies’ Leonard Graves-Phillips might say…)! Coming on to the urgent, insistent intro to newie, “This Is Our World”, The Skids burst onstage with a towering, palpably loud riff and a swagger, despatching this opener with fire and fury. “The Skids are still alive and kicking!” announced Jobson before “Charade” – hell yeah, you better believe it!

Once again, tonight was an all-inclusive celebration of one of rock’s iconic, most anthemic and enduring bands, Jobson and his charges giving it their all and leaving it all onstage, maximum energy and effort, the band in full-on fantasy band camp and a broad smile never far from the singer’s lips. “What a great venue – reminds me of the sweaty old days!”, he remarked before inviting us to dance as joyously as he intended to tonight. “Melancholy Soldiers” was preceded by a discussion of the band’s various fashion disasters through the years (!), before Jobbo deadpanned, “at least after 35 years the band’s now looking cool!” A wag on the front barrier shouted for “Albert Tatlock”, Jobson icily retorting, “if he calls for it again, I’m going to punch him in the puss!” “Working For The Yankee Dollar” featured some brilliantly kinetic guitar interplay from Watsons Senior and Junior, and “The Saints Are Coming” was a tub-thumping and fist-pumping clarion call to arms. A proper – and surprising – set highlight, however, was newie “Desert Dust”; preceded by a diatribe from Jobson about kids growing up with no hope of jobs or careers, then making the mistake of joining the Army, this was a melancholy and affecting slow-burn protest number, brilliantly poignant and articulately delivered, but the kind of song I really wish The Skids – or any band – didn’t have to write.

The double of “Hurry On Boys” and “A Woman In Winter” both received rousing singalongs, reverberating around the venue, leading up to the inevitable set closer “Into The Valley”, towering and titanic as ever. Jobson – who’d belied his 57 years by dancing energetically throughout and was by now soaked in sweat – leading the crowd in, “Ahoy! Ahoy!” singalongs long after the rest of the band had departed.

“We thought we’d do a couple of dates then people would be glad to see the back of us!” declared an elated Jobson before encore “Into The Void”. This, amazingly, saw both Bruce and Jamie Watson’s guitars fail simultaneously, the band ploughing on nonetheless and Jobson wisecracking at its’ end, “we’re having so much fun even when things go wrong! Can you imagine what Snow Patrol would do [if that happened to them]… they’d have a meltdown… Fuck off!!” In fact, we were having so much fun that we didn’t really notice!

Another brilliant set, another re-affirmation of The Skids’ music and legacy. I’d been on the barriers since “Albert Tatlock” guy fucked off into the mosh early doors, so was in prime spot for Jamie to hand me his set-list. Bought Jobson’s autobiography from the merch stand guy, who remembered me and Logan from last year and who promptly gave me another set-list! One for Logan then…! Paid my £12 then headed off home; now looking forward to taking Logan to Shepherd’s Bush Empire for more of this in a couple of weeks!

1,040, 1041 THE SKIDS, Klammer (1,040), The Vapors (1,041), Oxford O2 Academy, Friday 9th June 2017; London Camden Roundhouse, Friday 16th June 2017

A pair of gigs a mere 38 years in the waiting…!

Before The Gravel Pit, before The Gigolo Aunts, Parachute Men, Big Dipper, even before my late teens “home team” Echo And The Bunnymen, there were The Skids. The first band I truly, deeply fell hopelessly in love with, a love totally unrequited until now… All it took was the sight of vocalist Richard Jobson’s gloriously lunatic whirling dervish dance to the dramatically heavy, sonorous riffery of “Into The Valley” on “Top Of The Pops” in February 1979, and my 13 year old mind was officially fried. I was hooked, buying up all their anthemic terrace chant punk singles on their various limited edition formats, lauding their more sophisticated albums to the skies in front of my school mates, expanding my vocabulary trying to decipher Jobson’s delightfully prosaic lyrics, spending 25 years buggering my knees up trying to copy his insane dervish dance (well, somewhere between that and Simple Minds’ Jim Kerr’s more expansive dance gestures, anyway…) and even going so far as to write to “Smash Hits” magazine, vigorously attacking both their lukewarm review of The Skids’ “Circus Games” single, and defending the honour of Jobson, whom the reviewer had maligned as a poseur. Much good that did for the “Angry Skids Fan from Swindon” (as I had signed my letter), by the way, for they printed my letter in full, along with a pic of Jobbo wearing a ridiculous army cap and peering provocatively through a pipe, captioned, “Richard Jobson caught in the act of not posing”! Whoops…!

Nonetheless, The Skids were a comet that flew, huge, roaring and luminescent, into my line of vision, then just as quickly flew through; 3 stunning albums in quick succession, and by 1981 they were done, too soon for me to get to see them “live” first time around. I did get to see Jobbo’s next project The Armoury Show, along with guitarist Stuart Adamson’s charges Big Country a bunch of times, but the chances of a Skids reunion seemed to be extinguished by Adamson’s untimely passing in 2001. I found out a couple of years afterwards with some gall that they’d played Scottish festival “T In The Park” in 2007 to celebrate their 30^th Anniversary, and hopes were buoyed, if not totally encouraged, by the playing of “Into The Valley” immediately after the Big Country reunion shows in 2011. Testing the water, perhaps? September last year finally yielded a result for the faithful; announcement of a 40^th Anniversary London show at The Roundhouse, for which I immediately sorted tix for myself and the Big Man. A couple more dates were added, then news of an album via PledgeMusic (my pledge was there in a flash), then suddenly a whole tour, including an Oxford O2 date on a Friday, meaning I could take my 9 year old son Logan! Tix were voraciously snapped up for that one too, including a competitively priced “Meet And Greet” pre-gig event (my first such event – happy to pay £25 for that, which is half as much as other bands of similar or even lesser stature seem to charge!) so there’s where we start…

The Oxford meet and greet was scheduled for 4, so I grabbed Logan after his after-school club finished at 2, and we were on the road at 2.30, attacking Oxford’s underbelly and parking up in the Tesco’s Cowley car park easily, despite my concerns. My brother was seconds behind me, so we met up and queued up outside the venue whilst chatting to fellow meet and greeters, eventually getting in at 4.30 to watch The Skids set up then soundcheck 3 numbers, which sounded loud, dynamic and breathtaking (at one point I commented to my brother, “they sound so good I might just weep!”). That done, the boys then came down for the meet and greet, which was essentially a 45 minute social mingle with the c.20 of us; pics taken, signatures secured, various chats with the band (including my telling Jobbo my “Smash Hits” story to his general hilarity), and at one point drummer Mike Baillie even invited Logan up onstage to sit behind his drumkit! Logan also posed with guitarist Jamie Watson’s instrument, and bassist Bill Simpson (who initially thought that Logan was just along for the meet and greet, being surprised that the O2 is an 8+ venue so he was up for the gig as well!) mentioned, on hearing “Circus Games” was his favourite Skids song, remarked that they’d need to remember that. Hmmm…!

A lovely convivial time came to an end, so we left and grabbed tea at Subway, and were then first back in the venue at 7 pm doors! An hour wait as the place (very) slowly filled up with a slightly (but understandably) bored boy and his punkle winding him up came to a merciful end with Klammer, on at 8. Not heard of this lot before, although they were seemingly of similar vintage to the headliners, they played some rocky stuff which initially featured militaristic drumbeats and haunting, claustrophobic guitar effects, recalling the post-punk landscape roamed by the likes of Comsat Angels, and the vocalist displayed an off-kilter, dismissive sneer, which recalled The Stranglers’ Hugh Cornwell. Bits of the dour polemics of New Model Army and the loose-limbed feel of early Talking Heads as well made for a slightly juddering but overall intriguing opening set, although Logan felt a little hot so we took a break for some fresh air and a drink of water midway through. We were also joined by evening attendee Stuart “Langers” so caught up with some gig chat after their set, as the place filled to a more respectable 2/3rds full, and anticipation grew.

The bubbling synth pulse of backing track “Peaceful Times” built as the lights dimmed at 9, the band taking the stage and bursting into the sweeping riffery and marching beat of opener “Animation”. Jobson was immediately “on it”, strong-arming and shadow boxing through a slightly toned down version of that manic dance of youth, maybe understandably given his 56 years but still gamely putting in his promised shift. And the smile! Clearly loving it up there, relishing in the opportunity to celebrate his band’s legacy, he and the entire 5 piece Skids (including Big Country guitarist Bruce Watson, again subbing for his lost bandmate and clearly loving the chance to play in a band he was apparently a massive fan of, from the off) were in Fantasy Band Camp throughout, belying their years and the lack of activity therein with a performance as tight and dynamic as any band I’ve seen of late. Or ever, even…! Unsurprisingly this gave the whole evening an euphoric, celebratory feel throughout, underlined by the voluble Jobson’s frequent visits to the mic between numbers. “It’s been a long time coming!” he announced after the opener, noting that they intended, “to cover the whole spectrum of the Skids [music]” before a frankly brilliant “Melancholy Soldiers”. We also had a shout out for a fellow punter, “big black gay beautiful Mike from Cardiff!” before the racey gallop of “Thanatos” (which Jobson introduced incorrectly in the excitement!), and an anti Theresa May chant before “Dulce Et Decorum Est”, which descended into a beautifully eerie funereal march. Haunting and lovely.

The huge anthemic hook of “Working For The Yankee Dollar” saw arms thrust into the air, including Logan’s, and Jobson’s comment of, “if I’d have known it was this much fun I wouldn’t have gone into a coma 35 years ago!” skewered tonight’s overall mood perfectly. Time to acknowledge absent friends as well, as Bruce channelled the ghost of Stuart Adamson with some excellent, intricate fretwork during “Scared To Dance” (which was preceded with a poignant chant of, “Stuart! Stuart!”). The taut, stretched “Charles” was brilliant, the final riff a joyously heroic fanfare, and even “Hurry On Boys” (a track I’m not too fussed about on record) was an all-inclusive terrace roar. Then came “Circus Games”…

Jobson made the point about greeting fans earlier this evening, with some fathers bringing their sons along, then remarked, “we met a lovely little lad called Logan, he’s 9 years old… there he is!” as my brother lifted him up for all to see. A couple of quips about giving him, “a punch in the puss,” later, Jobbo announced, “[Logan’s] favourite Skids song is “Circus Games” – OK Logan this is for you, pal!” as the dual guitars burst into epic life, leaving a grin on my son’s face as wide as the Forth Bridge. Lovely stuff, a brilliant moment and an utterly epic widescreen rendition of this soaring anthem, which underlined the moment perfectly. Wow. As if more was needed, set closer “Into The Valley” tore the roof off as the crowd went batshit mental to this all-time classic, an extended post-song acapella singalong resounding around the room long after the band had left the stage for their break. And, following the choppy first encore “Charade”, a totally saturated Jobson acquiesced to the crowd’s cries for “Albert Tatlock”, racing through their throwaway punk number with some more sneery Theresa May references, then leading them through some, “Simon Cowell? What a wanker!” chants to hammer home tonight’s resounding triumph for real music. Newie “World On Fire” and a “Woman In Winter” acapella hook singalong closed out a flawless gig, one where my childhood favourites came back to brilliant incandescent life before my eyes. Simply stunning.

A swift and sweaty drive home with a totally buzzing Logan, loaded down with his bounty (set list, Mike Baillie’s sticks and Jamie’s pick) closed out Skids part one, then a week later it was time for part two! This time I picked The Big Man up at 4 on a scorching Friday afternoon, then endured a difficult journey to The Roundhouse; half an hour to get to the motorway for starters, circumnavigating an accident near Newbury, stop-start Friday traffic elsewhere, and nose to tail through London seeing us parking at the Bush at 7! Problems not over yet, though, as we tubed over and hit the venue just before 8 to discover our e-tickets weren’t sufficient to get us in and we had to queue for our “actual” tickets, then Rich’s ticket scanned as already having been scanned and he was initially refused entry! More queues to clarify the situation back at the box office and we finally, frustratingly, got in, midway through support The Vapors’ set (which also started 15 minutes earlier than advertised at 7.45. Bah!) Late 70’s contemporaries of the headliners and known for one big chart hit, their set was a lot more mod-ish than I expected, with “Jimmie Jones” a 60’s influenced push’n’shove Jam-like rhythmic workout, the “big hit” “Turning Japanese” racily but perfunctorily delivered with odd staccato vocals from rat boy vocalist Dave Fenton, and closer “Here Comes The Judge” easily the best number on offer, a sinewy and bratty tempo changing beast. Not bad, but not startlingly great either, and they seemingly featured Woody Harrelson (or a convincing lookalike) on guitar!

Ran into facebook friend Pete Cole as we wormed our way down the front, and enjoyed some rock chat before the lights dimmed in this large and seemingly sold-out auditorium, The Skids emerging again to the shredding synth sound of “Peaceful Times”. Ripping into the steadfast and powerful drumbeat of “Animation”, they were immediately stunning, surprising even me – and I thought I knew what to expect!  A few words of greeting from Jobson (“strangely enough we’re still angry as hell – let’s share that tonight!”), straight into the descending guitar riff of “Of One Skin”, and the place, replete with old punks and rockers, likely 90% male and over 50, went utterly batshit crazy.

Once again The Skids were magnificent, striding and imperious, their heroic, anthemic material resounding around the venue, towering and massive, the band  in telepathic sync. And for once this London audience reacted in kind, turning this large hall into a sweaty rock’n’roll place of worship, turning this “gig” into an event, a tribal gathering, a joyous and all-inclusive celebration. Jobson was once again the rabble-rouser, the ringleader, the storyteller, regaling us with tales of his audition for The Skids (“I told [the other applicants] to fuck off, so when they opened the door I was the only one there!”) and opinions of the state of the world today (“the world has gotten worse [than the seventies] but we can change that with a bit of joy and some terrible dancing!”), also taking time to comment on the appalling Grenfell Tower fire, earlier this week, and announce, “we’ve got some firemen here as our guests,” to sincere and lengthy applause.

But for me Bruce Watson pipped him for tonight’s MVP; subject of a health scare the night after Oxford (the details of which Jamie informed us of later) which necessitated the cancellation of their Sheffield gig, he seemed determined to prove himself fit tonight, his performance almost as kinetic and stage-covering as Jobson’s overdrive dervish dance, his guitar work spot on, each note ringing with impressive clarity. Well done Bruce, we’re proud of ya, bud! Also, for me it didn’t matter that the set was again EXACTLY as per Oxford; knowing what was coming actually heightened the anticipation rather than deadening the impact. “Thanatos” was more sweepingly epic than a whole series of “Game Of Thrones”; Watson again channelled Stuart Adamson impressively during a haunting, baroque “Scared To Dance”, one of the more “elegant” entries from the Skids canon according to Jobbo, and a breathless, roaring “Olympian”, with its’ impressive and instinctive guitar interplay between Watson Junior and Senior, caused Rich to turn to me and remark, “you’re right, they ARE on fire!”

The excellent “Circus Games” this time saw Jobbo ponder on this song being one of the only times they weren’t introduced on “Top Of The Pops” by Jimmy Savile… “Masquerade” saw a huge influx to the mosh to Jobbo’s favourite song of the tour, and the inevitable “Into The Valley” again tore the roof off, a towering and totallyappropriate way to end the set, the hook again sung back by the crowd, resounding for ages. Encore “Albert Tatlock” was preceded by Jobbo thanking the London crowd for being, “the only audience NOT to shout for it!” and then being deluged not only by the inevitable clamour, but also an Albert Tatlock t-shirt! A curfew-bashing rerun through “Of One Skin”, then the band took a deserved bow, after again belying their years (Jamie notwithstanding) and delivering a brilliant, celebratory set. Utterly stunning.

A chat with an affable Jamie afterwards, through the backstage side-gate, saw him also go get my list fully signed. Result! A difficult and tiring journey home (roadworks and diversions) pitched me home at ¼ to 2 (yikes!), knackered but elated and vindicated. 38 years in the waiting, these two gigs, but for my money you can give “Live Act Of The Year” and “Band Of The Year” to The Skids right now. Simply awesome!