1,270 THE PIXIES, Slow Readers Club, Cardiff International Arena, Saturday 18th March 2023

(Calm down, it's the support's list!)

“You can’t go too far wrong with the Pixies!” Those were my words to Logan, as my son was mulling over the purchase of a green army shirt from a Camden street vendor, during a quick shopping trip immediately prior to the “Rick Astley/ Blossoms do The Smiths” gig in October 2021 (gig 1,191). Yes to the shirt, but which back design? Ultimately, heeding my fatherly advice, Logan went for the “Monkey Gone To Heaven” design (over SLF and Dead Kennedys, as I recall…), and when I then played him that track on my phone, he immediately knew his decision was the right one. Since then, Logan’s been jonesin’ to see The Pixies “live”, so when Boston’s veteran and cutting-edge acerbic late 80’s alt-indie noiseniks and grunge pioneers announced UK arena shows, ostensibly promoting 2022 album “Doggerel”, we were in like a shot. Not their best work, this one, but given Black Francis’ penchant for leading the band, setlist-less, through whatever the hell he fancies playing from their now-extensive and stellar canon at any given time, who cares?

 Making an afternoon of it, we hit the road at 2ish for a very swift hurtle along the M4. Shopped until Cardiff started closing around us (at an early-feeling 5!) so we grabbed cola and cake in Bru, next to the Arena, joining the queue just after 6 and chatting with a father/ son combo who’d driven from Stoke for this one. Stoke! Fair play fellas! Despite the hordes in front of us, we still grabbed a barrier spot, house right, under the large bank of ceiling-hung speakers. This is gonna get loud…! Greeted Shannon, Rachel’s cousin’s daughter, who was a few along from us on the barrier (!) before the support joined us at 7.30. Happily, this was Slow Readers Club, fine hosts of gig 1,268, again kicking off with the robotic synth and fist-pumping hook of “Modernise”. “It’s an honour to be supporting Pixies tonight!” proclaimed vocalist Aaron Starkie before the taut, clipped “All I Hear”, but, time pressure notwithstanding, the Readers were men on a mission tonight, to win over as many of the Pixies massive as possible with another splendid performance. “We’re going to play [another] new one… but I guess they’re all new to you,” deadpanned Starkie before a marvellously morose and melancholy “Lay Your Troubles On Me” built to a crescendo; “I Saw A Ghost” saw a receptive crowd handclap along; and by the stentorian march of the penultimate “Forever In Your Debt” there were more than a few new Readers converts in evidence. An urgent “Lunatic” ended a splendid 7 song vignette of a set in which Slow Readers Club firmly established their own future arena credentials, a nice footnote being bassist James hearing my shouts and sorting his list for me. Nice!

 Quick loo trips and brief chats with fellow punters saw an easy passage to the appointed hour of 8.30. The lights then smashed to black and the Pixies sauntered onstage, waving nonchalantly at the crowd as they set up, then David Lovering’s unmistakable drumbeat and Joey Santiago’s sinister descending riff heralded opener “Wave Of Mutilation”, and we were away, flying into a cascading and thunderous version of this classic. Newie “Human Crime” followed, all jagged and seething power with a soaring middle 8, then a stentorian “Monkey Gone To Heaven” saw Black Francis deliver an insouciant verse vocal before savagely roaring the “then God is Seven!!!” hook from the depths of his black soul. Quite brilliant, but incredibly this level was maintained with a pounding and relentless early salvo of old school Pixies moshpit catnip, the hurtling “Broken Face”, the squalling surf-punk paean “Head On” and a gravelly, growling “Planet Of Sound” prominent in this early barrage of gut punches. Hell of a start!

 

The Pixies were simply quite, quite brilliant tonight, the set perfectly paced, veering off after this initial clutch into somewhat calmer waters, showcasing the new album material which nonetheless soared above its’ recorded versions by some considerable distance. “Vault Of Heaven” harked back to the singer’s own solo oeuvre with its understated backwoods menace and “Dregs Of The Wine” was discordant and dissonant, before a lengthy intro to metronomic oldie “Gouge Away” then ceded to the almost joyous, change-of-pace “Nomatterday”, for me the best of the newer material on display tonight.

 But as ever, the oldies won the day, and Francis threw plenty in, regularly retreating to the dumb mic by the drumkit to plan out the next clutch of numbers with the band (ah, so that’s how they do it!). “Caribou” saw another leonesque roar from the depths of hell (or Francis’ larynx… whichever is more evil!); the crowd singalong to the slow-burn “Hey!” resounded around the whole arena; “Bone Machine” was all flesh-tinglingly creepy and seething backbeat sleaze, as was a later, almost yearning “Cactus”. A crazed superfast “Vamos” saw Francis’ gabbling Esperanto subsumed by Santiago’s undulating and stretched fiery middle 8 riffery, and the joyously profane “Nimrod’s Son” was a late highlight, segueing into and out of “Motorway To Roswell”, seemingly at random. All too soon, a mammoth 36-song (!) 2 hour plus set concluded with the elegiac “Winterlong”, nonetheless still overlaid with some squalling Santiago guitar, before the band took a lengthy and well-deserved curtain call, the band rather uncoordinatedly bowing together(ish), after Francis surveyed the adoring masses from each corner of the stage.

 A quick exit via the merch stand and an equally breathless hurtle home got us back just after midnight, 2 happy boys, thrilled to have caught this fabled band on such epic form. Listen to your dad, son; you can’t go too far wrong with The Pixies!

1,268 THE SLOW READERS CLUB, Andrew Cushin, Bristol Thekla, Saturday 11th March 2023

 

Finally taking notice “live” of a band whom I’d overlooked before… I’d first “seen” Manchester’s Slow Reader’s Club when they headlined here in November 2017 (gig 1,063), the band making the mistake of having the brilliant Desperate Journalist as tour support, and thereby being blown into the weeds by Jo and Co. However, I subsequently revisited them a couple of years later, thoroughly enjoying the strident, dark post-punk guitar noise of their 2020 “The Joy Of The Return” CD (their 4^th!), and booking tix for their 2020 tour, which of course, due to Covid, got postponed… and postponed… and postponed again... Said date was eventually rescheduled for an Autumn 2021 date which clashed with a whole-family gig elsewhere, which ultimately I didn’t go to either, due to my having to isolate as I’d tested positive myself! D’oh! So, I grabbed tix for this Thekla return, supporting hookier, more anthemic new album “Knowledge Freedom Power”, only for SRC to then be added as The Pixies’ support in Cardiff next weekend! Famine to feast, as they say…!

 Anyway, “The Dirty Boat” first… again cognisant of grabbing a parking spot, I hit the road at 5.45 for a drizzly drive, parking up outside relatively easily and joining the queue of devotees. Said queue included facebook friend and Readers fanatic Adrian, whom I’d met at the Chameleons Fleece gig a couple of years back (gig 1,207), plus his charming wife Claire who was celebrating her birthday! In at 7 p.m. doors and grabbing a spot near the front, house left, in time for painfully young solo acoustic guy opener Andrew Cushin, on at an early 7.15. An affable and confident young Geordie, his buoyant banter (“this is the 3^rd time I’ve played The Thekla; every time I think we’re gonna sink!”) and upbeat audience interaction (plenty of hugs with the front rows) was slightly at odds with his darker, almost macabre material, some of which would have fit nicely on the soundtrack to “Peaky Blinders”… His strident vocal projection was heard to best effect in the anthemic singalong “Wor Flags” (“about going to the match!) and, conversely, the plaintive and personal, Verve-like closer “Where’s My Family Gone.” Decent set from a talented young man.

 A quick loo trip (bumping into my Editors goth friend from gig 1,261 on the way!) saw me squeeze back in a few rows back, as anticipation grew and the devoted masses chanted, “Readers! Readers!” Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” (a pre-set regular number, now restored to the schedule, according to Adrian) heightened the party atmosphere, before 8.15 saw the lights smash to black, and an eerie backing track and backlit strobe/ strip lights herald the band onstage. Opener and new album leadoff track “Modernise” immediately set the tone, its clipped, dark post-punk riffery and robotic synth blare overlaid with a strident, anthemic “it’s time to modernise!!” hook, lustily sung back by the devoted, hands aloft already in celebration and worship. “Bristol, you sound in good spirits!” remarked angular vocalist Aaron Starkie before a brilliant, Taxpayer-esque “All I Hear”, coaxing higher levels of response from the crowd, although he needn’t really have bothered…

 

As I said, this was my first time of properly taking notice of Slow Readers Club “live”, and it was evident from the outset that the connection between band and crowd was like few others, the band unable to do any wrong in the eyes of the audience. And they played up to it, delivering a blistering performance of seething power and underlying menace, so it was easy to see how they engender such devotion. “The Wait” featured a shimmering guitar pattern and a soaring hook, before a White Lies-esque slow burn and synth-powered “How Could You Know”. “Plant The Seed” saw Aaron reach for the Jimi Somerville falsetto before another mass singalong, quipping, “our 4^th time on the Thekla! I don’t know if we upgrade to a cruise liner next time…!”, before a stripped back, sinister “Everything I Own”. Then, “Afterlife”; almost a companion piece to The Sheila Divine’s “Modern Log”, this eased in with a similar undulating opening guitar pattern, building like steam to a frankly massive soaring chorus. For me, easily their best number, and brilliantly executed.

 Penultimate number “On The TV” saw the entire crowd dancing along and singing the hook, even after the song ended… so the band started it up again! Planned? Maybe, but impressive nonetheless. “Feet On Fire” ended a 1 hour 15 set, before a 3 song encore which highlighted the new album’s title track, a racey,pacey synth hurtle reminding me of Our Daughter’s Wedding (!). Finally, Aaron abandoned the stage for closer “Lunatic”, delivering his strident, impassioned vocal from the belly of the moshpit. Impressive stuff. Set-lists went quickly to the devoted (fair enough, really) and I said farewells to Adrian, running into old footy friend Ben Ford on the way out, a quick M4 blast and kebab stop getting me home before 11. Overall, an excellent gig from Slow Reader’s Club; I won’t make the mistake of overlooking them again!

1,063 DESPERATE JOURNALIST, Supp. Slow Reader’s Club, Bristol Thekla, Friday 17th November 2017

Without a shadow of a doubt, Desperate Journalist are easily my favourite and most significant new musical discoveries of 2017, and are showing potential to be a “live” obsession of mine in the same vein as Seafood, The Julie Dolphin et al, so I'm certainly not going to pass up on any opportunity to see them "live" right now, particularly after their October mini-tour was a non-starter for me as it coincided with a family holiday in Kos! Thankfully, they then announced a short series of dates in support of gloomy types Slow Readers Club, and I gleefully snapped up a ticket for the Thekla gig, notwithstanding the fact that "The Dirty Boat" has become somewhat stranded on the wrong side of some confusing new traffic layouts in the centre of Bristol! Still, where there's rock, there's a way...

A perfect storm of not only the afore-mentioned new traffic priorities, a Friday night in November (early Chrimbo shopping around Cabot Circus! Yikes!) and a stupidly early on-stage time (7 piggin’ 30!) had me leaving pretty much as soon as I'd gotten home from work. Glad I did, as a ridiculous 1 ¾ hour journey, including immensely frustrating queues to clear the M4/M32 Junction, saw me parking up at doors, barely half an hour before they were on! Well, I was there at least, so I took my spot down the front, next to some beer-balancing SRC fans, who assured me I'd be impressed by the headliners. We'll see... but firstly, there’s the reason I’m here…!

Desperate Journalist took the stage prompt at 7.30, with a startlingly agenda-setting opener "Control", an explosion of soaring thoroughbred intensity and passion, powerful and strident. Then straight into the more flippant, Smiths-esque "Why Are You So Boring?", and that was it for me; I was jumping about like a loon, mirroring vocalist Jo Bevan's manic onstage pogo-ing. This lot don't fuck about with easing themselves in; it's the "full-on" mode straight from the outset!

Desperate Journalist were astonishing tonight, an object lesson in intensity and kinetic energy, the utterly riveting presence of vocalist Jo Bevan again at the heart of it throughout, with her marvellously powerful and yearning voice to the fore in the mix, her performance again thrillingly toeing the line between ferocious commitment and almost contemptuous detachment. The taut, eerie, Cure-like opening to "Hollow" was flesh-creepingly splendid, Simon Drowner's growling bass a feature, before Rob Hardy's haunting 80's pseudo-goth licks took over for the middle-eight. A newie ("about being sad... you'd be surprised..."       commented Jo ironically) elicited a chant of "journalist!" from the crowd, and by the building hook and emotion-soaked wall-of-noise middle-eight of "Be Kind" it was evident that this band have already risen above the sum of their influences into a unique, fully-formed and potentially very special band indeed. All too soon, the magnificent amphetamine rush of "Resolution" ended a quite brilliant set. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and it was over - holy hell, that was intense!

Grabbed a list, grabbed my breath and grabbed some merch, then headed out to dump it in the car, happily running into the band unloading outside. Enjoyed a chat with this young and enthusiastic band of clear 80's post-punk aficionados, with Simon remarking on my Chameleons t-shirt and also namechecking the overlooked yet excellent Scars, and Jo effusively praising XTC and relating a recent fan encounter with Dave Gregory!

Broke off the chat to check out headliners The Slow Readers Club, playing to a sold-out and fanatical crowd. They featured a solid synth base to their gloomy post-punk material, a purposeful opener recalling Editors' more electronic work, particularly in the vocalist's deep and resonant Tom Smith-like inflections. The next number was a bit more discordant (also a bit out of tune, to these ears) but overall suffered badly in comparison to the dynamism of their openers, and I gave them a couple more numbers before heading off for a considerably easier drive home. On another day I would likely have really enjoyed them, but tonight for me was definitely not their night. Tonight belonged squarely to a band who are rapidly becoming a very great one indeed;     tonight belonged to Desperate Journalist!