1,240 VICTORIOUS FESTIVAL 2022 (Saturday Only), Southsea Common and Seafront, Portsmouth, Saturday 27th August 2022

 

A month off gigs, then back in with a bang with a full-on Festival Day out by the sea! After the quagmire and Covid-hit debacle that was last year’s Wickham Festival, I was reluctant at best to revisit that one, and my enthusiasm for a boys Summer Fest day out there this year completely vanished when The Levellers were announced as headliners! Thankfully, this one reared its head as a potential alternative; Portsmouth’s Victorious Festival, now in its 10^th year, and well established as an August Bank Holiday alternative to the utterly dreadful line-ups that my 90’s hangout Reading Festival now churns out. I’d looked at this one before, finding previous line-ups a little too mainstream for my self-confessed obscure tastes, but a whole clutch of boy’s fave bands showed up together on the Saturday itinerary this year, led by Inhaler, one of my favourite discoveries of recent times and a band I had to miss last year due to Covid isolation (Rach took Logan and said they were amazing – bugger!). So we’re doing this one instead!

 Unfortunately, my dodgy knee well and truly let me down on a family holiday in Paris the previous week, and even on the day before the Fest (which was our travel day home) I could barely put any weight through it without experiencing shooting pain through the joint. Nonetheless, fully (heavily) strapped up and painkillered-up, Logan and I set off down a sun-drenched M4/ A34 route at 9.30, going cross country to avoid the really busy New Forest holiday traffic but still only pitching up on the outskirts of Pompey at 11.45 after a wrong turn or two. We then took ¾ hour to agonisingly pick our way through the city to our pre-booked car park, just behind the main Common Stage at the far west of this large, nearly Reading Festival-sized site. Got in and tramped around to get some water – the website said the bars would have free drinking water; they lie!!! – but we eventually got sorted. THE K’S were already onstage in front of a rapidly-filling audience, bashing out some purposeful sounding Jam-ish rawk, which culminated in a young fan being sent off crowd-surfing! An ersatz Sugababes line-up were up next as early afternoon “headliners”, but we had other plans!

 We took a slow amble to the back of the main arena and along Market Way, where the usual fest clothing stalls were located. I got used to how my knee was behaving, and Logan checked out and tried on a multitude of sunglasses (!), and we eventually pitched up at the smaller open-air Castle Stage (next to Southsea Castle, where I’d taken Evan for a day out, waay back in 2007!) midway through SWIM DEEP’s lunchtime set. I was sorry I’d missed the early knockings, as what I heard I thoroughly enjoyed; some building guitar/keyboard led dreampop atmospherics and slow burn widescreen drama, overlaid by some high-pitched vocals, initially recalling early Mew or the short-lived Temper Trap. Good stuff, culminating in “King City”, a bright, bouncy and singalong closer which got the crowd clapping along. Nice!

 

We grabbed a barrier slot, house right, and waited out the changeover; all stage changeovers were ½ hour, which seemed a long time, but that said, it likely enabled the running order to be kept on time, which it remained throughout – to the minute! Victorious: The Punctual Festival! So, COACH PARTY took the stage bang on 1.55, opener “What Do I Care” launching off like a pocket rocket, the mix initially dominated, almost suffocated, by the heavy guitar sound, remaining so for the undulating, almost doo-wop “3 Kisses”, but thankfully clearing up for a flippant “Everybody Hates Me”, some grungy Pixies-ish ascending riffery nonetheless the feature of the best sounding number so far. The band themselves, however, were on good form, fully road tested after a number of Festival gigs (including a support slot for French band Indochrine at the 96,000 capacity Parc Des Princes!), and vocalist Jess was in relaxed mood; “we’ve been here a couple of hours and no-one’s asked me for pills yet! I’ve [normally] got a pilly face...!”

 A headlong, punkish “Shit TV” preceded a debate about how many of the audience had seen The Sugababes’ mainstage set, which culminated in a “fuck the Sugababes!” chant! The hurtling “Breakdown” then featured a mid-song dead stop before some cacophonous riffery and primal screaming from guitarist Steph, and “FLAG”’s strident, fist-pumping choral drama then ceded to the already indiepop classic finale, the brilliant “Can’t Talk, Won’t”, rounding off a non-stop, breathless and action – packed half hour from these increasingly promising IOW newcomers.

 Took a slow amble back after catching our breath, running into Stayawakes bassist Pete, there with friends and his baby daughter! A quick chat before wandering back into the main arena where the blue overall-clad DODIE was just rounding off her mainstream pop set with a number about a train driver, to Hockey International-level screams from her young female massive. Thankfully they cleared out and we were again able to get some barrier, house right, for a proper Common Stage double whammy!

 

“Hello to all and sundry!” announced a familiar grey-mopped figure promptly at 3.30; “we’re a band called WE ARE SCIENTISTS and we think we’re the best band called We Are Scientists!” Keith Murray (for t’was he) then proceeded to underline that “best band” claim, leading the trio through a superb set of itchy, angular post-punk and bright, singalong powerpop. The Wannadies-esque racey, pacey opener “You’ve Lost Your Shit” led into the dramatic chugging backbeat of “Buckle”, and an entertaining between-band debate about work, Keith coming to the realisation, “shit, I AM at work! And so are you [Chris]!” The pounding, circular riff and soaring, Silver Sun helium chorus of “Contact High” was a breathless, brilliant set highlight, but in all honesty every one was a winner. I’d done my homework after their fine December 2021 Trinity set (gig 1,203) so was able this time to recognise and sing along to every number, from the hooky, angular “It’s A Hit”, through the taut, funky Talking Heads on speed “I Cut My Own Hair” (which featured a mid-song pregnant pause, Keith asking the crowd to keep to the clapping tempo for 7 minutes!), via the thrusting, pinprick rhythm of oldie “Nobody Move” to the final anthemic number “After Hours”, which concluded an expertly and energetically delivered Festival set, ultimately my favourite of the day.

 

We were all in for the next lot as well though, so stayed on our barrier spot as a WAS roadie tracked down a mixing desk setlist for me (lists being hard to come by, today). Chap! Another half hour wait, but this time along with a larger and more enthusiastic and anticipatory crowd, comprising a lot of conspicuously young ladies. No surprise really, the young gentlemen of INHALER are quite the bunch of lookers, as well as a very promising young guitar band, with vocalist Eli Hewson (son of U2’s Bono, and currently the same age as his old man when he and his schoolboy chums delivered their second and best album, “October”, waaay back in 1981) a tousled rock heart throb in the making. Bugger the looks and lineage though, for me it’s all about the tunes; Inhaler may be silver spoon boys, but that only gets you through the door, and then you need quality songs to stop you getting kicked back out of the room. Opener “It Won’t Always Be like This” immediately showed they have those, with an immediate soaring singalong to the stadium-sized hook, and newie “Move On” was equally pacey, albeit darker and more Cure-like. No one-trick post-punk ponies these, though, as “Why Does It Hurt” was a looser limbed and dancier number, although featuring hints of “Joshua Tree”-era U2 atmosphere and space. “Who’s Your Money On” saw Eli exhort his young followers to jump along in his thick Irish brogue, and the urgent, fire-alarm clatter of “When It Breaks” incited a moshpit behind us to the brief concern of the bouncers.

 Newie “These Are The Days” was a blue collar rocker recalling Springsteen or even The Boomtown Rats (!), and the double salvo of “Cheer Up Baby” and an excellent, albeit slightly thin sounding, “My Honest Face” ended a fine set, one which I’d now like to see indoors at closer quarters. Showing a little inexperience on the big stage (particularly in comparison to their 7 album, 15 year veteran predecessors We Are Scientists), this was nonetheless a fine showing from a band seriously going places, if they can deliver on their promise with the “difficult” second album, due soon…

 

That was our afternoon Common Stage entertainment, and this took us up to 5.10… and teatime! So we took another slow amble along Market Way and grabbed some dirty burgers and fries from the eaterie with the shortest queue, then bumped into Coach Party’s Steph for a quick chat about that Parc Des Princes gig (!), before plonking down on a boulder for tea. Still a paucity of seats around the site, despite claims to the contrary… anyhoo, back into the nearby Castle stage for SPORTS TEAM, whose upbeat and optimistic bouncy Britpoppy/ indie set was enthusiastic and effervescent, full of spritely spunky youthful spunky spriteliness (as I said to Logan!), and in vocalist Alex Rice, featured an energetic, all-action and kinetic stage presence. Well, not just the stage, as it turned out… “Our Entertainment” was a breathless stomper, “New Day” got the young ST massive jumping about, kicking up a dustbowl moshpit, and a fast, frisky “Going Fishing” slowed for a huge singalong chorus. A few tongue-in-cheek anti-Reading Fest comments were fun, before Alex clambered atop the speaker stack to deliver the vocal to the bolshy “Ashton Kutcher” before going one better, launching into the crowd in front of us and crowdsurfing a considerable distance out during the Doors-like 60’s psych wig-out final number!

 

The ST massive cleared out then as dusk started to fall, the crepuscular light seeming to be the perfect backdrop for WHITE LIES. I was wondering how their more studied and studious pseudo-gothy 80’s oeuvre would follow on from the seat-of-your-pants bounciness of Sports Team, but from the moment they took the stage prompt at 7.10 to a rapturous welcome and launched into the strafing guitar assault of opener “Farewell To The Fairground”, they were “on it”, the mid-song dead stop and hook singalong providing a startling juxtaposition to the wall of guitar sound, but also adding drama and gravitas. A speeded-up “To Lose My Life” followed, slowing for the audience-chanted choral hook, and newie “Am I Really Gonna Die” was a smooth synth-pop delight. The mid-set “Big TV” sheet metal Visage-like synth hook was an unexpected clapalong, the crowd well engaged in this fine performance from the boys, but all things were leading up to the double whammy finish…

 Charles Caves’ epic growling bass line heralded penultimate number “Death”, the tempo slowing considerably twice for the “fear’s got a hold of me” hook, before launching into huge impressive life for the denouement. Then set closer, the stabbing keyboard intro to a soaring, anthemic “Bigger Than Us” rounded off a set not completely bereft of flaws (Harry’s voice in particular sounding a little raspy and road-weary, occasionally straining at the top end), but well chosen and overall rather splendid.

 This took us to 8 – Logan double-queued for churros in the dusty and dusky gloom, and we wandered back into the now-packed main arena where THE WOMBATS were kicking up a rowdy, rabble-rousing but eminently forgettable Arctic Monkeys-lite noise on the Common Stage. After grabbing some water and taking a watching brief, however, my knee cried “enough”, so we forewent the potential hike back and hour’s wait for Castle headliners Bastille, instead sneaking through the Common Backstage to the car park thanks to a kindly steward who took pity on my hobbling. Home at 10.30 after a generally quite successful day; more places to sit would be nice, but maybe I was only more cognisant of this due to my bad knee. More importantly, everyone we wanted to see delivered big time, with We Are Scientists winning Band Of The Day for me, Logan going for White Lies. Overall, a great day out, living up to its name; Victorious!

1,215 WHITE LIES, VLure, Bristol O2 Academy, Saturday 19th March 2022

 

Well, the appetite was duly whetted last month after White Lies’ in-store acoustic show at Rough Trade Bristol (gig no 1,210), and now it’s time for the real deal! Since that show, the boys’ 6^th (!) album, the presciently titled “As I Try Not To Fall Apart”, has been in pretty constant rotation in the car (particularly if Logan and I are the only passengers!), and it’s a proper banger. Musically it veers more definitely into smooth yet haunting synthy Talk Talk territory, but is again replete with swathes of brain-hugging hooks and one particularly huge, anthemic number, “I Don’t Want To Go To Mars”, which stands pat with pretty much anything else they’ve done. Overall, this may ultimately be the strongest White Lies album since their debut, so expectation was high for a performance to match tonight, to really elevate them to the Big Leagues…

 An early drive down the M4 into the low setting sun got Logan and I there 10 minutes before doors, joining the O2 priority queue (yay!) and snagging a barrier spot, house right, on entry. An hour to wait for proceedings, but we were joined by an affable bunch of fellow punters on the barriers, some fun Smiths-centric rock chat passing the time convivially before openers VLure. A hotly-tipped new Glaswegian lot, this, they were introduced onstage by a smartly dressed festival barker intoning a bleak poem; “on this hill we die, welcome to the world of VLure!” Quite the entrance and something to live up to, then, and from note one they were utterly stunning; opener “Desire” strode in on the coattails of a decidedly creepy Peter Hook-esque bassline, all dark and deliciously doomy, and vocalist Hamish Hutcheson upped the ante with not only his commanding, heavily accented vocals, but an authentic and hard-hitting intensity and conviction. By the second number, the brutal goth stomp of “Show Me How To Live”, he was in the photographer pit, striding the plinths and eyeballing the front rows like a T Rex sizing up his next meal. He means it, maaan! Sonically a totally apposite support for White Lies, dovetailing into that synthy, post-punk/goth sonic template, but with an underlying looser, dancey edge, VLure more than lived up to the hype; “I Won’t Run” featured a New Order-esque cascading synth pattern and strong-armed beats, and subsequent numbers featured robotic krautrock, evoking bleak dystopian cityscapes. Final number “Euphoria”’s elegiac opening then plunged into an epic pulsing backbeat thrill-ride not dissimilar to tonight’s headliners’ brilliant “Death”, rounding off a set which Hutcheson finished shirtless and kneeling, arms outstretched, to soak in the deserved applause for a highly impressive opening set. They’d be amazing at the Thekla… or The Joiners…!

 It got appreciably busier down the front, but we still got quick loo breaks in before the lights dimmed dead on 9, White Lies taking the stage to the muted synth strains of the new album’s opening section. Kicking in with a slightly reworked but still widescreen and singalong “Farewell To The Fairground”, they were pretty much “on it” from the outset, the sound beefy and punchy, augmented by their mystery 4^th synth player member, the only slight criticism being that Harry McVeigh’s vocals were occasionally down in the mix. No matter, we were singing along to every number anyway! A treat visually as well, the stage stark and uncluttered by monitors, with strobes and pulsing, multi-coloured strip-lights illuminating the backdrop and the base of Jack Lawrence-Brown’s high drum riser. The layered hooks of “There Goes Our Love Again” was an early treat, “Am I Really Going To Die” recalled the expansive Euro-synth dance of “Sons And Fascination”-era Simple Minds and featured some Forbes-esque bass plucking from Charles Cave; and the almost thrashy, punky “Hurt My Heart” opened with blood red strip lights morphing into almost savagely flashing strobe lighting! A mellower, twinkling “Is My Love Enough” diffused this frantic mood, “Big TV”’s Visage-like sheet metal synth was stunning and epic, and the double of an almost jolly “Tokyo” and the brilliantly chugging, coruscating “I Don’t Want To Go To Mars” closed out a remarkably swift but excellently played set.

 Encore “Death” was however the highlight of the night; a stridently pounding intro, accompanied by an almost violent flashing white light strobe display, led to a slow, funereal verse, ultimately building to a euphoric release for the hook, as good as I’ve ever heard this wonderful track played “live”. Following an understated “As I Try Not To Fall Apart”, the otherwise taciturn McVeigh piled fulsome praise on the enthusiastic audience for coming (“after 2 years I can’t tell you how good it feel to tour again!”) before the huge roof-raising singalong to “Bigger Than Us” closed out another excellent White Lies set. No confetti cannon tonight, as per other recent gigs, but no matter. A set-list from a friendly roadie then a few words with the friendly folks from VLure, hanging out in the loading bay, and quickly home via the kebab van. Great boy’s night out. No doubt; that certainly was The Real Deal from both VLure and White Lies!

1,210 WHITE LIES, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Friday 18th February 2022

 

Gigs are like buses… sometimes you wait ages for one (313 days recently of course; thanks a bundle, Covid…), sometimes 4 all come at once! And, kicking off a frankly insane schedule of 4 gigs in the next 4 days over this February weekend, is an in-store appearance by White Lies, promoting their impending 6^th album “As I Try Not To Fall Apart”. A little “on the nose” title-wise (I mean, aren’t we all just holding it together day by day in these fucked up times?), initial listens of a smattering of tracks posted on YouTube indicate that this promises to continue their 80’s-influenced musical evolution from dark, brooding Joy Division-esque post-punk/gothy types to shinier, poppier yet still cerebral synth-led Talk Talk/ Heaven 17 acolytes, whilst still retaining their collective ear for a killer hook and brain-hugging, repetitive melody. Logan and I had already booked tix for their March tour at Bristol O2 Academy, but an in-store at Brizzle’s Rough Trade, reasonably priced and with a free copy of the new CD thrown in? Oh, go on then…!

 Nearly a false start on this one, however, as it coincided with Storm Eunice, possibly the most violent storm event to hit the UK since the 1987 Hurricane… reports of uprooted trees and motorway closures kept us on tenterhooks throughout the day, but by mid-afternoon it showed signs of abating, and by departure time was thankfully little more than a stiff breeze as we headed down the M4, parking in Rupert Street NCP and hitting the Record Store before half 6. Nosed about in the racks (Logan picking up a rather lovely Heaven 17 pic disc single!) and had a drink in the café and an entertaining chat about which kind of animal Logan could beat in a fight (!), which passed the time until the doors opened for this little side-room venue just after 7 and we quickly grabbed a spot down the front, house right. A capacity of 200 for this room, I understand, so a rare opportunity to see White Lies, an Academy-level band for pretty much their entire existence, at seriously close quarters…

 

In relaxed mood too, as the band took the stage prompt at 7.30, the usual core 3-piece of “H Bomb” Harry McVeigh (see gig 1,013 for explanation!), Charles Cave and Jack Lawrence-Brown being augmented by keyboardist Tommy Bowen for this “Unplugged” low-key show. Brief greetings, then they eased into opener “There Goes Our Love Again”, an understated synth colourwash replacing the usual overt, upfront instrumentation, and Harry reining in his usual strident projective vocal style, “Great to see you’ve survived the storm!”, quipped the seated frontman before introducing newie “I Don’t Want To Go To Mars”, which even given the unplugged treatment tonight, is still an old school White Lies banger with a huge soaring chorus, and is a likely shoe-in for my “Best Of 2022” compo CD. Yeah, already!

 “Morning In LA” was next up, drummer Jack underlying the relaxed nature of the performance by kicking into the song whilst Harry was still introducing it! This slower burn track suited the semi-acoustic setting perfectly, Harry really cutting loose on the high “I’m still hanging on…” hook for the first time this evening as well. “Farewell To The Fairground” (“a favourite from the first album…”) really worked as well, as did the subsequent more yearning and plaintive “Is My Love Enough”, the boys cleverly picking and choosing songs from their impressive canon which would better withstand the stripped-back treatment. Charles later made a comment underlining this point (“I first heard Smashing Pumpkins on a DVD – no-one told me it was acoustic – it was shit!”), but the numbers they chose tonight simply revealed the innate quality of their songwriting.

 

A final “Bigger Than Us” – one which I didn’t think they would actually try, given the usual moody synth pulse and dramatically soaring chorus, but one which they reworked radically tonight, turning it into a deliciously morose half-paced elegy – concluded “a real pleasure”, according to Harry, a fine 40 minute vignette serving as an appetiser for the full-on band gig at the O2 next month. That wasn’t it, though, as the band happily met the punters and signed copies of the new CD and other paraphernalia. Me being me, I took a copy of an earlier gig book for them to sign their list from gig 806 (dating from 2011!) and the boys took time to glimpse through, Jack particularly pausing over a Psychedelic Furs list. Hmmm… A brief chat and pics with this affable bunch, also recalling our previous post-gig meet at Frome a couple of years back (gig 1,145), then back along a calmer M4 and home before 10 with late kebab tea. Splendid evening, appetite now well and truly whetted for next month…

1,145 WHITE LIES, Al O’Kane, Frome Cheese And Grain, Thursday 11th July 2019

This one proves, without a doubt, that if an opportunity to take my little man Logan to a gig suddenly presents itself, even the most trenchant of plans can quickly become very mutable…! This particular evening had long been pencilled in my gig “Dance Card” as “Swindon Shuffle 2019 Day 1”, and more specifically a headlining gig, to really kick the ‘Don Fest into gear, by old Swindonian Gaz Brookfield and his Company Of Thieves, a set which would see Gaz take sole possession of my “Most Seen Act” accolade with 23. However, other opportunities presented themselves when I discovered Logan would be off school on Friday thanks to a teacher training day; we initially pondered over a one-evening trip to Cheltenham’s “2000 Trees” Festival to see Frank Turner headline, but (ultimately unfounded) forecasts of inclement weather dampened my gig buddy’s enthusiasm for that. Then, on Monday morning, this gig re-appeared in my FB feed; I’d knocked it back when I’d first heard about it, but it became infinitely more attractive now I had Logan – a self-confessed big White Lies fan – in tow! We’d missed out on their early 2019 tour thanks to the lack of nearby U14 venues, so this was a chance to put that to rights for Logan’s sophomore White Lies gig!

So, a late shout, but, tix secured, we headed off down the twisty Wiltshire country roads, rocking up in a sunny early evening Frome town centre at 7.30, and parking up in the old Market Hall’s ample car park. Logan managed to squeeze into a bit of barrier, front and centre, and we chatted with fellow front-row punters (one guy who’d seen ‘da Lies over 20 times, who was apparently standing next to a lady who’d seen ‘em 100+!) while availing ourselves of support Al O’Kane and his sharkstooth-adorned bowler hat-clad sidekick Andy Hill. The duo kicked off with a couple of understated and wistful, pastoral late 60’s acoustic numbers before veering into broodier, more bluesy C&W stuff, some of the more stripped back material being entirely suited for a “Firefly” episode soundtrack! “Animals”, a call-and-response final number with an environmental message, was about the best of a diverting and decent local support set.

More chats with folks down the front – including Dave and Collette, a lovely couple who ponied up £10 for Logan’s Diabetes UK “Million Step Challenge”; thanks guys! – before White Lies took the stage promptly at 9. This, a one-off to keep their hand in, in anticipation of some upcoming Festival appearances, saw White Lies nonetheless well road-tested from their early 2019 tours in support of splendid new album “Five”, itself a further development towards a synthier-driven, smoother sonic template. Poppier and more accessible than their pseudo-gothy post-punk days of yore, yes, but as long as White Lies continue their knack of writing humungous, soaring and uplifting hooks and scattering them liberally around their material, I’m all over it like a cheap suit! Case in point; opener “Time To Give”, a slow burner harking back to those synth-propelled early 80’s new romantic days, but then building to a mesmeric looped outro belying its’ near 7-minute duration. An impressive start, lapped up by this devoted audience, and reciprocated onstage, particularly by mustard-shirted vocalist Harry McVeigh, who clearly relished his job tonight, a face-cracking smile never far from his youthful, bearded features.

White Lies were excellent tonight; “on it” from the off, they delivered a relaxed, confident and utterly accomplished performance. “Farewell To The Fairground” saw them slow the hook for greater emphasis (a neat trick they were to replicate later, to greater effect); an early “There Goes Our Love Again” galloped, swooped and soared, and saw the boys compliment a local Frome chippy at its’ conclusion (!), and “Getting Even” was an early, darker and more menacing highlight. “Take It Out On Me” was immense, Harry letting his dark, earthy baritone soar for the hook, and the robotic synth workout of “Big TV” was an absorbing beast. However, their best number, “Death” was the undisputed highlight tonight; tucked late-on into the set rather than at the end, it built to a crescendo, the band slowing the hook down to a dissonant, funereal crawl before, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, releasing the tension in an immense euphoric gush. The ridiculously hooky Tears For Fears-isms of newie “Tokyo” (which saw host town Frome get a mention!) and an angular, dark “To Lose My Life” closed out a stellar set as good as I’ve seen this increasingly impressive band, Harry happily glorying in the adulation from the crowd.

Encores of a distinctly grungy, almost Nirvana-esque “Fire And Wings” (hinting at a new direction, perhaps? Who knows?) and a superb, soaring and singalong “Bigger Than Us” brought the night to a thundering end, Harry gathering his bandmates for a deserved bow and pointing out Logan to his drummer Jack. Logan had been bouncing furiously down the front pretty much all gig (so much so, that his FitBit step counter registered an extra 6,000 steps for his challenge!) and Jack rewarded him with a well-worn set of drumsticks. Nice touch! This buoyed Logan to stick around outside while the car park cleared, and patience was rewarded ½ hour later with pics and a fully signed set-list for my gig buddy from an appreciative and very friendly band. Thanks guys!

A swift hurtle home chatting about the gig and spotting wildlife (which actually started with a bat flying around the car park!) saw us home at midnight. A superb night out – sorry Gaz, but there’ll be other opportunities to break the record. This might have been a late shout, but thanks to an exemplary performance from White Lies, it was a great shout – and the right shout!

1,024 WHITE LIES, Alex Cameron, Oxford O2 Academy, Saturday 25th February 2017

White Lies again, so soon after last time out (1^st December in Bristol, gig 1,013)? Well, following that December UK tour (gig 1,013 again!) in support of their 4^th and best-since-first album, the excellent “Friends”, the London doomy post-punk turned increasingly 80’s ear-friendly and synth-fuelled hookily anthemic trio announced a slew of further dates for this month, targeting previously overlooked towns, and I saw this Oxford Saturday gig as a perfect chance to not only enjoy them “live” again for myself, but to also further the introduction to gigs of my 9 year old son Logan. I played him some stuff which he enjoyed, so he was up for this, laudably doing his homework, with repeated listens to a White Lies comp CD I made him!

An early one, this, so we headed off promptly in dampening drizzle, finding the usual Tescos carpark utterly rammed, with cars waiting, but lucking into a spot on Cowley Road just as another car was pulling out! Hit the venue for 7 and wandered down the front, asking the small assemblage whether there was a chance for Logan to squeeze through. Got some attitude, sadly, from a middle-aged blonde woman, who haughtily clipped back, “you should have gotten here earlier!” as if she, of course, owned the place. So you’d be prepared to block the view of a 9 year old – way to set an example to your own teenage son, you selfish bitch! Happily, a group of young punters manufactured a Logan-sized spot on the barriers stage left, sufficiently far away from “little miss entitled” to enjoy the gig! Chatted with them before and after support Alex Cameron, a fey, angular gent backed up with a saxophonist and electronic drummer (the kit being electronic, not the man!), who played some understated pop which at best recalled the smooth US rock radio friendly anthemic nature of The Killers (Cameron’s vocals also bearing some similarities to Brandon Flowers), and otherwise resembled 80’s AOR – Hall and Oates, maybe?! Before finishing with their best number, “Marlon Brando”, the loose-limbed Cameron asked for accommodation recommendations, citing poverty and his saxophonist’s bad back and ankles! T’uh, that’s life on the road for you…!

Chatted with another, friendlier blonde lady who gushed about Logan (“he’s 9? My kids are 11 and 12 and sing along to all the White Lies songs – and I’ve left them at home… Oh, I’m such a terrible mum…!”), before the lights dimmed prompt at 8.30, and White Lies emerged in short order onto a smoke-swirled stage. No messing about tonight, as the staccato synth pulse of “Take It Out On Me” kicked into strident gear, followed with an immense “There Goes Our Love Again”, the crowd – including Logan and myself – singing along to the infectiously catchy repetitive hook and soaring chorus. Therein lies White Lies appeal – even their doomier, more introspective and morose numbers (viz. the subsequent “To Lose My Life”, Logan’s favourite number) feature often multiple brain-hugging, skyscraping hooks which just beg to be sung back, wide-eyed and open-armed, by an enthusiastic audience. And such was the case tonight!

Again, the set drew largely from that pseudo-gothy post-punk debut and the more Tears For Fears synth-driven pop material of “Friends”; “The Price Of Love” eased in, all blood-red backlit and doomy gothic drama, before bursting into a soaring denouement, with vocalist Harry McVeigh straining to give it his all; “Farewell To The Fairground” was excellent, despite bassist Charles accusing Harry of, “the worst bum note I’ve ever heard!”; the Kraftwerkian sheet synth of “Is My Love Enough” was startling; and an excellent “Unfinished Business” was mournful and elegiac, before again kicking into soaring life, Harry again working hard to reach the high notes. As per Bristol, Harry again thanked the crowd for their loyalty over the 3 year gap before “Friends”, before “Death” provided a perfect set climax, the band again reining in the hook to a slow, sinister death march, before unleashing the hook for the crowd to go crazy to. Logan included – he’d been “energy efficient”, sitting down and chilling during some slower numbers, but saved some in the tank for both this one and final encore “Bigger Than Us”, the skyscraping chorus resonating off the low ceiling and proving a perfect punctuation to a huge, clear sounding and perfectly delivered set.

Set list as well for Logan, and we then gathered our thoughts and headed off home, Logan tired but buzzing all the way home for a reasonable 11 pm arrival. He loved it and was immaculate all night, so hopefully this will be another important step on his gig introduction, thanks to this immense White Lies performance!

1,013 WHITE LIES, The Ramona Flowers, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 1st December 2016

Feeling as rough as the proverbial badger’s butt-hole at the moment, with a migraine-inducing cough that just won’t go away, so this one – despite being booked some time ago – was a genuine late call. I really didn’t want to miss White Lies though; this underrated young London trio have reappeared this year after a 3 year hiatus with another album, “Friends”, which continues their journey from pseudo-Goth doomy Editors types with a definite rockist 80’s inflection, to a more synth-led and smoother, cleaner sound, underpinning the trademark big beefy choruses and intuitive hook-line repetition which always renders their songs serious earworms. From Joy Division/ Psychedelic Furs territory to Tears For Fears, or even A-ha perhaps? Whatever, they’ve always been good value “live”, so I was definitely inclined to make every effort to climb of my sick-bed (sick-sofa?) to catch this lot for the 4^th time – each time at this venue, oddly enough…

Not so inclined to scrape the ice off the car before setting off, but needs must… had a slightly foggy but remarkably unencumbered run down and into Bristol city centre, parking suspiciously easily in Trenchard and hitting the venue at ¼ to 8. Very quiet early doors, then a wait until support The Ramona Flowers took the stage at 8.25 to the strains of The Wurzels’ “I Am A Cider Drinker”! The Bristol natives announced, “it’s great to be home!” before opener “Hurricane”, which featured an angular, math-rock verse leading into a smooth, synthy 80’s hook which served as a pretty accurate precursor for their set. Thereafter, they mined a similar 80’s seam to tonight’s headliners, albeit with a more mainstream sound, and an impressive vocalist whose earnest, soulful delivery made me recall the likes of ABC or Swans Way. Their middle 2 numbers, new single “Start To Rush” which was a big building ballad, and a similarly slow-burn “Sharks” which was more moody and menacing, were the best of a pretty decent support slot.

Then the place suddenly seemed to get a whole fuck-load busier during my loo break, and my usual stage-left spot was well occupied (although not as heaving as for the recent Jimmy Eat World gig). The lights dimmed at 9.30 for White Lies’ entrance – no fanfare, no choking dry ice this time! – to a brief, “hello,” from vocalist Harry McVeigh, then into the 80’s Euro-synth and robotic beat of impressive newie “Take It Out On Me”, the double hook already ringing out. A similarly strident singalong “There Goes Our Love Again” followed in short order, then the monochrome-lit, gloomier yet no less singalong “To Lose My Life” completed a very impressive opening salvo.

“This is our last UK show for a while, so we’re going to enjoy ourselves!” announced McVeigh, and they seemed intent on making this a proper end of tour party. To be honest, it felt as such throughout – a relaxed, honest and professionally delivered gig from the boys, albeit occasionally understated and rarely scaling the heights of true greatness, and also sounding a little road-weary, with Harry McVeigh’s deep, resonant and old-beyond-his-years baritone dropping out of the mix on one or two numbers. Nonetheless, Still no less than thoroughly enjoyable, though; “Price Of Love” featured a blood red backlight as it built from a requiem march into a gallop, “Morning In LA” achieved the tightrope act of sounding both elegiac and anthemic, and “Is My Love Enough” (“one of our favourites from the new record,” according to McVeigh) was a lovely little brooding beast. 

A dramatic “A Place To Hide” was followed by the very Tears For Fears like “Don’t Want To Feel It All”, before McVeigh thanked the audience for their loyalty and enthusiasm with, “after 3 years away, you really don’t know what you’re going to find when you come back!” then the band really thanked the audience with the highlight of the night in “Death”, the sinister, moody number gaining drama and gravitas as the band slowed the hook to a virtual standstill, before unleashing it like an erupting volcano. A great way to end the set, although a 3-song encore culminating in the strident, immense hook of “Bigger Than Us”, and more fulsome compliments and a deserved bow, finally finished off affairs.

Not all for me, though; I grabbed a list and made some friends down the front, then after a short wait outside got some face time with Mr. McVeigh and my list signed. Some gentle piss-taking with “H-Bomb”, a gregarious and personable young chap, before escaping the Bristol fog for an easy run home. Not their absolute best showing, maybe, but an entirely worthwhile and enjoyable show. Shinier and synthier they may be going, but so long as they keep writing those big killer hooks, I’ll happily keep coming back – even off the sick bed!

898 WHITE LIES, Frankie Rose, Bristol O2 Academy, Sunday 8 December 2013

Down to Brizzle on an appropriately evocative dark and clear Sunday night, to see young London band White Lies, this young trio whose debut "To Lose My Life" had really captured my imagination with some strident, dark and gothy post-punk rock which landed squarely in my Bunnymen-sound wheelhouse, but whom since then had released a couple of follow-ups, including this year's "Big TV", becoming shinier, synthier and more commercial sounding with each release whilst still retaining an 80's feel and throwing in the odd devastating tune in the process. Moving away from a Joy Division style of sound to a darker (dare I say it) Tears For Fears, perhaps? Still, they were good value "live" last time our, albeit a little hesitatingly, so let's go!

I managed to persuade Rach to join me this time, having gotten into trouble for booking a ticket on my own last time out, only this time to discover she, like myself, wasn't as keen on their newer material... Still, off we went, parking up in an oddly deserted Trenchard Street car park and hitting the relatively quiet venue at 7.30 (no sell-out, this, unlike last time out), waiting half an hour for support, NYC's Frankie Rose, on at 8. Backed up by a 4-piece band including a female guitarist who looked like her daughter (!), Frankie played some edgy, fast-paced and occasionally jangly pop, with smooth female harmonies recalling Fuzzy or early Lush, and a taut best evoking early Cure (exemplified by Frankie's Robert Smith t-shirt!). A few good tracks there, although one of the less good numbers sounded uncomfortably like an early 80's John Hughes film soundtrack number! Unoriginal, but a diverting start, I suppose... (yup, damn them with faint praise...)

So, with half an hour between sets, the roadies decided to choke us with quite the largest outpouring of dry ice I'd been subjected to for ages, excessive even by Bunnymen standards! We took a good viewing spot on the lip of the floor, stage left, but were concerned we might not see anything through the fog! Finally White Lies took the stage promptly at 9, kicking into sombre gloom-fest opener "To Lose My Life", and the place, which had filled up rapidly between sets, went utterly nuts. "There Goes Our Love Again", the excellent galloping best number from their current CD, followed in short order, a huge and brilliant lighting rig throwing a blood red pall across the stage, contrasting with the green backlit laser show. Stunning, yet complementary to the sound. the Bunnyesque open space of "A Place To Hide" followed, young bearded vocalist Harry McVeigh's pleading vocals propelling the immense chorus around the venue, the startlingly engaged and devoted crowd echoing back every word. This was seriously good, atmospheric stuff for openers!

Inevitably, things sagged a little for me mid-set, although the Ultravox-lite "Street Lights" and a potent, seething "EST" were mid-set highlights. Harry then introduced a, "special song, the first song we wrote as White lies and the reason we're here today," the melancholy, brooding "Unfinished Business", which built to a soaring, yearning chorus line. I could have done without the cover of Prince's "I Would Die 4 U", the purple one never being one of my favourite artistes, but the set then finished strongly with a lovely, melodic "First Time Caller", then a perfectly judged rendition of their best number, "Death". I was concerned last time out that this one was carried by the audience - not so tonight,as the hook line "this fear's got a hold of me" was deliberately slowed for added mood and menace, before being released like a cork from a bottle, sending the whole floor into a dervish frenzy.

The Visage-like synth refrain of "Big TV" kicked off the encore, with Harry praising this unusually enthusiastic Bristol crowd ("so good to see a crowd move as much as you!) before closer "Bigger Than Us", the robotic beat plunging into the immense, soaring and roaring chorus. This was a perfect end to a set which, despite some mid-set quality drops, was easily the best I've seen this nicely maturing young band play. They rose above their occasionally patchy material tonight and delivered a splendid evening of dark, anthemic rock. Well done boys!