963 EDITORS, The Twilight Sad, Bristol Colston Hall, Monday 12th October 2015

After a traumatic week personally, I was very grateful for the high pace of my Autumn dance card, and glad to get back to gigging ways; so could ask for no better hosts than Editors, likely the UK’s finest exponents of this many splendored thing we call rock. Barely a 2 year gap has elapsed since their last album and subsequent Reading Fest 2013 appearance and triumphant O2 Academy showing later that Autumn, but they’re back, with a new album “In Dream” hitting the racks last week, on cursory first listen harking back to the more experimental dark and claustrophobic electronics of “In This Light And On This Evening”. Possibly a bleak one in prospect, reflecting my overall current mood, but no bad thing…

 

I was joined for this by Facebook friend and fellow gig-counter Stuart, 10 years my senior but with an equally undimmed passion for rock, and his teen son Rory, who happily appears to have inherited his old man’s thirst for “live” music. The drive down to Bristol therefore fairly whipped by in a whirl of rock chat, and we parked up in Trenchard fairly unhindered, despite a serious blaze having occurred nearby during the day. Took a seat at the front of the stalls (to rest my knee, which had been playing up for a few days, and Stuart’s foot, injured by a box at home – poor old buggers!) for openers, Kilsyth reprobates The Twilight Sad, who operated in similar dark and gloomy sonic territory to tonight’s headliners, albeit with a smoother keyboard sound augmenting their own claustrophobic mood. Third number, “Prossy” was a tantalising rockist wall of sound, whilst other numbers were shoegazy, bleak and funereal, with yearning vocals from the heavily Scottish accented James Graham, who, as part of his passionate performance also abandoned the mic, Craig Finn like, to proclaim directly to the crowd. Messy in parts, absorbing in others, this was an entirely apposite support, impressing me enough to pick their CD up afterwards.

 

Ran into old Brunel face Stefan Milsom (probably for the first time since the last Editors Colson Hall show!) before I took a wander down the front, pitching up 3 rows back stage right for a superb viewing – and dancing! – spot. Editors took the stage bang on 9 to no intro, the eerie spotlight and moody, sparkling synth embellishing opener “No Harm”, vocalist Tom Smith switching between his usual sonorous, rich and resonant baritone, and an eerie, soaring falsetto. The mid-tempo “Sugar”, next up, continued the elegiac, melancholic mood, with Smith already dramatically enacting every note, whilst the band carefully and deliberately eased themselves into this, only the 3^rd set of this tour.

 

This was a varied set, highlighting the slower, moodier material on the new album whilst breaking the pace up with a sprinkling of older numbers, but at times initially felt as though it was dragging somewhat. So whilst an early double of the jerky, jagged and upbeat “Blood” and the excellent “End Has A Start” got me rocking out, the set then drifted until a brilliant, soaring “Racing Rats” dragged it back from the brink. As if to also illustrate the inconsistency of the set, newie “Salvation” was disappointingly muddied and dirge-like, but the subsequent “A Ton Of Love” was massive, triumphant and celebratory, with Smith’s vocals filling this ornate old theatre, and “Fingers In The Factories” might just have been the best number in the set, the tight staccato rhythm and riffery leading to a strident, fist-pumping chorus, breathless and brilliant.

 

“That was quite some fire tonight! I was going to play “Smokers” but my dad texted me to play “All Sparks” [instead] as nobody died!” announced Smith, bolting on a fat acoustic and ending up playing both anyway, “Smokers” in particular benefitting from this stripped-back arrangement, soaked with unexpected sadness and melancholy. A radically reworked “Nothing” was flag-waving and anthemic, a quantum improvement from the string arrangement on the last CD, and the Interpol-lite slashing monotone guitar riff of “Munich” ended an occasionally frustratingly inconsistent but ultimately worthwhile set.

 

The encore highlight of “Papillon” saw Smith, angular and pliable throughout, challenge the hitherto-static Bristol crowd with, “Bristol; are you there?” and throw kinetic shapes to the robotic synth beat, while colleague Russell Leetch (whom I’m convinced caught my eye and gave me an approving nod for throwing my own shapes earlier in the set) indulged in some low-slung New Order/ Hooky bass shenanigans, leading the song to a lengthy and cacophonous conclusion. I then grabbed a list and (eventually) a tatty and used drumstick for Rory, then met up for a similarly swift and chatty drive home, reflecting on the show. As I said, a little frustrating in parts, due to the unfamiliarity and initially dour nature of the new stuff; a lot of new material for such an early set on the tour, and no introductions throughout as well – Editors, you contrary bunch! Nonetheless, this was another overall entertaining and much-needed gig in the company of Editors, the band who, for me, still head the field for UK bands!

962 MERCURY REV, Holly Macve, Bristol Trinity, Monday 5th October 2015

A distinct change in mood anticipated tonight, following yesterday’s Summery powerpop sesh from Surfer Blood; tonight the return of Mercury Rev! Proof that nothing quite ages you like music, it’s now amazingly been 17 years since the classic “Deserter’s Songs” thrust this hitherto-experimental US alt-rock combo firmly into the limelight, its’ mix of delta blues, widescreen operatic soundscapes and bewildering and bewitching Americana earning them the epithet of “America’s Most Pioneering Band” from the NME (which actually counted for something at the time) and vocalist Jonathan Donahue the title of the Coolest Rockstar On The Planet from me (which still counts!). However their last album, 2008’s “Snowflake Midnight”, an unfortunate (and pretty much unlistenable) foray into electronica, saw them lose a lot of ground and goodwill, and retreat to their Catskill Mountain bolthole, never to be heard of again. Until,,,

 

News of a new album in the offing – and thankfully, a return to a guitar based sound! – saw me pouncing on one of the few tickets left for this show, Beef grabbing one as well. Thus it was that us two old musos headed down the M4 on a typically murky Autumn evening, skipping through the chill and dank drizzle from Cabot car park to hit this appropriately evocative former church hall venue about 8. Just in time, unfortunately, for support Holly Macve, who was sadly dreadful. A solo folksinger, her voice swooped and keened like a Banshee wail, or worse, like Dolores Cranberry, and was frankly painful to listen to at times, making her backwoods campfire folk set a trial of endurance. I wasn’t the only one holding this view, either, as the general background hubbub increased considerably after about 10 minutes…

 

We found a good viewing spot stage left near the front, with dry ice swirling around twinkling onstage keyboard lights, and Gregorian chanting intro music, segueing into washes of symphonic dreamscapes, evocatively heralding the arrival of Mercury Rev at 9.05. An unexpectedly powerful opener, newie “Are You Ready”, stridently delivered the psychedelic rock and blue-eyed soul promised by the lyric, and the Rev were already away, hitting the ground running for one of those very special nights.

 

Mercury Rev were utterly magnificent tonight. Another band (like Wolf Alice) who “live” eschew a number of the nuances and textural sounds of their recorded output, in favour of a bigger, bolder and more powerful sound, the huge, sky-scrapingly anthemic nature of their material really comes to the fore with these more compact, streamlined renditions, the songs taking flight with pace, purpose and often seething and bristling power. And Jonathan Donahue was amazing; a riveting and flamboyant performer, fulsome of gesture and expression, raffish hat and necktie adorning his black waistcoat and shirtsleeves combo and making him the smartest hobo on the planet, a beatific smile and wide eyes constantly gracing his features. An eerie “The Funny Bird” was next up, all drama and crashing drums, with the piano riff crawling around one’s spine like an old Doors number, then oldie “Carwash Hair” opened like a plangent twinkling thing of beauty, far removed from the discordant and moody original, then rocked triumphantly to its’ conclusion, Donahue conducting his band and drummer.

 

The classics kept coming; “Endlessly” with its’ heavenly choirs and magical flute embellishments, was given a lighter treatment in comparison to other numbers on show, then “Frittering” was awesome; widescreen, creepy, epic and cacophonous, possibly the best number on show in the set (under some pretty fierce competition!). A lot of light and shade on show as well, with newie “The Queen Of Swans” creeping in delicately before a typical plangent and soaring Rev hook, the lyric “sometimes years go by, it seems” entirely apposite for tonight’s triumphant return. “Holes” was epic, shimmering and quite beautiful, and set closer “Opus 40” again saw Donahue conducting his band through a lengthy and mesmeric instrumental jam and huge crescendo.

 

But the highlight of the night was still waiting for us; after first encore, the moody “Goddess On A Hiway”, an utterly stunning “The Dark Is Rising” ended the performance perfectly, a stratospheric and heavenly rendition, culminating in Donahue slowly raising his arms for dramatic effect, as the band built to a thunderous crescendo behind him. Quite, quite brilliant.

 

I grabbed a set list, running into recent Bristol gig buddy Alfie down the front in the process, then we hung around awhile to catch our breath, our patience also being rewarded as guitarist Grasshopper and bassist Anthony emerged for congratulations, signed lists and (eventual) photos. I then interrupted Jonathan Donahue, packing up onstage, for congrats and a hasty selfie, also telling him it was an honour to witness tonight’s triumphant return to form for Mercury Rev. Because, well, it was…!

 

Alfie, Beef and I wandered back to Cabot reflecting on tonight’s performance, then a swift drive home for midnight. Shattered the next day, but totally worth it. Tonight, Mercury Rev totally resurrected themselves, delivering one of the gigs of the year in the process. Awesome stuff!

961 SURFER BLOOD, Eternal Summers, Bristol Thekla, Sunday 4th October 2015

A hectic October run of gigs starts with a Bristol double-header; The Rev tomorrow, but tonight the promise of some wide-eyed and optimistic surf/ powerpop in prospect, from sunkissed Floridians Surfer Blood. A band I’ve followed for some time, picking up their splendid powerpop-infused “Astro Coast” debut back in 2010, I’ve nonetheless somehow contrived to miss seeing them “live” up to now, but am glad to address that on their Autumn tour promoting current, 3^rd, effort “1,000 Palms”. More of a return to the innocent surf-washed harmonies of their debut, after a darker, more difficult 2^nd in “Pythons”, this should be a fun, melodic bop-along. Let’s see…

 

After an afternoon spent at an inflatable park with the kids I set off at 7, hopefully for some bouncing of my own! A quick drive down with footy talk radio for company (all over the sacking of Brendan Rodgers from Liverpool) saw me pitch up at a virtually deserted “Dirty Boat” at 10 to 8; the Thekla, sometimes an early gig at the weekend, was running later so I had a 40 minute wait for support Eternal Summers (bah!), who thankfully arrived promptly at 8.30 to a sparse crowd but swathes of dry ice. After an uncharacteristically dour opener, this female fronted trio fair galloped along at a whip-crack pace, with some very listenable post-C86 jangle effervescent pop. Not sure if the pace and buoyant mood of the material made up for the lack of memorable hooks and choruses, or submerged what good hooks there were; either way it was diverting but not particularly memorable, with easily their best number (“Leave It All Behind”?) saved for last. At 45 minutes, a little overlong, too…

 

This meant barely time for a quick loo dash before Surfer Blood took the stage for last-minute sound-checks, before re-emerging at 9.35 in front of a more ample but still probably only half-full Thekla. Nonetheless, they set to it capably, a short instrumental opener segueing into the tumbling bass and cascading vocal attack of “Grand Inquisitor”, the splendid opener to their new album. “It’s nice to be back on this boat after 5 years!” announced boyish vocalist John Paul Pitts, prior to the chunky mid-tempo Teenage Fanclub stomp of oldie “Floating Vibes”, “thanks for spending your Sunday night with us!”

 

This was in fact a lovely way to spend a Sunday night; Surfer Blood’s intelligently-crafted rock mixes sly strumalong verses leading to invariably big, memorable hooks, awash with melody and some very fine intertwining harmonic patterns from Pitts, fellow guitarist Michael McCleary (a dead-ringer for Mayor Carcetti from “The Wire”, IMHO….!) and bassist Kevin Williams. Right in my TFC/ Gigolo Aunts/ Redd Kross upbeat and buoyant powerpop wheelhouse, this stuff, so I lapped it up, bopping down the front throughout, with a small but enthusiastic Bristol crowd, the enthusiasm being mirrored by gregarious vocalist Pitts; “Bristol is one of our favourite UK towns; I’d love to retire here and live on a boat… in the next 3 years!” The sunwashed melody of “Island” was an early set highlight, before Pitts went walkabout in the front rows during the almost calypso verses of “Take It Easy”, before (having evidently spotted me down the front making an occasional brief note or two) then stopping the song altogether to ask me what I’d been writing! T’was only appropriate then, for me to hand my gig card to him (back onstage now) at the song’s conclusion, to the response of, “thanks Bristol… and thank you David Rose!”

 

A fine set built to an impressive conclusion, with a breathless “Feast/ Famine” being topped by a titanic, dramatic “Swim”, the high watermark in their canon of work, a huge strident chorus resonating around the old boat. Final number, “I Can’t Explain” almost came close to topping that, though, the slow burn of the bright early verses again leading to a brain-grabbing hook, which then built to a lengthy feedback and reverb-soaked lengthy finale. A 3 song encore ended with a final chunky post-grunge number recalling Chicago’s Number One Cup, which again finished with a cacophonous finale, to end a damn fine set.

 

Got my set-list signed by the band too, including affable vocalist John Paul Pitts, who promised to check out my blog. I hope you’re reading this, JPP, and I hope you approve of this write-up. I certainly enjoyed bopping along to the eminently harmonious Surfer Blood tonight, and I hope to be back for more!

 

960 TORRES, Harkin, Bristol Louisiana, Monday 21st September 2015

After declaring my 12-gig “Autumn Dance Card” closed, this one was squeezed in at late notice, thanks to Beef’s enthusiasm for Torres, the musical pseudonym for Mackenzie Scott, a young Nashville raised singer songwriter. A new name on me, but having checked out a couple of tracks on YouTube and finding them possessing a late 80’s 4AD Pixies/ Throwing Muses quiet-loud dynamic (no wonder Beef likes her!), I snapped up the last-but-one ticket for this sell-out show, and also ordered up current album “Sprinter” for a hothouse listen at my desk during the day of the gig! Larry Last-Minute, that’s me…!

 

Beef and Dean collected me at 7 for the trip down to Bristol, my majority destination for my Autumn Dance Card, pitching up at The Louisiana for 8 after a circuitous and confusing diversion. Chilled in the bar before the rope was removed, and we eventually wandered upstairs to the already-heaving venue for opener, solo songstress Katie Harkin. After a low-key start, she eventually got motoring with some forthright and upfront amped-up indie guitar licks and riffery, the punchy power and occasional reverb/ distortion juxtaposing her fey, Harriet Sunday vocals nicely. Her “apostle epistle” “National Anthem Of Nowhere” and the rambunctious, rocking closer “Nothing The Night Can’t Change” revealed a tunesmith of some note, and I mused what these numbers might sound like with a full band behind them. I bet they’d rock…!

 

I stayed in and inched my way closer to the front for Torres’ entrance at 9.30, the striking blonde vocalist leading her band onstage in matching black boiler suits to unsettling background feedback. This actually set the tone for the show perfectly, as the spooky, spiky riffery and heavily pounding, funereal death march of “New Mother Earth” kicked the set off, then the excellent “New Skin”, next up, creeping in like a relative lamb, but then descending into a pit of Manchester Orchestra-like heavy guitar noise, with Torres’ vocals detached and menacing, like a younger Patti Smith, before thanking the crowd as its’ conclusion, “for joining me in my hot box!”

 

This was a riveting, unsettling show of remarkable, dark, pseudo gothic music, delivered with clear-eyed conviction and intensity by a unique talent and voice. In a similar mood vein to the likes of Savages, although much less in thrall to that gloomy early 80’s sonic template, Torres’ songs are invariably unsettling and bleakly confessional, with dark, foreboding clouds never far from the horizon, giving them a claustrophobic, menacing feel, a sense of impending doom. Nonetheless, her compelling performance, the intense gaze and worried, staccato shakes of her head, had an often indifferent Bristol crowd hushed, reverent and enthralled. A cheer greeted the introduction to “Sprinter”, Torres replying with, “you don’t have to cheer, I was just telling you…!” but then delivering a deliciously wallowing version of this sleazy, morose little number, the initial hushed, almost operatic chorus then leading to a more powerful climax, affording Torres the opportunity for some scary, wild-eyed vocals. This was however topped with set highlight “Strange Hellos”, a barbed, vicious stomper with Torres unleashing a blood-curdling howl mid-song, prior to a lengthy squalling guitar outro of almost Bob Mould proportions. Crikey.

 

The Pixies-like slow-burn sway of “The Harshest Light” (introduced with, “we’ve got 2 songs left… one’s an encore but there’s no exit [from the stage] so let’s be real with each other”) preceded set closer “November Baby”, a quiet, hushed and eerie opening bursting into a thrilling noise crescendo, with Torres taking to the front rows of the floor for some slashing riffery, bringing a startlingly fine set to a close.

 

Grabbed some welcome air as the place emptied, then we hung out afterwards downstairs, enjoying a conversation with support star Katie Harkin about The Replacements in the process. Our patience was finally rewarded with pics and signed set-lists from the band and the Star Of The Show, a quiet, self-effacing and almost humble young lady quite at odds with her strident and frankly a bit scary stage persona. A talent destined for great things, no doubt, and with any luck an individual who won’t compromise or dilute her art to get there. A great discovery – I’m so glad I made space on my Autumn gig schedule for Torres!

959 WOLF ALICE, Drenge, Made Violent, Bristol O2 Academy, Wednesday 16 September 2015

Well, it might be the Chinese Year Of The Sheep, but 2015 in rock has certainly been the Year Of The Wolf… following my hopes, after their blistering Trinity gig earlier this year, that Wolf Alice would totally nail their debut CD and deliver one of the Albums of the Year, they duly went and did so, with the superb, plangent and forthright “My Love Is Cool” a brilliant reflection of all the disparate elements of their sonic template. They then swept all before them during Festival Season, their “secret” tiny “BBC Introducing” set in particular being the talk of Reading Fest. Bouncing straight into a sell-out Academy Autumn tour as well, they’re making this world domination malarkey look pretty easy thus far…!

 

I’d booked for this one on the pre-sale and convinced Rach of their live prowess, so the two of us headed down a damp M4 early doors, getting caught in traffic on the way into Bristol and therefore hastily parking in Trenchard about 20 to 8. The haste was due to my desire to catch openers Made Violent, a young Buffalo, NY, 3-piece, on at 7.25 and therefore well into their set when we arrived. A whirling mass of big hair (especially from the Eddie Vedder lookalike vocalist/ guitarist), big choruses and big riffs, their scuffed-up, scuzzy rock’n’roll also had some big influences, the likes of Pearl Jam’s stadium grunge, The Pixies’ gutter sleaze, Primus’ angular yelping and even The Strokes laconic new wave chuggery all featuring. Schizophrenic, sure, but enjoyable and intriguing, their best number (another amphetamine-fast Strokes-alike) ending a briskly and punchily delivered set.

 

The floor was already proper old school rammed, so we had a watching brief stage left by the stairs for main support Drenge, late on at 8.30. A 2-piece expanded to 3 for the “live” setting, their rock was driving, dark and sinister, with echoey, often nasally garbled vocals and occasional middle-Eastern influences overlaying their droney, menacing and fast paced numbers. “Backwaters” for me was their best number, possessing an almost Spaghetti Western feel recalling Ken Stringfellow side-project Chariot, and token slow number “Fuckabout” appropriated The Pixies creepy “Where Is My Mind” opening riff, but those apart, the set became a bit samey for me, the formula wearing a bit thin. Would have liked more of the first band, scattergun and all over the place though they were. However, they went down a storm with the young Wolf Alice massive…

 

Ran into old friend and prodigiously talented photographer Martin Thompson for a brief chat before he went off to photograph the band with his 1903 Kodak for his splendid "Face Collective" portrait series, which was cool, then, as the witching hour approached, Rach and I squeezed into a tiny spot on the floor, 2/3 back. I mentioned to Rach that if they started with “Fluffy”, the opening number from their Festival sets, this place, already seething with anticipation, would go bat-shit crazy from the off… Sadly, t’was not to be; Wolf Alice took the stage, unheralded, spot on 9.30, and eased into a very quiet, plaintive opener, Ellie’s lilting voice sounding almost nervous. The languid, libidinous “Your Love’s Whore” followed, still low-key and understated, the band very evidently feeling their way into the opening night of the tour, and it wasn’t until the tumbling cascade of the lovely “Bros” (the touching album version), 4^th number, that we saw even a glimpse of the real Wolf Alice…

 

The step-up to Academy level venues has obviously required an increased level of professionalism, slickness, call it what you will, from the band, and tonight the sound was perfect, a lot of the numbers replicating the textures and shimmering soundscapes of that splendid album. However somehow, something was lacking, some maverick, spontaneous spirit suppressed... I don’t know, I feel a little disingenuous criticising this band for trying to play their songs more in the style of my favourite album of 2015; it’s just… I expected more power! More punch, pace and strident in-your-face swagger and attitude! I wanted the Wolf! That mighty animal that snarled so impressively at The Trinity! Instead the mid set was packed with their more understated, shoegazey material, and it wasn’t until the carefree, careering riffery of “Fluffy” that the set really took flight as it could, with the subsequent “You’re A Germ” a magnificent, bristling punked up groove with a countdown chorus of colossal magnitude. I turned to Rach at its’ conclusion and said, “now THAT’S what I’m talking about when I call this lot Mighty,” her pointed and accurate response being, “shame it’s taken them ¾ hour to get this gig started!”

 

A short 50 minute set was capped by encores of a Madder Rose-like “Turn To Dust”, an equally hushed “Blush” which nonetheless built towards its’ impressive hook, and another splendid “Giant Peach”, the intensity of this riff-tastic finale reflected with another frenzied circle pit from the crowd, who’d been up for it throughout. By anyone else’s standards, this was still a bloody good gig, but overall below their own high standards, and not a patch on that Trinity set. Grabbed half a set-list and eventually persuaded a fellow punter to let go of the other half (!) before we set off (if that was you and you're reading this - comment on this article and I'll get in touch, I owe you!). Hopefully this was just a slight bump in the road on Wolf Alice’s way to world domination, as they’re still on their way!

958 ALVVAYS, White Reaper, Bristol Fleece, Wednesday 2nd September 2015

Summer’s gone, days spent with the grass and sun…! Luckily the onset of a long Autumn, and a jarring return to the drudgery of work, is offset for me by a swift commencement of my Autumn gig Dance Card tonight! An enticing dozen scheduled shows kicks off with the return of Nova Scotia’s finest, Alvvays, who cleaned house on the “Dirty boat” earlier this year with a sparkling set of breezy C86 influenced jangle pop, but with a hidden undercurrent of menace and subterfuge which belied their superficial innocence, an enticing juxtaposition which denotes a band of true substance. Stepping up from the sold-out Thekla, they then proceeded to sell this one out too; luckily Tim and I acted quickly!

 

Also joining us for the familiar jaunt down the M4 was work colleague Claudia, who loved Alvvays’ “Archie, Marry Me” on my 2014 “Best Of” CD, so decided to join us. A chatty and entertaining trip down saw us park up early doors and hit the Fleece bar (rocking up beside local gig legend Jeff before he took his customary stage front spot), before being rudely assaulted around 8.15 by a pounding and repetitive drum-roll. Thus was how support White Reaper kicked off their set, belting out a succession of bright, upbeat pop-punk numbers with nary a pause for breath, and only an echoey toy organ (played by a wall-eyed dead ringer for Willam from “Mallrats”; it’s a sailboat, dude!) to distinguish their sound from the Sum Found Glories of this world. A Knack-like chuggy powerpop 3^rd number was cool; a subsequent virtual clone of Green Day’s “Basketcase” less so, and after that their knockabout sound and jumpy onstage antics got a little wearing and samey. Seen much worse, though, to be fair…

 

Despite the sell-out, we quite easily picked our way down the front, stage right, and at 9.15 prompt the Celtic pipe backing track heralded Alvvays’ arrival onstage; they’d been sat just off stage at the end of the bar anyway, so no lengthy trip to get there! Straight into the ebullient and fast-paced Primitives-alike opener “Your Type”, before the Rickenbacker chimes of the excellent “Adult Diversion” really got us under way, vocalist Molly Rankin announcing at its’ conclusion, “what’s up! We’re not on the boat this time!”

 

Alvvays were great tonight. “Live”, their joyful jangle took on extra dimensions of power and drama, and sounded more fully rounded and harder-edged. Molly’s vocals, previously detached and insouciant, are also developing nicely, conveying more emotiveness than previously, adding gravitas to the likes of the melancholy wallow of “Agency” and the soda-bar balladry of “Ones Who Love You”. The charming and diminutive vocalist was in good fooling too, informing us that fellow Canadian Mac DeMarco sends dirty videos to keyboardist Kerri on Instagram (!), joking with the crowd about her love of Oasis and Coldplay (at least, I hope she was joking…!), remarking in her startled Minnie Mouse voice, “That was punk!” to the spectacle of a punter climbing one of the Fleece’s ubiquitous poles and, when said punter threw his monkey-shaped backpack onstage, retorting quickly, “I hope there’s candy in there!”

 

A couple of brisk, almost Buzzcocks-like new numbers were thrown in for good measure, but the set centred largely round that excellent 2014 debut album. Thus, “Atop A Cake” was a sunny singalong joy with an underpinning of Byrds-ian jangle, “Party Police” was a melancholy confessional (Molly announcing beforehand, “we’re baring our souls to you!”) and the brilliant set closer and highlight, “Archie Marry Me”, took on anthemic qualities with the “Hey! Hey!” hookline raising the roof. A superb way to end an all-too-short set from a band who are developing quickly, and continuing to grow on me like a rash.

 

A solo “Red Planet” from Molly preceded a delicious and touching encore of Kirsty MacColl’s “He’s On The Beach”, a touching tribute to a like-minded pure pop soul, and a lovely way to end tonight’s proceedings. Kerri handed her set-list to me and I quickly popped back afterwards to get her and Molly to sign it, then we bumped into Andy Fenton and son for a chat before heading back to the car, all fully satisfied with tonight’s entertainment. A great gig and a superb way to kick off the Autumn schedule for me; Summer might be gone, but thanks to the effervescent pop and sly menace of Alvvays, it had a rousing send-off!

957 THE SHUDDERS, WHITE LILAC, Purton “Festival On The Farm”, Purton, near Swindon, Saturday 1st August 2015

Following last Saturday’s splendid, delicate yet powerful performance by the very promising White Lilac at the Locomotive, I’m now pretty much up for taking any and every opportunity to see this young local band taking the tentative steps on their journey to hopefully breaking out of the Swindon musical “ghetto” and gaining the wider exposure that their intriguing music undoubtedly deserves. So when their facebook feed posted that they’d be playing a local Farm Festival, this seemed a nice possibility for a family day out. This was underlined further by the presence of Tim’s band The Shudders on the bill; The Shudders had been inactive for a while of late but apparently delivered a storming set to close The Swindon Shuffle a couple of weeks back, so let’s see what form they’re in as well!

There was a party clash for Kasey, however, so it was just Logan and myself braving the unknown today. Rach drove us out to deepest darkest Purton, dropping us off at the compact Festival site about 11.30. A few hundred yards long and about 50 yards across; this really was compact and bijou! There were very few revellers early doors so we amused ourselves by going for a wander off-site, with Logan chasing chickens, making friends with a couple of Shetland ponies in the adjoining field and visiting the Farm Shop for pastries to augment our hastily grabbed picnic fixings!

It was still sparsely occupied when White Lilac rocked up to set up for their 1 p.m. set in the oversized gazebo that constituted the main stage. I’d joked with Rach on the way over that it might just be me, Logan and a hundred or so punters in a field; in fact considerably less than that greeted the Lilac’s opener, the baroque, gothic “Girl Who Stole The Eiffel Tower”, which marched onwards on its deathly tango way. By now Tim had joined myself, Logan and White Lilac vocalist Faye’s parents Mike and Stella in our watching brief, and Tim and I debated the poor sound following their Lush-like second number “Change Of Face”. I’d mused whether the lack of a bass anchor to the song had detracted from, or actually augmented the breezy, flyaway nature of that number, before realising I was talking to a bass player and therefore wasn’t likely to get an objective view! However we both agreed that the sound was tinny and trebly, with cellist Emma’s instrument particularly submerged in the mix, which was a bit of a shame but not entirely surprising given we were in the middle of a field.

White Lilac gamely soldiered on, however, and “Night Visions”, with its’ grand widescreen change of pace from slow and sombre to, erm, poundingly fast and sombre (!), was a highlight, and “Furs” was the best sounding number of the set, Emma’s bass giving it a fuller sound for its glam stomp and post-punk, almost Bunnymen-esque shimmering soundscape interludes. “He’s Not Himself” was, rather tellingly, the only number Faye introduced with a lengthy explanation, and ethereal closer “Swallow” recalled some of Belly’s earlier, less poppy moments, Faye’s pure vocal delivery underlining this, before the song built to a wall of sound crescendo.

Another fine set in difficult circumstances, we all agreed afterwards. I enjoyed a nice chat with guitarist Curtis while Tim left to help The Shudders set up, then we had to endure a slight delay for their set while the adjoining portaloos were pumped out! Aah, the joys of small Festival life…! The Shudders finally got under way 20 minutes late with the plaintive, Posies-like powerpop of “Sorry”, Tim and Liam’s vocal harmonies backing up Danny’s quieter, more delicate lead vocal line. A singalong “Words Of A Fool” was next up, this oldie sounding simpler yet still fresh, 6 (!) years on from that first album release!

More conventional in both sound and line-up to the openers, The Shudders consequently struggled less with the sound, although some numbers still sounded a little thin. Plus, it seemed every time they tackled a slower, more alt-Country sounding number from their canon, the toilet pump would fire up again! Bah! Nevertheless, the Laurel Canyon 60’s ballad “Sunrise” was preceded by some promises about a new album (Liam joking, “I think we said that here last year!”), an upbeat newie “Rooster”, with an elongated 70’s rock workout outro, was played out of sequence (Danny remarked “I’m just confusing everybody by not playing what’s on [the set-list]”, to which Liam retorted, “it’s a shopping list really!”), then before the effervescent Replacements-like garage riffery of “Thought I Saw You”, Liam knocked his mic stand over, nearly hitting Logan, who was sat at the front of the stage!

The fun, terrace chant Irish jig of oldie “Lost And Broke” concluded a set which proved The Shudders are in fine fettle and good fooling, hopefully in good time for that promised new album release. Logan grabbed the set-list and got it signed as well. Good work boys!

Chatted with the lads afterwards while Logan, who’d thoroughly enjoyed both bands, availed himself of the nearby kids’ activity tent arts and crafts, and the next band, 3-piece A Way With Words, kicked off their AOR/ Fleetwood Mac sounding set. However, we’d seen what we’d come for, and Rach arrived at the appointed 4 p.m. to pick us up. A nice afternoon out in good weather, good company with both Logan and the bands, and 2 splendid performances from The Shudders and White Lilac, despite the iffy sound. A nice Festival taster for Logan – hopefully the first of many!