1,058 THE HORRORS, Baba Naga, Bristol Bierkeller, Wednesday 25th October 2017

Once again I find myself in a seemingly familiar position with The Horrors; looking for validation in their “live” performance after a new album of their dark, post-punk meets (increasingly) libidinous Krautrock synthpop dance (this time in their appropriately named 5th album “V”) which whilst listenable, offered no great departure or development from its’ predecessor. Could The Horrors have found their groove, only to be in danger of it turning into a rut? An announcement of a gig at the Bierkeller, a smaller venue to their last Bristol jaunt (October 2014, gig 927 on the “Luminous” tour) added to my slight concern, but hey, I booked a ticket anyway as they'd been good value “live” before - well, apart from the Munsters-lite goth black balloon phase of their infancy, anyway!

A fairly easy drive down the M4 saw me parking up in the Rupert Street car park around the corner from the venue and getting in after a short wait at 8. Back to the elegantly run-down Bierkeller, scene of so many drunken rock’n’roll nights for me in the 80’s! I took a pew towards the back, but was tempted down the front to check out openers, Baba Naga, on at 8.15. They kicked in with an opener which was all Eastern style psych-guitar licks, reminiscent of the intro of The Doors' classic “The End”. However as soon as the thudding, ham-fisted drums hit, it degenerated into tuneless, lumpen pseudo blues/ psych sludge and     overwhelming wah-wah riffery, with vocals buried so deep they'd probably need to be drilled for. One  number indistinguishable from the next, they recalled that horrible lot Endless Boogie, or the worst excesses of Secret Machines. After an interminable 25 minutes, I wasn't even sure of how many numbers they played - pick a number between 2 and 5! - but I knew that they were all shit!

Joined the Horrors broad church (mixtures of goth punk types, students and old rock lags - I was by no means the oldest here!) down the front, stage left, head in the monitors but on a flat piece of floor so as to not risk damaging my knee, aggravated by a trip on holiday (!), as swathes of dry ice enveloped the floor (does anything else come in swathes, I wonder?). The Horrors themselves finally emerged onto a red backlit and strobe-splattered stage, easing into the loose-limbed Tubeway Army-like sheet synth of new CD opener “Hologram”, monochrome-clad and angular Goblin King vocalist Faris Badwan emerging last, then flailing around as if exhorting this relatively slow number to speed up a bit! Luckily, the more aggressive, darker “Machine” was next up, “V”’s best track given even more seething power “live”, and by the soaring JAMC-like oldie “Who Can Say”, Faris’ suitably dispassionate vocal a feature, The Horrors were in full flight.

Merely pretty darn good on CD, The Horrors are outstanding “live”, truly coming alive onstage, the songs given added power and potency and utterly making sense. And Faris is a consummate frontman; a stretched Marc Almond, climbing on the monitors to accentuate his already-impressive height, kinetic, all action and angles, teasing and tempting, he was a riveting visual presence throughout. “Mirror Image” was tough and lean, underpinned with a staccato keyboard pattern and droney guitar riffery, and Faris acknowledged the enthusiastic response with, “this feels like a home town show - thank you very much!” before the pulsating Stereolab-esque Krautrock metronomics of “Sea Within A Sea”, another looped keyboard riff powering this number to a growling, dissonant climax.

More compliments from The Goblin King for, “being a fantastic crowd,” before the elegiac opening to “Weighed Down” morphed into a heavily gloomy, slow-burn snarl. And whilst the latter stages of the set drifted lazily past in a whirling marshmallow haze, the penultimate “Endless Blue” snapped into ferocious life for its’ eventual denouement, and set closer “Still Life” was a suitably widescreen way to end a startlingly good set as it started; in washes of Doors-like keys and Tubeway Army/ Kraftwerk robotic synth. The libidinous groove of “Ghost” and the very 80’s (as in, Soft Cell/ Depeche Mode 80’s) “Something To Remember Me By” closed out a superb performance. A brief word and set-list signature from bassist Joshua Hayward (who enjoyed my “stretched Marc Almond” comment on Faris!) before I hit the road afterwards, suitably validated. While they keep delivering performances of this quality, you can bet I’ll keep coming back for more Horrors!

1,057 INHEAVEN, Bloxx, King Nun, Bristol Fleece, Wednesday 11th October 2017

My second trip to the suddenly impossible-to-get-to Bristol Fleece in 5 days sees me following up on the progress of a promising band I’d checked out at my old Level 3 stamping grounds, barely 3½ months ago (gig 1,043 if you’re counting). Inheaven, who’d shimmered, swooped, shoegazed and swaggered into the forefront of my new band radar for 2017 as a result of that, their Glasto warm-up and partial homecoming gig (bassist Chloe being from the ‘don and, indeed, a former Level 3 acolyte, albeit some years after my halcyon period!), had since dropped their eponymous debut album which, happily, delivered fully on all the promise displayed at that gig. Their colourful potpourri of post-punk/ shoegaze/ garage rock in full force, “Inheaven” is full of totally banging tuneage, with not a single duff track on show, and is currently squabbling with Desperate Journalist for my Album Of The Year. Taking in one of their Autumn tour dates was a must, then, and I snapped myself up a ticket, for a solo midweek jaunt down the M4.

A delayed and sodden drive, then a confusing diversion as I eschewed my former route into town in favour of Temple Gate, saw me parking just around the corner and hitting a surprisingly dead Fleece for 8. As quiet as I’d seen it since that fabled El Nino gig some years back (gig 403; I think about 11 people were at that one…!); indeed, there were tables out around the pillars towards the back too! The vocalist of openers King Nun remarked that this was the first time they’d played a seated venue (!), but that was pretty much the last we actually heard from him, as his vocals were so submerged in their mix, underneath the squally, strident guitar riffery and hard-hitting drums, as to be somewhat superfluous. Their second number sounded like a jetplane landing (an actual one, not the band!) and although the set was enthusiastically delivered and deviated later into slower and more melodic territory, it was short on memorable hooks.

Bloxx, next up, had a terrible name but much stronger material, in a languid, slacker rock/ 90’s US college pop vein; as if Juliana Hatfield were fronting Matt Dillon’s band Citizen Dick from the movie “Singles”, perhaps… their sleepy nonchalance however took a turn for the better at the end of their set, with their final 3 numbers “Sea Blue”, “You” and “Your Boyfriend” being groovier and much more upbeat, recalling the likes of Yuck or Pity Sex. A definite work-in-progess (as were the openers), but some decent promise here.

The place was still only about ¼ full – Bristol, wake up! The paucity of the turnout didn’t seem to bother Inheaven, however; on at 9.30 and lining up behind their usual rose-bedecked mic stands, they were once again “on it” from the outset with a burst of light, colour and the strident chorus and militaristic drumbeats of opener “Bitter Town”. Next up, “Stupid Things”, a beautifully observed Jesus And Mary Chain pastiche on record, became a seething, coruscating wall of sound “live”, and by the swaggering, singalong strut of “Baby’s Alright”, it was clear that even in these short months, this band had come on in leaps and bounds “live”, with more confidence, cohesion and audience interaction. They knew it too, with knowing glances and satisfied smirks illustrating the fact they were totally nailing this “live” performance malarkey now.

The thrilling Krautrock metronome glam sleaze of “Vultures” saw some male/ female call and response vocals between Chloe (who wore a huge “fantasy band camp” grin throughout, clearly loving it up there) and main vocalist, the swarthily handsome and more earnest James Taylor, Chloe’s quickfire rapped verse recalling Curve’s Toni Halliday. “World On Fire” featured some vicious riffery, before we were back to the JAMC/ Pixies-ish wall of noise for a superb “All There Is” A later “Treats” saw a hectic moshpit break out to its’ almost American Hi-Fi-like chorus, and whilst “Wasted My Life” seemed a little ragged as the set rushed headlong to its conclusion, “Regeneration” closed it out splendidly with an epic swish and swagger.

Excellent stuff from a band quickly fulfilling on their potential and promise. Caught my breath, then chatted to a fellow music blogger (hey Ryan!), before grabbing merch and a chat and pix with the band, including fellow Swindonian Chloe who remembered me from Lev. Nice! A band clearly in a hurry, here’s hoping they don’t compromise their excellent sound for a quicker ascent to the bigger venues that doubtless await them. There’s more to come from Inheaven, a potentially great band for years to come!

1,056 THE ICICLE WORKS, Bristol Fleece, Friday 6th October 2017

A particularly fraught day left me in serious need of the healing salve a great gig can provide, and for that, I turned tonight to The Icicle Works, another 80’s post-punk “rockist” band and Scouse contemporaries of the likes of The Bunnymen, whom, similar to The Chameleons earlier this year, I’d overlooked back in the day but had recently revisited following my redundancy last year. Truth to tell, I wasn’t actually completely oblivious of this lot back then; I thoroughly enjoyed a smattering of their singles, particularly the racily melodic and hook-laden opening double singles salvo of “Birds Fly” and “Love Is A Wonderful Colour”, and the hard rocking, later “Understanding Jane”, and briefly owned 3 separate copies of their first album… only to take them all back as my stylus jumped in the same place! Their dramatic Mersey widescreen sweep and pseudo-proggy psych-pop therefore remained on the periphery of my musical vision until last year, when I bought and enjoyed their 5 CD box set, then quickly booked tix for what promised to be a “deep dive” into their back catalogue, with vocalist, mainstay and (similar to the Chameleons again!) sole original member Ian McNabb threatening a 2 ½ hour retrospective set of band and solo material!

This also promised to be an early start at 7.40, which proved problematic when, earlier in the day, my 10 year old son was admitted to hospital and diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes… hence the fraught-ness! A few quick family rearrangements allowed me to attend this gig, albeit leaving slightly later than planned, picking up the Big Man and hammering down the M4, then getting stuck around the centre of Bristol before parking up at 10 to 8. We therefore hit the venue just as The Icicle Works were starting their 3^rd number, a startlingly tough-sounding “Evangeline”, the soaring chorus being filled in by the knowledgeable audience. We hung back and spotted Matt in the doorway; he’d gone to The Thekla instead! A sinewy, sweeping and equally singalong “Seven Horses” was next up, with McNabb already the focal point, a gregarious and entertaining frontman constantly interacting with the crowd both between and mid-song. “Rock and roll made me a lot of things, but one of them ain’t funny!” he, somewhat inaccurately, quipped early doors…

The first set consisted primarily of vintage Icicle Works material, interspersed with the engaging McNabb’s deadpan comments; a soulful, Motown-lite “Blind” was preceded by a well-observed “Whispering” Bob Harris impression, and an acerbic, sprawling and hauntingly discordant “Up Here In The North Of England” was introduced with the pointed barb of, “I wrote this in the 80’s about an oppressive Tory Government – not much has changed…”. The sweepingly widescreen, Wild Swans-esque “Who Do You Want For Your Love” received the pithy introduction of, “another of our songs that got to No. 53!”, whilst a touchingly melodic, 60’s-tinged “Starry Blue Eyed Wonder” became a hushed singalong. “The Cauldron Of Love” closed out set one, McNabb leading his charges off at 9, “to go and take some ibuprofen – we’re all getting old!”

Chatted with Matt and Rich in the intermission, and unloaded about my day to a couple of sets of sympathetic ears, before McNabb returned to the stage 15 minutes later for set two with the comment of, “nice to see so many ladies here – it’s normally swinging dicks all the way to the back [at our gigs]!” Set two delved into McNabb’s post-IW solo material, drawing from an extensive (and unfamiliar to these ears) back catalogue. “Fire Inside My Soul” recalled the anthemic heroics of Springsteen’s “Dancing In The Dark”, and “What She Did To My Mind” was a rootsier, Neil Young-esque riff-heavy workout. In fact most of the second set felt more trad, almost heartland rock, well constructed and melodic with fine, reverential organ playing underpinning the sound, but I have to confess it drifted pleasantly but unobtrusively along for me, and I felt I was counting down to a return to the Icicle Works material at the end of the set.

We finally got what we wanted, though; McNabb offered thanks to the crowd for coming along and supporting “live” music, gave a shout-out for Tom Petty (lost to us at 66, earlier this week), then the intricate guitar intro to classic “Hollow Horse”, the choral hook again sung back by the audience, closed out the second set at 10.15. A lengthy encore of “Clarabella” preceded a lovely, slowed-up “Love Is A Wonderful Colour” before the band took a bow at 10.30 and left the stage again, then…

That was that! To our great consternation, potential highlights “Birds Fly” and “Understanding Jane” were both cut from the encore! We caught up with Ian McNabb at the merch stand for pix and set-list signings (I grabbed the list for set 2 only), and he explained that they were necessarily sacrificed due to the venue curfew. Bugger! Overall therefore, a great, tough sounding first set, a fine but patchy second set capped by a couple of great numbers, but we left discussing what was omitted. Hopefully a condensed Icicle Works singles-centric set at November’s forthcoming “Shiine On” Festival will prove that less is more, and might just be a potential festival highlight. We’ll see, but nevertheless, The Icicle Works and Ian McNabb still brightened up my fraught day!

1,055 THE NATIONAL, This Is The Kit, London Eventim Apollo, Tuesday 26th September 2017

The “landmark” first gig that I set off to directly from my new job, was this midweek trip up “The Smoke”, to catch the band who arguably now occupy REM’s former position at the vanguard of US indie/ alternative rock, Ohio’s The National. Their last go-around, 4 years ago, saw them cement their status as the “go-to” band for all earnest black-shirted muso types, by selling out 2 nights at the cavernous Ally Pally (my gig 897), so it was inevitable that tickets for their announced 4 dates at the more intimate (but still bloody huge) former Hammersmith Odeon, in support of their current “Sleep Well Beast” album (which sees them augment their usual deliciously dark, morose late night alt-rock with subtle smatterings of electronica beats, without going full-on “Empires And Dance” on our collective asses), would be as rare as rocking horse shit. Luckily, I got in on the advance-CD purchase pre-sale, hitting “refresh” until one of my 4 open windows furnished me with a ticket. Tuesday (day 2) I got, so Tuesday it is!

Facebook friend David Line, formerly vocalist of Seafood (the only UK band worth half a damn, during the late 90’s/ early 00’s, and still, at 22, my most-seen “live” band – and a brilliantly visceral experience every time, I might add…!) also got Tuesday, so I was on the lookout for him! Headed off at 4 and hit the venue just before doors at 7, after a trouble-free journey and took a place on the wonky barriers, extreme left, watching the National’s congregation respectfully file in. My early arrival unfortunately also meant that I was subject to another support slot from The National’s “pet” support act, This Is The Kit. As before, they were female fronted, polite, accomplished and understated US alt-country – music for walking a rainy Appalachian trail, perhaps – with an occasional pretty intertwining harmony or discordant riff to divert me from their usual material, which was unfortunately quite, quite dull. The biggest cheer was when they brought the National’s Aaron Dessner to sit in on guitar for a couple of their later numbers. Hmmm…

The place actually felt like a sell-out by now and I left my front-row but oddly obscured vantage spot for a loo break, spotting a familiar looking face on the way back, about 1/3 back. True enough, t’was Mr. Line, and greetings, introductions to his lovely family, and catching up comfortably passed the time until the lights dimmed at 9, a “Please Stand By” message appeared on a large overhanging video screen, and video of The National themselves, hanging backstage, was projected, until they emerged to a reverential welcome. Opening with 4 straight new numbers – there’s confidence in your audience and material for you! – they sounded pindrop-perfect, their bleak, introspective and hauntingly gothic new material given incongruous life by some startling blocks of ultraviolet colour on the screen , interspersing the usual band performance shots. “Walk It Back”, stark and bucolic, recalled “Automatic”-era REM and was an early highlight, before a blood-red backdrop heralded the oozing, slow-burn intro of “Bloodbuzz Ohio”, a somewhat understated version, leading ultimately to its’ usual dramatic climax.

“Understated” is probably the operative word for this whole performance, actually… brilliant sound, an expertly chosen set veering between slow, stripped back material and their rockier moments (a perfect example being a brilliant mid-set double of an angular, propulsive “Mistaken For Strangers” and a racy, jet propelled “Graceless”, being followed by the tender “Carin At The Liquor Store”, as if to clear the air), Matt Berninger’s usual befuddled Geography teacher stage presence and vocals veering between half-remembered mumble and startled shriek, and the Dessner twins’ occasional dual guitar shredding, throwing sharp relief onto the reverentially observed quieter moments. All that and more… it again felt, however, that The National were playing within themselves, pacing themselves over the 2 hours, or even 4 nights. Nothing wrong with that, I guess; a few moments of driftwood in the set for me, sure, but when it worked (the afore-mentioned “Mistaken”/ “Graceless” double, a startling, proto-punk “Turtleneck” or the brass blare fanfare of a singalong and totally appropriate “England”) it really was quite breathtaking.

“Day I Die” was ragged and riff-strafingly dramatic, and the taciturn Berninger announced set closer “About Today” as, “the most depressing song ever written… enjoy!” “Terrible Love”, the final of a 3-song encore, finally saw Berninger really cut loose, crowdsurfing, Frank Turner style, as the song took dramatic flight behind him, bringing another slightly uneven but occasionally majestic 2 hours to a close. A fortuitous set-list and farewells to my gig companions – good to catch up with David again! – before a similarly unimpeded journey home. Worthy as ever, The National, and at times stunning; overall, a splendid evening!

1,054 RAZE*REBUILD, The Harlers, Ant Willis, Swindon The Castle, Friday 22nd September 2017

Contact lenses in, shorts on in late September, double kneestrapped up… it must be a Raze*Rebuild gig! Yup, for the 9^th time of asking, a gig by Swindon’s finest purveyors of blue-collar, popcore tinged rock’n’roll saw me girdling my loins and preparing for my inevitable rocking out down the front. I dunno, I might be 52 and with dodgy knees that usually scream, “enough!” at the sight of a slightly askew paving stone, but give me a Raze*Rebuild gig and, just like that sweat-drenched guy at the recent Martha gig, I’m bound to totally lose my shit, there’s no pretending otherwise…! This one was an auspicious occasion as well, being a CD Release Party for their new 4-track EP, “The Interlude”, a collection of numbers that sees a pronounced development in vocalist Si’s songwriting skills, a wider, more structured and epic tempo-changing sweep and range to the new material, as well as finally committing long-time “live” favourite “New Leaf” to record. Bound to be a good one, right? Right!

A trip up the hill, then a frustrating trawl around old town to find a working cashpoint, saw me rocking up to The Castle for 8.15. Liam, stellar guest drummer last time out, was hanging out with the R*R boys in the Castle beer garden in advance of his sadly-clashing Vic gig with his usual band Hail, so I joined in with the general piss-taking about his age, and obscure band rock chat. First act on, Ant Willis, took the stage with a big acoustic and a Chilli Peppers-like rap-metalesque number which thankfully proved to be an outlier for his set. Formerly of local rock combo A Way With Words, he subsequently veered into a more morose and bitter yet strident melancholic oeuvre, with “3 AM” my personal favourite of his set. Not sure about the cover of “Can’t Help Falling In Love”, but this was a decent enough start, despite some lyric “malfunctions” along the way.

Next up were The Harlers, which saw Raze*Rebuild drummer Jamie pulling a double shift with this, his other band. Recently expanded to a 3-piece with the addition of a bassist, their modus operandi was hard-hitting, heavy riffing bluesy stoner rock, evoking desert truckstop roadhouses and beer-soaked bar-room brawls. Even their purported slower number, “The Devils Blues”, a more old-school bluesy Lightnin’ Hopkins’ style workout, was awash with snaking riffery and heavy, stomping drum patterns. Now, if I were a fan of the likes of Tame Impala, The White Stripes, Queens Of the Stone Age, early Led Zeppelin or even Hendrix, I would be thinking right now that I’d just found my new favourite band. Unfortunately I am not, of any of the above (“whaaat? Not even Hendrix, you bloody philistine?” I hear you cry, dear reader… Yup, sorry, not even Hendrix…), so they left me impressed, but largely unmoved. However, dear reader, if you are a fan of any of the above, I urge you to check out The Harlers. You will find something in their dark explosive riffery of considerable worth and value.

On, though, to a band who’s so far in my wheelhouse that they might as well be picking out matching curtains and soft furnishings (which I may well have said before… and no apologies for that!). After The Harlers’ gear was finally loaded away and a call to the band’s back rows made by the Hall brothers (Si finally announcing in lieu of an absent Paj, “can anyone play bass guitar? It’s really easy…!”), the full line-up assembled for the set, and I took a rather slippery position, centre stage. The fist-pumping, tub-thumping, anthemic manifesto/ call to arms newie “Burden Of Youth” kicked things off impressively, and by “Face For Radio”, next up, I was rocking out in my usual frantic way, responding to Si’s trademark energetic, scissor-kicking, fiercely committed and vein-bulging performance. After a huge, emotive and raw “Kat I’m Sorry”, a magnificently ragged and frantic set highlight “New Leaf” followed, which, despite Si’s comments about being, “old, sweaty and tired…” (him or me?) saw another performance of ferocious fire and passion, and, as fellow R*R aficionado Paul Carter grabbed hold of me towards its’ conclusion, also briefly saw a 2-man moshpit with a combined age of 104!

“My voice is going… we might have to do tomorrow’s performance via the medium of mime…” deadpanned Si, before a ball-crunchingly heavy yet achingly honest and heartfelt “Sand In The Petrol” led seamlessly into an unexpected and upbeat Husker Du-like “All The Gear”. Again, all too soon, another incendiary performance concluded with breathless compliments from Si, and newie “Poison Air”, all angular tempo changes and stripped back middle 8, powering into its’ final denouement, although the boys were persuaded to hold station for an unplanned encore of “Back To The Fall”, which actually felt slightly understated for them, but still a brilliant way to end the night’s entertainment.

Sweat drenched and breathless, I was actually glad to have avoided doing myself a mischief down the front – the floor was seriously slippery, so I did my best to fool myself into thinking my right foot was concreted to the floor, in order to keep it planted! Compliments to the boys, signed copies of the CD (which Si pointed out to me featured a “thanks” namecheck for yours truly – thank you for that, gents, I’m seriously flattered!) and sweaty farewells – including one to Mark Carter, an old Level 3 stalwart off to seek his fortune “Down Under”. Safe travels dude! Thus endeth another superb Raze*Rebuild Castle night, and here’s to many, many more!