1,309 XSLF, Borrowed Time, The Deckchairs, Swindon The Victoria, Friday 15th December 2023

 

They think it’s all over… but it isn’t, well, not just yet…

 Just as I was thinking that my 2023 gigging year had come to a close, thanks to my scheduled knee replacement surgery, fate deals a different hand to me, with the last-minute (as in, I’m standing in my hospital-issue gown ready to go to theatre last-minute!) postponement of said procedure, for totally understandable reasons actually. So instead of a weekend in hospital and up to 8 weeks out of gigging action (I’ll have that to look forward to early next year now…), the weekend opened up to me, and I could join The Big Man for a trip up the hill to see XLSF, the ersatz line-up of veteran Belfast punks fronted by former – and original – Stiff Little Fingers guitarist Henry Cluney. We’d caught them down at the old Level 3 just over 10 years ago (gig 889), in one of their first ever gigs; frankly, it showed a little, with a fun but uneven set which wasn’t a patch on Jake Burns’ current SLF incarnation. But hey, I’ve suddenly got a free night, so I was up for seeing how Henry and co. have come on in the intervening years…

 Drove up and parked up behind the Roaring Donkey, grabbing the last spot on a busy pre-Christmas Friday night out, then met Rich in the Vic, also running into Debby and old Level 3 face Pete Murphy (no, not that one…!). Heard noise emanating from the back room venue, so wandered in at 10 to 9 to see openers The Deckchairs. A veteran bunch from Bracknell, as we soon found out thanks to their love song for their home town, which featured the line, “your girlfriend’s mates are all chavs!”, they were fronted by a chap who I thought was a dead ringer for my old punk mate Ian Leighton, and kicked up a primitive late 70’s punk rock racket reminiscent of a lot of second division bands of that time (Shapes, Drones, Last Words et al). Lots of scatological references (one number called “My Dick’s Bigger Than Yours”, for example, although we missed the one about inflatable girlfriends!), and I liked the jolly “Wanker In An Audi” which concluded with a bit of the old 70’s “Likely Lads” TV programme theme! The singer rounded off this fun mess of a set with a toilet seat around his neck for the closer “We Were Shit”, although they were called back on for an encore of Sham 69’s laddish drinking song “Hurry Up Harry” by the crowd.

 By now we’d been joined by Rich’s friend Nicky, another old Level 3 face, although I bailed out of the venue when main support Borrowed Time launched into their set. Much more proficient sounding than the openers, but I’m not a fan of their more generic leather-and-studs UK82-inspired politico-punk noise, so I took a seat to rest my knee and then phoned my brother, popping back in for their last knockings.

 Quite a busy one, this, so we kept a watching brief by the bar, house left, anticipating a boisterous moshpit which would be a little more than my knee could currently handle. Not far wrong, as it turned out, as Henry Cluney led the now 3-piece XSLF on at 10.30, rampaging straight into the classic “Suspect Device” and immediately projecting his tough Northern Irish brogue much better than beforehand. Thence followed a set of classic SLF first 2 albums only material, enthusiastically if a little haphazardly delivered by Cluney and his mob (the ex-Defects drummer in particular more than a little all over the place, seemingly changing speed on a whim and regularly out of time with his colleagues), but equally enthusiastically received and sung along with by this Friday night Vic crowd. An early “Gotta Getaway” was incendiary; the mid-set “Alternative Ulster” savage and bilious (Cluney deadpanning, “I wrote this one on the way from the hotel tonight!”) and “Nobody’s Hero” was a careering, fist-pumping manifesto and the best – and best sounding – number on show tonight. The band hauled a quartet of backing singers up from the crowd for “Barbed Wire Love”, Rich and myself responding with a mid-song waltz (!), and Borrowed Time’s Rob did a fine job actually as guest vocalist for a venomous “Fly The Flag”. A lengthy, dubby and slightly uneven “Johnny Was” closed out the set, although Cluney, a little breathless by now, commented they couldn’t be bothered to go offstage (a bit of a theme these days at gigs!), so ploughed through a timely if shambolic “White Christmas” and a fine, tight “Tin Soldiers” to round off an hour-ish set, after which I left Rich to it and headed off. So, still some way short of Jake’s mob, but Cluney and co. were overall better than before, and despite a few haphazard moments, gave this fabled material a good old roughhousing and in doing so, delivered a fine and welcome, if unexpected and last-minute, evening’s singalong punk rock. Slainte, chaps!

1,308 THE FRONT BOTTOMS, Vundabar, Oxford O2 Academy, Saturday 9th December 2023

 

Likely my final gig of another stellar 49-strong year, this one, due to my impending knee operation next week, and it’s a late call… Jami discovered that their recent TikTok band “find”, Noo Joisey’s US alt-indie veterans The Front Bottoms, were doing a UK tour and was well up it; they’re a band I’ve been aware of for some time but not delved into (I think mainly because of their rather off-putting name – still, that doesn’t stop me liking The New Pornographers, I suppose…), but on doing so I enjoyed what I heard. Like Waterparks, they’re a hot mess of influences; chunky Weezer-esque post-grunge rock, ramshackle Violent Femmes-like alt-folk and, more notably, millennial emo-pop-punk, all overlaid with We Are Scientists-like humorous and overly wordy lyricism and the deadpan, sardonic vocal delivery of main man Brian Sella. We picked up their new album (their 8^th!) “You Are Who You Hang Out With” and ended up booking tix for this Oxford gig as, unfortunately, the more convenient Bristol date clashes with my op date!

So, anticipating parking issues as usual for Oxford, we set off at 4, only to park up in a 2/3rds full Tesco Car Park at 5, a full hour before doors! Grabbed a pretty decent Chinese meal in the nearby Rice Box, then, before joining the priority queue, Jami immediately making friends with some punters who’d come from Kings Lynn! This seemed to be a theme, as we grabbed a barrier spot, extreme house right, on entry and chatted to a mum and daughter (hi Eve!) who’d journeyed from Worksop, having booked to go to the Sheffield O2 date, before that venue was flooded and this Oxford date added as replacement! Support Vundabar were on at an early 7 p.m.; a Boston 3-piece, they were all over the place, their stuff careering from plodding and slow-burn Weezer “Sweater Song” rewrites to off-kilter backbeat and weird time-signature Primus, Truman’s Water or even (very!) early XTC soundalikes, with staccato barked vocals and lots of stop-starts and pregnant pauses. The type of songs you don’t know that have actually finished until the vocalist says, “thank you”, in fact… An early Mission Of Burma lyric homage (“that’s when I reach for my resolver/ dissolver”?) and a couple of more conventional numbers, particularly the anthemic Vaccines-like “Let Me Leave” were the most notable points of a difficult and scattergun set. 

A quick turnaround, however, as the 5-piece Front Bottoms joined us dead on 8 p.m.! The moustachioed, Geography teacher chic vocalist Sella declared, “we’re back!” to screams from a surprisingly young crowd (maybe they’ve all discovered this lot via TikTok, like Jami!), the band then ploughing headlong into the frenzied attack of the ramshackle backwoods Appalachian pseudo-rockabilly “West Virginia”, followed up in short order by the quickfire thrashy Modern Baseball-esque emo punk of “Emotional”. In a hurry, this lot, and no mistake… “This is night 1 back in the UK!” announced a buoyant Sella to cheers; that being so, there were no first night nerves on show, as The Front Bottoms were pretty damn excellent tonight, the opening double whammy setting the tone for a set of frantic and frenetic indie rock, with the kinetic Sella the main focal point with his gabbling yet deadpan, caustic delivery and 100 mph acoustic strumming, although I also rather enjoyed the frequent in-your-face 3-part pseudo choral harmonies of Sella, guitarist AJ Peacox and excellent bassist Natalie Newbold. A slightly slower “Punching Bag” saw a front row punter brandish a pair of inflatable boxing gloves to cheers; the coruscating hoedown “Be Nice To Me” saw Ric Flair-esque “wooo”s echo around the venue in response to the werewolf cries; and “Beers” (Sella declaring, “I’ve been waiting years for this fucking moment!”) was probably my set highlight, a soaring Menzingers-like powerpop number with a roof-raising, coming of age chorus, although the hook of the subsequent “Montgomery Forever” generated an even louder singalong from the FB massive.

 A call for requests saw another front row fan hand up a beautifully embroidered pink blanket bearing the message “Please Play “Lover Boy”” – sadly, they didn’t do it (or Jami’s favourite “Lone Star”, either), although the backbeat “Swear To God” and high-octane “Father” were request highlights. The lengthy, almost shoegazey outro of an absorbing, vocoder-vocalled “Paris” was a bit of a stylistic outlier, but they were back into the frantic tumbling cascade of “Au Revoir (Adios)” in short order, to end a breathless set. Another mass singalong to the hooky, angst-fuelled yet joyous “Twin Sized Mattress”, the finale of a 3-song encore, closed out a rambunctious, ramshackle and racey set; an early one too, as we hit the road in short order and hit home for 10.40, Brian Sella’s set-closing remarks ringing in our ears. “We’re called The Front Bottoms – please tell your friends about us!” After this fine performance, I certainly will…

1,305 GAZ BROOKFIELD, Shedrac; 1,307 GAZ BROOKFIELD AND THE COMPANY OF THIEVES, George Gadd, Jim Blair, Swindon The Hop and Bristol Fleece, Saturdays 25th November and 2nd December 2023

 

Another double-header, this; this time it’s consecutive Saturday nights out (sandwiching a Chameleons gig in Oxford, hence the number sequencing!) with the West Country’s finest and hardest-working DIY, have-guitar-will-travel, folk/ punk troubadour/ raconteur Gaz Brookfield… These 2, the 31^st and 32^nd times respectively he and I have crossed paths, form part of his “Morning Walking Club” tour, celebrating the album release of the same name. Honestly, this one’s taken a little time to really burrow itself into my consciousness; a few galloping and fun tunes, but a bit “Gaz by numbers” and a bit of quality control short of “Lostfolk”, for me still his finest work by some distance. However, given he’s a DIY musician, I understand and support Gaz’ plan to whack out an album every 18 months or so, plus he’s always great fun and good value trading the boards, and Logan is still keen on coming along, so off we go!

First was Gaz solo in the ‘don, so a bloody chilly trip up the hill saw Logan and I parking in the Planks car park and hitting the Hop at 8, meeting up with Rich and a visiting Ady, down from Glasgow for the weekend. Caught up with the guys before we heard some noise emanating from the upstairs venue, so wandered up for opener Shedrac. Another solo acoustic guy, he specialised in some very intricate guitar picking underpinning material which was quite scattergun, veering from very trad 70’s folk, New Orleans Bourbon Street jazz and swampy Delta blues, and even Dr. Feelgood-style bluesy pub rock. Not my thing, and sometimes it felt as if the material was a vehicle to showcase his guitaring dexterity rather than actually construct a memorable tune, but I did like his final number, a lament about a girl from Penhill!

We all took a step forward so Logan and I were front row, house left. Gaz greeted us in passing then hooked up onstage, overcoming some tech issues (“why do we even do soundchecks?” he bemoaned before sound-guy Ed Dyer, as ever, made it all better) before launching into the clarion call of opener “Loud And Clear” and the mundane daily detail of the swayalong “All So Rock And Roll”. The audience were in fine voice too, singing the roof-raising harmony before joining in with the call-and-response counter hook of “IOU”, to Gaz’ obvious delight. In fact, it then all got a little emotional, Gaz needing time to compose himself before a clearly heartfelt and meaningful “Pantomime”, commenting, “sorry guys; it’s been a long tour…” No need to apologise, mate! 

Haunting newie “Arborglyph” came with a lengthy preamble about history nerd Gaz meeting the folks from TV’s “Time Team” on a local dig and sharing tea and cake with them (quipping, “not so good for us Type 1 diabetics,” and nodding at Logan), and the subsequent “Maps” (“my rule – I need to follow a sad one with a silly one!”) followed that story, with Gaz reflecting that “TT”s Alice must have enjoyed that one, when she subsequently took up his guest-list offer! Switching moods again, “Godless Man” was angry, dark and dour (“I’m available for weddings,” deadpanned Gaz afterwards), before he delved waaaay back for rarely-played oldie “Things You Don’t Need”; “I still don’t have these things [agent, record label, manager], but I do have a number one [Folk Chart] album!” he announced at its conclusion to cheers.

“Morning Walking Club” was the last of the newies tonight, Gaz bigging up the absent Ben Wain’s fiddle solo on the record – I guess we’ll have to wait a week for that! After that, it was singalong, all-inclusive bangers all the way; “I’ve Paid My Money”, bilious and hard-hitting, the inevitable “Be The Bigger Man”, then a joyful and roof-raising singalong “West Country Song” to round off proceedings, Gaz leaving us with profuse and heartfelt thanks, and a comment of, “I never thought it would be so emotional!” Grabbed the list and a bobble hat – the last one! – for Logan, before heading off down the hill to end Gaz. Part 1!

Part 2 arrived the following Saturday, seeing us set off down a freezing and foggy M4 about 6ish for the annual “full band” Christmas show at the Fleece. Parked up on the main road next to the old Transport House, bringing back memories for me of that Jamie Wednesday gig there in 1987 (gig 78!).

Hit the venue just after doors and met Matt at the bar; he kindly got drinks in and we took a spot down the front, house right, for opener, Swindon’s very own Jim Blair. The grizzled scene veteran took a seat, as is his wont, and played some ramshackle and fuzzed-up pedal steel old school New Orleans/ Delta blues delivered in his distinctive gravelly Bourbon-soaked tones, interspersed with a few 70’s Fairport folkier rockers (his Valentines Day paean to “my queen” being an example). Not my kind of stuff, but an entertaining set from Jim, his usual deadpan banter about his 17 kids (!) and a foot-stomping cover of The Beatles’ “Come Together” (“I do work for Help The Aged, so I’m covering this so McCartney can heat his home!”) going down well with the early crowd.

Next up on short order was Nottingham’s George Gadd, another solo acoustic folky punky guy from a seemingly endless production line, but his oeuvre, delivered apace with octave-changing, yearning vocals, immediately called to mind Mr. Carraba’s early work with Dashboard Confessional – a pretty lazy comparison, I appreciate, but hey, as with Ben Sydes’ support Brightr last April (gig 1,217), if I hear clip-clops, I shout horse! Despite the frantic, tension filled delivery and angsty-emo overtones of his material (also pretty much nailing himself to the emo mast when he mentioned a member of the excellent Modern Baseball had sung backing vocals on an earlier single), Mr. Gadd himself was a buoyant onstage presence, giving a shout out for Gloucester Services then bantering with a punter who apparently works there (!), and giving props to Jake Martin for his songwriting advice (“[he] said, write what you know; so it’s imaginary girlfriends, dead dogs and the drink!”). The “ooo-eee-ooo” repeated refrain of “C’mon Courtney”, sung back by the crowd, clearly delighted him too, his comment being, “I love this! Look at me now, dad!” A little derivative for me, maybe, but the man warmed up the crowd nicely, so well done sir! 

I took a wander back for a loo trip which nearly proved a mistake as the place was rammed and I needed to take the long way round to return to my spot! Gaz led the troops on promptly at ¼ to 9 with a cheery, “good evening, Bristol!”, ploughing straight into rocking opener “Loud And Clear” and giving it loads from the outset, shouting out the hook with furious intent. In a rejigged set from last Saturday, the singalong “March Of Progress” was next up, and a much earlier and raucously delivered “Diabetes Blues” made it clear the man was here to deliver a proper party set, the unexpected and superb fist-pumping manifesto of “Lostfolk” (featuring some excellent virtuoso fiddle from Ben Wain) underlining this point. Working up a sweat already, the man announced, “it’s taken me 15 years to [remember to] bring a towel onstage with me!” 

“The Tale Of Gunner Haines” was happily restored to the set tonight, Logan raucously singing along from his barrier spot, and “Getting Drunk For Christmas” was doubly poignant tonight, Gaz remembering his old mate Jock and also The Pogues’ Shane MacGowan, lost to us earlier this week. Oldie “Man Of Means” was a little understated, but Gaz cranked up the volume and passion next, challenging the crowd, “have we got any Land Pirates in tonight?” to cheers, and a rambunctious “Land Pirate’s Life” ensued. The venomous “I’ve Paid My Money” and its’ slower-burn, quizzical sequel “Living The Dream” was audience participation catnip, with a roaring singalong for the first, and shouts of “Yes!” and “No!” answering the questions in the lyrics to the second. Again, Gaz and band ploughed through into the encores (“we’ve got 4 left, and if we [went off and on] we’d only have time for 3”), a jaunty and rousing “Thin” then leading to the final “West Country Song” and a deserved bow for a red-faced and blowing Gaz, the man having really put in a shift tonight and backed ably by his band.

Farewells to Matt, then a quick chat with both Ben Sydes and Evey, and a newly-svelte looking Nick Parker, before hitting the road for an equally dirty and foggy yet swift drive up the M4, home via the kebab shop for a late supper over “Match Of The Day”. A fine way to spend a couple of Saturdays, then, and another successful Gaz Brookfield Christmas Party!

1,306 THE CHAMELEONS, Feather Trade, Oxford Bullingdon Arms, Tuesday 28th November 2023

 

Because seeing The Chameleons once this year just isn’t enough…!

 This one, a last-minute addition to an already-mental gigging November, sees me once again in search of Manchester’s finest (well, The Passage notwithstanding, but they won’t ever reform, so…), mysterious and anthemic 80’s post-punk/ pseudo-goth rabble The Chameleons. I’ve mentioned in previous blogs how late I was to the party for this lot (my 2016 post-redundancy voyage of rediscovery, in fact), so I won’t go into that again, but suffice to say I’m continuing to make up for lost time with this very special band, one that would have seriously challenged Echo And The Bunnymen for my late teens “home team” honours, had I known them back then. So, I was happy to jump onto this one, a one-off at Oxford Bullingdon announced as a warm-up for an impending European tour, to make it an even 10 gigs for Mark Burgess and Co.! 

A slow drive along a chilly and inky black A420 saw me then attack Oxford from the South due to the roadworks mess around Botley; however, I discovered Oxford still hates cars as I took a satnav-advised sidestreet turn, only to find it blocked off and cycles only. Bah! The tightest of tight 3-point turns got me back on the way, jumping into a lucky street spot on Cowley Road before hitting the venue, grabbing some barrier house left and comparing journeys with a father/son duo up from Romford! Support Feather Trade were on prompt at 8; a 3-piece featuring an impressively-maned vocalist/ guitarist in Chisolm Thompson with the same taste in trousers as me, they were immediately mining a very early 80’s post-punk/ rockist seam with opener “White Water”, featuring some regimental drums and staccato riffery, building to a big flag-waving choral hook. My immediate thought was that 1983 U2 are calling, they want their support band back (!), and the subsequent “Fire” (no, not that one…!) underlined this, a driving rocker with a soaring chorus recalling all sorts of 80’s post-punk bands (Zerra 1, White China, even Silent Running…!). A bit of a niche wheelhouse, but hey, it’s my wheelhouse, so I thoroughly enjoyed the avalanche of frantic rhythm, echoey vocal, off-kilter, pseudo-Goth basslines and resonant pedal effects. New single “A Ready Defense” kicked in with a “Sunday Bloody Sunday” drumroll before diverting into moodier “With Or Without You” territory, before Chisolm thanked bassist Natalie for skipping Thanksgiving to come over for their run of UK shows! A rather splendid start overall, even though it was truncated for running over time…

 Took a wander through a by-now very busy Bully to use the totally flooded loo (!), passing Chameleons keyboardist Dan on the way; he opened proceedings at 9 with the sweeping synth opening to “In Answer” as The Chameleons took the stage, instead launching into a growling, undulating and ravenous “In Shreds”. “Nice to see you; The Bullingdon, it’s been a while, right?” inquired imposing frontman Mark Burgess (nearly 5 years by my reckoning – gig 1,118!) before the ringing chimes of “Perfume Garden” led into the sonorous building tsunami roar of “Up The Down Escalator”, Burgess’ stentorian roar raising the octave and drama during a gripping final choral hook. What. A Start! 

Chameleons were quite, quite magnificent tonight, showcasing all the plangent brilliance of their canon to perfect effect, with every one a winner from a perfectly selected set-list. And, in a week where we lost one post-punk guitar icon in Killing Joke’s Geordie Walker, it seemed only fitting that one of his talented contemporaries, namely Reg Smithies, should take centre stage tonight, his pin-prick precise riffery underpinning the sinister slow build of “Monkeyland” before the volcanic eruption of the chorus, and powering a particularly venomous “Rule Britannia”, before Burgess again paid homage to The Clash, The Fall and Joy Division with his subtle yet pointed lyrical references. “Soul In Isolation”’s sweeping drama featured an excellently observed pregnant pause before the chiming outro; then “Tears” was dedicated by Burgess to, “anyone who has lost someone close to them recently,” bringing memories of my dad to the fore as this desolate and affecting rendition weaved its’ spell. Smithies again led the charge with the intricate, undulating riff intro of a brilliant widescreen “Swamp Thing”, but the epic, sprawling and soaring manifesto of “Second Skin” topped even that, Burgess again preaching the value of making memories and experiences; “that’s what this song was always trying to say!” 

Then Burgess announced, “We’re not going to go through all that [encore] rigmarole; we’re all off to Spain tomorrow so we want to make you warm!” before a touching, tender “PS Goodbye” built to an absorbing and stretched crescendo; then the jagged stentorian roar of “Don’t Fall” rounded off as perfect a set of rock music as I’ve been privileged to hear this year. As I said, quite, quite magnificent. A set-list handed to me by second guitarist Stephen, a merch stand chat with Feather Trade’s Chisolm (an Athens, Ga. native, so of course R.E.M. came up in the conversation!), then a few brief words with the Great Man Mr. Burgess outside afterwards, sharing our recent shared experience of losing a parent (he also complimented my creeper shoes, so it wasn’t all dour and miserable!), before an odd country road diversion out of Oxford got me home just before midnight. You know, with this stellar performance and the crazed moshpit madness of their Holmfirth gig earlier this year (gig 1,288), I think Chameleons might just have secured my Best Live Band Of 2023 award. An in all honesty, there are none more deserving!

1,304 THE 2023 “SHIIINE ON” WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 17th – Sunday 19th November 2023

 

For the 7^th time in a row, it’s November, so it must be time to “Shiiine”! Once again we prepare to immerse ourselves in the annual weekend celebrating the 80’s/ 90’s/2000’s UK indie scene in its various guises, but this time there was a slight element of trepidation and even reluctance on my part, due to 3 factors. Firstly, the bill; a couple of intriguing late 90’s reunions aside, it was solid enough but a little unspectacular for me, lacking the real “wow” factor of, say, a Bunnymen, Chameleons or Midway Still level of band who could really be potential highlights – well, The Wonder Stuff aside, but then they or singer Miles Hunt play every year anyway, right? Secondly, the weather; heavy rain and storms had already damaged much of the site, resulting in accommodation being cancelled for about 300 or so punters following an anxious wait, and further heavy storms were also forecast over the weekend… yuck! And finally, one of my 3 all-time favourite bands, Gigolo Aunts, announced a trio of reunion dates in New York and Boston supporting Letters To Cleo on their annual US East Coast Thanksgiving jaunt, completely clashing with “Shiiine On” which itself was a weekend later this year! Bollocks! So, I was prepared for a soggy weekend – in Minehead in body, but with a part of my soul in “The Hub”… 

Nonetheless, I put aside concerns and we picked up Rachel’s friend Sarah, a first time “Shiiiner” who’d booked separate accommodation, and we hit the road for a decent run down, bumping into Martin and his friend (and fellow first timer) Jon at an impromptu pitstop at Minehead’s Tesco. No breakfast shop today as we’d all bought fixings down, for reasons which will quickly become apparent, however the fish and chip seafront meal tradition was observed as usual, Matt arriving as we ordered. After Rachel’s friends Duncan and Rick arrived (the boys staying with Sarah after their own chalets fell victim to the storms), our convoy parked up after picking up our welcome packs from the gates, then we grabbed our wristbands and were ready to go! No time to unpack, though, as ABSTRACTION ENGINE awaited us at Inn On The Green at 1.45… hence no Tesco run! Swindon’s finest are regular punters here, and this time had inveigled themselves onto the bill, albeit at an indecently early time. Thankfully, we weren’t the only ones up for some early rock, and a respectable crowd greeted vocalist David and the boys as they, bedecked in fluffy jackets, eased into the plaintive slow build of opener “Placeholder”. By the upbeat Summery britpop vibe of “What Would You Say”, however, they were into their stride, and the harder-edged 70’s rocker “Dreamer” and best-of-set “Walk Through Walls”, a haunting yet propulsive rocker, formed an impressive-sounding mid-set triple. The pastoral Wheat-like “Shine” fittingly rounded off an early yet worthy and well-received inclusion for the boys on the “Shiiine” bill – a bit further up next year, maybe? 

Greeted the boys as they unpacked, then the crew departed to check out other stuff and I stayed for THE MALAKITES, a painfully young looking bunch whose opening psych-pop salvo was intriguing, but as they veered into more bluesy trad-Britpop sounding stuff, a little too close to the likes of Ocean Colour Snore for my liking, I lost interest and headed back to the apartment (as far back this year as it’s possible to be without caravanning!) to unpack. The crew had done the same, so we chilled awhile, before our first jaunt into the Skyline Arena. A respectable crowd awaited JESUS JONES, on slightly late at 4.35, and straight into the upbeat techno-indie of “Zeroes And Ones”, the svelte Mike Edwards putting in an energetic shift as ever (though not as energetic as his crazed keyboardist!) yet initially sounding a little lost in the mix. We need more Mike on the mike! Thankfully, by the clattering rhythms of “Bring It On Down”, the sound was more balanced, and the hectic dynamism of “Never Enough” was my set highlight. “The Devil You Know” – “from the band’s but not the public’s favourite album,” remarked a rather bitter Edwards – was a bit dull really (the public are always right!!), yet the understated lugubrious sway of “Right Here Right Now” got a good singalong, so fair play. The barking jagged rhythm of closer “Info Freako”, accompanied by lurid colourful film backdrops, rounded off a solid and rabble-rousing yet a little one-dimensional set. 

JIM BOB was up next in short order, the former Carter USM man thankfully backed by his Hoodrats, and playing a popular and bright set largely based on recent album “Thanks For Reaching Out”, yet delving regularly into his former band’s canon. I’d seen him recently at Bristol’s Rough Trade (gig 1,287), so enjoyed the likes of the melodic, inclusive title track and sarky, snarky punk rock hurtle “Sebastian’s On A Ridealong”. I could have done without the unannounced cover of “Geno” (a song I never liked anyway) but the punkish “Stuff The Jubilee”, with suitable punnish stream of consciousness lyrics, was a subsequent highlight. The sinister sea shanty paean “Prince In A Pauper’s Grave” (which, I say every time, I saw JB’s old band Jamie Wednesday do in 1987 – gig 78, folks!) was stark and eerie as ever, yet the subsequent “Angel Strike!”, dour, dark and stunningly melancholic, was easily my set highlight. Ye Gods, that’s a song! The rambunctious “Bloodsport For All” (preceded by an affable, deadpan Jim introducing the band, including impressive bassist Lindsay Scott, then himself as “Dirk Diggler”!) capped an overall fine set from my old Jamie Wednesday correspondent. Great to see him in fine fettle again!

My knee was barking by now, so I took a break in Hotshots, sharing a table and a chat with Joanne and Nick from Oxford, before Rach joined us as we sheltered from the inevitable onstage car-crash that is Shaun Ryder, this time with Black Grape. However, we were of course all in for the headliners; Miles Hunt bounded onstage at the appointed hour in his cheesy game show compere alter-ego, declaiming this evening’s entertainment (“some songs from The Groove Machine! (cheers) Some songs from Hup! (more cheers)” etc.) before announcing, “to do that, I’m gonna need me a band!” THE WONDER STUFF then joined Miles onstage, kicking off with the coruscating circular riff of the brilliant “Feet To The Flames”. Great start, but Milo then deadpanned to guitarist and loyal wingman Malc Treece, “d’you want to play them something they like, Malc?”, before the fiddle-driven build of “Mission Drive” ignited the crowd.

 Thence followed a typical Wonder Stuff “Shiiine On” set; fully inclusive, perfectly executed, brilliantly played, melodic, roof-raisingly singalong, fun psych/folk tinged indie rock of the first water, comfortably Set Of The Weekend… you know, the usual from Milo and crew! Unlike quite a few who pass through this Fest, Miles totally “gets” “Shiiine On”, gives the people what they want, and is rewarded with overflowing bonhomie and huge ovations throughout. The melancholic yet uplifting “Caught In My Shadow” was an early highlight, “Red Berry Joy Town” was driving and robust, and the superb “On The Ropes” saw me pile down the front, joining an ebullient if a little boisterous mosh. “Golden Green” was its’ usual singalong hoedown, Miles challenging us to “keep that singalong going” for the fairground ride of “Size Of A Cow”. Props from the singer to Janice Long for championing the band at their inception, before “Unbearable”, then the irrepressible bounce of “Give Give Give Me More More More” saw the band take a breather, returning for an encore which Miles announced as “[one] we’ve learned especially for you fuckers; and we might not play it again ever!”… only their cheesy Vic & Bob No. 1 hit “Dizzy”! A proper “check your cool at the door” moment, this was a fun singalong and a “Shiiine” highlight. The more typical “Ruby Horse”, the slightly-delic swirl of “Wish Away” and the usual thunderous “Ten Trenches Deep” rounded off another quite brilliant “Shiiine On” Wonder Stuff set. Familiarity in this instance definitely NOT breeding contempt; on this form I’d have them headline every year! 

A breather and quick bite was then called for, before I split from my Clone Roses-bound crew, I was up for seeing MIKI BERENYI TRIO in Reds. The Queen of Shoegaze joined us at 11.15 with a deadpan, “oh good, you’re all still awake then, that’s fucking great!”, easing into plaintive opener “Light From A Dead Star”, her high register vocals a feature. “I haven’t had a drink yet! I’ll be allowed when the Boo Radleys are on,” she intoned brightly as the initial set drifted hazily by. Ironically, “Suzanne”, a Moose number presumably in deference to her partner and guitarist “Moose” McKillop, was a mid-set highlight with a galloping, almost Western movie soundtrack feel, and the plangent atmospheric march of “Love At First Sight” was also rather splendid. However, a full hour seemed a little wearing, particularly given Miki’s taciturn nature and the band’s stripped-back set-up, and the dramatic, discordant closer “Baby Talk” was not only the best of set, but quite welcome after a variable performance, albeit one with many highlights. 

I took a wander outside and spotted Miles Hunt outside Reds, once again holding court and generously giving his time to anyone who asked. I bought the man a drink and we had a brief chat about those pesky Gigolo Aunts before I wandered back in for THE BOO RADLEYS at 12.45. Sans former songwriter Martin Carr (who’d impressed last year with a Sunday afternoon solo set), I was still looking forward to them as they’d totally smashed it with a “Giant Steps”-centric showing in Reading earlier this year (gig 1,283), and the alarm strafe and descending riff of said album’s opener “I Hang Suspended” kicked off the set in some style, buoyant vocalist Sice once again in fantasy band camp, sporting a grin as wide as the Mersey throughout, and greeting us with a cheerful “good evening everyone! It’s way past my bedtime!” The breezy C86 strumalong of “Wish I Was Skinny” was an early highlight, and the descending poppy hook of the 60’s-esque “Find The Answer Within” provided a moment of redemption for the singer; “[when I played here solo] I totally fucked this one up!” 

Boo Radleys were great again, giving the lie to their oft-variable “live” reputation, picking pure upbeat indiepop classics from the breadth of their canon. “Barney And Me” was an irresistibly groovy layered singalong, the off-kilter “Lazy Day” (“from our shoegaze album!”) a fuzzed-up delight, and newie “How Was I To Know” (“we’re chucking in [this] new one cos it’s a fucking banger!” boasted Sice) an upbeat, robust rocker with a big hook. “Lazarus”, inevitably, was the widescreen, sky-scraping set highlight, and the inevitable jaunty “Wake Up Boo”, Sice conducting the crowd singalong, was actually a fine way to send us all off to bed, to end a happy, bouncy set and the best day of the weekend, musically at least! 

Shiiine Saturday started as Shiiine Saturday’s often do; a lazy lie-in, a “Big Man” big fried breakfast, then a late trip to the pool party for some lazy river action and an impromptu crazy game of keepie-up with a beach ball! A quick turn-around at the apartment as I was up for IAN PROWSE AND AMSTERDAM, on at 10 to 2 in Centre Stage (not Reds, as I quickly found out when I erroneously went there first!). Never mind, in in time to grab a bit of barrier as the man emerged, kick-starting his set with “Taking On The World”, an empowering piece of chunky, Frank Turner-esque folky pop with a punk attitude and sensibility, setting the tone for an inclusive, rabble-rousing, politically motivated yet never hectoring set of fine rebel music, which doubtless would have had The Men They Couldn’t Hang’s late agent provocateur Stefan Cush staring down in approval. An upbeat “Megalomania” had tinges of mid-period XTC; an affecting “Dessie Warren” was an inspirational folk number preceded by a preamble about the man and the cry of, “Fuck The Tories!”; and “Name And Number” featured a lengthy – and funny! – interlude about Prowse meeting Freddy Mercury in a vision, who bequeathed him the band for “Shiiine On”! A rollicking good set ended with a quite beautiful “Does This Train Stop On Merseyside” and the usual anti-“Sun” newspaper rant from a bullish Prowse. Cracking stuff again from the man! 

My crew then stayed in for Mark Chadwick; I’m not a Levellers fan, so I left on the first note and headed to a quiet Inn On The Green for the mid-afternoon CANDY OPERA set. A shorter than planned performance, this, due to bassist Frank Mahon not feeling well. Mahon nonetheless struggled on gamely, as “See It Through Your Eyes” was a shimmering slow burn into a big hooky 80’s-tinged chorus, an unplanned “Left Right Centre” had a distinctive Motown blue eyed soul feel, and “#Text Delete” galloped along with a rootsy rockabilly vibe, powered by some resonant guitar licks. After the upbeat 70‘s NYC Lou Reed vibe of “Crash”, affable badger-haired vocalist Paul Malone introduced the band, including 16 year old (!) drummer Sonny (“we’ve had to lie about his age!” quipped Malone). The excellent, widescreen and crafted “These Days Are Ours” and darker “Enemy”, which featured Malone going all McCulloch/ Burgess on us by throwing in lyrical vignettes from The Beatles, Bowie and Joy Division, rounded off another fine set from these “Shiiine On” staples. As with the Stuffies, for my money they’re welcome every year!

 

A pic and chat with a friendly Mr. Malone about Liverpool rock then preceded a (thankfully dry, the forecast showers holding off for now) wander back to Sarah’s apartment where Rach was hanging out. Enjoyed some down-time, chat and snacks before wandering back to the Skyline Arena and hooking up with the rest of the crew for “Shiiine” debutants TERRORVISION, a band who largely passed me by in the 90’s, but who were clearly this year’s nomination for the “Grunting Rock Pig” slot ably filled by the likes of Midway Still and Therapy? in previous “Shiiine”s. An early “Pretend Best Friend” was overt and shouty noisy post-grunge rock with a slight hint of Kiss-like 80’s hair metal, setting the tone for a dynamic set. Not just one trick ponies, however, this lot; “Don’t Go” featured a fine descending outro hook reminiscent of Bowie’s “All The Young Dudes”, and “American TV” was a slightly uncomfortable meld of glam stomp and 90’s rap. All eyes however were on bearded Sami Zayn lookalike singer Tony Wright, a man who not only lifted the performance above its occasionally average material with his all action, dynamic performance, but also who, in his bright pink suit (borrowing my son’s prom suit style!) with tight tight trousers, clearly dresses to the left… or right… or… (it was all rather hypnotic really…!) 90’s Level 3 floor-filler “Oblivion” was the highlight of an overall pretty decent – and definitely eye-catching! – set. 

A wander out of the arena to grab a pasty and a sit-down on a bench in the walkway; despite this year’s festival being slightly under capacity due to the cancellations (which, due to the number of chalets and apartments being cordoned off, might have been more than the mooted 300…), there was still a paucity of seats, the rear-arena deckchairs having mysteriously gone missing as well. Note for next time, “Shiiine” – we’re not getting any younger, we all need to sit down once in a while! Anyway, thus (slightly) revived, I decided to subject myself again to NEDS ATOMIC DUSTBIN’s tender mercies. A band I’ve never gotten on with, and once again they did nothing to change my view. This just felt like a relentless throbbing and thudding bass-driven and monotone trial of endurance, one song merging into the next like so much mulch, and little in the way of vocals to distinguish the songs (vocalist and charisma-free zone Jon Penney’s dull vocals being submerged in the mix for me as well). “Happy”s change of pace and “Grey Cells Green”s slashing backbeat verse build-up to a racey hooky chorus were far and away their best numbers, also followed by the popular “Kill Your Television”. If they’d have just played those 3, I’d have been a happy boy (!), but then my crew mostly thought they were ace, so what the fuck do I know, eh?

 So then we were up for Saturday’s headliners INSPIRAL CARPETS, making their first “Shiiine On” appearance since the first one (AKA the one I didn’t go to). Now reunited with original vocalist Stephen Holt after keyboardist and main man Clint Boon fell out with Tom Hingley (who’d sung on the Carpets’ better-known songs and who had played a rather good actually “Shiiine” set with The Kar-Pets back in 2016), I was rather looking forward to them, as I’d come in with their “Trainsurfing” EP, which had featured Holt. Coming on to World Of Twist’s classic “The Storm” and a huge ovation for the buoyant Clint Boon, they were straight into the frantic baggy beat and Door-like keys of terrace chant opener “Joe”. However, things unfortunately immediately sounded off, the rendition rushed and cluttered. The 60’s B Movie car chase call-and-response of “Butterfly” was better, but Holt, his vocals more exposed in the mix, sounded flat and droney, even missing half a verse. Things didn’t improve with the puzzlingly early “This Is How It Feels”, the elegiac anthemic singalong being totally crowd-driven, and it became apparent that Tom Hingley might be a bit of a twat, but he was a much better singer for the Inspirals!

 I took a wander back to meet up with Rachel and Sarah behind the mixing desk and to see if things sounded better back there – however, they didn’t! “Move”, my favourite Inspirals track, was muddied and “I Want You” frankly dirge-like, all overlaid by these disappointingly flat vocals. I wouldn’t say this was the worst vocal performance I’d ever seen at a Festival – I’d seen Ian Brown’s self-destruction at Reading 1995, after all – but this was a major disappointment. The crowd lapped it up, lots of “moo”s greeting every track, which made me think either they didn’t care about the sound, or were totally twatted, or a bit of both… 

We took an early wander to Centre Stage before the Inspirals finished, and I grabbed a bit of barrier for the first of those intriguing late 90’s reunions I’d mentioned earlier. RIALTO, who’d impressed as Sleeper’s support at the Oasis in 1998 (gig. 368) took the stage at 10.15, the 5-piece smartly dressed in slightly baggy (but not David Byrne-level) suits and led by the floppy fringed, impossibly handsome Louis Eliot, who remarked, “It’s been a minute! This is the first gig we’ve played in 21 years!” If that was so, then this was an utterly remarkable return, as from the off their sweeping, 60’s kitchen sink drama Scott Walker meets Suede material sounded taut, tight and mighty fine, even shorn of the swelling orchestral arrangements which underpinned their studio output. “Hard Candy”s 60’s inflected plaintive riff ceded to the slow burn build to the sky-scraping choral hook of “Untouchable”, followed in short order by the seedy, Pulp-like moody rocker “Broken Barbie Doll” and Ziggy-era Bowie-esque backstreet ballad “London Crawling”. Eliot, clearly loving it up there, threw a Rialto tshirt into the crowd (their only piece of merchandise!) before the stately Walker Brotherisms of “The Underdogs”, then closer “Monday Morning 5.19” was the set highlight, wallowing, melancholy and yet soaring at the same time. Overall, a triumphant return! 

I took a wander back to the crew’s table on the balcony, and kept a watching brief for SLEEPER, next up. Attracting likely the biggest crowd of the weekend into Centre Stage, and led onstage by vocalist Louise Wener, clearly observing Sequin Saturday, they kicked things off with the bright ringing Britpop of “Pyrotechnician”, Lou’s breathy Eartha Kitt vocals to the fore. Unfortunately, for me the set took a little while to get going, a bit too much anonymous Indie fayre for my liking, despite the best efforts of an energetic Lou and hired hand guitarist, Desperate Journalist’s Charley Stone. However, “What Do I Do Now” was a bouncy singalong, and an unexpected cover of Pixies’ “Wave Of Mutilation”, Louise stretching the verse into a slow burn crowd singalong, was a surprise, to say the least! The more anticipated cover of Blondie’s bubbling disco classic “Atomic”, interspersed again with a mid-song singalong to “Love Will Tear Us Apart” was easily the best of set for me, the strutting “Inbetweener” and knockabout “Sale Of The Century” closing out a crowd-pleasing set which had some fine moments, but again from songs belonging to other people! The place then emptied and less than half the Sleeper crowd were left to greet THE SUPERNATURALS, on late at 1.15 a.m. after a fiddly soundcheck. I gave them a few numbers – they’d largely passed me by back in the day, and tonight initially sounded Summery and melodic in a sub-Teenage Fanclub way, but again the vocalist was too grating and monotone for so late in the day, so after they diverted into more OCS-landfill indie territory, I bailed, leaving my crew to suffer through them in order to get to Steve Lamacq’s Indie Disco at 2.30. Fair play – they all did!

 A threat of rain greeted us Sunday morning; thankfully it held off, so we didn’t need to drive over for lunch! So, we all took a nice wander along the Minehead seafront and over to The Old Ship Aground for a fine Carvery Sunday lunch, annoyingly being required to wait awhile for our lunch tokens, but ultimately well worth the wait! Unfortunately, the delay meant that a slow wander back pitched me up at the Inn On The Green about ¾ through JETSTREAM PONY’s well attended early afternoon set. Damn shame, as what I caught was bright, chunky and melodic female-fronted indie pop in a pacey strumalong C86 meets early Teenage Fanclub vein. Hopefully they’ll be back next year, and I can catch all of their set… 

I was however in place on the barrier for the second of the intriguing reunions I’d alluded to earlier, next to a chap I’d spoken to last year about my World Of Twist tshirt! Anyway, back to the music… I’d briefly caught LINOLEUM’S last number at Reading Festival 2000 (gig 456) and dismissed them as dated doom merchants. However I’d done my due diligence after seeing their name on this bill, picking up cheapo CD copies of their 2 albums, and realised my mistake, thoroughly enjoying their introspective goth/ post-punk tinged bedsit mood music, overlaid with the Mary Lorson-esque little girl lost vocals of Caroline Finch, who with trowelled-on mascara and a black beehive so high it needed scaffolding, was quite a looker in the old days… 23 years on, the mascara is still in place, along with a perma-grin rivalling Sice’s, as she led on her recently reformed (4^th gig in 21 years, apparently, this one…) 4-piece and eased into opener “She’s Sick”, all pseudo-goth drama and harsh slashing riffery from guitarist Paul Jones. The droney, Velvet Underground meets “Christine”-House Of Love “Your Back Again” followed, the band immediately hitting their stride, and the excellent “Dissent”, with the downbeat descending hook, was next up and an early highlight. “Marquis”’s discordant post-punk pin-prick rhythm recalled early Wire, and “Restriction” was a galloping dismissive moody piece which could have even been lifted from the first Pretenders album. However, their reading of early 80’s post-punkers’ The Passions’ classic “I’m In Love With A German Film Star” (“Our most recent single; it came out 23 years ago!” quipped a bubbly yet hitherto taciturn Finch) was the set highlight, eerie and building, with the band hitting that fine balance of remaining faithful to the original yet moving around enough furniture to make it their own. Overall, another impressive return! 

Grabbed a pic with a besieged Finch afterwards and chatted to the Abstraction Engine boys outside the Inn, before a light drizzle saw me head for the Skyline Arena, meeting the crew and catching the last number of ALEX LIPINSKI on the Skyline stage. His punchy Britpop/ powerpop sounded half decent actually, so I was sorry I missed most (if not all) of his set. Then, having little interest in The Farm and none at all in Fun Lovin’ Criminals, next up in the Arena, I headed back to the apartment for a late-afternoon lie down! 

Back in however for the last knockings of “Shiiine On”, for me at least; met Rach, had a pasty and phoned home, then back in our usual Skyline spot for the “Shiiine On” debuts of a couple of late 2000’s bands. First up at 20 past 7 was THE VIEW (who we arrived late for, following our pasty break!). I wasn’t much sold on this lot when I saw them on the 2007 NME “Brats Bus” new bands tour (gig 723), particularly their own crowd chant “The View are on fire”, and the first number we heard tonight, sung by bassist Kieren Webster and sounding like a mess of 2 numbers welded together, did nothing to change that view (sic). However, things improved when usual vocalist (and clearly part flamingo, judging by his propensity to stand on one leg) Kyle Falconer resumed lead duties, with “Allergic To Mornings” a knockabout Kinks-like singalong, and “Double Yellow Lines” a decent driving indie rocker. “Face For The Radio” was a quirky strumalong veering into Coral territory, and “Sunday” was my favourite, a galloping rocker with a helium chorus, “ramping up the tempo to cray cray,” as the affable Falconer put it. “Same Jeans”, their big hit and millstone number, was inserted late-set, but for me is still a total rip-off of Cornershop’s “Brimful Of Asha”, and I sang “BFA”’s lyrics along to it, whilst fending off some bloke who came up to me and announced, a propos of nothing, “that’s Kell Faulkner, he’s a wee fanny fae Dundee!” OK then! A couple of bouncy upbeat indie pop numbers and a rabble rousing closer “Shock Horror” rounded off a quite enjoyable set actually, better than I expected… Are The View on fire? Not sure, but smouldering nicely…

 The place got noticeably busier, and I lost Rach, who went for a drink and then piled down the front for Sunday headliners THE ENEMY, on at 8.45 to a purple smoky stage and The Who’s bilious, fist-pumping “Teenage Wasteland” as musical backdrop. This number pretty much set the tone for their set, as it happened, as vocalist and angry young man-in-chief Tom Clarke made it his goal to fire up and ignite the crowd into one final fist-pumping anti-establishment singalong sesh. “All you sleepy fuckers at the back! I can’t hear you!” he cried as they ripped into an intense and earnest opener “Aggro”, followed in short order by the bolshy, Jam-ish anthem “Away From Here”. Time clearly hasn’t calmed Clarke down, it seems… 

The Enemy were clearly a band on a mission and in a hurry tonight, with an aggressive “Had Enough” preceded by a “here we, here we, here we fucking go!” chant from Clarke, and initially the frantic pace seemed a bit unfocussed and relentless, particularly coupled with Clarke’s constant rabble rousing (one cry of, “I know some of you are getting old, and it’s past your bedtimes, but I don’t give a fuck!” being a bit jarring, with Jon at this point dipping out of the set because he was tired of being shouted at by the vocalist – fair enough really…). However, they hit their stride for me with the heartfelt “That’s Entertainment”-esque strumalong “We’ll Live And Die In These Towns”, the message of urban deprivation being more articulately conveyed by this number, followed up by an almost Bauhaus “Dark Entries”-like descending riff opening to the frantic, almost ska-rhythm of “You’re Not Alone”. Talking of ska, “40 Days And 40 Nights” saw Clarke reference fellow Coventrians The Specials, throwing a couplet from “Ghost Town” in the mid-section hook; then “This Song” was an anthemic manifesto for The Enemy massive, the hook ringing around the arena, then reprised a couple of numbers later to finish the set on an inclusive note. I liked them fine, loved the energy, and their hearts are definitely in the right place, but the intensity and earnestness seemed a little wearing at times. However, they fully justified their position as Sunday headliners, a point underlined by Rach who’d been in the mosh throughout; on the previous occasions we’d seen The Enemy she’d been pregnant both times (!) so happily made up for lost time tonight!

 That was it for me, musically at least; half the crew headed off to catch Stereo MCs in Centre Stage and I happily steered clear of that one, wandering back under an inky black but happily dry sky to our apartment with Jon and Martin. We chilled and chatted awhile, Jon ultimately deciding to go back and catch The Primitives’ late 12.30 set in Reds; remembering what an utterly shambolic car “Crash” they were at “Shiiine On” 2018 (gig 1,112), I decided not to join him, but afterwards Jon reported back that they were quite good, so hey ho… I hit the hay instead, then the following morning we once again had one final breakfast, checked out of the apartment and packed cars, then booked for next year! Fond farewells before a swift drive back to the ‘don, home at 2.30 after dropping Sarah off and doing the school run for our daughter. So, despite my trepidation, this was another brilliant weekend, because, as ever, “Shiiine On” is more than just the bands; it’s a time to catch up with old friends, relax, and enjoy the vibe. Plus, the weather was nowhere near as inclement as feared… and as for my last point, well, Gigolo Aunts are welcome to come over and play “Shiiine On” whenever they want!!

 

SHERIFF’S SHIIINE ON SELECTION

 Friday Best – THE WONDER STUFF

Saturday Best – RIALTO

Sunday Best – LINOLEUM

 Overall – 1. THE WONDER STUFF (3^rd time Top Band in 4 appearances across my 7 “Shiiine On”s)!

     2. BOO RADLEYS

     3. RIALTO

 Best New Band Got to be ABSTRACTION ENGINE! Yeah, I know I knew them already, but they’re new to “Shiiine On”, so there!

 We Can Be Heroes – MY CREW as ever, including newbies Jon and Sarah, and especially Rachel for making up for lost time in The Enemy moshpit; MILES HUNT for being a genuine bloke happy to chat with all and sundry; PAUL MALONE from CANDY OPERA who was happy to chat Liverpool rock’n’roll with me until the cows came home!

1,303 DEATH CULT, Lil Refrain, Birmingham O2 Institute, Tuesday 14th November 2023

 

(Again, not my list...)

I’m rounding off a hectic 4 gigs in 6 nights burst with another “Anniversary” show, and this time I’m channelling my early 80’s inner pseudo-Goth kid, with a 40th Anniversary show (I presume so anyway, it being billed as “8323”) from pseudo-Goth legends Death Cult! I say “pseudo-Goth” (twice), as the bands initially lumped together under that early “Goth” banner were a broader and more diverse church than those most folks think of as “Goth” (the black leather fetish look, dyed black spiky hair and white panstick faces, and overpowering doomy synth/ guitar paeans about bats and post-apocalyptic landscapes), ranging from shimmering haunting post-punk to herky-jerky art-school rock. And right in the epicentre of this were Southern Death Cult, who seemed to take the Native American imagery of Adam and the Ants a step further, incorporating both the tribal pounding drumbeats and circular chants, yet imbuing them with darker and harder-edged, expansive dusty Navajo Desert rock atmospherics. As the band dropped the “Southern” and then the “Death”, I enjoyed their initial clutch of singles (particularly the tremendous propulsive rhythm of “Spiritwalker”, great to dance to at U18 Brunel!!) and plangent album “Dreamtime”, but by the time I got to see them as The Cult, on the Simple Minds Milton Keynes Bowl bill in 1986 (gig. 51!), they’d moved on to a more driving American FM rock radio sound, in an attempt to break the States, which frankly wasn’t for me.

 However, when they announced a slew of dates for this Autumn as “Death Cult”, promising to revisit that early material, I was suitably intrigued to shell out the somewhat steep ticket price (£60! For the Institute! Yipe!) and head off up the M5, accompanied by old Brunel friend and Punk/Goth/Techno Queen of Swindon, Milady Debbie. An entertaining drive saw us park up on a side street just past the venue at 6.30, and we popped into the “Big Bulls Head” pub next door to avoid queuing in the cold, thence enjoying some splendid rock conversation with a couple of fine local gents (hi Jon and Andy!) which took us to nearly 8.30! So we then popped into this ornate yet impractical venue (bottlenecks aplenty at the back bars!), finding it totally rammed and eventually squeezing into a spot halfway back, house left under the low overhanging balcony. The support act, a solo artiste called Lil Refrain, was rounding off a haunting yet anodyne set with some Asian-tinged chanting and monotone synth mood music, and honestly I was glad I missed most of her set!

 Debbie met an old friend and ventured forward, and I ran into my old friend and former TTP compatriot Roger, finding a bit of space slightly further forward for the entrance of Death Cult at 9.15, onstage to a typically dry-ice swathed and incense-smelling stage. No intros, but straight into taut, undulating opener “83^rd Dream”, building into a yelped hook by Ian Astbury, dark sunglasses, man-bun and leather trench coat firmly in place, leading the proceedings with his commanding, dark and sonorous vocals. The resonant ringing guitar riffs of “Gods Zoo”, ably provided by guitarist Billy Duffy and so redolent of his 80’s contemporaries McGeoch and Sargeant, dovetailed in with the strong-armed military backbeat for an early highlight; “Brothers Grimm” was a haunting 60’s spaghetti western soundtrack, stretched, parched and eerie with strafing riffery interludes again courtesy of Duffy; and a stripped-back “Flowers” again saw Astbury’s voice to the fore, holding a lengthy choral note perfectly (the previously taciturn frontman quipping, “some things do get better with age!”). Former Cult bassist Jamie Stewart was introduced for tonight only, adding his talents to a combative and angular “Horse Nation” and widescreen “Go West”, then the repetitive hook of a hurtling “Dreamtime” ceded to my set highlight double; firstly a quite brilliant “Spiritwalker”, the cascading intro drums and huge reckless launch into whirlwind life as wonderful as I’d hoped, then a stately yet roof-raisingly anthemic “Rain” which maybe – just maybe – even topped “Spiritwalker” for me tonight, the band then taking their leave just after 10.15, after a slightly disappointingly short set, clocking in at barely an hour, but one replete with stunning highlights. Quality over quantity, I guess… 

And if Death Cult finished the set strongly, they followed up with 2 absolutely tremendous encores in the dark dynamic build of “Moya” and the anthemic ringing chimes of the inevitable yet superb “She Sells Sanctuary”. Astbury, whose rich and resonant vocals had sounded brilliant throughout, reintroduced the band as they took their bows, stated they weren’t just doing this for the money but, “because we still believe!”, and left us with a single word – “Ceasefire”. You know, the world could do with some of that right now… A swift drive Northwards looping around B’rum got us back to the ‘Don in short order at 12.30, contemplating the gig. Not perfect and, as I said, a bit short for the price, but when Death Cult hit the mark, they were quite, quite stunning. My inner Goth kid was treated tonight, no mistake!