845 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, Spear Of Destiny, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 29 March 2012

“Traditions must be maintained.” Thus spoke Killing Joke’s Jaz Coleman during my last gig, ironically also an old punk band at this venue. So, taking this ethos to heart, here’s SLF again! This, the 7th “Mad March” in 8 years to Bristol Academy with Rich, also clocked up an even dozen for these original punk long stayers, each time a good time. So bring it on!

A bad back, contrasting with a crazy busy day at work, meant I wasn’t in great physical shape for the gig, but conversely mentally well up for it. I picked up the Big Man and we hit the already busy venue after a good run, just as support Spear Of Destiny finished their first number. Spear, another veteran post-punk act, whom I’d seen multiple times in the 80’s but most recently on a poor “Singles Tour” here a few years back, were on much better form than that ill-fated recent encounter, mainman Kirk Brandon seemingly getting his mojo working and blasting out some early strident, dramatic, numbers with his distinctive octave-straddling voice. They’d already gotten my attention with a drum-dominated “Rainmaker” before they rolled out an unexpected, slightly messy but welcome cover of Joy Division’s “Transmission” (“for our mate Peter Hook”), then upped the ante further with a splendid “World Service”, a stark piano opener leading into a powerful rendition of their best number, with a sing-along-a-Kirk mid section! The mosh-igniting punk terrace chant of “Liberator” closed a surprising, fine and, yes, fun set from Spear, delivered with a smile by the blond flick-haired Kirk. Nice one!

Got more drinks in and took the usual stage-left spot for a seemingly longer than usual wait. Finally,the “Go For It” intro music, the best and most rabble-rousing and mood-setting in all of rock music, kicked in – I swear, the day SLF change this intro music is the day I stop going to see them! SLF then took the stage to a rapturous roar from the crowd of old punks, then hit the thunderous opening riff to “Wasted Life”, and we were away. Big time!

On recent viewings, it’s often taken SLF a while to get into their stride. Not so tonight; they were “on it” with a vengeance from the outset, a charged Jake Burns spitting out “Wasted Life”’s opening line, “I could be a soldier…” with righteous fury. “Just Fade Away” and a frantic “At The Edge” followed in quick succession, the mosh rewarding the Fingers’ passion by going bat-shit crazy from the off. This tour marked SLF’s 35th anniversary, and true to form, Burns was voluble regarding their history, marking that at their inception, bands being compelled to rise up against about their social and political conditions were the norm. “35 years later, it’d be nice if [new bands] did the same…” Other targets tonight included Simon Cowell (“it’s not so much that he spits up talent and throws it away like so much tissue paper, it’s more like, just because you’re on TV, doesn’t mean you have to be such a twat!”) and BNP leader Nick Griffin (“did you see his TV interview? He claimed his favourite bands are The Clash and Stiff Little Fingers; let me say right now we want nothing whatsoever to do with this offensive racist… read the words [in our songs] you moron!”), his denunciations met with cheers from the like-minded crowd. Mid 50’s and increasingly rotund he may be, but Burns still knows how to ignite a crowd, an impassioned intro to an excellent “Strummerville” being a fine example. “Straw Dogs”(introduced with a monologue about SLF giving Chrysalis Records their “vilest, nastiest punk song” and being astonished when it got to No.47 in the charts!), an incendiary "Suspect Device" and a superb “Tin Soldiers” rounded off an excellent, charged and committed set.

The epic encore “Johnny Was” preceded another unexpected cover; this time “2-4-6-8 Motorway”, the old Tom Robinson Band number, accompanied by original TRB guitarist Danny Kustow. Then, the usual evening closer “Alternative Ulster” was followed by an unexpected “Gotta Getaway”, something different for the 35th Anniversary tour. Overall, great stuff, once again. As good as I’ve seen them, despite advancing years (theirs or mine, make your own mind up!). And of course we’ll be back in 2013 for Mad March part 8, to maintain the tradition!

844 KILLING JOKE, The Icarus Line, Bristol O2 Academy, Tuesday 5 March 2012

A 2 Part “Mad March to Bristol” with the Big Man this year; SLF, as usual, comes later in the month, but first a return for Killing Joke, hosts of my first gig back in the Summer of 1981, and back on my gig radar thanks to a couple of recent thunderous performances. If this one lived up to those standards, particularly the awesome 2008 Forum rendition of their first 2 cacophonous albums, this gig might really threaten to unmoor the O2 Academy from its’ foundations, with vocalist and main (mad) man Jaz Coleman no doubt laughing manically in the rubble. We’ll see...

Given dodgy support bands, Rich and I set off late for this one, just after 7.30. However, we unfortunately still hit the venue for the last knockings of The Icarus Line’s primitive swampy rock howl of a set, which was met with complete indifference by the disappointingly sparse crowd. However we got a drink and ran into old punk friend Debbie, before grabbing our usual stage left spot and watching the place fill up.

Killing Joke joined us at 9.15 prompt, to the backing sound of mysterious chanting; the original line-up, this, with imposing guitarist Geordie leading the band on, and the crazed, black boiler-suited and comparatively diminutive form of Jaz Coleman last on, once again made up to resemble a chainsaw-toting killer clown. However, far from this being the anticipated extreme, brutal rock assault, we had a very subdued opening; it rocked, sure, but with nothing like the visceral intensity that Killing Joke are well capable of. An early number dedicated to, “our dads,” was low-key to the point of sentimentality, and even Jaz’ crazed St. Vitus Dance and usual facial contortions seemed reined-in. Half a dozen numbers in, the tumbling tribal beat of oldie “Unspeakable” briefly threatened to kick-start a moribund gig into life, with Jaz spitting the hook with more bile and venom, and newie “Rapture”, a chugging rocker, kept the momentum up. “Bloodsport” followed, “for a friend of ours who likes to hunt while listening to Killing Joke!” but was again a little subdued, although the subsequent “Chop Chop” from “Revelations”, their 3rd album (which Jaz introduced by saying, “we haven’t played this one since 1982!”) was a pounding, metallic growl and the set highlight thus far.

My Joke experience doesn’t extend much beyond those first 3 albums, and certainly not into their nu-metal noise output of recent times, so it’s probably as much down to me that I found the set occasionally heavy going, delving into proto sheet-metallic noise. However I was expecting a mix of the awesome and awful; what I didn’t expect was vast swathes of, well, average-ness, from this primal force of nature. A lot of the set was simply alright, which was a major disappointment. 1 hour 10 in, we finally got “The Wait” (“a 1 hour 10 minute "Wait",” I remarked to Rich), which blew the doors off, and set closer “Pssyche” (“traditions must be maintained,” announced Jaz) was superb, a reckless, careering and savage march. The final encore denouement was the radioactive synth pulse of oldie “Requiem”, which also rounded off the gig on a positive but puzzling note, as Jaz seemed to suddenly down tools at the end, as if fed up with something, and snarl a cursory, “goodnight,” before exiting the stage. Hmmm.

So, this was one definitely for the Killing Joke purists and die-hards, but overall a patchy and ultimately disappointing showing for me. And thanks to motorway bridgeworks and practically invisible “Diversion” signs, we ended up having to go West on the M4 and turn around by the old Severn Bridge! Then, the motorway was shut (again) so we ended up trolling through Malmesbury and Wootton Bassett, taking over twice as long as usual to get home. Is Bristol turning into the reverse equivalent of late 90’s London; you can’t get here from there?

843 THE WAR ON DRUGS, Weird Dreams, Bristol Thekla, Thursday 1 March 2012

Well, I’ve had a number of gigs in a row which have met or exceeded my expectations, so I guess I was due a bit of a clunker… It all seemed fairly promising; a chance to check out a new band on me, namely Philadelphia, PA. alt-rockers The War On Drugs, who thanks to Tim’s recommendation, infiltrated themselves into my end-of-2011 playlist with their sophomore effort “Slave Ambient”. Said CD garnered much critical praise, thanks to an absorbing mix of metronomic Krautrock, laconic alt-Country and wigged-out West Coast psychedelia, delivered by mainman Adam Granduciel’s drawling, monotone Bob Dylan-esque voice. Plus, the gig is on “The Dirty Boat”, a favourite location of mine, the scuzzy Thekla the essence of a rock’n’roll venue. A promising proposition, and one worth “coming up for air” for, following a horrible chest infection which had laid me low for the past few days. Hey, if I’m fit enough to return to work, I’m certainly fit enough for a gig!

So Tim and Tracey collected me early, and we parked up outside the “Dirty Boat” in time to get a drink while support Weird Dreams plied their trade onstage. The first number I heard sounded promising in a chiming C86 girly pop kind of way, but they then descended into innocuous wallpaper fayre, and were largely ignored by the rapidly filling crowd.

We squeezed our way down the front, stage left, whilst Adam Granduciel – who with a mop of long curls and a general unkempt air, recalled another Adam, namely “Northern Exposure”’s vagrant genius chef Adam – laboured through a finicky soundcheck, before flicking his sampler on and inflicting some dense white noise upon us, then subsequently leading the band back on at ¼ to 9. After an opener eased the set in, Adam demanded, “Bobby, where’s my sampler? I’m not joking this time!” and the noise kicked in again as the backdrop to the chiming, metronomic “Baby Missiles”. This and a subsequent “Your Love Is Calling My Name” were fine, resonant and absorbing, and featured some fine atonal harmonica from Adam. However from the outset much of the other material on show came across droney and aimless, the subtle nuances of light and shade evident on CD being overpowered by swathes of suffocating and unnecessary guitar and sampler overload.

Adam finally broke his non-communication pact midway through, to tell us of his last gig in Bristol, at the Louisiana, and a subsequent wander around to find his hotel for 2 hours in the rain (“Good times!” shouted some wag). However the following cover of The Waterboys’ “A Pagan Place” was once again smothered, and resembled the trial of endurance Adam’s rainy trek must have been. “Arms Like Boulders”, lean, punchy and muscular, briefly threatened to redeem matters, but the final set double-header, which culminated a heavy-going 1½ hour set, were again both murky and discordant messy walls of sound. I dunno, I like noise as much as anyone (Bob Mould in June is likely to be ear-splittingly and viscerally noisy), but this just didn’t do it for me, the shimmering wall of sound I expected being muddy and indistinct throughout.

So a disappointing experience overall; a brief set-list enquiry with the bassist afterwards revealed they don’t use one (“it’s all in our heads; if I had one I’d give it to you, man”), but if I’m honest, would I really have wanted it after that set? A shut M4 saw us detouring around foggy country lanes through Castle Combe on the way back, just to cap a disappointing night. I like their CDs way too much to abandon The War On Drugs right now, but let’s just say they’re waaaaay better on record than “live” at this point…

842 SIMPLE MINDS 5X5 TOUR, Birmingham O2 Academy, Friday 24 February 2012

I think it’s only appropriate to start this review with my comments from the Ex Simple Minds show of 18 months ago; “I'm used to receiving looks of bafflement when I say Simple Minds, latterly the epitome of bloated stadium rock boredom and the template for the similarly turgid likes of Coldplay, were, over the span of their first 4 albums, the most innovative band on the planet. Constantly evolving their sound from their early glam Roxy pop, through monotone yet experimental and intriguing industrial rock, synth-led krautrock to glossy and expansive European dancey rock, they were chameleonic, challenging and immensely talented”.

Nuff said. It was this long-held belief which led me to check out their former back rows fronted by Owen Paul on a windswept evening in Oxford, and also to brave crappy weather and potential stadium rock bluster overload for a small taste of that old stuff from the real thing in Westonbirt last year. So when I heard about this tour – promoting the release of an enhanced yet very nicely priced 5 CD box set of those seminal first 4 albums plus “breakthrough” record “New Gold Dream” (which was still bloody good, if slightly shinier and more commercial, bumping up to the point when they started losing it), with a tour promising 5 numbers from EACH of those 5 records – I frankly couldn’t move quick enough to grab a ticket! I don’t know their motivations for this CD release and tour – recent peer acclaim from the likes of The Horrors etc. for that seminal early stuff, the need to squash Ex Simple Minds by playing the stuff they concentrate on, the desire to pump a big wodge of cash into Jim Kerr’s pension fund, or any combination of the above – but honestly I don’t care. This was MY Simple Minds tour, the one I wanted to see in the 80’s and didn’t. So well worth the steep (hell, almost vertical!) ticket price and lengthy jaunt to B’rum, sadly the closest the “5X5” tour came to Swindon, but also the scene of a remarkable resurrection last year in the Adam Ant show.

So, taking no chances on a Friday afternoon, and picking up that this one was going to be an early start (I was guessing 7.30, and that turned out to be right on the money), I took some lieu time and left straight from work at 3.30, still nursing a bit of the man flu. Thankfully nobody got in my way, and I was able to park in the Mailbox multi-storey just past the venue at 6 after a steady run up. So I had the unusual experience of waiting in the queue for the venue to open; chatted with fellow punters, including a couple from the Cotswolds and their 9 year old daughter who was lamenting the omission of “Belfast Child” from tonight’s show. I’m bloody well not!

A note by the entrance stated that, as expected, this would be an early starting two-part set, but that part one would concentrate on the first 2 albums, different to my research which suggested they’d been mixing it up and opening with “I Travel”. So which would it be? That question was emphatically answered after the lights dimmed, dry ice enveloped the stage and the backing track played an early material snippet medley (including some tracks to be omitted tonight, notably “Sweat In Bullet”). Then, the boys took the stage and the scattergun synth opening of “I Travel” started up, getting me immediately plunging down the front, stage centre, and rocking out to one of my all-time fave Level 3 dance tracks.

Vocalist and main Minds inspiration Jim Kerr was also “on it” from the outset, throwing shapes with abandon and exhorting the crowd to sing along. Despite this being early material, you can take the boy out of the stadium, I guess, but you can’t take the stadium out of the boy… Despite his best efforts and my rocking out, however, the gig atmosphere took quite a while to settle in, the early and fuller hypnotic dance of “Changeling” notwithstanding. Did this crowd actually know what was supposed to be going on tonight? A seething “Scar” preceded a careful, almost perfunctory reading of “Life In A Day”, before an unexpectedly tough “Hunter And The Hunted” proved a surprising early highlight. However, the thunderous, billowing synth pulse of “Love Song” topped that, strident and tremulous, the energetic Kerr finally getting a reaction from this crowd. “Pleasantly Disturbed” actually came close to topping that, all creepy and sinuously moody before building to a cacophonous finale, by which time I was moshing and singing along with 3 other guys down the front. At last!

After a 15 minute breather, set part 2 commenced with a “Sons”/ “Sister” triple, opening with a terrace chant “American”, the Minds really warming to their task and igniting the crowd. Then – my time – a trio of “Real To Real Cacophony” numbers, with a brilliantly moody and sinister “Factory” making up for a slightly muted “Changeling”. Set part 2 was generally better received and played, culminating in the plangent magnificence of the oft-overlooked “Someone Somewhere In Summertime”, a resonant final set number.

They weren’t done though, and the ridiculously infectious, should’ve-been new wave anthem of “Someone” was an encore highlight, before “Chelsea Girl” saw otherwise excellent guitarist Charlie Burchill mucking up the middle 8 (hey, it’s a hard riff, and it’s been a long set…), before a thunderous “New Gold Dream” brought 2¼ hours of innovative yet nostalgic rock to a close. I could forgive some numbers for sounding a little unrehearsed, and the need to pack them all in precluding against any lengthy words from Jim Kerr, who moved the set along at a cracking pace and fully earned his corn tonight. I half expected some bumps in the road, but they were fewer than feared, and redressed by the simple fact that they were even playing these damn songs in the first place! A lengthy wait and much pestering finally saw me bag the keyboardist’s set-list, and I then caught breath and headed home for 12. Faith restored!

841 BIG COUNTRY, Gun, Bristol O2 Academy, Wednesday 15 February 2012

Barely 10 months on, one of the Comeback Kings of a particularly notable 2011 year for comebacks, namely Big Country, are treading the boards again! This time they’re celebrating an auspicious 30th Anniversary; no, not of the first time I saw them “live” (they’re 7 months away from marking that August 1982 Swindon Brunel Amphi gig), but of the release of their first album, “The Crossing”. This saw Big Country arrive fully formed, moving between dramatic balls-out rockers, touching and careworn ballads, and expansive windswept epic rock workouts, whilst firmly establishing their signature guitar-led Celtic rockist sound. More importantly, it’s an album which you can pretty much raucously sing every word to, in the company of a good friend and 1,500 or so like-minded souls. So were the Big Man and I up for a repeat of last April’s triumph? You bet’cha!

I tried to persuade my 14 year old son Evan, down visiting my parents, to join us, but he wasn’t up for seeing his dad sing embarrassingly loudly in public, so it was a slightly man-flu ridden Sheriff that The Big Man drove carefully down to the Academy, hitting the quiet-early-doors venue just as similarly-reformed Scots rockers Gun took the stage just before 8. Their set of post grungey, late-period Rolling Stones rock’n’roll collision was alright, nothing more, and was met by swathes of indifference, despite the energetic vocalist’s best efforts. Their best number, their retread of Cameo’s “Word Up”, was clumsy and lacked the original’s quirky charm. Beyond that, much like their career, Gun’s set utterly passed me by.

Took our usual stage left spots near to a very habitable stage-front (well attended, this, but by no means a sell-out), and chatted until the lights dimmed at 9, and Big Country took the stage, diving into the rousing “Angle Park”, a “B” side from back when “B” sides meant something. Mike Peters, again on hols from his Alarm day job and guesting on vocals, was the focal point of the performance, his expansive rabble-rousing gestures, obvious fandom for Big Country, and general honest bonhomie (including a nice early story of a fan who’d kept a bootleg version of “The Crossing” a secret for 30 years – until tonight!) catching both eye and ear. That said, the set really didn’t catch fire until half an hour in, when, “the journey to "The Crossing”," as Peters’ referred to it, was complete. At that point, Mark Brzezicki’s familiar drumbeats and Peters’ echoing of the words of Big Country’s founder, the late Stuart Adamson, to, “take the emotion and passion and make it live… share it, and come out screaming,” heralded the strident LP opener “In A Big Country”. Then suddenly, like a champagne cork popping, the tension was released and the place went nuts.

"In A Big Country” was a brilliant terrace sing-along, but was even topped by a frankly stunning “Inwards”, which followed a show of hands as to which album cover colour everyone owned back in the day! (Blue won – I had blue on vinyl. I've got a red CD now...). “The Crossing” was majestically delivered, all tracks featuring lengthy audience sing-alongs, every one a highlight in itself. However “Chance”, which Peters delivered standing on a chair in the middle of the mosh after being challenged to do so by some wag in the crowd (not me this time!), and the rousing epic swoops and tempo changes of the set finale “Porrohman”, which saw Peters shine a reflective light on the crowd from his guitar back, were 2 particular highlights.

An encore of Smoky Robinson’s “Tracks Of My Tears” – apparently Stuart Adamson’s favourite song – was preceded by a punter proposing to his lady (been there, done that), before finale “Wonderland” and some kinds words of tribute from bassist Tony Butler, both to ourselves in the crowd and to Stuart Adamson, drew a 2 hour (wow!) set to a close. Ultimately superb stuff, as I had expected this time, so maybe last April’s comeback show topped this one in retrospect, as it was so unexpected. Nevertheless, this was another fine footnote to the legacy of this great band, and another fine tribute to their late and sadly missed founder. Stuart, your boys – and Mike Peters – are doing you proud.

840 NADA SURF, Waters, London Camden Koko, Wednesday 8 February 2012

I’ve said it before and this year it bears repeating, particularly with my new car making me paranoid to park anywhere that isn’t totally locked down; it takes a VERY special band to drag me up to London, especially on a school night. However Nada Surf fall squarely into that category; in fact they probably stack up right at the top right now! Nearly 4 years since my last “live” Surf experience, they’re back with what might be their best album yet, in the wonderful and magical “The Stars Are Indifferent To Astronomy”. Bucking their recent headlong descent towards slow-burn and introspective hush, evidenced in their last 2 albums, this one actually features some startling rock guitar! Galloping fast songs! Power and pace, even! However this augments rather than detracts from their stark, touching and lovelorn songcraft, and deliciously warm and confessional delivery, producing what is easily an Album Of The Year favourite for 2012, and honestly a real masterpiece for the ages. In fact, I spent a lunchtime last week listening to it and a colleague, returning from lunch, took a look at me and asked me if I’d been crying. This is evidently the profound emotional effect that this album has on me. I’m utterly lost in this album, and right now this band says everything to me about my life.

However, this being the first time I’ve been to KOKO, I was unsure about local street parking; Camden Car Parks all seem to shut early; and other nearby NCPs charge £8 an hour! Fuck that! So after an early departure and a quick run, I parked the new car nervously in my usual spot in an eerily quiet Bush, having an easy but freezy tube trip over to Mornington Crescent, and hitting the venue at 7.30. A wonderfully ornate red-lit venue with lots of gold leaf carvings and plenty of viewing balconies, like a mini Shepherd’s Bush Empire, only far grander. I explored the various levels before support Waters sneaked on at 7.50. A young San Franciscan 4-piece, they played some diverting chunky and resonant indie power pop to evidently their biggest ever audience, with one racy number “Back To You” and the blond vocalist’s evident effort and enthusiasm a feature. The final number, an anthemic “Forever”, saw him step away from the mic and give an “unplugged” performance, after coaching the audience to sing the hook! Shades of The Gaslight Anthem from this young band, in a good opening set.

Stayed down in the front rows, stage right, as the lights dimmed at 8.50 and Da Surf sauntered casually onstage. A 5-piece Surf line-up, this, with the usual trio of mainman Matt Caws, the sumptuously dreadlocked Daniel Lorca and drummer Ira Elliot augmented, “live” as on the new record, by Guided By Voices’ guitarist Doug Gillard and Calexico’s talented multi-instrumentalist Martin Wenk, to give the punch this robust new material deserves and needs. And this was evident from the outset, with the new CD’s devastating one-two opening combo “Clear Eye Clouded Mind” and “Waiting For Something” opening the set. That was it, I was bouncing around like a loon from note one, and had navigated my way through to front centre, by the time the heady rush of third number “Happy Kid” assailed the ears of this old punk.

This was a wonderfully paced, joyful set of high-end punchy powerpop and warm, touching honest rock from Da Surf, with light and shade aplenty to delight and beguile. “Killians Red”, joyfully dark and morose, was followed in short order by silky and harmonic newie “Jules And Jim”, which featured a smooth, wide-eyed delivery from Matt’s familiar vocal tones and some rocking xylophone from Wenk, prompting some wag down the front (OK, it was me…) to shout out, “well, that was bloody lovely!”, and eliciting a, “why thank you, Sir!” response from Mr. Caws. A ferocious “The Way You Wear Your Head” was followed by the plangent magnificence that is always “80 Windows”, Wenk also embellishing this all-time classic with some understated trumpet. Da Surf were really cooking with gas in this set mid-section!

The stomping “High Speed Soul” was messy and discordant, but actually seemed all the more fun for this rough-housing, before a mesmerising “See These Bones”, building to a gloriously heartfelt cacophony, like warm waves crashing over myself and the audience, rounded off a quite perfect set. A naked “Blonde On Blonde” preceded Matt, as ever a personable and gregarious presence throughout, telling us a story of his father’s flight from a cult and his subsequent struggle to stay in touch with relatives, which enabled Matt to introduce some of them onstage. “Don’t give up on what you believe in,” was Matt’s lesson, one well learned.

The bouncy final number “Looking Through” brought a swift and magical 1½ hour set to a close, and as the band left the stage I caught Daniel’s attention and he handed me Matt’s set-list and took one of my gig blog cards. Fair swap! Caught my breath after a majestic performance from da Surf, chatting with some similarly supremely entertained fellow punters, before waiting at Mornington Crescent for the tube train that seemingly never came, nevertheless getting back to the car at 11.30 and home for 1. A late late one these days, then, but completely justified by a heart-felt, melancholy, yet uplifting and triumphant performance from a truly great band completely at the height of their powers.

839 THE BOOMTOWN RATS, Swindon Musical Entertainment and Cultural Arena (MECA), Saturday 28 January 2012

From a very new band last time out (Howler) to a really old one; The Boomtown Rats, 70’s Irish pub rock imports turned skinny-tie New Wave chart botherers and No. 1 hit-makers with “Rat Trap” and their signature classic “I Don’t Like Mondays”. In my formative musical years I’d been a mini Rat-fan (I still remember hearing the drum-powered adrenaline rush of their debut “Looking After Number One” on the radio for the first time; one of my favourite photos of myself is as a 15 year old on holiday in Jersey, sporting a huge metallic “Rats” badge; and I still own their fine sophomore effort, “Tonic For The Troops” on vinyl), but in my post-punk rockist early 80’s discovery period I’d lost interest with the Rats long before their charismatic original vocalist Bob Geldof did the same, Bob instead concentrating on saving the world with "Live Aid". This reformed Rats line-up therefore was more an “Ex Simple Minds” formation, featuring two original band members, guitarist Garry Roberts and drummer Simon Crowe, but shorn of “Sir” Bob’s towering presence. But recent similar gigs (Thin Lizzy, Big Country, even the aforementioned Ex-Minds) had worked out well, plus it’s just up the MECA, and if nothing else, it’d be fun to hear those songs “live”, so why not?

However, when I arrived at the venue at 7 (½ hour before their advertised onstage time of 7.30 as support to a T Rex line-up) it felt I was the only one who thought that! Around 50 or so punters – mainly older couples – huddled around the back bar, and the main hall was still cordoned off! Yipe! Organiser Steve Causer’s going to take a bath on this one, I thought… The ropes came off about 7.30 and I wandered down the front as the place slowly filled up to a respectable level, for an early Swindon crowd…

The 4-piece Rats hit the dry-ice shrouded stage at 7.45, the thick-set monolith guitarist Roberts and beefy drummer Crowe augmented by a ratty-looking (appropriately enough) vertical-haired vocalist/bassist of similar vintage, ironically also called Bob (“we call him Little Bob,” Crowe informed us at one point) plus a young gun on extra guitar. Opener “Mary Of The Fourth Form” chuntered along well, but sounded a little like muddy old lag pub rock, and I thought at this point this gig might have gone down better at the Furnace! It took until 4th number, a sing-along-tastic “Someone’s Looking At You”, to really get this thus-far turgid set going for me, this being a tremendous version of one of their more overlooked numbers. “Most of our songs are about death, and this is no exception…” said Roberts before the tango beat of “Diamond Smiles”, followed by a fine mid-set double of “Number One” (which required drummer Crowe to catch his breath afterwards!) and the jerky, Wire-like “Like Clockwork”. A Dr. Feelgood homage revealed their pub rock roots, but was a murky bluesy rant, featuring a raspy lead vocal from Crowe, and I lamented the omission of the epic “(I Never Loved) Eva Braun” from the set at the expense of this. However they finished strongly, with a real crowd-pleasing final salvo of their angry, sprawling working class manifesto “Rat Trap”, their “Common People” of the late 70’s; the terrace chant punk pogo of “She’s So Modern”; and finally a “rock” version of “I Don’t Like Mondays”, which still stood up well shorn of the distinctive piano treatment, and finally got Swindon singing along, the resounding and elongated final hook echoing around the venue.

So, overall an uneven (as I expected) but worthwhile show, and yes, it was fun to hear those songs “live”! I grabbed a set-list, then hung out briefly afterwards, catching drummer Crowe as he briefly poked his head out from backstage to greet some friends, and getting him to sign said list. Then, with utterly no interest in “headliners” T Rex whatsoever, I headed home for one of the earliest home arrivals from an evening gig ever – 9.30!