854 TREEFEST 2012, Westonbirt Arboretum, Sunday 26 August 2012

“Treefest”! The “Festival of The Trees”, a big outdoor extravaganza at Westonbirt Arboretum, resembling a Country Fayre albeit with a decidedly (deciduously?) tree-related theme, gets an entry in the gigbook! To be honest, Rach had suggested taking the kids along for the day anyway, but my personal interest(and this event being subsequently added into my gig annals) was piqued due to the presence of the fittingly named “Royal Oak” tent, which featured an itinerary of local acoustic musicians, chief amongst them being Gaz Brookfield, a man fast becoming one of my favourite new musical discoveries of 2012, not least because he’s local and I’m getting to see him play quite regularly right now!

So, we drove down on a promising sunny Bank Holiday Sunday, picking our way through picturesque villages and parking up at the event site just after lunchtime. I was immediately surprised at the scale of the event – loads of cars in the car parking fields, and quite a walk to the main events site itself. Wandered into the “Royal Oak”, a medium sized event tent with rows of hay bales for punters to sit on, just as “lunchtime headliners” The Bateleurs were rounding off a fiddle-powered folky set. In truth, we only popped our heads in as they were playing a cute version of The Wonderstuff’s “Golden Green”, but the band, featuring an ex-boyfriend of an ex-girlfriend (pretty local, then…), closed things out with some more easy listening folky stuff.

We then spent the afternoon checking out the rest of the attractions, ranging from Archery and Falconry displays, stalls selling woodcraft of all descript, traditional fairground attractions (helter skelters and merry go round at 2 quid a pop – yikes!) to a Camera Obscura tent and Heavy Horse rides. The kids liked it!

This then brought us up to 5 pm, so we picnicked under a large overhanging pine, had a final wander around a slightly muddy and rapidly emptying site, then popped back into the “Royal Oak” tent, where Ells Ponting was midway through a very quiet little acoustic set. Thrown in with her own pleasant, introspective material was a pleasant, introspective cover of a Postal Service number, and a more surprising “festival cheesy 80’s number” to close things out, namely A-Ha’s “Take on Me”, which ensured a fine reception from the audience.

I plonked myself down on a hay bale with Logan while Rach took Kasey for a walk, then Gaz Brookfield was introduced onstage as being “a musician from Swindon”, fittingly kicking off his set with “SN1”, a celebration of his, and our, home town. Appropriate enough start, as on display today was the celebratory Gaz, the happy festival Gaz for family consumption, shorn mainly of the glorious anger and bile of his more confrontational material, yet no less enjoyable, passionate and riveting for it. A lovely “Frank And Sam” followed, then after “Limelight” he took time to praise his “mini-moshpit”, the gang of children dashing around and jigging down the front, of which by now both my kids were part!

Despite keeping things relatively polite, we still got a forceful, committed “Be The Bigger Man” (which Gaz introduced as being, “by no means autobiographical” then complimented himself afterwards for getting through it without swearing!) and a pointed “Diet Of Banality” (Gaz informing us parents of our “duty” to stop our kids watching the likes of X Factor!), revealing to all his punk sensibilities. A rousing “West Country Song” finished this Gaz vignette superbly, the crowd again clapping along, swept up in Gaz’ obvious enthusiasm and talent. Great stuff.

Time for a quick chat with the man afterwards, introducing him to my wife and daughter (the son having gone a bit shy at this point), before we headed off after a nice family day out, topped by another splendid Gaz Brookfield performance. We’re already looking forward to his Miles Hunt support slot in September!

853 GAZ BROOKFIELD, Swindon Rolleston, Sunday 29 July 2012

Another gig in “The ‘Don”, and yet another new venue, namely The Rolleston pub, perched invitingly atop my 1980’s and 90’s “spiritual home”, Level 3 nightclub, and consequently scene of many a drinky evening in preparation of bopping down at Lev, but never of a gig before. Until this, the return to the Shire for Swindon native Gaz Brookfield, the forthright and articulate singer-songwriter who impressively turned my head in support of The Psychedelic Furs at the Fleece earlier this month. Since then, I’d sent off a contribution for his video project for his “Be The Bigger Man” number, soliciting a nice e-mail response from the man, so was looking forward to catching up and seeing him play again!

Took a drive up after the kids went to bed, parking up and wandering into the very quiet early doors pub about ¼ to 8, meeting up with Gaz at the bar and having a nice chat with a very personable and open chap, before he set up in the raised area by the front entrance, and I plonked myself on a barstool for his first set at 8.

Gaz has been compared to the likes of Frank Turner (who I confess I’m largely unfamiliar with) and Sam Duckworth of Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly (star of gig 721 and a band whose first album I thoroughly enjoyed), and tagged with a “Nu-Folk troubadour” label. I dunno, if “Nu-Folk” means bashing the living Bejeezus out of a road-weary acoustic and baring your soul, voice and opinions in a witty, well-considered and enjoyably articulate way, then I’m all for it. Particularly when this is coupled with self-effacing honesty (Gaz concluded an early Loudon Wainwright cover by admitting he, “totally fucked up that last bit, but that’s OK, it’s folk music – you’re allowed to!”) and neck-vein bulging effort. Another cover (“anyone remember a [early 2000’s melodic hardcore] band called Movielife? No? Just me? OK, this is a song that I wrote…!”)revealed Gaz’ pop-punk roots, and his own “Tell It To The Beer” was a touching, aptly named tears-in-the-beers ballad of male camaraderie on a journey through the lower rungs of rock’n’roll. Arousing “Thin” got the crowd singing along with the, “It’s not oh-ver,” hook to round off set one very nicely thank you, by which time I’d been joined by DJ Darren Dust.

After a pause in proceedings and another brief chat with the man whilst he flogged a few CDs, Gaz kicked off set two with a slightly taken aback, “where did you all come from?” at the larger numbers now in attendance! However the increased crowd and attention served to spur Gaz to step up the performance and intensity levels a notch. Indeed, this was the angrier set of the two, Gaz commenting about the crowd “just [having] come out for a quiet Sunday night and there’s this bloke shouting at you,” with “Death Bed” a bilious, galloping anti-religion rant recalling The Men They Couldn’t Hang, setting the tone. Billy Bragg’s “Waiting For The Great Leap Forward” followed, and then the anti manufactured pop rant of “Diet Of Banality” was venomous yet very funny at the same time. In full flow by now, Gaz then delivered a searing rendition of “Be The Bigger Man”, an angry, passionate and perfectly delivered version of his best number, soliciting a large roar of approval. A slightly inappropriate run-through of “It Must Be Love” followed, before we were back on the metaphorical soapbox with a fine, pointed “It Doesn’t Matter Who You Vote For, The Bastards Always Win”.

Closer “The West Country Song” was a fitting finale, the whole pub by now seemingly singing along and totally engaged in Gaz’ performance, the man totally on form and on fire. A splendid way to spend a Sunday evening, in the company of a talented, articulate and committed wordsmith surely destined for a wider audience than tonight’s. Hit the road after a lengthy chat with Mr. Dust and farewells from Mr. Brookfield. He’s supporting Miles Hunt at the Vic in September – that’ll be a good one!

852 ADAM ANT AND THE GOOD, THE MAD AND THE LOVELY POSSE, Poussez Posse, Swindon Wyvern Theatre, Thursday 26 July 2012

Swindon is really coming up trumps for me gig-wise at the moment, with this one following hot on the heels of the recent Biffy Clyro gig, and due to be followed by another local one this weekend… This, amazingly, was my first gig at the Wyvern, a well-established local Theatre which rarely puts bands on, less a band - or name - of the stature of Adam Ant, 2011’s Comeback King after a couple of stellar performances centring thankfully on his vintage pre-pop hit “Sexmusic”. This one promised to be interesting, particularly given the Wyvern’s seated venue status!

I persuaded Rach to join me for this local one, then my brother Paul came into possession of a last minute ticket for this long sold-out show, and bravely accompanied us for a drive into town on a scorching hot night. I eschewed the shorts, anticipating an air-conditioned and cool theatre, which would prove to be a mistake… Bumped into a couple of old Level 3 faces, Robynne and Andrea (hi guys!) before wandering in to check out support Poussez Posse. Comprising Ants backing singer, “Sachsgate” girl and possessor of a fair set of, erm, lungs, Georgina “Georgie Girl” Baillie, leading an all girl troupe, they were better than I’d feared. They featured 3 covers in their 6-song set – Ants oldie “It Doesn’t Matter”, 70’s girl-power ballad “Only Women Bleed” and a fine, toughened up version of Penetration’s punk classic “Don’t Dictate” – interspersed with their stomping, grunge sleaze originals which, Rach remarked, “made me miss Heavy Stud”!

We wandered back outside, bumping into various folks and chatting away, before the very helpful 3 minute warning saw us scurrying back into the auditorium, again taking our splendid stage left seats, 3 rows from the front, for Adam’s entrance at 8.30. The palpable anticipation erupted as Adam took the stage last, to huge squeals of delight from the audience which made me wonder if I’d stumbled into a girls Hockey International! He raced through punked-up opener “Plastic Surgery” with a verve and venom beyond his years, a riveting stage presence already delivering a proper “performance”. That said, the audience, despite the initial reception, didn’t reciprocate until “Beat My Guest”, at which point I stood up, started rocking out, then promptly sideswiped the head of the still-sitting bloke in front of me! Profuse apologies later, I revelled in the vintage Ants segment of the strident “Kick”, a sublime “Cartrouble” and an unexpected, creepy “Ants Invasion” before Georgie Girl joined Adam onstage for a swaggering march through “Deutscher Girls”. Then, an unannounced “Stand And Deliver” which finally got the “pop” Ants crowd up and rocking, soliciting a huge reception at its’ climax.

“This always feels like the first time I play this,” the hitherto taciturn Adam announced before a brilliant “Kings Of The Wild Frontier”, the interweaving double drums and strident chanting embellishing a set highlight as Adam, fully committed and really meaning it, maaaan, gave his all, receiving a deserved and lengthy ovation (even bigger than for “SAD”, I was pleased to see!) for his efforts. “Wonderful” diffused the mood before Adam announced a song about, “a different kind of love story,” the menacing oldie “Whip In My Valise”, Adam again delving into his old Sexmusic back catalogue with the grinning zeal of a teenager eagerly burrowing into his porno mag collection under the bed. “Desperate But Not Serious”, the only other song, along with “Ants Invasion”, which was “new” into the set (despite rumours to the contrary, Adam remained faithful to his recent set lists, pandering only to himself and rewarding the long-time Ants connoisseurs; good man!), featured a lengthy pregnant pause, which was nice. I like those.

Then; “Zerox”. Shunted later into the set this time, the familiar staccato guitar intro and off-kilter rhythm saw me “giving it loads” as this, Adam’s finest hour, swooped and soared, and built to another all-too-short climax. Brilliant, brilliant stuff, but almost eclipsed by set closer, the rambunctious, cheeky “Lady” (“true story!” claimed Adam by way of introduction) which again segued into a thumpingly powerful “Fall In”, the “bop shoo-bop”s resonating around the hall.

Time was with us, so we got “Red Scab” in the encore tonight (yay!), the slow, riff heavy mutant sleazoid number actually getting slower, then speeding up for a manic finale with Adam whirling like a dervish onstage. The sadly inevitable “Prince Charming” got the crowd throwing shapes before a T Rex homage, then “Physical”, to end another sweaty, breathless and swift, but utterly brilliant evening in the company of a born performer, playing what the hell he likes from his dusty back catalogue and fuck anyone who doesn’t like it. Running into my cousin Sharon and her be-striped friends, then getting hastily-grabbed set-list signed by Adam’s bass player Joel, were nice punctuation points on the night. And to paraphrase my equally elated brother, “the man is living proof that, even if life takes you to hell and back, class is permanent”. Nuff said. See you at the O2 Academies in November!

851 THE PSYCHEDELIC FURS, Gaz Brookfield, Bristol Fleece, Wednesday 4 July 2012

They’re back,and this time it’s like they’ve not even been away….It’s The Psychedelic Furs, titanic 80’s rockist purveyors of delicious late night glam sleaze rock’n’roll with a New Wave sensibility and a Bowie/ Velvet Underground twist, who celebrated their classic 1981 “Talk Talk Talk” album barely 20 months ago with a superb Frome show, and were this time announcing some dates because… well, just because, really! And at the relatively tiny confines and inevitable close quarters of the Fleece; this one was not to be missed. I pounced on a ticket immediately, and so, it appeared, did everyone else, as by the time I’d managed to get in touch with fellow Furs devotee “Mad” Doug about joining me, they’d sold the damn thing out!

So it was a solo jaunt down to Brizzle, thankfully in decent weather this time, hitting this, my most visited venue, for my 49th gig here, just after 8. Didn’t have long to wait for support, which turned out to be a revelation; Gaz Brookfield ,a chap who I’d seen feature on a few Swindon Vic gig listings, but had never got off my arse to go check him out before. My mistake. Armed only with a battered, road-weary acoustic, a head full of opinions and, more importantly, the wit and wherewithal to articulate them, he set about winning over the early doors punters with some forthright and highly entertaining diatribes, targeting politicians, Simon Cowell and the like, and clearly relished and fully exploited this opportunity. Using mundane yet familiar reference points (the hard shoulder of the M4 corridor got a couple of mentions!) in his wordy numbers (that’s OK by me, I’ve always been partial to some excess verbiage in my songs, hence my love for The Hold Steady!), he nevertheless made his points with a venomous yet considered and splendid set. I wished I could have taken his essay about bullying, “Be The Bigger Man”, back 35 years or so and played it to my 12 year old self, and I certainly won’t make the mistake of missing him in “The Don” again, a point I made afterwards to the former Swindon native Mr. Brookfield!

Bumped up at the front between acts, stage right in this packed and anticipatory crowd, leaning on a pillar right up against the Fleece’s raised stage. Butler’s going to look about 9 feet tall from here… At the witching hour, the intro white noise track kicked in and the Furs, dressed in obligatory rock’n’roll black and sporting sunglasses, took the stage. No messing about or easing in for this lot, which might have been excusable in deference to their vintage, they were straight into the tumbling, ramshackle rollercoaster ride of “Into You Like A Train”, Richard Butler’s trademark nasal London drawl already a standout feature. Indeed Butler, a dapper be-waistcoated rake in Bowie Berlin chic and heavy-framed glasses, was a riveting stage presence from the outset, throwing angular shapes with the verve and audacity of a man half his age, and giving a proper performance, a consummate lesson in the art of the frontman. A rambunctious “Mr Jones” segued into the sleazy late night NYC groove of “Heartbeat”, Mars Williams’ enthusiastic virtuoso sax playing already dominating the sound. “Pretty In Pink” was thrown in early and got a huge ovation which took Butler aback somewhat, replying with a surprised, “thank you!”

A few lesser known Furs tracks took centre stage thereafter; a menacing “Only You And I” was an early highlight, and following a wonderful “Heaven”, which featured the kinetic Butler doing skits from the video and shaking punters hands down the front (including mine!), a gorgeous and melancholy “My Time” was also a late set highlight. A massive, seething “India”, featuring towering and somewhat intimidating bassist Tim Butler leaning into the crowd so closely I could have picked his pockets, rounded off a powerful, sweaty set perfectly, before the encore brought my highlight of the night; a soaring, anthemic “Forever Now”, Butler the glacially cool superstar finally disappearing with a heartfelt, “thanks,” after the perfect climax to another superb Furs performance. Grabbed a set-list and got it signed by Williams and guitarist Rich Good afterwards, just to round off a great night. The Psychedelic Furs; colossal, yet again!

850 BIFFY CLYRO, Pure Love, Swindon Oasis Leisure Centre, Friday 8 June 2012

Given the extent to which Biffy Clyro have risen in my estimation over the last couple of years – from mostly ignored metallic noiseniks to hooky, anthemic hard rockers, inviting favourable comparisons to the likes of Seafood, Foo Fighters and even (dare I say it) Husker Du – it was inevitable that we’d be up for any future Biffy tomfoolery. So when I casually browsed the NME website and found out the Biffsters were planning a one-off show to bed in some new material from their forthcoming CDs, I thought, hmmm, where do Rach and myself have to travel to now? London? Birmingham? My jaw then dropped with a clunk onto my desk when I found out they were playing the frickin’ Oasis! The Biff! 20 minutes walk from our front door! AND on a Friday at half term, when we could get Evan down for the gig as well! Scrivens!

However, securing tickets wasn’t as simple as all that. Despite our O2 priority codes, we could only get 2 of our required 3, before the presale sold out. General sale was a joke – all websites either crashed or froze for half an hour, so I, forlornly, gave up, texting Evan that he’d unfortunately be missing out. However, a chance lunchtime call to the Oasis itself later that day revealed they, amazingly, still had a handful on sale, so I gleefully snapped one up and made a fledgling 14 year old rocker a happy boy again.

So it was that we three took a wander down the cycle path, leaving the kids with grandma and hitting the sold out but quiet early doors Oasis bar at 7.30; Rach in a state of high excitement at the prospect of seeing her current (and ongoing) band crush at such (relatively) close quarters, Evan a little bemused, not really knowing what to expect from his first rock gig proper, and me just glad I got to take him to one at last. We wandered in the busy sports hall for 8, for opening act Pure Love. Led by former Gallows frontman, the tattooed but dapper suit-jacketed Frank Carter, they thankfully eschewed the full-on punkish yet incoherent hardcore sonic assault that was the Gallows template, in favour of some much more palatable anthemic bluesy rockers, in a swaggering Clash/Smiths vein. “Quite a different direction for me, as you might have noticed,” announced an affable Frank, and all the better for it, in my view! “Handsome Devils Club” had a chuntering Urge Overkill Californian bluesy sleaze stomp to it, then Frank abandoned the stage to sing a few numbers in the belly of the mosh, pitching up at one point a couple of yards from us! The final number, which Frank pushed as a “Summer Festival anthem,” featured the no doubt bastardised line, “there’s a riot on the streets of Swindon,” nevertheless capping an impressive set from a band – and man – who tonight made me sit up and take notice.

Had a wander over to the crowd fringes, stage left, in search of a decent eyeline, before the lights dimmed and the Biff took the stage at 9 pm sharp, to, rather cutely, the refrains of “Feeling Groovy”, and against a stage set-up of shards of suspended triangular mirrored glass, and a huge tree backdrop. No messing; straight into “Mountains”, a titanic opener with the frenzied crowd already singing along, and the communal vibe resonating around this large sports hall. “Golden Rule” followed, a superb double gut-punch to kick things off, before a frantic newie “Modern Magic Formula” proved they’re really not mellowing with all their current success. A singalong, 50’s ballad style “God And Satan” slowed things down a tad, before a savage “Get Fucked Stud” raised the temperature once again. So this was the Biffy plan tonight; lull the crowd int oa false sense of harmonic security, then smash them into submission with some savage but thrilling modern rock’n’roll. And it was executed to perfection, a case in point being the silly clip-clop rhythm of “Born On A Horse”, being followed directly by the determined groove of a thrilling “Boooom Blast And Ruin”, a set highlight, as the Biff repeatedly delved into their 2009 breakthrough “Only Revolutions” CD (for a warm-up gig to bed in new material, there was a marked paucity of such, with only 4 or 5 newies scattered throughout the set).

“This place is hot in the way only a place with a swimming pool next door can be,” remarked white boiler-suited vocalist Simon Neil, who despite regretting his choice of attire didn’t hold back, with an energetic and kinetic performance throughout. “Folding Stars”, a mid-paced anthem with a Biffy trademark huge chorus, was followed by another all-inclusive singalong for a jagged, ragged “Who’s Got A Match?”, providing a perfect metaphor for the performance; “I’m a fire and I burn, burn, burn tonight…” indeed! Then, the 3,000 capacity sang as one to the imperious ballad “Many Of Horror”, providing a soaring, spine-tingling mid-song moment. Set closer, the Seafood-esque ”Bubbles” was another communal singalong, the thunderous guitar hook climaxing a superb set perfectly.

The Biff boys were fulsome with their compliments for Swindon (nice to hear!) during a 3 song encore, which was capped by a final “Captain”, oddly the set opener the last couple of times we’d seen them! However this worked as a closer, with the terrace chant “whoa-oh”s once again resonating around the sports hall and sending everyone home elated. A well timed run down the front and some politeness secured me a set-list (yay!) and we ran into our friend Penny, which was a happy exclamation point on a superb night. A fine first proper rock gig for Evan – who’d been singing and clapping along throughout – and another damn fine set from a band rapidly proving worthy of the prefix, “The Mighty…” Yup, The Mighty Biff well and truly rocked Swindon tonight, no messing!

848 & 849 “COPPER BLUE” VS “UNKNOWN PLEASURES”

Bob Mould, London Shepherd's Bush Empire, Friday 1 June 2012; Peter Hook And The Light, Oxford O2 Academy, Saturday 2 June 2012

A good old fashioned double-header, and what made this one even more notable was that both gigs were start-to-finish interpretations of classic albums from seminal artists in the rock pantheon, by key figures within both bands in question. Sugar’s agenda-setting 1992 release “Copper Blue”, the template for pop-core post-grunge hard-edged yet irresistibly melodic US rock, influencing such notables as Foo Fighters, and delivered by Sugar vocalist and inspiration Bob Mould; then “Unknown Pleasures”, Joy Division’s 1979 debut, a visceral rock experience widely recognised as one of the greatest albums ever, spawning a thousand dark-overcoated and deep-voiced imitators, and played by original Joy Division (and subsequent New Order) bassist Peter Hook and his new band The Light. A mouth-watering double; which album would wear their age most gracefully and come out on top?

First, it’s Bob. Amazingly, this was the first gig in 2012 I’d been to with Rachel; I’d clocked up 13 other gigs since she last accompanied me, to the Vaccines in December 2011. We ruminated on this sorry state of affairs on a swift drive oop the Smoke, after dropping the kids off at grandmas for a sleepover, enduring a slight parking mare but dumping the motor along the Uxbridge Road about ¼ to 8. Hit the venue and got stung for Rach’s pint (£4.30! Ouch!), then found a good spot on the floor, stage left, immediately running into old colleague Shaun Pisavadia and his brother! Caught up before and during openers Cloud Nothings, who initially kicked up a good punky fuss, but then degenerated into tuneless and tedious instrumental thrash, as aimless in its’ way as that horrible Sunburned Hand Of The Man set, supporting Copey at the Lyric those many moons ago! Someone should have told them they’re onstage rather than in their rehearsal space; either that or to write more than 3 songs if they’re performing onstage!

This was my first Bob gig in over 6 ½ years, and nearly 20 years since I’d first been subjected to the incandescent brilliance of Sugar, having seen their UK debut in September 1992, when “Copper Blue” was shiny and new. He and his 3-piece band were clearly in no mood to fuck around, taking the stage promptly at 9 to a rapturous welcome from this packed and predominantly male crowd, and plunging immediately into the thunderous opening riff to “The Act We Act”, an earth-shattering opener. Bob looked mean, muscular and magnificent, bespectacled and with a dusting of white adorning his goatee, resembling a gym-rat Santa on his Summer vacations. Only he’d brought the presents tonight; with nary a pause for breath, he tore into “Copper Blue” with an elemental ferocity, prowling the stage like a manic lion in his cage. I revelled in the glorious cacophony of noise, the perfect storm of rage and melody, a controlled collision of hardcore and irresistible, euphoric tunefulness that this classic album delivered, over and over. “Changes” was a raw, emotional highlight, delivered in Bob’s deliciously dark, deep growl, then a HHH-style water-spout from Bob preceded “If I Can’t Change Your Mind”, brilliantly robust and the best thing on offer tonight, although almost topped by a wide-eyed and rampant “Fortune Teller”, as Bob really warmed to his task.

The climax of “Copper Blue”’s closer, “Man On The Moon” saw a lengthy, reverential ovation, before Bob announced, “that was the past, here’s the future,” introducing, “a bunch of new stuff,” notable amongst being a raw, bluesy “Star Machine” and a raucous, hard rocking “The Dissent”. Them new apples don’t fall far from the Bob Mould tree, but hey, he’s too old to be really diversifying now, right? A clutch of Husker Du numbers closed out the set, fast and hard and unfortunately hindered by the sound, which after a good start had been a bit iffy and indistinctly trebly throughout, a thrashy “Celebrated Summer” finishing things off.

I didn’t quite catch the Robin Zander reference from Bob at the start of first encore, “Needle Hits E”, but wandered down the front for the finale, the brilliant, breathtaking “Makes No Sense At All” (let’s face it, you could be dead and still not resist singing along to that one), before Bob, effusive and clearly having a complete ball all night, stood awhile taking in the applause before leaving. Wow. Poor sound couldn’t detract from the fact he’d given his all, and did this timeless album more than justice tonight.

Follow that, Hooky! After a relaxing day without the kids (still at grandmas) I set off whilst listening to the England footy on the radio, parking up behind Tescos and hitting the downstairs Academy room at 7.45, unfortunately in time to catch some of support, Da London Undaground. They were terrible; a white boy gangsta funk rap act, coming across for me like they’d been rummaging through Stereo MC’s reject pile. The Al Pacino/ Chuck Norris/ Bruce lee slideshow showed their aspirations, and was considerably more entertaining than their performance, although as an old punk, I enjoyed the vocalist’s sentiments on his anti-Jubilee and Olympics t-shirt.

The place, dead early doors, filled up considerably but was still only about 2/3 full when Hooky and his band of young charges took the stage at 8.20, to the refrain of the Pogues’ “Dirty Old Town” mashed, oddly, into Kraftwerk’s “Trans-Europe Express”. I found a place front centre, a couple of rows back, quite easily, as Hooky introduced the opener, the embryonic growl of “At A Later Date” as being, “for a very determined young man, Tony”. Hmmm...

Joy Division, for me, were part of the heady rush of bands I embraced during the rush of my post-punk mid-teen discovery in the early 80’s, along with the likes of early Simple Minds, Psychedelic Furs and my favourites, Echo And The Bunnymen. While I totally enjoyed Joy Division’s dour, primal and bleak vision, and of course took the likes of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” and “Atmosphere” to my heart, I couldn’t help thinking (almost heretical thought coming up here) that had vocalist and original tortured soul Ian Curtis not been lost to us in such an untimely way, would they have been anything more than an interesting footnote in 80’s post-punk, a cult concern in the same vein as The Wild Swans, Scars and Comsat Angels, all bands I’d loved equally to, or more than, Joy Division?

Be that as it may, I was not here to pay homage to the legend, but more to enjoy the musical legacy. And this came thick and fast; “No Love Lost”, staccato post punk, was an early highlight, before the metronomic hook of “Digital”, played fast and edgily by the Light, with Hooky’s vocals by now coming to the fore. Ah yes, Peter Hook, the epitome of taciturn non-communicativeness, took lead vocals, and while initially limited, as if feeling his way into this unfamiliar mode of expression, by this and the subsequent, brilliant “Disorder”, he was deep and resonant, imperiously intoning his lines as if it was his absolute divine right to do so. “Disorder”, featuring the original low-slung descending bassline, heralded the start of the “Unknown Pleasures” run-through, but this was topped a few numbers later by the widescreen drama of “New Dawn Fades”, moody, creepy and prescient. “A loaded gun won’t set you free…”.

This merged into the whip-lash rhythm of “She’s Lost Control” and the punkier growl of “Shadowplay”, before a lengthy, desolate “I Remember Nothing” closed out the set. However we had encores aplenty; the first featured the tumbling, almost tribal drumbeat of “Dead Souls” and the startling synth snap of “Isolation”, before the sombre, symphonic elegy of “Decades” built to a final dramatic crescendo and the band took another breather (necessary by this point – Hooky, who’d put a lot of himself into the performance, was blowing hard by now). This however preceded the inevitable, and fantastic, singalong “Transmission”, and of course the all-time classic “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, dedicated by an effusive Hooky to, “everybody here, God bless us all”. Simply awe-inspiring. A final “Ceremony” drew a redemptive evening to a close, at which point Hooky took a deserved lengthy ovation. Fuck the “legend”; Joy Division were ultimately a great band with many great songs and a few utterly astonishing ones, and those, as per Bob’s performance last night, were done full justice by Peter Hook tonight.

So, overall, which album came out on top? You know, thanks to Bob and Hooky, it’s too close to call…

847 GIRLS, Weird Dreams, London Kentish Town The Forum, Monday 28 May 2012

Having previously declared my choosiness for London gigs these days – especially on a school night – its’ odd that I’m now in the midst of 3 gigs in the Big Smoke in a row, and all in 8 days! This one was the only UK date for US alt rock newbies Girls, another recommendation from Tim, and whose “Father, Son, Holy Ghost” album was a late grower in 2011, pitching between the textural, monotone yet absorbing style of Boston’s Wheat, a bit of seemingly de rigueur Buddy Holly style 50’s soda bar doo-wop balladry, and some clean, understated vocal harmonies which for me recalled Gigolo Aunts. High praise indeed, so off we go!

Tim and Trace picked me up early and unprepared at 5.30, and we scooted off to old stamping grounds Kentish Town, getting lost twice north of Camden (!) but still parking up the road from the Forum just after 8. The old place had clearly had some TLC since my last trip here, looking re-floored, opened out and spruced up somewhat. We took more notice of support Weird Dreams this time, but after a good opening number, with some harmonic jangle recalling Attic Lights, they tailed off into pleasant but unremarkable wallpaper pop. Again.

The place was packed and uncomfortably warm (no air-con on; bah!), with an unusual high proportion of, erm, girls, amongst this very young crowd. Is Girls mainman Christopher Owens this generation’s opiate-fuelled slacker sex symbol, I wondered; an Evan Dando for the new millennium? Anyway, the lights dimmed at 20 to 10 and the 8 piece band, led on by Owens, a diminutive floppy haired blond, dapper in white blazer and spotty tie, took the flower-bouquet festooned stage to a frenzied welcome, and eased into plaintive, slow burn opener “My Ma”.

The set initially passed in a haze of blissful sun-kissed Californian psych-pop, warm and redolent of both 50s and 60s; all very lovely, but I couldn’t help feeling it needed a kick-start. A strident middle eight to the comparatively rockier “Ghost Mouth”, half a dozen numbers in, nearly provided it, but then the impressively larynxed main female backing vocalist exhorted the crowd to, “make some noise!” and handclap the intro to “Alex”. This, easily their best number anyway, was magnificent, a slice of tempo-changing and absorbing lushness reminiscent of The Drop Nineteen’s classic “Winona”. “Vomit” followed, the moody, claustrophobic “Creep”-like first part descending into Husker Du wig-out guitar noise (unsurprising, given Owens’ hardcore roots) then clearing into almost Motown-like soul confessional, with a thunderous climax greeted by an equally thunderous – and lengthy – ovation. “Hellhole Ratrace” took a similar route, with a stark refrain, “I don’t wanna cry, my whole life through…” looping over and over, as the musical backdrop changed from plaintive balladry to a stormy Seafood-like feedback squall. A wonderful mid-set triad!

As if needing to clear the air, Owens steered the set into calmer, more Summery waters again, with a stripped back “Forgiveness”, before “Lust For Life” closed it out with a moshpit receiving this upbeat and surprisingly conventional pop number. A 3 song encore, the best number of which was the opener, the galloping, chuntering “Honey Bunny”, preceded the otherwise taciturn Owens thanking the enthusiastic crowd profusely for coming, and the band hurling the flowers into the audience. A fitting and inclusive end to a very fine set.

I grabbed a set-list, thanks to a friendly bouncer, before a few diversions and an unscheduled trip along the A40M to pick up the M25, thus avoiding M4 junction closures, saw us arrive home about ¼ to 1. A heavy going journey home, but Girls made it worth the effort!