1,245 THE SPIELBERGS, Muttering, Bristol The Lanes, Wednesday 28th September 2022

 The Spielbergs, Oslo’s hairy rabble of grunge slackers and Superchunk acolytes, announced a new album this year in their sophomore effort “Vestli” and a subsequent UK tour, which took in a Bristol gig at The Lanes, a new venue to me but one which I became briefly familiar with earlier this year, due to my grabbing a drink there before June’s Peaness gig at Rough Trade Records opposite (gig 1.232)! I downloaded the album and on early listens it even cranks up the heavy grunge noise, evident on their splendid 2019 debut “This Is Not The End”, a few hundred notches, recalling the likes of “Colour And Shape”-era Foo Fighters and Dinosaur Jr. as well as the previously evident Superchunk comps, particularly in mop-headed vocalist Mads’ helium vocals. Likey to be noisy, then, this one…

 Tix were “Pay What You Want” so I splashed out a fiver (hey, big spender!), deciding to stick with this one despite The Lemonheads announcing a “Shame About Ray” run-through at the O2 Academy across town on the same night; none of my Boston rock pals in Evan’s band this time, and with the excellent Basement Revolver (who’d supported Evan and Co. across Europe this Summer) also absent, I decided against giving Mr. Dando (admittedly a long-time musical icon of mine) another opportunity to disappoint me… So, still suffering the after-effects of my recent flu bug, I hit the road mid-evening for a gentle economy drive down the M4, parking in the previously horrendously expensive Nelson Street NCP (note to self – it’s a quid cheaper than Rupert Street now!) and hitting this evocatively dingy venue just after 8.15, only to find “PAYG” had morphed into “Free Gig”. Bah! Despite this, only a couple of dozen hardy punters were present early doors (possibly the legacy of that Lemonheads gig?) to welcome Brighton/ Peckham trio Muttering onstage at 8.30. Led by an elegantly dishevelled vocalist/ bassist resembling a taller Sebastian Vettel (!), they played some dour and doomy tales of despair and 21^st Century angst (“look at those broken dreams” and “I can feel Armageddon calling me” being 2 typically cheerful couplets) over a dissonant alt-rock/ post grunge guitar attack, some urgent and insistent repetitive riffery and stop/start drum patterns recalling Primus or Sonic Youth, particularly in their faster numbers. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” the vocalist offered by way of explanation, although he briefly lifted the mood by leading a debate about the merits of bowling! Despite the lyrical gloom, I found this a promising if embryonic set. Not bad at all…

 A few more punters ambled in from the adjacent bowling alleys (The Lanes… geddit?) but attendance was still fairly sparse by the time The Spielbergs took the stage at 9.30, after milling around for a few minutes by my “leaning post” house left spot, at the end of the bar. Squalling feedback and a casual, “hello guys,” from Mads heralded their high-octane opener and “Vestli” track 1 “The New Year’s Resolution”, segueing into the thrashy riffery and backbeat verse of “When They Come For Me”, The Spielbergs’ usual pattern of full-on guitar onslaught and punchy, hooky chorus lines overlaid with Mads’ yearning, Superchunk-like, one-octave-higher-than-comfortable vocal yelps, already well in evidence. “We’re so happy to be back in Bristol – our favourite city ever!” gushed the profusely curly-maned vocalist before announcing, “It’s [keyboardist] Ole’s birthday!” and kicking into slightly slower, Dinosaur Jr.-esque slacker rock oldie “Five On It”, followed by my set highlight “Running All The Way Home”, an undulating and insistent rocker with a huge hook, which would be a stadium anthem in any sane universe. Splendid stuff!

 “We’re trying to educate [our English fans] in Norwegian culture… so “Skol!” means “Cheers!”” announced bassist Stian before a slower, more considered “You Can Be Yourself With Me”, and the extended heavy jam outro of “Familiar”. The Foo Fighters’ “My Hero” companion piece “Me And My Friends” and the amphetamine rollercoaster rocker “We Are All Going To Die” rounded off a 50 minute set of fine grungy rock which, honestly, wasn’t as noisy as I’d anticipated but was still powerful and strident, the boys peeling off one by one and leaving the stage as they’d arrived, with Mads’ guitar firing squalling feedback through the monitors. No list and no encore, so no “Distant Star” tonight (“next time!” Mads reassured me with a pat of his meaty paw on my shoulder) so, flagging a little, I hit the road promptly for another gentle drive home, back just after 11. Despite my lack of energy tonight, I still enjoyed this forceful and propulsive set from this Oslo rabble, and I’m happy I stuck with them rather than heading off to the O2. So, one word for The Spielbergs; Skol!

1,244 SPORTS TEAM, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 25th September 2022

 

(Not my list - courtesy of the chap behind us in the signing queue - drop me a comment and I'll give you a namecheck, young man!)

even later call for this one! Rising stars and barnstorming post-millennial indie rockers Sports Team had impressed mightily at last month’s Victorious Festival (gig 1,240) with a set replete with “spritely spunky youthful spunky spriteliness” (I know, bloody articulate, me!), putting them firmly on our radar. Unfortunately, their forthcoming, primarily O2 Academy-based, jaunt in support of sophomore album “Gulp!” fell right in the middle of an already-hectic October, their closest gigs to the ‘don clashing with other arrangements. Also, this enticing Bristol Rough Trade in-store and signing sesh had already long-sold out by this time. Bah! Serves me right for being late to the party for this lot, I mused as I absent-mindedly put my name down on the waiting list… a decision that ultimately paid dividends, as I got a text whilst sitting down for lunch today, saying a couple of tix had become available and were being reserved for a brief time. Result! I snapped them up toot sweet, and made plans for an unexpected evening’s rock…

 Drove an enthusiastic Logan down the M4 just before 6, parking up and joining the long queue to get in; a hotly anticipated one, this, no messin’… despite that, we grabbed our free CDs and headed into the small back room venue, pitching up only a couple of rows from the front, house right. Nice! Chatted with a mum who’d brought her lad along too – he was only 8, which brought back memories of when I started taking my now 15-year old and much taller young man to gigs! Gig mates Andy and Mandy unexpectedly turned up as well, so the time passed swiftly before Sports Team joined us; diminutive keyboardist Ben Mack first, setting off a synth pulse dancebeat, then the rest of this 6-piece band somehow squeezed onstage, towering vocalist Alex Rice deadpanning, “that’s the first track!” as the synth beat faded.

 
We were then however straight into new album opener “The Game”, with Sports Team, as Suede did last Sunday (gig 1,242), mostly concentrating on their new material for this 45 minute “vignette” of a set. And also like Suede, they impressed from the off with a dynamic, raucous and rambunctious performance of said bright, bouncy and upbeat new numbers. Veering a little away from the slightly tinny, Strokes-like dynamics which seemed to permeate their debut “Deep Down Happy” (on the couple of listens I’ve given it recently, at least!), the “Gulp!” numbers are more immediate, with some brain-hugging shout-along, fists-aloft anthemic choruses and hooks at their core. And in young Mr. Rice, they have a very impressive frontman, his expansive young Julian Cope-like swagger keeping him just the right side of arrogance, leaning into the baying crowd and firing out homespun lyrical vignettes with the nasal brashness of Figgs/ Gentlemen singer Mike Gent (a bit of a niche reference there, but sorry, that’s who popped into my head!).

 Following “The Drop”’s dramatic sleazoid hook, the gregarious Alex asked the crowd, “who are we up against in the charts?” eliciting a horde of catcalling feedback; then, to cheers, Sports Team delved back for oldie “M5”, which featured a itchy, descending verse beat similar to Violent Femmes’ classic “Gone Daddy Gone” and a huge chorus. By this time I’d lost Logan to the mosh, but could occasionally pick out glimpses of him in there, singing away at the top of his lungs. Proud dad moment, hashtag myworkhereisdone. etc… The Woodentopsy rockabilly beat of “Unstuck” segued into an infectiously groovy “R Entertainment”, before “Happy” saw a circle pit emerge, Logan sensibly keeping to its peripheries. Then, before the knockabout melody and flippant, raucous energy of set closer “Here’s The Thing”, Alex announced he was trying to get rid of their old car (a Piagi?) “because the door comes off!”, a front-row punter offering to swap his own Peugeot 107 for it! A slightly bizarre way to end a fun set; hardly ground-breaking, envelope-pushing or cutting edge, this is just honest upbeat indie rock which stands or falls on the tunes. Good thing then that Sports Team have those in brass bucketfuls. And clearly Logan, particularly, loved it!

 

Just missed out on a list (all promised elsewhere), but we then queued up next to a couple of young fans, including a chap who at 20 was already keeping records of all his gigs. Keep it up, young man! Eventually met the band for pix and brief chats (centring around Logan’s gig history and my wife’s lasagne, oddly enough!), leaving them for a swift drive home with a salient comment, evidenced by Logan’s disappearance into the mosh; “for the last 7 years I’ve been bringing my son to see my bands… tonight it looks as if he may have found his band!”

1,243 KIWI JR., The Roves, London Oxford Street 100 Club, Tuesday 20th September 2022

 

A late call on this one; I’d picked up on Toronto’s effervescent C86-influenced indie popsters and Jonathan Richman acolytes Kiwi Jr. thanks to their ramshackle but charming 2020 debut “Football Money”. Their splendid “Murder In The Cathedral” was an unfortunate late casualty in the brutal editing process for my rather stacked 2020 “Best Of” compo CD, and this somehow led me to blank on their 2021 sophomore effort “Cooler Returns” altogether. Oops! Prolific bunch as this lot are, they kept up their one album per year pace (typical in the 1980s but rare these days) with the “difficult” third album, “Chopper” which received rave reviews across the board. Intrigued, I didn’t let this one slip through the net, and good thing too; whilst retaining their quirky gauche charm, this is a more coherent and (whisper it) mature album, with quality and clever song writing underpinning their upbeat indie jangle, now also augmented with a dash of keys. An almost dead cert for inclusion on my “Best Of” for 2022, so a gig was in order if they were across this side of the pond. A Tuesday in London was the closest to the ‘don, so up we go…

 Tim was keen as well, so he picked me up early for a difficult egress out of town, then plain sailing to Osterley and easy tube into Soho. As we were so early, we grabbed a drink in Wardour Street’s Ship Inn, then hit the deserted downstairs Oxford Street venue at 7.45, grabbing front row seats in the “Miley Position” to the far left of the stage (so called because that was where Miley Cyrus set up camp to watch her “backing band”, American Hi-Fi, during their May 2014 visit here, gig 915!). Chatted and soaked in the atmosphere of this storied venue, scene of many a seminal early punk gig, as intrigued punters trickled in. Openers The Roves kicked off at 8.30 prompt; an eclectic looking bunch, they opened with a chunky mid-paced number (“Uptown”?) with a melodic Summery vibe and some nice 3 part harmonies. Hopes that this lot might have been an impressive new find were however slightly dashed as their subsequent material merged into a pleasant if forgettable countrified mulch, as if “Howdy”-era Teenage Fanclub or The Thrills had been reinvented as a bar room blues band from Nebraska. The upbeat “Dance To The Jamboree” was the best of a slightly lengthy-feeling set with a decent vibe but average material. Seen worse, though…

 Kept our seats, now under the cold air-blowing air conditioning which was making me slightly regret going t-shirt only, as the place filled up to a more respectable level for Kiwi Jr’s set at 9.30. A studious looking bunch of chaps led on by vocalist Jeremy Gaudet, who resembled my mate Andy Fenton if he’d been stretched on a rack (!), they eased into the upbeat discordant melody of “Chopper” opener “Unspeakable”, followed in short order by the bright, summery “Guilty” and the more frantic backbeat strumalong of the aforementioned “Murder In The Cathedral”, an early highlight for me. “How are you doing on a Tuesday?” Feels good!”, drawled Jeremy before the deadpan slacker vibe of oldie “Salary Man”, which featured a nice “Sloop John B” lyrical homage, and the tougher, almost punky “Changes”, which was underpinned by a nice descending riff and which also fooled us all with a false finish.

 

“Bouncers! These are the weirdo fans who came to see us twice!” Jeremy announced after recognising some shouts from the previous night’s gig at the Dalston Victoria, before “Night Vision”, my current favourite from “Chopper”, a darker and more metronomic beastie with an undulating vocal line. My set highlight overall, although a later “Cooler Returns”, featuring a riff nicked from The Buzzcocks’ seminal “Boredom” ran it close. The frantic, Rolling Blackouts-esque “Downtown Area Blues” (“I got lost in Soho earlier, so I’m really feeling it!” quipped Jeremy) finished off a brisk and fun hour’s slacker indiepop; not original by any means and lacking some variation for me at this stage, but overall some well crafted and constructed numbers played with a wry, laconic and laid-back style.

 An impromptu encore run-through of oldie “Wicked Witches” ended proceedings, before I waited patiently then invaded the stage for the drummers list (!). A walk back through Soho to Leicester Square tube then home for 1; all OK on the night, but the next morning the chills I’d felt under the air-conditioning had turned into a full-on nasty cold/ flu (Covid? Dunno, didn’t test, felt shit anyway so no point) which landed me in bed for 3 days and saddled me with a junkyard dog barking cough for longer. Bah! Still, a good night out with an old mate and a promising band, so overall worth the snuffles and sleep deprivation!

1,242 SUEDE, Bristol Fleece, Sunday 18th September 2022

 

Hold up… Suede? At The Fleece? Is this 1992 again, or what?

 Nope, there’s a simpler explanation… Rough Trade Bristol announced a short “instore” promo set for sleazoid glam Britpop survivors Suede, to celebrate the release of new album “Autofiction”; only due to anticipated demand, this one was moved from their usual c, 100ish capacity instore back room to the, ooh, 450ish capacity Fleece. Wow! Undeterred by a couple of recent more indifferent performances by these nonetheless Dance Card regulars and attracted at the prospect of seeing them at such close quarters (closest, in fact, since that June 1992 Windsor Old Trout gig, no. 211!), I booked tix immediately, luckily jumping in before they sold out in a matter of seconds. Subsequent reports also indicated “Autofiction” heralded a move away from the sweeping, orchestral and frankly a little bit dull atmospherics of their most recent release, 2018’s “The Blue Hour”, and back to a rawer, more primal sound (some even calling it Suede’s “punk rock” album!) if more encouragement was needed. Let’s see…

 A matinee show as well, so we left Jami at home with Maccy D lunch (Logan fishing in Brixham with his Uncle Andy) and hit the road at 12, weaving around the Cabot Circus queues and suffering a brief parking-mare (who knew daily street parking was 2 hours max? We only come here at night!) before joining the lengthy queue and chatting to a knowledgeable fellow punter, there with his father in law! Grabbed a drink and a spot house left, about 1/3^rd back (the front rows already rammed with eager punters) and talked rock to while away the short wait. Suede, led on by drummer Simon Gilbert, took the stage to little fanfare just after 2, vocalist Brett Anderson joining us last, already whipping the masses into a frenzy, exhorting them to louder and louder cheers. And straight into new album opener and leadoff single “She Still Leads Me On”, a rampant, robust bass line leading to a huge sweeping chorus, strident and raw, Anderson already hanging from the Fleece pillars and leaning over the audience (as he regularly did throughout, apart from a couple of incursions into the crowd!), leading the singalong. Woah. Midway through this startling opener, Rach turned to me and said, “it’s already better than Southampton (last time out for this lot in April 2019, gig 1,134),” and by its conclusion, plans were made to catch their tour proper, next March.

 Clearly invigorated by this excellent new material, Suede were brilliant this afternoon, playing like a band reborn, or almost like a brand new band (they’d done a secret gig recently under the name Crushed Kid, so maybe…), the performance full of power, passion and purpose. “Personality Disorder”, next up, was a dark backbeat beast with a stream of consciousness vocal from the energetic Anderson, “15 Again” could have stepped out of the 80’s Batcave days with a creepy, almost gothy guitar pattern, whilst the mid-paced “The Only Way I Can Love You” was the most “Suede” sounding number so far. The already profusely sweating Anderson (I always admire that in a performer, so well done sweaty Bretty!) finally paused for breath after 5 numbers, complimenting the crowd’s “Big Bristol welcome!” before delivering “Drive Myself Home”, a beautifully desolate late-night backstreet torch song for voice and piano only.

 

The dramatic pounding stomp of “Black Ice” continued the “Autofiction” virtual run-through (the boys playing the first 8 tracks in order, and only omitting one from this set), before a quite startling “Shadow Self”, a thrillingly ringing, urgent and insistent rocker unlike anything Suede had recorded before, and pretty much a shoe-in for my “Best Of 2022” comp CD. “What Am I Without You” was a widescreen Bowie-esque ballad which recalled his “Station To Station” period, before the soaking Anderson tested the crowd with a “really old song,” 2011’s “It Starts And Ends With You”, slightly struggling to hit the high notes but no surprise after the effort he’d put into this performance. An encore of the “Rock’N’Roll Suicide”-esque “Life Is Golden” for his son Lucien, backstage this afternoon, brought an astonishing hour to a close, easily the best I’d seen Suede since their reformation and maybe even the best ever…!

 Caught our breath and grabbed a list before heading off – weird to drive home in the daylight after a Fleece gig! However, this was well worth it; nothing short of a resurrection for this enduring band, and with “Autofiction” a potential Album Of The Year candidate. Hopes are high for their March 2023 tour now!

1,241 ADAM ANT, Laurie Black, Brighton Centre, Sunday 4th September 2022

 

Kicking off the Autumn 2022 Dance Card with the return of a recent “live” favourite, and a belated boy’s birthday weekend out! I’d seen 70’s art school “Sexmusic” punk rocker turned 80’s New Romantic icon turned 10’s (the decade, that is) “live” comeback king and National Treasure, Mr. Adam Ant, 9 times between 2011 and 2016, but not since that triumphant 2016 Bristol gig (no. 990), wherein he’d wowed us with a brilliant rendition of his 2^nd, breakthrough album, “Kings Of The Wild Frontier”. Live Ant sets since then had largely focussed on his subsequent solo oeuvre, hence my absence, but an opportunity arose earlier this year for a late shout on his current career-spanning “Antics” tour, around mine and Logan’s birthdays at the end of June. Tix were duly bought for this Brighton gig, rescheduled from March to my actual birthday on 24 June, only for it then to require further shunting due to Adam catching Covid. D’oh!

 Luckily, t’was nothing serious, and he and we could still make this rearranged date (2 days before Logan’s return to school – phew!). So, having made arrangements for an overnight stop at an old friend’s place in Worthing (Doug and Sarah, we salute you!), we headed off around lunchtime, hitting a sunny Brighton mid-afternoon for some retail therapy and fish and chips on the pier (warding off the predatory seagulls!). We walked past a massive queue for this seafront auditorium as we returned to the car to dump purchases, a predominantly older clientele with many bedecked in various versions of Adam’s personas (Hussar, tricorn hat pirates and dandy highwaymen aplenty!). However, doors had opened on our return and said queue had dissipated, so we wandered in at 6.45, hitting the merch stand then taking our excellent 3^rd row seats, house right, chatting with fellow punters to kill time. Opener Laurie Black was on at 7.45; a black and neon clad futurist punkette armed only with a synth/ beatbox arrangement, I initially feared a carcrash… however, following some laudable if obvious social commentary for starters on opener “Everything Is Shit”, she went all cosmic on us, with a number about the first woman on the moon (being particularly proud about rhyming “Godiva” with “vagina”!). I actually warmed to her and her Kraftwerk/ early Human League/ Landscape (!) esque robotic sheet synth, quirky humour (introducing her “band”, i.e. various parts of her “dystopiano”) and obvious enthusiasm about performing on such a large stage in her home town, even if I wasn’t so sure about her “Eurovision” song about cockroaches! Still, Adam’s had worse supports…

 A quick pic with Logan (sporting his new “Antmusic For Sexpeople” tshirt!) down the front before we took our places for Adam’s arrival, prompt at 8… only for half the audience to then abandon their seats in favour of the gaping area at the front of the stage as the lights smashed to black, and so did we! We therefore pitched up 3 rows back, dead centre stage in the enthusiastic throng as the band took the stage and kicked into the unmistakeable multi-layered drumbeat opening to “Antmusic”. Then, The Man appeared… Johnny Depp’s style forebearer, quite noticeably trimmer than recent gigs, resplendent in black button jacket and leathers with a slight touch of slate grey peering out from under his wide-brimmed straw boater, he looked magnificent, a King ready to reclaim his Wild Frontier. Snake hipped and immediately prowling the stage like a panther, he repeated the opening line with his distinctive vocal yelping style, before the song finally burst into life like a cork from a bottle of finest vintage champagne, and we knew we were in for a Very Special Night.

 

It was hard to comprehend the fact that we were watching the performance of a 67 year old man with a history of mental health issues; not only did he look at least half that, and perform with the energy, enthusiasm and vitality of a 20-something, but he also seemed totally relaxed, confident and at home onstage, seemingly free of all his demons. “Vive Le Rock” got the crowd whooping, but an early “Cleopatra” topped that with its’ glammy yet grubby sleazoid slow burn grunge. Adam donned the guitar for a taut, creepy “Ants Invasion” before informing us that the next number, “was written in the back of my dad’s light blue car, as rockers whizzed by at 100 mph,”; not “Cartrouble” as expected, but a sweeping, swooping and popular “Prince Charming”. Plenty of diversions back to my preferred earlier Sexmusic material early doors, though; “Digital Tenderness” was itchy, insistent and angular art-school punk, “It Doesn’t Matter” a dismissive, sneery bluesy growl, and a rampant “Fat Fun” was preceded by Adam admitting, “people ask me what was punk all about? I’ve no idea – except it was fast!”

 

Adam’s “manifesto” number, the Burundi double drumbeats and First Nation American yelping/ chanting of “Kings Of The Wild Frontier”, was as ever delivered with conviction to throw away, Adam notably pausing for breath, and to soak in a lengthy ovation, at its’ denouement. Then, an incredible, set-defining triple whammy: the brilliant pinprick riffery of “Zerox”, poignantly dedicated by Adam to his old friend and punk muse Jordan, lost earlier this year; a joyous, angular and singalong “Cartrouble”; then my set highlight, the frankly incendiary rollercoaster thrillride of “Beat My Guest”, causing me to totally lose my shit in my little space down the front, bad knees be damned. Wow. Just… wow.

 Unsurprisingly, the set drifted a little for me afterwards, perhaps just as well as I needed to catch my breath! Nonetheless Adam was still a lively and kinetic onstage presence through a slightly trite, almost lullaby-like “Something Girls”, via a spritely if throwaway “Los Rancheros” to the inevitable set closer “Stand And Deliver”, Adam conducting a lengthy singalong to the hook, rounding off an overall quite magnificently delivered set in a perfect, all-inclusive way. A couple of encores, capped with the grizzled, dramatic march of “Physical”, rounded off a 1 ¾ hour set which utterly rocketed by, despite the post “BMG” lull. We grabbed a couple of lists – including Adam’s rather large own list! – before hitting the road, arriving at Doug’s place and settling in before a rather violent electrical storm made landfall! A rather splendid “Breakfast Club” breakfast in Brighton the following morning, then more shopping before heading back, elated at a Covid delayed but totally worthwhile boys birthday outing, thanks to the shining and enduring star that is Adam Ant!

1,240 VICTORIOUS FESTIVAL 2022 (Saturday Only), Southsea Common and Seafront, Portsmouth, Saturday 27th August 2022

 

A month off gigs, then back in with a bang with a full-on Festival Day out by the sea! After the quagmire and Covid-hit debacle that was last year’s Wickham Festival, I was reluctant at best to revisit that one, and my enthusiasm for a boys Summer Fest day out there this year completely vanished when The Levellers were announced as headliners! Thankfully, this one reared its head as a potential alternative; Portsmouth’s Victorious Festival, now in its 10^th year, and well established as an August Bank Holiday alternative to the utterly dreadful line-ups that my 90’s hangout Reading Festival now churns out. I’d looked at this one before, finding previous line-ups a little too mainstream for my self-confessed obscure tastes, but a whole clutch of boy’s fave bands showed up together on the Saturday itinerary this year, led by Inhaler, one of my favourite discoveries of recent times and a band I had to miss last year due to Covid isolation (Rach took Logan and said they were amazing – bugger!). So we’re doing this one instead!

 Unfortunately, my dodgy knee well and truly let me down on a family holiday in Paris the previous week, and even on the day before the Fest (which was our travel day home) I could barely put any weight through it without experiencing shooting pain through the joint. Nonetheless, fully (heavily) strapped up and painkillered-up, Logan and I set off down a sun-drenched M4/ A34 route at 9.30, going cross country to avoid the really busy New Forest holiday traffic but still only pitching up on the outskirts of Pompey at 11.45 after a wrong turn or two. We then took ¾ hour to agonisingly pick our way through the city to our pre-booked car park, just behind the main Common Stage at the far west of this large, nearly Reading Festival-sized site. Got in and tramped around to get some water – the website said the bars would have free drinking water; they lie!!! – but we eventually got sorted. THE K’S were already onstage in front of a rapidly-filling audience, bashing out some purposeful sounding Jam-ish rawk, which culminated in a young fan being sent off crowd-surfing! An ersatz Sugababes line-up were up next as early afternoon “headliners”, but we had other plans!

 We took a slow amble to the back of the main arena and along Market Way, where the usual fest clothing stalls were located. I got used to how my knee was behaving, and Logan checked out and tried on a multitude of sunglasses (!), and we eventually pitched up at the smaller open-air Castle Stage (next to Southsea Castle, where I’d taken Evan for a day out, waay back in 2007!) midway through SWIM DEEP’s lunchtime set. I was sorry I’d missed the early knockings, as what I heard I thoroughly enjoyed; some building guitar/keyboard led dreampop atmospherics and slow burn widescreen drama, overlaid by some high-pitched vocals, initially recalling early Mew or the short-lived Temper Trap. Good stuff, culminating in “King City”, a bright, bouncy and singalong closer which got the crowd clapping along. Nice!

 

We grabbed a barrier slot, house right, and waited out the changeover; all stage changeovers were ½ hour, which seemed a long time, but that said, it likely enabled the running order to be kept on time, which it remained throughout – to the minute! Victorious: The Punctual Festival! So, COACH PARTY took the stage bang on 1.55, opener “What Do I Care” launching off like a pocket rocket, the mix initially dominated, almost suffocated, by the heavy guitar sound, remaining so for the undulating, almost doo-wop “3 Kisses”, but thankfully clearing up for a flippant “Everybody Hates Me”, some grungy Pixies-ish ascending riffery nonetheless the feature of the best sounding number so far. The band themselves, however, were on good form, fully road tested after a number of Festival gigs (including a support slot for French band Indochrine at the 96,000 capacity Parc Des Princes!), and vocalist Jess was in relaxed mood; “we’ve been here a couple of hours and no-one’s asked me for pills yet! I’ve [normally] got a pilly face...!”

 A headlong, punkish “Shit TV” preceded a debate about how many of the audience had seen The Sugababes’ mainstage set, which culminated in a “fuck the Sugababes!” chant! The hurtling “Breakdown” then featured a mid-song dead stop before some cacophonous riffery and primal screaming from guitarist Steph, and “FLAG”’s strident, fist-pumping choral drama then ceded to the already indiepop classic finale, the brilliant “Can’t Talk, Won’t”, rounding off a non-stop, breathless and action – packed half hour from these increasingly promising IOW newcomers.

 Took a slow amble back after catching our breath, running into Stayawakes bassist Pete, there with friends and his baby daughter! A quick chat before wandering back into the main arena where the blue overall-clad DODIE was just rounding off her mainstream pop set with a number about a train driver, to Hockey International-level screams from her young female massive. Thankfully they cleared out and we were again able to get some barrier, house right, for a proper Common Stage double whammy!

 

“Hello to all and sundry!” announced a familiar grey-mopped figure promptly at 3.30; “we’re a band called WE ARE SCIENTISTS and we think we’re the best band called We Are Scientists!” Keith Murray (for t’was he) then proceeded to underline that “best band” claim, leading the trio through a superb set of itchy, angular post-punk and bright, singalong powerpop. The Wannadies-esque racey, pacey opener “You’ve Lost Your Shit” led into the dramatic chugging backbeat of “Buckle”, and an entertaining between-band debate about work, Keith coming to the realisation, “shit, I AM at work! And so are you [Chris]!” The pounding, circular riff and soaring, Silver Sun helium chorus of “Contact High” was a breathless, brilliant set highlight, but in all honesty every one was a winner. I’d done my homework after their fine December 2021 Trinity set (gig 1,203) so was able this time to recognise and sing along to every number, from the hooky, angular “It’s A Hit”, through the taut, funky Talking Heads on speed “I Cut My Own Hair” (which featured a mid-song pregnant pause, Keith asking the crowd to keep to the clapping tempo for 7 minutes!), via the thrusting, pinprick rhythm of oldie “Nobody Move” to the final anthemic number “After Hours”, which concluded an expertly and energetically delivered Festival set, ultimately my favourite of the day.

 

We were all in for the next lot as well though, so stayed on our barrier spot as a WAS roadie tracked down a mixing desk setlist for me (lists being hard to come by, today). Chap! Another half hour wait, but this time along with a larger and more enthusiastic and anticipatory crowd, comprising a lot of conspicuously young ladies. No surprise really, the young gentlemen of INHALER are quite the bunch of lookers, as well as a very promising young guitar band, with vocalist Eli Hewson (son of U2’s Bono, and currently the same age as his old man when he and his schoolboy chums delivered their second and best album, “October”, waaay back in 1981) a tousled rock heart throb in the making. Bugger the looks and lineage though, for me it’s all about the tunes; Inhaler may be silver spoon boys, but that only gets you through the door, and then you need quality songs to stop you getting kicked back out of the room. Opener “It Won’t Always Be like This” immediately showed they have those, with an immediate soaring singalong to the stadium-sized hook, and newie “Move On” was equally pacey, albeit darker and more Cure-like. No one-trick post-punk ponies these, though, as “Why Does It Hurt” was a looser limbed and dancier number, although featuring hints of “Joshua Tree”-era U2 atmosphere and space. “Who’s Your Money On” saw Eli exhort his young followers to jump along in his thick Irish brogue, and the urgent, fire-alarm clatter of “When It Breaks” incited a moshpit behind us to the brief concern of the bouncers.

 Newie “These Are The Days” was a blue collar rocker recalling Springsteen or even The Boomtown Rats (!), and the double salvo of “Cheer Up Baby” and an excellent, albeit slightly thin sounding, “My Honest Face” ended a fine set, one which I’d now like to see indoors at closer quarters. Showing a little inexperience on the big stage (particularly in comparison to their 7 album, 15 year veteran predecessors We Are Scientists), this was nonetheless a fine showing from a band seriously going places, if they can deliver on their promise with the “difficult” second album, due soon…

 

That was our afternoon Common Stage entertainment, and this took us up to 5.10… and teatime! So we took another slow amble along Market Way and grabbed some dirty burgers and fries from the eaterie with the shortest queue, then bumped into Coach Party’s Steph for a quick chat about that Parc Des Princes gig (!), before plonking down on a boulder for tea. Still a paucity of seats around the site, despite claims to the contrary… anyhoo, back into the nearby Castle stage for SPORTS TEAM, whose upbeat and optimistic bouncy Britpoppy/ indie set was enthusiastic and effervescent, full of spritely spunky youthful spunky spriteliness (as I said to Logan!), and in vocalist Alex Rice, featured an energetic, all-action and kinetic stage presence. Well, not just the stage, as it turned out… “Our Entertainment” was a breathless stomper, “New Day” got the young ST massive jumping about, kicking up a dustbowl moshpit, and a fast, frisky “Going Fishing” slowed for a huge singalong chorus. A few tongue-in-cheek anti-Reading Fest comments were fun, before Alex clambered atop the speaker stack to deliver the vocal to the bolshy “Ashton Kutcher” before going one better, launching into the crowd in front of us and crowdsurfing a considerable distance out during the Doors-like 60’s psych wig-out final number!

 

The ST massive cleared out then as dusk started to fall, the crepuscular light seeming to be the perfect backdrop for WHITE LIES. I was wondering how their more studied and studious pseudo-gothy 80’s oeuvre would follow on from the seat-of-your-pants bounciness of Sports Team, but from the moment they took the stage prompt at 7.10 to a rapturous welcome and launched into the strafing guitar assault of opener “Farewell To The Fairground”, they were “on it”, the mid-song dead stop and hook singalong providing a startling juxtaposition to the wall of guitar sound, but also adding drama and gravitas. A speeded-up “To Lose My Life” followed, slowing for the audience-chanted choral hook, and newie “Am I Really Gonna Die” was a smooth synth-pop delight. The mid-set “Big TV” sheet metal Visage-like synth hook was an unexpected clapalong, the crowd well engaged in this fine performance from the boys, but all things were leading up to the double whammy finish…

 Charles Caves’ epic growling bass line heralded penultimate number “Death”, the tempo slowing considerably twice for the “fear’s got a hold of me” hook, before launching into huge impressive life for the denouement. Then set closer, the stabbing keyboard intro to a soaring, anthemic “Bigger Than Us” rounded off a set not completely bereft of flaws (Harry’s voice in particular sounding a little raspy and road-weary, occasionally straining at the top end), but well chosen and overall rather splendid.

 This took us to 8 – Logan double-queued for churros in the dusty and dusky gloom, and we wandered back into the now-packed main arena where THE WOMBATS were kicking up a rowdy, rabble-rousing but eminently forgettable Arctic Monkeys-lite noise on the Common Stage. After grabbing some water and taking a watching brief, however, my knee cried “enough”, so we forewent the potential hike back and hour’s wait for Castle headliners Bastille, instead sneaking through the Common Backstage to the car park thanks to a kindly steward who took pity on my hobbling. Home at 10.30 after a generally quite successful day; more places to sit would be nice, but maybe I was only more cognisant of this due to my bad knee. More importantly, everyone we wanted to see delivered big time, with We Are Scientists winning Band Of The Day for me, Logan going for White Lies. Overall, a great day out, living up to its name; Victorious!

1,239 SI AND MATT HALL, Jim Blair and Hip Route, Swindon The Tuppenny, Thursday 28th July 2022

 

“We’d like to thank Covid 19 for our second headline show of the year!” deadpanned Si at the start of their set tonight, this (very!) short notice replacement gig being due to tonight’s intended headliners at The Tuppenny’s regular Thursday night Music Club testing positive for the dreaded ‘rona. Thankfully no-one was really ill from it (hence Si feeling able to make the above comment!), but this gave me a local gig on an otherwise quiet Thursday, catching up with the brothers Hall, former mainstays of Raze*Rebuild, one of my favourite bands of recent times, and now ploughing a more acoustic version of said band’s blend of Springsteen-esque heartland Americana and Mould-esque hooky popcore sonic assault. A combination of family commitments and lack of funds meant I missed their recent “My Dad’s” Festival set, but having caught them last month at The Beehive (gig 1,233) I knew Si and Matt were in fine form. So here we go!

 Parked in a free sidestreet spot after finding my now-preferred free-after-6 car park was full, and wandered around to the ‘Tupp just after 8, chatting with Matt about our kids (!). Local mainstay Jim Blair, who’d also thrown his hat in the ring as a late replacement tonight, was just finishing sound-checking, and, along with Hip Route bass partner John, started their duet set shortly afterwards. Jim, a flared trousered, barefoot rocker with the soul and husky, grizzled voice of a Mississippi Delta bluesman, and his baseball-capped cohort John laid down some down and dirty old school swampy blues, slightly affected by speaker issues (promoter and soundman Ed Dyer remarking someone had thrown a glass of whisky over it!) but with Jim’s highly proficient and intricate fretwork a feature, particularly after switching to a lap steel for the set’s denouement. The slow burn to noisy crescendo of “Find My Way” and closer, a growling rendition of the old standard “Come Together” were highlights of a good set. Still not to my usual tastes, but my narrow-minded ears are still suitably educated to recognise talent. And these boys have that…

 An entertaining between-sets discourse with Ed (or should I say, “Teddy”?!) before I had a pre-gig chat with Si about his recent hand issues – the new guitar helps, but he needs to educate his muscle memory into playing softer and gripping less hard! As we mentioned before, you can take the boy out of the punk band, I guess, but…! Further evidence of that, as Si and Matt kicked in at 9.40 with a smooth “Rhythm And Rhyme”, came from his one foot back, forward leaning stance to deliver his somewhat reined-in yet no less authoritative vocals. Following an early, melancholy “Slow Burn”, the toilet-circuit road movie soundtrack “Face For Radio” was introduced as “a Raze*Rebuild song,” some wag down the front (OK, me…) commenting that it was on their Coasters EP, Si then quipping, “we changed our name [to Raze*Rebuild] as we got requests for “Yakity Yak”!”

 

I’ve always said one sign of a great song is the performer’s ability to deliver it “live” in radically different ways; that being the case, Si and Matt write great songs. Full stop. The formerly galloping rocker “Troubled Minds” turned into a deliciously austere self-examination, while the multiple tumbling hooks of a later “Back To The Fall”, my favourite Raze number, would sound great in any setting, and even a slight middle-8 miscue from Matt (causing Si to come back with the subsequent amended hook of, “Matthew Hall, Matthew Hall…”!) didn’t detract from its excellence for me. In between, newie “Keep Distracted” lamented a partner’s absence abroad, and the atmospheric “You’re The Chalk” saw Si give his voice full beans (possibly a little too many!); then the galloping hoedown closer “Audiobook” again reflected a journey from youthful punk rock indignation to middle (r)age cynicism (and featuring the brilliant line, “can I smash the system while seated – and in comfortable shoes?”), rounding off another fine set.

 Quick chat with the boys afterwards (Si reckoning they were just “OK” tonight, but what does he know – he never watches his own gigs!) and a lengthier discourse with Ed about the importance of continuing to attend events in these troubled and financially pressured times, before I threw a fiver in the tip jar and headed home. As I mentioned, I’m glad the scheduled performer is alright, but even happier for their absence tonight, and another chance to catch up with, and be entertained by, this talented duo!