The best gigs are the squeezed-in gigs that you only find out about on the day they happen.
Frankie And The Heartstrings playing twenty minutes away? Yes please!
Never mind that this is Bath city centre we’re talking about, where everybody is so rich they have three cars each, and they all make a point of parking them all by the side of the roads of an evening, on the double yellow lines, in the disabled spaces, up trees, the lot.
I decide that I don’t want to give Bath City Council sixty quid so find a proper car park and ascend the mountain to where Moles Club is situated.
Haven’t been here in a very long while – the last time was a comedy gig circa ’96. My Gran had just died and my mate persuaded me to go out to cheer me up. One of the acts (Mike Gunn) dressed as an undertaker and did a whole routine about shagging his dead grandmother.
To be fair, it did make me laugh. Don’t judge me.
Didn’t really feel like I could go up to him afterwards to say thank you though, for fear of traumatising him into retirement. He’s still going strong on the circuit now, so I feel vindicated and not a little proud that he was able to continue his career thanks to my sensitivity.
Sorry that was a bit of a downer. Its OK, my Gran had a good long life, she was in her late eighties and didn’t suffer.
Frankie And The Heartstrings’ first elpee was one of my faves of 2011, came out of nowhere, 34 minutes of short, superbly crafted pop songs that reminded me at least of how Dexys Midnight Runners would have sounded as a pop band with no horns.
Singer Frankie Francis’ yelping delivery is pure Kevin Rowland and the band are exactly right – no huge solos, everything perfectly tailored for the needs of the song.
Check this Blue Peter style video for “Hunger” too.
And the new album’s only produced by Bernard smegging Butler, that’s all!
And they’ve just dropped a new free taster track from their new album (out in the noo year) –
They do four new numbers this evening, all instant classics – it says quite a lot when people sing along to a song they’ve never heard before.
The club is more than half-full, a great time is had by all.
People dance. And not just girls.
Setlist (courtesy of http://lilmissmosher.wordpress.com/ – thanks Miss Mosher. Great blog btw, you should all check her out)
This band is a bit special, and indeed about the time I write this they will be going onstage in Cardiff supporting The Cribs on their nationwide tour, which should give them the exposure they deserve.
All together now – “I’ll be yours – you’ll be mine – I’ll feed you milk – I’ll bring you wine”
There was this awkward, shy, Asian lad from South London.
He lived in an area where there were at best three or four non-white families and while he was growing up he was subject to regular racially-based jollity from the less tolerant neighbours and occasional threatened violence.
He was a pretty good runner so managed to avoid it becoming actual violence though 8=)
1976/77 was an awkward time to look different in London. The National Front was on the rise. (For younger readers, they were like the British National Party only they didn’t really bother to try to appear respectable)
They were gaining massive ground, certainly in London where at one point an opinion poll gave them 20% of the vote.
There was also this youth movement going on, based on some loud, fast guitar-based music people called punk rock.
The major figures (as far as this boy was concerned) were The Clash and the Sex Pistols.
The Clash released a song called “White Riot”, which on casual listening seemed to have troublesome lyrics that were certainly not intended by the song’s writers.
The Sex Pistols didn’t seem to be as political as The Clash, but they rocketed to national infamy after swearing on live teatime television.
The people who liked these bands dressed very strangely – torn jeans, weird,menacing haircuts and the occasional swastika.
The National Front saw this, and made certain assumptions about punks. The boy was a bit worried about this, although he loved the music. There were reports of the NF infiltrating gigs to try and recruit.
Then two things happened. The singer of the Clash introduced their version of the reggae classic “Police And Thieves” song on stage with the words
“This is a song written by a wog, and anyone who doesn’t like wogs can fuck off”.
And in the run-up to the local elections, the lead singer of the Sex Pistols, a skinny, gobby, weird looking fucker called Johnny Rotten, whose quotes in the press and on TV mainly consisted of snarly put-downs and pisstaking, said the following about the National Front
“How can anyone vote for something so ridiculously inhuman?”
A clear, clear statement from the punk movement’s main figure that the racists were not cool.
Now this may not sound like a big deal in an era when anti-racism in all musicians is taken for granted, but believe me, back then it really meant something
The boy looked at Johnny and said “thanks mate”.
Part Two – The Man Looked At John (2012)
“Hello Bristol. Country Life. Do you want to see my knob of butter?”
John Lydon comes in for a lot of stick, some of it perhaps justified.
I know all about the butter adverts – but I can’t really complain about people “selling out” when I am currently working on a contract for a insurance company.
And the Pistols never claimed to be communists, did they?
And the stuff in the jungle on “I’m A Celebrity” was brilliant. I still maintain the old bugger walked out because he realised he was in danger of winning and becoming a National Treasure.
I’ve deliberately stayed away from the various Sex Pistols nostalgia-fests. Some things are best left in the past.
But Public Image Limited are a different matter. From the start, they were different, as far as you could get from the expected “John’s punk band” when the Pistols imploded.
Always managed to miss seeing them live though until this evening. I’m far more excited about it than a man of my age should be, strictly speaking.
PiL start with “This Is Not A Love Song” and within a couple of numbers its clear where the inspiration comes from – this is basically a white rock band playing with a dub reggae sensibility. Scotty’s concrete piledriver bass is an excellent rendition of Jah Wobble’s work on “Public Image” and “Metal Box”. What really gets me is how bloody danceable this all is – in ’79 you wouldn’t have DANCED to Albatross, but tonight it’s impossible not to.
PiL play for two hours, and for once, an old band playing the songs from the new album is if anything better than the greatest hits.
“Reggie Song”, “Deeper Water”, “One Drop” and “Lollipop Opera” (below) are all instant classics, fitting in seamlessly with the back catalogue.
If the gig has a low point – and in two hours this is inevitable – its some of the late eighties stuff where the band went all stadium rock. I do like “Rise” but I’m bemused that it gets the biggest reception of the evening.
Highlight for me is a powerful extended version of “Religion II” with blood-red stage lighting giving the impression of a church – a scary memory for all lapsed Catholic boys, on stage and off.
“Thirty years and you’re still scared of me. I am your friend. Your special friend.”
PiL were a long way ahead of their time, so they never really got the major recognition they deserved – and it always looked to nme as if Lydon was too concerned with being the outsider to play the game and clean up financially – and you have to respect that, I think.
Only in the past ten years, with record deals hard to come by and careering into middle age, has he mellowed to the point where he appears on TV and radio shows
He’s still prepared to play Johnny Rotten (see his recent appearance on Question Time). I didn’t watch it, to be honest – I didn’t need to, I knew exactly what he’d do and I was too busy listening to the new album.
Awesome evening, well pleased, and if my other Catholic musical hero can deliver as much next year I will probably be able to die a happy man.
The Wurzels – Walkabout, Bristol Thursday July 5th
It was a good time to be fourteen in the long, hot summer of 1976.
I was living in London and just discovering that not only were these things called “girls” actually quite interesting, some of them seemed to be interested in me, too…
The soundtrack to that summer was provided by such quality acts as John Miles (“music was my first hit – and it will be my last”), Showaddywaddy (“Under The Moon Of Love”) and Abba.
All very safe, and very dull. It was time for a change, a new sound. A sound from the streets that would make people sit up and take notice. A sound that would define a generation. Once you heard this song, nothing would ever be quite the same again.
The Wurzels had been going since 1967 as Adge Cutler And The Wurzels. Adge sadly died in a car crash in 1974 but just as Joy Division were later to morph into New Order and create a more commercial sound, so too did The Wurzels carry on.
They began to mess around with the lyrics of old hits and scored massively with the above Combine Harvester, which went to No. 1, I Am A Cider Drinker and Farmer Bill’s Cowman.
I found out years later that the actual immediate follow-up single to Harvester was “One For The Morning Glory”, the subject matter of which meant it was pretty unlikely to garner any airplay. It DID get on “The Arrows” teatime pop show on ITV though.
As a snotty kid from Sarf Lunnon watching Top Of The Pops, they seemed to come from another planet – far more so than the Sex Pistols.
The Wurzels enjoyed something of a renaissance in the noughties with their covers album which mocked their former rivals with its clever play on words in the title and cover.
West Cuntry Music at its finest
This included the likes of “Chelsea Dagger” and “Oo Ah Just A Little Bit” (Yes it works. Sing it in a West Country accent . See?) as well as possibly their finest hour – a cover of Oasis’s “Don’t Look Back In Anger” which is every bit as great as it sounds in your head.
They also did a split single (on good old vinyl) with the mighty British Sea Power on which they covered BSP’s “Remember Me” while BSP did a scuzzed out take on “I Am A Cider Drinker”
Incredibly, the Wurzels are still going strong today with two of the classic ’76 line up
I managed to get two tickets cheap from Sally at work for their gig at the Walkabout in Bristol. I have no idea where she gets these things from. Its best not to ask.
After a couple of rejections for the second ticket I eventually twisted the arm of old rocker Dave – ten thousand CDs and two ex-wives, an encyclopediac knowledge of rock music up to about 1985.
They were fantastic. Really tight band, as you’d expect from the time they’ve spent together. They did the hits, and a LOT of the old songs, which are mainly either about (i) drinking cider, (ii) shagging or (iii) both.
Except one about the Pill ferry, a fantastic take on all those folk songs about waving your loved one away on a ship – except that this one just goes to the other side of the river and back 8=)
I was expecting the audience to consist of fat old men like me and Dave but no! They were mainly twenty-somethings and teenage girls.
The band, undeterred by the age gap, engage in a good deal of lewd flirting with the girls, who seem to love it.
Fair play to them.
The drummer was introduced as “79 years old – the oldest drummer in captivity” and I can well believe it.
One of them did a striptease towards the end of the set, and for the first time in a while, I wished I still took a drink. Then I may have a fighting chance of forgetting the image one day …
They encore with the disco remix of “Harvester” and their version of the Kaiser Chiefs “Ruby”. No “Oo Ar Just A Little Bit”, unfortunately but you can’t have everything. Glad I finally saw them, but from the vim and vigour of the performance, I’m guessing they’ll be around for a while and there will be a few more chances yet.
Drink up thee zyder me babbers …
This is a clip from the gig courtesy of that internet. You can see Dave on the left in the Feist T-shirt. Don’t the band sound great?
MJ Hibbett And The Validators, Wilmington Arms, London
Thursday 26th January, 2012
I’m at the Wilmington Arms in Clerkenwell, Central London, a loverly pub full of chatting media-type people, trustafarians and me and my mate. The Portobello mushroom burger with cheese that I ordered from the bar arrives. Within seconds I realise my mistake. This is not a piece of cow in a bun with cheese and mushrooms on it. This is a couple of big flat mushrooms in a bun with cheese on them. I am slightly annoyed by this but my irritation turns to joy when I bite into it and it turns out to be delicious.
This is spookily appropriate for this evening as it is exactly the sort of thing that Mark Hibbett could turn into a song. It would be called “I Bought A Veggie Burger Once” and despite the mundane subject matter, it would, like, totally ROCK.
Hibbett has been writing and recording his vignettes of everyday life with its minor tribulations with, more often than not, a positive twist at the end, for well over a decade.
He’s produced a fair body of work in this time and has what is generally known as a “small but devoted cult following”, although to be fair most cults are not this friendly and polite. Can’t see the assembled audience at the Wilmington tonight brainwashing anybody or blowing anything up.
This evening is the launch for the excellent “Dinosaur Planet” album, which is a War Of The Worlds-style musical / concept album / rock opera concerning the fate of the dinosaurs, who as any fule kno, disappeared mysteriously 65 million years ago …
… but now, they’re BACK in a funny, charming and utterly ludicrous tale involving…
(*** MILD SPOILER ALERT ***)
dinosaurs that talk like pirates, giant robots, and the Battle Of Peterborough.
(*** END SPOILER ALERT ***)
Tonight is also a return to the London stage for full backing band The Validators, who provide the perfect accompaniment to the tunes – indie, a bit wistful, rocky at times, with a superb violin lilt courtesy of Tom ‘Tiger’ McClure, who was once in a band called Lazarus Clamp, which endears me to him.
The set lasts around an hour – WAY too short! – centred on five songs from the new album. Each song has a range of guest stars playing policemen, dinosaurs and giant robots (look, buy the album, it does all make sense, really it does).
The new stuff is well received although the album works better when heard in its entirety – hopefully once the album starts selling by the truckload we’ll get the full staged version at the Hammersmith Apollo with full cast, guest slots and expensive merchandise.
The FREE plastic dinosaurs handed out during the set were a start, though.
Finishing, appropriately enough, with “Billy Jones Is Dead”, a song about reminiscing about The Old Days and what everyone’s getting up to now.
Highlight for me, though is “Easily Impressed” , which always strikes a chord as it celebrates taking delight in the wonderful small things in life. Like porridge, and cricket, and pot bellied pigs, and free plastic dinosaurs given away at gigs.
Which is what makes MJ Hibbett GRATE! Which is why you should all treasure him and buy the album so he keeps on making more.
Did I mention the dinosaurs talk like pirates? 8=)
After years of managing to miss Pete And The Pirates through bad luck, sheer indolence, a bad cold, and simply being in the wrong town or, in some cases, the wrong country, I got to see them twice in two months.
Pete And The Pirates gigs are like buses. You wait ages for one and then when you get on its all crowded and sweaty.
“Its 1979 and Heart Of Glass is playing…”
I take a look around the mosh pit. The cheerful, heterogenous crowd ranges from teenage kids through balding 30-something men who can’t quite kick the gigging habit to, well me. I can’t see too many people who would be likely to even have been alive in 1979 when Blondie were in their pomp, let alone attending the Scala…
This place has memories for me.
I used to go come here often back then with my first serious girlfriend Tessa. She got me into a lot of good stuff art and culture wise.
The Scala was a cinema then, showing art films that triumphantly straddled the line between art and porn.
We saw Jubilee there, Derek Jarman’s legendary punk film which featured a cameo from a young Adam Ant, and a plot involving a just-around-the-corner future Britain in which anarchy reigns and Buckingham Palace has been converted into a giant recording studio. The support bill was a selection of homoerotic porn shorts by the cult film-maker Kenneth Anger, including “Scorpio Rising”, which certainly opened my 17-year-old eyes to another side of biker culture.
Back to the present and a packed and enthusiastic crowd greets Pete And The Pirates. They’ve been around for a couple of years now, touting their brand of tuneful indie, and they’ve built up a devoted following.
They’re from Reading. In their early days they used to go to the Reading Festival every year as punters and plant a Pirate flag in an appropriate location. They would then proceed to play an impromptu acoustic sets and hand round flyers to people. Gotta say, that’s a fantastic marketing idea for any bands reading this.
Unassuming to look at, maybe even a bit reticent to talk to the crowd much, they play a fantastic set comprising much of their two albums. “Come To The Bar” is an obvious highlight. Lyrically they have a way with the wry one-liner lyrics – “Get out of bed, its the wrong one” for starters.
(NB – Incidentally, a quick scout round that Interweb reveals that the Scala I attended back in the day was in fact in a completely different London location. Funny how the memory plays tricks. I’ll never forget “Scorpio Rising” though. And if I ever come across a biker with no trousers on, I always give him a wide berth)
November 22nd, Buffalo Bar, London
The more recent gig was to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the Buffalo Bar, and I have to be honest, although the band were great, the crowd were not up to much at all.
Gig etiquette surely dictates that if you get to a gig early enough to take up a position at the front, the least you can do is dance. Or move. Or react in some way to what’s happening on stage, not just stand there in silence.
Don’t get me wrong, each to their own and I know some people like standing and watching quietly. Fair enough. But FFS do it at the BACK of the gig, will you? In the case of the excellent Buffalo Bar, the back of the gig is still pretty close to the stage anyway.
That’s where me and my mate Craig are. Craig is only a couple of years younger than me and another ageing punk. He’s recently come back from four months unpaid leave in LA trailing his missus, looking after their young kid during the daytime and checking out the LA scene in the evenings.
He tells me a great story about his first pilgrimage to the legendary punk club The Roxy.
A large well-dressed man sidles up to him and says “Hey, are you on your own?” “Yes” says Craig. “Well, do you want to come to the bathroom with me?” “No!” he replies. The guy goes to the bathroom anyway and doesn’t come back. Craig spends the rest of the evening digging the bands and not going to the bathroom, ending up having to piss on the wall outside the club. Which I suppose is quite a punk thing to do.
He professes outrage at these events, but I think he’s secretly kind of pleased that he’s still got it. This sort of thing never happens to me, although I did have my bottom squeezed by a woman at the Scala – not in its porn cinema phase but during a Broken Family Band gig – but I suspect she was just trying to annoy her boyfriend.
So, the gig is enjoyable and the band are playing their hearts out but there’s not much to be done about a lot of the crowd. There’s a few people making an effort at the back though.
Afterwards we notice the guitarist outside chatting to a girl. They’re very polite about being interrupted by two large middle-aged men telling him how great the band is. We complain about the audience but he won’t have it and says something like “they were enjoying it in a different way”, which I think shows a tremendous amount of class.
Pete And The Pirates. A great band, and a great bunch of lads.
