1,379 OCTOBER DRIFT, The Youthplay, Coast, Southampton Joiner's Arms, Tuesday 1st April 2025

 

After a very promising band of pretenders to the throne of current post-punk last night in Thus Love, tonight here’s the real deal in Taunton’s brilliant October Drift. Not only had this lot lain waste to The Thekla last time out in October 2024 (gig 1,353), their performance nailing down a spot in my Top 5 “live” acts of the year (in a pretty darn high-quality field…), but they’d also restored my appetite for “live” music after a fraught month dealing with the news of my wife Rachel’s cancer diagnosis. So, I’d eagerly booked for this, the opening night of a seeming continuation of their tour pushing their third album, “Blame The Young”, not only to immerse myself in another potentially incendiary post-punk night out, but also to share with the boys the news that things are now generally going well with Rachel’s treatment, and prognosis seems hopeful.

A busy school parent’s evening still saw me setting off down a sun-kissed M4/ A34 route down South, parking around the corner from the excellent Joiners and hitting the scuzzy back-room venue just after 7.30. Painfully young openers Coast were already rounding off a rocking opening number in front of a busy early-doors turnout of evident friends and family. The follow-up was more slower-burn, yet “This Time”, next up, really nailed their influences to the mast with some intricate Edge-like guitar licks either side of a big yearning chorus, and the subsequent “Outside On A Friday”, an aspiring proto stadium anthem, even had a bit of an early singalong! Clearly earnest and ambitious, then, this lot (plugging their forthcoming Heartbreakers headline slot with some enthusiasm), but nowt wrong in dreaming big, I guess… Main support The Youth Play were older, more practised and accomplished, with some galloping textural mood music giving obvious nods to dour post-punk and morose shoegaze; their amphetamine-fast opener recalled My Vitriol, and more atmospheric later material touched on recent finds Soft Kill. “After A Moment” was a moody, early Ride like number and probably the best of a promising, intriguing and idea-filled set, delivered with confidence and a resonant low baritone from the vocalist.

By then, I’d once again encountered Liz from Chandlers Ford, greeted OD soundman James from Indoor Pets as he disappeared upstairs, and also enjoyed a Bunnymen-centric chat with Jonathan and Faith from Fareham, in my spot down the front, house right. At 9.20, “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” swaggered out of the pa, and white-clad vocalist Kiron Roy led the band onstage, the huge swelling hook of the swayalong “Waltzer” igniting a mass singalong and getting the party started proper. “Southampton, we’re October Drift… let’s do this!” announced Kiron, already bent double and sawing away on this guitar nineteen to the dozen for the subsequent jagged and ragged “Demons”. Blowing the cobwebs away, and no mistake… 

I seem to be on a run of opening nights of October Drift tours; like that Thekla gig, last time out, they were once again “on it” from note one, delivering the kind of scarily committed and rocket-fuelled full-on energetic performance that has now become their trademark. “Hollow”’s massive anthemic hook ceded to a Bob Mould-esque squalling outro; “Blame The Young”, thrown casually in mid-set, accelerated into a hurtling, inexorable climactic build; and Kiron, who’d gestured and exhorted the crowd to get more involved from the off, had his first foray into the audience during the brooding, drum-dominated “Bleed”. A later “Airborne Panic Attack” also accelerated from a dead stop start into a thunderous intro, then dropped right back for an almost mumbled hushed verse before the massive roaring Nirvana-esque chorus, but the subsequent “Cherry Red” was the cheery on the cake and set highlight for me; this time it was wild-eyed and wild-haired guitarist Dan Young who ploughed into the centre of the mosh, initially coaxing squalling noise from his instrument as a punter fanned him, but thereafter leading the bounce-along to the dark gothy chorus.

After a fist-pumping “Oh The Silence”, Kiron again took floor central, dedicating the final number “Not Running” to his recently-lost grandmother, calling the elegiac yet soaring finale a “song for solidarity”, and ending another tremendous, incendiary October Drift set on a desolate yet triumphant note. Drummer Chris happily heard my shouts for his list, then after a short wait I caught up with the man in the bar, filling him in on our current family news. Again, Chris provided an understanding ear, typical of this band’s deep connection and genuine care for its’ audience. Pondered this on my swift drive home, back in the ‘don for 12.30. Why October Drift aren’t stadium massive already is a mystery for the ages; they absolutely deserve it not just because their canon is now chock-full of humungous oven-ready stadium bangers, but because they’re just about the nicest guys in rock’n’roll today. Indeed, October Drift are very much the Real Deal!

1,378 THUS LOVE, Ain’t, Bristol Strange Brew, Monday 31st March 2025

 

First of a two-in-two of young bands harking back to that growling post-punk sonic template; familiar faces tomorrow, but first here’s new Vermont 4-piece Thus Love. A self-styled “queercore” post-punk lot, I’d discovered them earlier this year via the good offices of the new band-breaking “Revolt Into Style” Facebook page, a little too late for their sophomore 2024 release “All Pleasure” to inveigle its’ way onto my “Best of 2024” Compo CD, but in plenty of time to book for their subsequent UK jaunt. “All Pleasure” is an intriguing blend of moody, tuneful and hooky Joy Division-esque post-punk with strident overlays of glammy 70’s NYC New Wave, similar in mood to last year’s finds Been Stellar and Slow Fiction, albeit with a little less shoegazey introspection and a bit more dynamism. And by all accounts, the dynamism and swagger is ramped up a few more notches “live” too; OK then, let’s see… 

Left a little late for a jaunt down a sunny M4, but parked up about 7.30 and wandered into this arty storefront venue, running into Bristol gig face Louise, a Thus Love fan of a couple of years standing, and chatting Suede briefly with her and her Suede-obsessed friend. Took a central spot for openers Ain’t. A 5-piece fronted by a striking pre-Raphaelite dressed hippychick vocalist with (initially) bunny ears, with an intriguing sonic template blending metronomic post-punk and considered, mid-paced Pumpkins-like angsty slacker grunge, they unfortunately suffered with a bad sound mix, rendering a lot of their material (and particularly said singers rather understated, lilting tones) struggling against the fuzzed-out guitar noise and pounding drums, making this set heavy going on the ears. A shame, as there sounded as if there might have been some decent material under there, to go along with the vocalist’s entertaining moves…

A respectable crowd had gathered as Thus Love took the stage dead on 9, to pulsing disco feedback, easing into oldie (and thus “newie” to me!) “Repititioner”, the plangent opening riff and ascending bass building into a languid mid-song wall of sound, recalling my 2000’s NYC faves The Stills, no less. “On The Floor” the opening track of “All Pleasure” followed, the hypnotic pulse and upbeat Joy Division-esque guitar riff sounding clear and purposeful, setting the tone for a tough, road-tested, robust and fulsome performance of their intriguing, hooky and resonant US alt-rock. “You guys good?” offered wonderfully-named vocalist Echo Mars (yes, Echo Mars, I shit you not!), to which Some Wag Down The Front (OK, me…) countered with, “yeah, how are you?” “Fucking living the dream, bud…” came the languid, drawled reply… 

I’d be inclined to believe that, actually, as Mars proved a natural frontperson, laconic and relaxed yet also dynamic and committed, backed up ably by an excellent, intuitive band. “Were any of you here when we last played this room? I was climbing that [speaker stack] like a monkey…”, ventured Mars, this time remaining confined to the stage and their guitar, nonetheless throwing shapes with abandon. “Birthday Song”’s slow burn, moody intro built to a sweeping choral crescendo; “House On A Hill” kicked in with a herky-jerky new wave rhythm underpinned by a sleazy, sinister Pixies-esque bassline before the wolverine growl of its’ denouement, bassist Ally Juleen screaming the hook to the rafters; and oldie “Put On Dog” was absolutely superb, a careering hellride with green strobes augmenting the mood of mutant madness. The kind of number most bands save until the end, but Thus Love stick it casually in mid-set. Confident…

A merch plug (“we get to buy dinner at home if you buy shirts!” pleaded the drummer) and an anti-Trump rant from Juleen preceded the brooding gothic death march of “Centerfield”; then the dissonant building hook of “Show Me Patience” recalled aforementioned recent US finds Been Stellar, before the eerie and growling Pixies-esque plod of “Lost In Translation” ended a damn fine set punctuated by a 2-song encore culminating in funky closer “Family Man”, and Juleen happily throwing the drummer’s list my way. By this time my knees were barking a little, so I decided to head off, wandering alongside the crowd just leaving the nearby SWX and dropping in for a snack in Taka Taka on the corner. Had an entertaining conversation therein with Ain’t’s relatively new (7 gigs in tonight) bass player, who during a meandering conversation about the current state of rock, made the mistake of asking me what I thought of them! I think he appreciated my honesty – at least he didn’t hit me! He did persuade me to give Ain’t another chance, which tbf I would have done anyway… No such persuasion required for tonight’s headliners though, Thus Love showing promise “live” even beyond my expectations. A band to see again… and again…

1,377 THE WEDDING PRESENT, Evy Frearson, Stroud The Sub Rooms, Saturday 29th March 2025

 

Alright Gedge me laddie, you did it on the big stage, let’s see if you can do it on the indie equivalent of a rainy night in Stoke…!

Lovelorn Indie guitar veterans The Wedding Present were undoubtedly the revelation of last year’s “Shiiine On”; I’d of course known them since their early pomp, first seeing them back in 1986 (on a Mighty Lemon Drops support slot at ULU, gig 58!), being astonished by the dexterity of main man and sole remaining original member David Gedge’s superfast guitar wrist action, and thoroughly enjoyed the headlong hurtle and thrashy rush of their early material, whilst the weekly music inkies positioned them as heirs to the Indie crown then recently vacated by The Smiths. Our paths diverged in the early 90s, however, and my interest had waned somewhat since, a decent showing at Swindon’s 12 Bar in 2008 (gig 751) notwithstanding. This had actually been the most recent time I’d paid specifically to see the Weddoes; the 3 occasions our paths had crossed since were on a Stuffies support bill and at previous “Shiiine On” showings, when each time they’d been lacklustre at best, so I’d taken some persuasion to check out their 2024 “Shiiine” appearance.

Well, they simply blew me away on that night, their performance possessing a caustic power and seething dynamism lacking for me since the 80s, running the excellent Modern English close for my Band of the Festival. A Million Miles better than recently, so Nobody’s Twisting my Arm to see them again! An early opportunity for a close quarters repeat came with this one-off Saturday show in nearby Stroud, so off I set just after 5ish, dumping the motor at Parliament car park (free after 5!) and wandering down the hill to this splendidly appointed town hall. Eventually got let in out of the cold at 6.30 doors, although the rope took another 10 minutes to come down for entry to the large upstairs hall venue, resembling a bigger Guildhall. Took a side-seat and watched the place slowly fill up, most arrivals also chatting with a merch-stand bound Gedge, before opener Evy Frearson took the stage at 7.30. A young and striking goth-esque solo acoustic gal, she regaled us with some octave-straddling vocal gymnastics and impressive off-mic work overlaying her distinctly 80s/90s US angsty alt-Americana-tinged material. A couple of early morose and moody numbers recalled Kristin Hersh, a more pastoral and plaintive “Better For You” had Lisa Loeb vibes, and a later, more conversational number evoked Suzanne Vega. Overall, eminently listenable and charming, if a little low-key for an indie rock support. Short too at barely 20 minutes…

Met and caught up with Gloucester mate Simon and his wife Sarah, and “Shiiine On” buddy Martin, here as part of a lads weekend in Nailsworth! The lights dimmed at 8.30 and I squirmed back to a slot 1/ back, house left, as Gedge led the Weddoes on prompt at 8.30, easing into newie “Two For The Road”, which initially seemed worryingly polite and understated, but happily sped up several gears midway through, really taking flight during the instrumental breaks and outro. “We’re the semi-legendary Wedding Present!” announced Gedge, then stating, “this is our first concert in Stroud; only took us 39 years…” before oldie “A Million Miles” took a similar pattern, sneaking in slowly then gathering serious momentum throughout its yearning, personal length. 

This pretty much set the tone for another impressive Wedding Present set, happily continuing that “Shiiine On” form. A longer and consequently less focussed and consistent set, maybe, but even tonight’s troughs were miles better than their flat and perfunctory mid to late 20-teens sets. And the highs? Well, most usually arrived towards the end of particular numbers, when the choppy and thrashy dual guitar attack interplay between Gedge and new guitarist Rachael was, well, less than utterly thrilling, and occasionally quite breathtaking, actually… “Dalliance”’s slow brooding burn built to a noisy crescendo for an early highlight, Gedge throwing shapes and growling the hook in his low yet strident tones; “Corduroy” segued from droney verse into faster choppy guitar chorus and squalling finale; and a brisk “You Should Always Keep On Touch With Your Friends” was excellent, Gedge displaying that wrist dexterity of old. Throughout all this, the old chap was in fine fooling too, reacting to good-natured boos from the front rows to his intention to take things down a notch for an early “Sports Car” with, “blimey what a confrontational audience!” and asking Stroud, “is it posh here, or rough?”, eliciting mixed comments in response. 

By this time, I was nearer the front, extreme house right, courtesy of a quick loo break, but was enticed into a good-natured (well, despite one, erm, “well refreshed” bloke in orange throwing his weight around) mosh during a later “Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm”, running into old mate and Weddoes acolyte Stu (here with some mutual friends) in the front rows! Thereafter, it was Hitsville, West Yorkshire, to the finish; the metronomic clatter of “Kennedy”, an undulating, heartfelt “My Favourite Dress”, a potent and powerful “Bewitched”, then, after thanks from the main man (“What a great night this has been! We should come back in another 40 years… in [20]65…”), a Tex Mex instrumental version of closer “Brassneck”, which ultimately segued into a terrific breakneck-pace full rendition, to end another redemptive Weddoes set. 

Grabbed a lucky list and said farewells to Simon and Sarah, then spotted Stu talking to a familiar face in Ride’s bassist Steve Queralt, so I again took the opportunity to petition his band to play “Shiiine On”! Not this year, but never say never, came the reply… A signature and brief compliments with Gedge at the merch stand before I hit the road for home, with old mates Stu and Paul in tow this time, and all in agreement that this current Weddoes line-up is top-notch, with excellent new guitarist Rachael imbuing them with new life, power and purpose. So, back on my Gig Radar with a vengeance, and hopefully this time for good!

1,376 THE HORRORS, Bristol Rough Trade Records, Sunday 23rd March 2025

 

Another Rough Trade album release show, and this time it’s from a band that time (almost) forgot… The Horrors, cartoon goths turned post-punk acolytes turned increasingly synth-powered purveyors of eerie atmospheric and metronomic Krautrock, had last been sighted on their “V” album tour, on another splendid “live” showing at the now-sadly defunct Bierkeller back in Autumn 2017 (gig 1,058). Since then, however, nothing. Nowt. Nada. Zip. For eight long years it actually seemed The Horrors had crept back into their crypt, joining Bela Lugosi in the long sleep of the eternal. That is, until news filtered through from the beyond, of a new album, and a Bristol release show. Aw, go on then…

Knowing that that damn bridge was still keeping the M4 shut between J18 and 19, however, I kept an eye on my SatNav ETA all afternoon, although I nearly ended up leaving late due to getting hooked in on a film (the schmaltzy “It Ends With Us”, I have to admit...) However, my 5.30 departure was still showing a 6.45 arrival as I left the M4 at J18, deciding on a whim to follow my SatNav directions down a country lane to shave 5 minutes off the journey. Big mistake. 5 minutes later I was sat in an unmoving queue as my ETA extended… and extended… and extended. Bah! After another 5 minutes of moving about 10 yards, and with my ETA now at 7.30, I flipped it around and hared back to the main road, tanking it as much as possible along winding but at least moving country roads, eventually coming in trough the armpit end of Brizzle and dumping the motor at 10 past 7. Luckily reports of The Horrors starting their set at 7 proved inaccurate, so I had time to catch my breath, squeeze into a house right spot a few rows back in this busy room (this one being so popular, in fact, that they’d added a matinee event earlier today!) and enjoy some chat about The Chameleons and The National with a fellow punter, before The Goblin King, Faris Badwan, led a contracted 3-piece version of the band on, fashionably late at 7.40. “A Horrors experiment, playing as a 3-piece,” Faris later said, but with a huge bank of keyboards sufficient to land a 747 with, this was no “stripped back” or “acoustic” performance…anyway, they’re more synthetic than acoustic?! 

Anyway, opener “Mirror’s Image” snuck in surreptitiously with a synth pitter patter courtesy of keyboardist Amelia Kidd, followed by a big bassy beat overlay, whilst Faris, resembling a “Saint Julian”-era Cope only more like a distorted City Hobgoblin, ten times his height and one tenth his weight (!), draped himself over his mic stand like a half man, half preying mantis, to deliver his haunting baritone vocal, whilst bassist Rhys Webb underpinned the beat with a distinctly Peter Hook-like low, resonant bassline. New number “The Silence That Remains” featured a muffled synth beat redolent of “She’s Lost Control”, with Faris’ vocals particularly echoey, adding to the spell of mystery and menace woven by the atmospheric synths, and oldie “Who Can Say” was more upbeat, propelled by a growling, almost gravelly bassline.

“More Than Life”, another “Night Life” cut, was for me the best of the 3 new ones tonight; almost an 80’s throwback in mood and songcraft, this pulsing and pulsating number gave reverential nods to the likes of early Human League and Talk Talk. Then Faris quipped, “this [room] is literally what Rhys’ living room is like! We did most of the record there…”, before the sweeping, almost stately Bunny-esque feel of a swaying “Still Life”. The absorbing and occasionally discordant “Sea Within A Sea” saw a beatific Faris clasping a front row punter’s hand, almost as if to keep himself upright (!), then this 7-song vignette concluded with the Krautrock industrial bleakness and Chameleons-like verse construction of a final new number, “Lotus Eater”, before Faris thanked us for our attention, leaving with, “see you in a moment…”

By now I’d wormed my way to the back of the room so was one of the first in line for the signing, chatting with a fellow punter (and fellow David!). On my turn, Rhys complimented my old school goth Bauhaus tee and Edvard Munch “Scream” shirt ensemble, so I retorted with a story of my first Horrors “live” experience, the black balloon fiasco of gig 723, waaay back in 2007 (!), causing Faris to recoil at the memory and declare that, “a one-off…”. Despite this gentle ribbing, I found them personable folk and left declaring my intention to catch them on their proper tour later this year, before a much easier drive home (ignoring my SatNav and following the diversion signs!) got me home in half the time it took to get there! So, hibernation now being over, The Horrors have re-emerged, blinking into the light. Welcome back!

1,375 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS, Ricky Warwick and the Fighting Hearts, Bristol O2 Academy, Friday 21st March 2025

 

Tale as old as time… or at least one as familiar as old socks! Every year the SLF tour is announced, every year a thought flits through my mind saying, maybe it’s time to pack this in, pop this tradition on the shelf after a couple of decades… yet pretty much every year I find a reason to go. This time it was its’ very familiarity that gave me the impetus; after initially hesitating, I then considered that, given the awful events of late last year with my wife’s cancer diagnosis (which happily seems to be responding to the prescribed treatment), a familiar night out in the company of old friends, singing along raucously to some equally familiar anthemic old school punk, might be just the ticket. So, my Chrimbo list ultimately included one Fingers Brizzle ticket, and “Mad March to Bristol” Take 17 (in 21 years, and 22^nd SLF gig overall) was on…!

As the date arrived, however, I unfortunately wasn’t the only one in need of some familiarity; my long-time best mate and constant “Mad March” gig buddy Rich sadly lost his dad in the preceding week. Gratifyingly, Rich took the same stance that I did after hitting the gig trail a couple of days after my mother’s passing, insofar as doing something that gives life meaning and value, such as “live” music always seems to do for me, is the best way to honour those passed. I therefore picked The Big Man up, also scooping up old school friend and, astonishingly, SLF first timer Keith on the way for a swift drive down before the M4 shut at 7. In the venue, we toasted to the memory of Rich’s dad, before taking our usual house left spot on the fringes of the anticipated mosh area (this becomes a bit more relevant later!) for openers, SLF main man Jake Burns’ old mate Ricky Warwick and his Fighting Hearts. The hard-hitting and hard-rocking opener set the tone, with strong-armed US rock riffery overlaid by Warwick’s Phil Lynott-esque delivery (no surprise, that, given I saw him fronting an ersatz Lizzy line-up at the Meca, many moons ago – gig 819!) and lyrical references to “roads to ragged ruin” and “angels of desolation”. Some musical nods to Thin Lizzy as well, in a later “new” number, and I also liked both the tinges of Gaslight Anthem in the singalong “oh-oh”s of “When Patsy Cline Was Crazy”, albeit shot through an Aerosmith rather than Springsteen filter, and the ragged cover of old US punker Johnny Thunders’ “Born To Lose”. Overall, though, this was earnest music to spit tobacco and ride Harleys to, which whilst palatable, wasn’t my thing.

Took a loo break and bumped into Rach’s old friends and fellow “Shiiiners” Duncan and Rick, also popping their SLF cherries tonight (Duncan exclaiming this as his first “punk rock show!”), before shoehorning my way back to our now very crowded spot. If this wasn’t a sell-out on the night, it was damn close… The Greatest Intro Music in Rock, the pounding drums and soaring “diddly-doo!” singalong of “Go For It” saw the imposing girth of Jake Burns lead the band onstage at 9, greeting us as ever with a cheery “Bristol, how you doing? Y’allright?” then hurtling into opener “Roots Radicals Rockers and Reggae”, the buoyant and engaged crowd lustily chanting back the “Go For It!” hook, the band then segueing seamlessly into the dramatic drumroll opening of “At The Edge”, followed again in equally short order by a venomous “Wasted Life”. Not fucking about tonight, this lot…!

Thankfully, momentum was maintained; despite going off-piste with some mid-set song choices, Stiff Little Fingers delivered one of their better performances of recent times and ended their tour (tomorrow’s London date notwithstanding) on a real high. An excellent “Strummerville” preceded “story time” from Jake, explaining the sleazy slum lord ancestry of “the greatest spoiled brat the world has ever seen!”, i.e. the orange buffoon incumbent of the White House, a pointed newie “Mary’s Boy Child” (no, not that one) hammering the point home that, “Mary’s parenting skills were shite!” An unexpected “Straw Dogs” nearly saw me joining the mosh, but, after an unexpected deep cut of a fine “Piccadilly Circus” and a diatribe about looking out for each other’s mental health prior to “My Dark Places”, I was eventually swept in thanks to a flurry of big blokes piling past me for “Nobody’s Hero”, detaching me from my crew. So, why the fuck not? Thereafter, the rest of the set for me was an object lesson in staying upright in the hectic mosh, grabbing on to folks for dear life (including my old punk buddy Plum!), and blasting out the lyrics of “Hero”, a brilliantly widescreen “Tin Soldiers”, a savage “Suspect Device” and unexpected set closer “Gotta Getaway” into fellow moshers’ faces, and having them shouted back with equal conviction. Nice!

Rakish bassist Ali McMordie then addressed us “old scrots, like us!”, also noting some younger fans amongst the crowd, before the first encore of “Barbed Wire Love” saw me finding Rich for our traditional mid-song doo-wop waltz. “Alternative Ulster” ended a breathless (quite literally from my mosh position!) and redemptive set, the band taking a deserved bow, then a relatively easy setlist and a pause for breath got us back in the car in short order to tackle a less arduous than expected diversion, home just after midnight, late kebab tea in tow. “Thanks, that was just what I needed,” said The Big Man as I dropped him off, although the feeling tonight was entirely mutual. The tale continues…

1,374 EXTC, Gloucester Guildhall Arts Centre, Saturday 15th March 2025

 

Night 2 of my late “Dance Card” additions thanks to my old friend Paul Crowfoot’s UK visit, and this is a closer one as promised, just up the A419 to Gloucester to see EXTC at the splendid Guildhall! This lot, ex-XTC drummer Terry Chambers’ brainchild to keep on performing his iconic former band’s classic idiosyncratic back catalogue mix of 70’s herky-jerky new wave and smoother, 80’s Beatles-based melodic and slightly-delic pop “live”, had of course been recent regulars on my gig schedule. However, our paths hadn’t crossed since late 2021 (gig 1,188), as Chambers and co. had taken their music beyond the ‘don to more far-flung fields, also trimming their number down to a 3-piece in the process with the departure of wide-eyed, wild haired centre-of-attention vocalist Steve Tilling. This latter point had, in all honesty, been on my mind when I initially eschewed the chance to book for this one, but when Paul suggested this one as well as last night’s trip, I didn’t really need too much persuasion…!

He picked me up this time in his rental, and we hared off up the A419, parking around the back of Gloucester’s Leisure Centre, scene of some legendary 80’s gigs from the likes of The Smiths and The Bunnymen, then we met Roger and a group of locals he’d befriended in The Thirsty Pine pub, enjoying some rock chat to the backdrop of some noisy locals cheering on the egg chasing on the big screen. They carried on to another local hostelry, but I popped into the venue early to suss out the scene and running order. A couple of sets with interval and no support awaited, and I picked up a fully signed setlist from the merch stand for a tenner, to avoid the bunfight afterwards, because do I really care where I get a list from, so long as I get one? I do not! The guys arrived and we grabbed a spot near the front, house left, as the 3-piece band arrived at 8.15, opening with an understated version of angular oldie “This Is Pop”, with bald, wizened guitarist Steve Hampton taking a growly lead vocal on this one, then exclaiming, “look at you! There’s millions of you!”

Fears that the performance may suffer in comparison to the 4-piece line-up happily didn’t come to pass; despite Hampton lacking the manic ebullience of former frontman Tilling, he was a relaxed and affable main man, at ease with the crowd and bantering with the front rows. That said, the initial set was a little muted and low-key, the song selection mainly drawing from latter day deep cuts and album tracks. “No Language In Our Lungs”, for example, plodded along, enlivened only by a lengthy outro note from Hampton, causing him to exclaim, “can someone hand me my spleen back?”, although the lugubrious “Towers Of London” was an early highlight, followed by Hampton’s story of borrowing the XTC album “Black Sea” from bassist and long-time comrade Terry Lines, and hating it! We also got an early singalong for the jolly chorus of “Senses Working Overtime” and I enjoyed the descending plaintive hook of “Peter Pumpkinhead” but overall, this opening set was proficient, sedate and reverential, with the “Handle With Care” warnings fully observed.

Took a late loo break and ran into old 80’s gig buddy Tim Lezard, who then joined us for the second set which, following the pastoral breeze of opener “Grass”, happily took things up several notches. The undulating pop of “Mayor Of Simpleton” got me shaking a leg, and the excellent growling backbeat of “No Thugs In Our House” kept it going. Thereafter it was Hitsville, North Wiltshire, as the fist-pumping “Sgt. Rock” (a song with, “more hooks than a longhaul trawler!” quipped Hampton) and the jagged angular rhythmic shapes of “Rocket From A Bottle” kept the momentum high. The bluebeat chant of “Living Through Another Cuba” segued effortlessly into a brilliantly bouncy “Generals And Majors”, the singalong middle-8 “almost sexual!” according to the vocalist. The inevitable “Making Plans For Nigel” capped the set proper, although Hampton announced their intention to plough through into the encore, mainly to avoid, “going down the [venue’s] Death Stairs – [they’re] like going down to Mordor… or Portsmouth!” Overall set highlight, the ridiculously infectious hook of new wave classic “Life Begins At The Hop” ended a superb sweaty second set, the band, with Chambers deferentially front and centre, taking a bow after a right proper game of 2 halves, but one which rightly saved the best till last. 

A gathering of breath and farewells to our accumulated gang, then Paul and I hit the road, grabbing a Penhill kebab on the way home. So overall, another excellent night out with old friends, but this time – the second EXTC set in particular – the entertainment matched the company. Safe travels, Paul, let’s gig again when you next muddy these shores!

1,373 THE LOFT, Yeah Yeah Noh, Birmingham Castle and Falcon, Friday 14th March 2025

 

A couple of late additions to my Spring Dance Card for tonight and tomorrow, courtesy of my old friend Paul Crowfoot! Seattle-domiciled Paul gave me the heads-up earlier this week that he was flying in for a business meeting in France and had finagled a weekend family visit in the ‘don, but had also arranged a couple of gigs whilst in Blighty, and would I fancy joining him? A chance to catch up with an old friend with “live” music as a backdrop… why the hell not? Tomorrow is a closer trip to see some hometown heroes, but first, a long jaunt to catch jangly proto-C86 janglers The Loft in Birmingham, near where mutual friend and another expat Townie Roger Herman lives. The Loft had already split by the time I picked up on them back in the 80’s, singer/songwriter Pete Astor and drummer Dave Morgan then forming the more countrified guitar merchants The Weather Prophets, whom I did like, picking up their albums and seeing them one time in 1987 (gig 76!). My musical tastes had subsequently led me elsewhere, so I was unfamiliar with Astor’s post-WP activity, so tonight, musically at least, was a voyage of discovery…

Speaking of voyage… I picked Paul up from his sister’s place at 5, and a swift drive catching up on family matters and putting the world to rights got us street parked up a stone’s throw from the venue just after 7. The place wasn’t yet open, so we met Roger and his charming wife Kate in the queue, before continuing the chat in this pub back-room venue, which reminded me in size and orientation (if not altitude!) of Cardiff’s Clwb Ifor Bach! A smattering of old musos and locals had gathered for 6-piece support Yeah Yeah Noh, on at 8.10. Of similar vintage to the headliners, they’d passed me by back then and honestly gave me no reason to regret that tonight. I liked a few of their numbers – opener “Bias Binding” was a racey rambunctious number with a chanted hook, “Beware The Weakling Lines” was a jolly Fall/ Sultans Of Ping-esque droney rant and my favourite of their set (despite the vocalist warning, “this is terrible, but what the fuck…”), and a little vignette from The Shop Assistants’ “Train From Kansas City” enlivened the final number – but overall their basic ramshackle DIY toytown jangle sounded dated and even incongruous, particularly when played by be-suited 60-somethings. At nearly an hour as well, this was one to file under, “Heavy Going”…

We’d secured a table, house left, on entry, and I stayed there while my gig companions grabbed a spot nearer the front for The Loft’s entrance at 9.45. “You’re all looking fine,” complimented guitarist Andy Strickland (whom I’d recently seen in the reformed Chesterfields line-up) before dapper turtle-necked vocalist Astor counted them in to opener “On A Tuesday”, a robust Byrds-esque jangle-fest with a slight hint of underlying menace. This pretty much set the tone for a melodic, accomplished sounding and well-crafted set of thoughtful and erudite indie pop, with various classic 60’s influences at play (The Byrds being an obvious signpost, although a louche early “Elephant” had hints of Jonathan Richman, and a mid-set “Up The Hill And Down The Slope” – a track I did know well before tonight – featured Astor going all Lou Reed on us with his garbled yet languid vocal delivery, over its’ taut, tense duelling guitar riffery), and delivered with an understated laconic wit. “It may stun you, but I actually have a job,” deadpanned Astor before the more trad-country rockisms of “Got A Job”, “[as] a garbage collector…!”

I missed most of the mid-set layered textural guitar workout of “Winter” as I took a call outside from my son Logan, off with his mates in Bournemouth this weekend, but grabbed my seat back for their rendition of The Weather Prophets’ late-period Violent Femmes-esque murder ballad “Worm In My Brain”. Then the plangent and plaintive harmony of a late “Why Does The Rain” was my overall set highlight, a hooky “Dr. Clarke” rounding off the set before a 2 song encore took us up to a late 5 to 11. Roger and Kate had already headed off to catch their local train home, so Paul and I made a quick getaway on The Loft’s final note, a confusing SatNav route initially taking us North before getting us onto the M42 and M5 for an equally swift chat-enlivened drive home, getting Paul home at 12.30.

So overall, Yeah Yeah Noh were a no no no from me, but The Loft were better than I anticipated, despite a fair percentage of the material being a little too trad-countrified for my tastes, and I’d certainly be happy to catch them again. However, tonight was all about catching up with old friends, so in that regard, this was a splendid and entirely successful evening out!