The Heavy / At The Zoo / Smiley Mic @ The Rainbow, Friday 27th November 2009

After fighting off a dubious complaint about noise that threatened its future and fitting a new super roof that’s capable of muffling the sound of a nuclear explosion (probably) The Rainbow, Digbeth’s jewel in the crown, continues to put on some darn fine gigs. Tonight’s offering included hotly tipped funksters (or should that be funkateers…funk knows?) The Heavy, but first up was SmileyMic who, in his own words I hasten to add, proudly boasts of being ‘an expert in playing with himself’. Happily my fears of watching a grown man wank himself into a frenzy for 20 minutes (oh dear, there was no need for that was there…what would mother say?) proved to be unfounded, instead Mr Smiley uses all kinds of clever little bits of kit to record himself singing, beatboxing and playing various instruments, then plays back said recordings as an accompaniment. Live looping he calls it. This must be tricky. A little like patting your head and rubbing your tummy I expect. Go on try it. Not easy eh? Happily Mr Smiley is indeed ‘an expert in playing with himself’ and delivered an impressive set of organically self built tunes that was as enjoyable to watch (seeing how he bought in all of the various elements into one coherent whole track) as it was to listen to. An inspired rendition of Rappers Delight closed the set on a high but self penned tunes ‘Promises’ and ‘All Good Things’ (you can listen to both tracks on his MySpace thingy) both stood out too.

Next up, it’s At The Zoo. I rather like zoos, especially ones with meerkats in. Damn those are some cute motherfunkers. I think we should put meerkats in charge of the country. They might not make any great policy decisions…so no change there then...but imagine how much more fun Prime Minister’s question time would be eh? Anyway, we’re not here to discuss meerkats…or zoos…but At The Zoo (see how easily distracted I get…I blame global warming). Imagine a more ska tinged Libertines, with catchier tunes and less crack, and you’ll be on the right lines. Pick of the tracks tonight included ‘Non Conformist’ and ‘Love For Granted’ (which sounds like a cross between something from the Grease Soundtrack and the first Arctic Monkeys album…if that isn’t enough to get you dashing off to their MySpace page to listen then I don’t know what will).

Finally, with a combined weight of 16.5tonnes, The Heavy are officially the biggest band in the world. Oh, hang on. Not THAT kind of heavy…the “damn that’s some heavy shit you’re laying down brother” kind of heavy. Right. Take a pinch of Ska, a dash of soul, a large dose of classic rock and stir a generous spoonful of da funk and you’ve got The Heavy’s retro tinged sound, brought to life thanks to an energetic, sweat drenched performance. From the raw garage funk of ‘Oh no! Not you again’ through to the sweeter Curtis Mayfield style vocals employed on ‘That Kind of Man’ and on to the reggae skank of ‘Cause For Alarm’ lead Heavy, Swaby, proved to be one of the most versatile vocalists I’ve seen in ages. I often curse my misfortune that I wasn’t around for the classic rock and soul years of the late 50’s through to the early 70’s and, whilst there’s plenty of footage and recordings around from that era, you just can’t beat the live experience. The Heavy are one of only a handful of groups that I’ve seen over the years who can, for a few brief moments, take you there. When they’re not taking you to sweet soul land they’re rocking out like Led Zep on a mission, more than justifying their name with some furious riffs and raw, full throttle, heads down rawwwwk. To be honest there wasn’t a duff moment in the set but if I had to pick a few real highlights I’d plump for ‘Sixxxteen’ (the bastard half brother of Screaming Jay Hawkins’ classic ‘I Put A Spell On You’), ‘That Kind of Man’ (the kind of track Lenny Kravitz would gladly cut off his genitals for) and set closer (which saw some furious boogieing from the more energetic members of the crowd… and some deranged arm waving thing from yours truly) the James Brown-tastic ‘How You Like Me Now’. Sure, as one member of the audience observed it would’ve been nice to have a live horn section but that’s a minor quibble and, as Swaby responded, keeping a horn section on the road ain’t cheap. The Heavy? Worth their weight in gold.

Top Tracks # 8 The Fiery Furnaces - Tropical Iceland

Hmmm I guess this is a Top Band as well as a Top Track. The Fiery Furnaces are a frankly odd lot. Recent years have seen them record an album with their gran for example, whilst their next release is some sheet music so you the public can play their new album for yourself…’cos they’re not going to. Yep, in response to all this downloading business The Furnaces are getting ahead of the game by not recording the bloody thing in the first place. Ha! Take that, internerds. I love it. And I love this band. Some of their stuff you might find a little odd (okay then, bloody odd), but this early track is happy happy catchy catchy and a perfect (gentle) introduction.

CHEW LiPS / I Thee Lothario / 51 Breaks @ The Flapper, 24th November 2009

Remember remember the 24^th November? Nope. The poor old 24^th November isn’t normally a date for your diary. Too late for bonfires and fireworks and too early for ‘figgy’ pudding and brandy butter it’s stuck in a limbo land of dull dampness, crap telly and stressed out parents trying to hunt down the latest ‘must have’ toy for their demented offspring to smash into a million pieces on December the 25^th. Happily in a basement far, far away (The Flapper actually) there’s something worth celebrating – le musique pop as my old French teacher used to call it. Getting the party started, it’s everyone’s favourite snooker themed indie band 51 Breaks. No, you’re right. They have nothing to do with snooker, although the lead singer is sporting a slightly John Virgo-ish beard now. My second viewing of the Breaks and, as before, they delivered an impressive set of anthemic indie, taken a step above the rest by some nice harmonies from the band. ‘Words Regarding’ and ‘Tunnels’ (replete with a Bono-ish whooohooo) were amongst the highlights, but I was most impressed by a storming new song of theirs (which really made the best use of those harmonies) that might have been called ‘Hoppo’s Razor’ (I heard the ‘Razor’ bit but I might have been dreaming the ‘Hoppo’s’ part…I do that sometimes…it’s my age). Get it up on MySpace smartish.

Next up ahhhh…I Thee Lothario…shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day? Nope, I shall compare thee to Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet and Simple Minds. Yes, my favourite sons of ‘80’s pop have been something of a hit in Baron Towers this year. Tonight was the forth time I’ve seen them (I think…I can only count up to three with any degree of certainty) and, once again, they delivered a stadium-tastic performance in the relatively (oh alright then, delightfully poky) confines of the Flapper Basement. Just cop a listen to set opener ‘Arise, Release, Repent’…doesn’t that track just deserve to be sung along with by the odd 100,000 people? If John Hughes (RIP), maker of some of the best 80’s films of all time, were around he’d be straight on the blower to this lot for a soundtrack. The(e) icing on the cake is the lovely sax man Byron (you just gotta have some sax on music like this), who adds some soulful parping to tracks like ‘An English Sentence’ (which, together with ‘Soldier To Your Heart’) ended the set on yet another high note. The(e) whole band are a total delight though and seem to have a cracking time up there. I Thee Lothario, I thee salute you.

No pastel silk suits (despite my pleadings) but I’m happy to report that the keyboard player seems to be going for some kind of record on the biggest stack of keyboards ever played. It’s so tall that air traffic controllers are now alerting low flying aircraft of its whereabouts. Bigger, taller, more…that’s what I say. I won’t be happy until he needs oxygen and a whole team of Sherpas to reach that B flat on the very top keyboard. Oh…one last thing…I much prefer the lead singer’s haircut now too. Some nice sideburns there fella.

Finally, they’re the new La Roux don’t you know? Yep, before the old La Roux’s had the chance to appear on Strictly Come Dancing, miming to their new hit as a dozen sequinned floozies flash their sweaty gussets (hmmm…sweaty gussets) at the nation’s granddads, we’re on to the La New Roux…CHEW LiPS. Actually, whilst there’s kind of a similarity, which I’m guilty of picking up on way back at the start of the year, Chew Lips are a different can of hair spray altogether. For starters lead LiP Tigs has much stronger, more of a show tunes kind of voice which, if this pop star lark doesn’t take off, could well see her pursuing a career in musical theatre (let me see those jazz hands people). That would be a real shame though as Tigs n’Co have a real knack for perfect pop (albeit with a slightly dark edge). I’ve heard her describe their sound as 8-bit Casiotone disco (for those not in the know 8-bit tunes resemble the sort of soundtracks that ZX Spectrum games had way back in 1982…and cool 8-bit covers of all sorts of tracks are currently doing the round on t’web) and I’m buggered if I can do any better than that. So, right now, the LiPS couldn’t be any cooler if they tried. Apparently this gig was even one of Murray from Flight of the Concords’ (aka Zane Lowe) hottest tickets. Ignoring the hype though, CHEW LiPS are a darn fine addition to the electropop landscape. The 'over all too soon' (always a good sign when a gig flies by) eight track set included both Kitsuné singles (‘Salt Air’ and ‘Solo’) together with a half dozen others that were, amazingly, every (8-)bit as strong. In fact, barring any short circuits, I think we might already have a contender for one of 2010’s albums of the year. CHEW-riffic.

PS: A special mention for Tigs’ unique dance moves too…like a young foal learning to walk…awww bless. Bonus points for standing up for Birmingham too when one of the audience said it was ‘rubbish’…civic pride at its best once more (I’m assuming the offender was ‘local’).

Top Tracks # 7 Chris Wood – The Cottager’s Reply

Regular readers will know of my folk fetish, so this week’s top track pays homage to one of the best folk artists around, Chris Wood. Part of The Imagined Village collective (a truly unique multi-cultural folk supergroup that’s given the whole genre a nice kick up the arse) Chris is the reigning Folk Singer of the Year (he defeated Eliza Carthy in the third round after a cracking left hook) and recipient of Folk Album of the Year to boot.

Folk’s been (in my eyes and ears at least) enjoying a well deserved upturn in popularity over the last decade or so, helped no doubt by ‘sexy’ Seth Lakeman as well as groups like The Unthanks (hubba hubba…I’m sorry …I have a thing for clogs) and the aforementioned Imagined Village. Birmingham’s very own ‘Moseley Folk Festival’ has showcased some of the very best in ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ folk and their Lunar Society seem to be putting on some stonkingly good shows at the moment (I’ve added them to the Promoters list to the left). I missed the bonkers but quite brilliant Beth Jeans Houghton (she found my silly ‘tache most amusing at this years Folk Festival) the other week, but have firmly pencilled in the next big Moseley Folk presentation which is, by a happy co-incidence, none other than Chris Wood.

With a voice as warm as Christmas punch and a set of songs that respects folk’s past but still manages to keep one foot firmly in the present, if you’ve not seen him before you’re in for a treat. Actually make that a double treat as this is his very first tour with his own band (featuring several fellow Imagined Villagers). Of all his songs the track I’ve chosen here is the one that moves me the most. I won’t spoil it for you by wittering on about its subject matter (whether you’re a fan of folk or not, give it a listen) but it neatly sums up the very best and worst of contemporary Britain (it gets bonus points for featuring the best use of the letter ‘f’ since The Who’s 'My Generation' too). Enjoy.

Chris Wood’s Handmade Life plays Moseley All Services Club on Friday 4^th December 2009. Tickets available (I’d be surprised if it didn’t sell out, so get in sharpish) from www.moseleyfolk.co.uk

The Sunshine Underground / Andre Aristotle @ The Hare & Hounds, Monday 16th November 2009

Tonight’s gig was free entry for all (well, all of us who could fit into the Hare & Hounds that is) courtesy of those lovely folk at Birmingham Promoters. Bless ‘em. You don't get much for free these days. Infectious diseases, ASBO’s…er…that’s about it. Happily this evening was far more pleasant than either option, kicking off with the wonderfully named Andre Aristotle (although I’ll bet that’s probably not the name on his passport). In fact I know it’s not. Andre is/was the lead singer of the rather splendid Bourgeois Four who played some clever, catchy indie rock. Ditching the indie rock bit Andre’s now playing some clever catchy electro pop instead. All on his lonesome. Having loved the B4 (and with a bit of a thing for electro pop in general) this was right up my street, shades of Giorgio Moroder, Kraftwerk, Soft Cell and The Human League melded with a more beat heavy vibe and a voice that’s capable of great things (as witnessed on a beautifully delivered ‘The Lights Change’ – a homage to getting off your box). Electro pop heaven...and a lovely bloke too.

The Sunshine Underground are one of a huge ever growing number of bands in my ‘must listen to one day’ file. You know the sort of thing. Someone says to you, “Hey daddio, have you heard such and such a band? They’re a big hit with all the cool cats” (forgive me, I’m in one of those moods). You smile, nod enthusiastically and make a mental note to check them out. Then, when you log on to have a listen, you get distracted by videos of Shakira. Just me? Oh. Okay. In the case of The Sunshine Underground someone mentioned them to me about 4 years ago and so, here I am, some 48 months later…right on the case, Mr Finger on the Pulse. Actually when I say I hadn’t heard anything by them I was soon proved wrong when they played several tracks which had obviously seeped into my brain by osmosis. I knew them but I’m buggered if I know where from. Maybe the tune fairy left them on my pillow one night?

For a band that’s released just one album so far (2006’s ‘Raise the Alarm’) they’ve managed to maintain a pretty loyal following, evidenced by the enthusiastic sing alongs throughout the evening (culminating in some frantic frugging at the front to their biggest song to date, the funk/rock/dance classic ‘Put You In Your Place’…damn that’s a great track). Before all that though we were treated to a pretty equal mix of the old and new stuff, including several standout numbers that might just explain what the band’s been doing for the last few years. Pick of the bunch for me was the Muse-tastic ‘Spell It Out’, complete with soaring falsetto vocals and anthemic, orchestral sounding guitars (how the chuff can a guitar be orchestral…good grief I get worse). There’s a distinct Killers-ish edge to the band too, a harder version certainly but that kind of ‘grand’ sound that you can imagine the odd 50,000 people singing along to. Take another newbie ‘In Your Arms’ (and another set of impressive vocals tonight) for instance. It’s the sort of music that’s destined to really unite a crowd and it (together with the rest of the set) was played with all of the joyful enthusiasm of a group that’s just starting out, rather than one that’s a good few years into its life. On the strength of tonight’s show, this particular ray of Sunshine could be on the verge of going Overground. Big time.

Their next long player (good grief, how old am I?), ‘Nobody’s Coming To Save You’ is due out in February 2010, just in time for Valentines day…probably. You could give a copy to the one you love, especially if they’re fond of funky indie rock. Who knows, you might even…ahem…get lucky? Awwww…I feel just like Cilla Black, either that or some kind of aging pimp. Hmm…yes, I prefer that, Pimp Daddy.

Setlist

Coming To Save You

Commercial Breakdown

Your Friends

In Your Arms

Borders

Change Your Mind

Any Minute Now

Spell It Out

Way It Is

The Messiah

Standby For Nothing

Put You In Your Place

PS: For proper photos of the gig check out Wayne Fox's link to the left of this mumbo jumbo.

The 12 gigs of Christmas…

I’ve had a couple of weeks off the gigging now (just enough time to recover some hearing and basic liver function) but the next few weeks are shaping up to include quite a few tempting offerings. In the spirit of Christmas (you know...giving and sharing and all that humbug) here’s my pick of the bunch:

The Sunshine Underground do their indie rock thang @ The Hare & Hounds Monday 16^th November in a FREE (yep, there’s my favourite word) gig. Entry by free e-tickets available here…if there are any left that is (see, I builds your hopes up then dashes ‘em down again…naughty Baron).

ChewLips ("they’re the new La Roux you know") and Hearing Aid favourites I Thee Lothario play The Flapper on Tuesday 24^th November.

Soweto Kinch plays something called The Hockley Bar and Kitchen on 26^th November and…bless my cotton stockings…that’s a freebie too. Tidings of comfort and joy eh?

The Heavy lay down some funky ass shit at The Rainbow on Friday 27^th November.

Them Is Me (some blokes out of Reef) and Black Fang rock The Flapper to its very core on 28^th November.

Pom Pom wearing fruitcake Paloma Faith freaks out the Academy (in a rescheduled gig) on Thursday 3^rd December. It’s sold out so if you want to go tough bananas (either that or you can buy a ticket for £80 off some Scouser on ebay).

The cool as folk Chris Wood brings it on at The All Services Club, Church Road in Moseley on Friday 4^th December.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart make some noise at The Academy on Saturday 5^th December.

The harmony-tastic Goodnight Lenin come together at The Hare & Hounds on Monday 7^th December.

Self appointed ‘God of Fuck’, Mr Marilyn Manson brings his laminated crotch to the Academy on Sunday 13^th December.

The Raveonettes rave on at The Hare & Hounds on Thursday 17^th December.

And…finally…Santa makes a special guest appearance down your chimney on Thursday 24^th December, performing tracks from his latest album ‘Why Don’t You Fuckers Ever Buy Me a Present eh?’.

Ho ho ho.

Misty’s new adventure

Just came across a couple of new-ish tracks from one of my favourite bands of all time, Misty’s Big Adventure and (as ever) they’re well worth a listen. There’s the self penned parping ska of ‘Someone at the Window’ and a Pipettes-ish cover of ‘Dumb Head’ by a ‘60’s singer called Ginny Arnell. ‘Dumb Head’s’ the first non Gareth lead vocal (to my knowledge) that the band’s ever done and, far from being a curiosity, it’s a belter. Now, how about a 7inch single release for that authentic girl group experience?

PS: For the uninitiated amongst you Misty’s Big Adventure are a Birmingham band who combine the wit and wonder of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band with a little ska, some classic pop, a healthy dose of cynicism about the modern world we all find ourselves stuck in and…oh hell, just watch the video (from 2006...old skool stylee) and you'll see what I mean.

Top Tracks # 6 - Findo Gask - One Eight Zero

Top track you say? Oh alright then, here you go. A band I only discovered last week but am rapidly falling in lurve with…it’s Findo Gask! I don’t think they’ve released much yet but I came across this dinky little video to one of their tunes and it is, like much of their stuff, darn fine quirky electro pop heaven. Imagine Kraftwerk fronted by a disco dancing angel and…well…you’d probably be sectioned but that’s another matter. You need this band in your life. Trust me on this one. For more Gask loveliness head over to their MySpace page. It’s like Christmas come early.

Delphic / Two Door Cinema Club / Old School Tie @ The Rainbow, Friday 30th October 2009

Achingly cool French label Kitsuné hit the Rainbow with a double header of two of their latest discoveries ably supported by local dubby dance psych legends Old School Tie. What’s not to like eh? I suppose the gig could be on a tropical island populated by nymphomaniac porn stars and an endless supply of Weston’s Old Rosie but we can’t have everything can we? Squint a little and that forlorn looking plant in the corner of the room could almost be a palm tree and I reckon one of the security guards on the door would be up for a quick fumble if you fancied it…

First up roll yerself a phat one, brew up some shrooms and indulge in some serious dubby dancey rubba dubby fan dubby dozeee dubbiness…it’s Old School Tie. Resisting the temptation to strip naked and do those strange handmoves that you see old hippies do in films about Woodstock instead I let myself drift off into a magical world of purples and golds where talking lobsters float across marshmallow skies. Yes, there’s something in the air, and it’s not the smell of the Rainbow toilets. If you let it, the music of OST really does take you places, especially on tracks like their epic masterpiece (and, as ever, one of the set’s highlights) ‘God’s Electric Super Scene’. Watching this band live is always a joy because they all seem to be having a genuinely great time up there, in fact you get the sense that they’d play like that whether they had an audience or not. The bass player (tall chap, curly hair) in particular spent most of the set bouncing up and down like Tigger on speed and having the time of his life. The last track of the set (a new one?), the rockier ‘We Are Machines’ got the crowd throwing all kinds of shapes and could well give ‘Gods Electric Super Scene’ a run for it’s money when it comes to their best song.

Next, if Foals met Vampire Weekend on the dancefloor of their local indie disco the result would sound a lot like Two Door Cinema Club…probably. Go on. Have a listen. I’ve nailed it haven’t I? Oh alright then, please yourselves. It took a couple of numbers for the boys from Bangor to get the crowd to shuffle forwards but, with the frankly irresistible ‘Something Good Will Work’ the same posse that had just been getting down with OST were, as they used to say back in the day, ‘having it large’. ‘No One Can Talk’ (what Editors would sound like on an E) seemed to go down particularly well too. A good showing, if a little nervous in places (but then I guess the sight of a Rainbow full of Friday night revellers is enough to throw anyone off their stride a little). If you’re Birmingham based you can catch ‘em (and I heartily recommend that you do) on November 8^th at The Hare & Hounds.

Finally Delphic. I was struggling to think of a way of describing this band but happily I met a lovely chap just before their set started who’d seen them before and he neatly summed them up as Underwold meets Joy Division. Genius. Makes my job a lot easier. I’ve seen them referred to as ‘post dance’ too. So that’s what the Royal Mail are up to eh, bopping around sorting offices all over the country instead of delivering our gas bills? Truth be told there’s a mighty slab of the early 90’s dance scene with Delphic, from the beats right through to the ravetastic lighting set up…strobe lights, neon lights, LED lights…basically a whole big light thing. Standing quite close to the stage my retinas now resemble those crispy bits of chorizo sausage that you get on pizzas. Nice. Anyway, back to the music. Delphic have that kind of early 90’s trippy, trancey approach to dance music that stirred distant memories of dodgy nights in even dodgier nightclubs during my dim and distant student days. Take their big anthem ‘Counterpoint’, New Order-ish guitars and Beloved (remember, they did ‘The Sun Rising’?) style floaty, bleepy bits. The crowd went nuts for this track in particular (although there was a fair bit of hands in the air stuff going on throughout the set), the slightly chilled out section giving them a breather before a clattering build up (and enough flashing lights to bring on epileptic fit) left the more active amongst us a sweaty mess (even I threw a couple of shapes at one point…I’m sorry, it won’t happen again). Despite clearly being designed for (and destined) to play enormodomes and Summer festivals the whole thing worked really well in the confines of the Rainbow, not a trick that every ‘dance’ act can pull off but down to the fact that, despite being dancey, the band were actually playing live (guitars, samplers, keyboards, those little drum things that Depeche Mode used to use). Now, I’m off to find myself some glow sticks…sorted.

PS: Proper photos of this gig were taken by the lovely Mr Wayne Fox (check out Da Snappers section to the left of this)...who gave us a lift home after the gig too. What a lovely man.

Marc Almond / Baby Dee @ The Alexandra Theatre, Thursday 29th October 2009

Oh Marc...shutting your eyes won't make this review go away.

Delighted to have the chance to see Baby Dee for the second time in a year or so. For those of you who don’t know her work Baby Dee is a transgender artist who plays a mean harp (and piano tonight) and sings a whole bunch of songs about transformation, regret, love, confusion…you get the picture. She’s a real Marmite artist, you’ll either love it or sit there feeling a little confused…at best. I’m a fan, partly because the music can, at times be hauntingly beautiful and partly, if I’m honest, because I have the utmost respect for any outsider artist who has the balls (hmmm…perhaps not the best turn of phrase in this case) to just go out there and do their thang. Tonight the audience was certainly split. There was some rather nasty snickering going on (to be fair Dee’s singing voice is a curious mixture of a haggered old sea dog and an angel and at times she sort of laughs the words out) but that says more about the puerile narrow mindedness of some of the audience than it does about the performance. Shame on you, whoever you were. In future please stay in and watch X Factor or whatever people like you do when you’re not inflicting your vile presence on the rest of us.

Baby Dee...unlikely to be appearing on X Factor any day soon.

Speaking of doing your own thang, Marc Almond’s always ploughed a curious field (not literally, I can’t imagine him up to his ankles in turnips and manure). Recent years have seen him putting out a covers album, a couple of Russian language albums and all sorts of obscure underground dance collaborations. The fact that he’s been able to put anything out after smashing his head into a million pieces in a motorcycle accident a few years back is nothing short of miraculous. The last time I saw him was at The Academy 2. Disdain for the venue dripped from his every pore. ‘They’ve stuck me in the corner of some shitty bar’ he moaned. True, it wasn’t the best venue for him and his musicians, a perfectly competent bunch of people but with more than a whiff of those wedding bands who do covers of ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’ about them, didn’t really help matters. Marc was my first ever gig at The Powerhouse (now the Oceananianiaiaia or some such godawful chain crap) way back in 1988. It remains possibly my favourite ever gig, filled with classic era Almond (Mother Fist, Vermin in Ermine, Stories of Johnny, The Stars We Are) and backed by La Magia (including Marc’s then muse Annie Hogan). I’d not been to a gig before so I wore a huge, thick, heavy donkey jacket (hey, it was the 80’s) and stood there sweating like a motherhumper all night, surrounded a mainly gay or gothic (or gay gothic in some cases) audience. I went on my own too. No one I knew then would’ve wanted to go as Marc was (and still is I guess) something of an outsider artist, despite all of the hit singles. Fast forward 21 years and here I am sitting in the Alex Theatre watching him for the 8^th or 9^th time (I forget…it’s my age) with Lady Baron but, sadly, without the donkey jacket (I wonder where it is now?). I have to say that, knowing how great he can be, Marc’s performances have somewhat frustrated me over the years. He has a tendency to camp it up and make light of some of his best known songs which unnecessarily cheapens the material (‘Say Hello, Wave Goodbye’ ain’t a comedy number in my book). His choice of musicians, in particular Neal X, has also surprised me. I’m sure Neal X is a lovely human being and a gifted musician but he’s just not right for Marc’s music. Hell, I’m skirting around the issue. Last night’s gig was, for me, something of a disaster. It saddens me to say that, but I do actually care enough about Marc’s career to make a few constructive criticisms:

(1) Get a new band of younger, fresher, classically trained musicians. Sadly the drummer made every line of every song sound like the punchline to a bad joke…be-dum tschhh.

(2) By all means include new and more challenging material but don’t leave the better known tracks for the last 15 minutes. The couple we sat next to walked out after an hour of (mainly) Russian songs.

(3) Hire a really good musical director who can pull the whole show into something cohesive and add a little freshness to the older material. The 12 Years of Tears show in 1992 was a triumph...30 Years of Tears could be even better.

(4) Stop camping it up so much…on the piano backed songs the power, emotion and (most important of all) voice were very bit as strong as 20 years ago. ‘Witty’ asides are fine in between tracks, but not in the middle of them (take Mother Fist for example...substituting 'Barcelona' for 'Birmingham' just ruined it).

(5) Learn the words to the songs…especially your own (Tears Run Rings in particular seemed to get a little 'confused').

(6) Rehearse the show. Last night was sloppy. I wouldn’t mind so much if I’d only paid a fiver but tickets were £21 each + all kinds of random booking fees.

To be fair Marc actually apologised profusely at the end of the show and called it a ‘bit of a mad one’. Hmmmm…that’s not the word I’d use. The absolute nadir was reached when the hapless Mr X’s guitar kept feeding back during the first part of ‘Gone But Not Forgotten’. Marc stopped and said something along the lines of ‘For Fucks sake Neal, can’t you get an amp that works?’ A sound man was summoned. He fiddled with some knobs and the song resumed. Two seconds later, more feedback. The entire song was then abandoned and there followed some farcical get the band off the stage, get the band on the stage nonsense. I half expected the band to start doing the Hokey Cokey at one point. Still, the faithful applauded like mad, showing just what a loyal lot us Marc Almond fans can be. Loyalty can, however, be misplaced. Let’s hope some realistic reviews of these shows finally get the message through and Marc’s true talent doesn’t end up being wasted in some dreadful end of the pier show which, sadly, is what last night ended up being.

PS: Before anyone takes offense at this review please note that Marc himself acknowledged that it wasn't a great show. I've been lucky enough to see him at his best and this wasn't it.

Everything Everything / Findo Gask / Fix Monday @ The Flapper, Thursday 28th October 2009

Fix Monday...on a Wednesday

I wasn’t going to go to this gig but I made the mistake of watching one of the headline band’s videos and that was that…hooked. Oh dear. I’m going to have to gig detox soon or else my ears will fall off. First up, Fix Monday. I wish someone would. Then they could get on with fixing Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday too. Friday, Saturday and Sunday I can live with most of the time, you can leave them as is. A quick glance back through the history books reveals that I was particularly impressed with this lot last time I saw them. I used the phrase ‘life affirming’ even. Bless my cotton socks. With songs like ‘This Will Make My Life Better’ and ‘I Change’ there’s certainly a cheery positivity about the band that was perhaps a little lacking in The Twilight Sad’s brilliant but rather more wrist slitting gig on Monday night. Tonight The Monday’s (not the Happy Monday’s as the drummer helpfully pointed out) were as joyously charming as before, making good use of harmonies particularly on their reverse stage invasion, when the entire band decamps into the audience to deliver a beautiful a’capella number. They certainly fixed Wednesday for me.

Gerard Gask...this charming man

Next up, Findo Gask. Odd name. Sounds like a Bulgarian side dish…‘yes please, I’ll have the fillet steak with large helping of Findo Gask…not too much chilli’ (actually Findo Gask is a small village in Perth and Kinross – who says this site ain’t educational?). Musically they’re an equally tasty proposition (nice link there…I’m getting cheesier by the day), a spellbinding blend of Cocteau Twins, Super Furry Animals (check out ‘Go Faster Stripe’), Foals, Chic, The Associates…for me nothing short of musical nirvana. Lead Gask, Gerard, has a voice like a naughty choirboy with shades of Russell Mael (lead vocalist of Sparks) and the late great Billy Mackenzie (lead vocalist of The Associates). That’s vocal royalty. I’d chuck in Nils Bech if anyone knew who he was, but you don’t (unless you’re Mrs Bech) so I won’t bother.

One of the Gask lads blows his own trumpet

Gerard’s got some cheeky Morrissey-esque stage moves too (minus the gladioli sadly) and despite clearly suffering from the mother of all colds he really put his heart and soul into it (as did the rest of the band). I met him in the loo afterwards (I do that a lot…maybe I’m a closet cottager?) and he was simply lovely. In the world’s shortest interview (approximately 15 seconds) he revealed that the debut album is nearly in the bag and they’re just on the lookout for a label to release it. It could well be one of the great releases of 2010…I stake my nuts on it…and any label would be freakin’ lucky to get them. I’m conscious of bigging up a lot of bands at the moment, but bollocks to it, there are some amazing groups out there at the moment (anyone who says otherwise is either (a) deaf or (b) mad) and Findo Gask are tantalisingly close to the top of the tree for me. Sparky, truly original Scots indie dance with a hard drive stuffed full of enough quirky bleepy bits to keep a Kraftwerk fan with ADD happy. Go and listen to every single track on their MySpace page right now and play it to everyone you know…then get them to play it to everyone else they know etc etc. By the weekend the whole country will be bopping away to ‘Va Va Va’, ‘One Eight Zero’, ‘Go Faster Stripe’ and the world will be a better place. Let’s go magnificent!

(By the way, what is it with all these great Scottish bands at the moment? Sucioperro, The Twilight Sad, this lot…I sense a bandwagon for NME to leap on. Gawd help us all).

Mike Everything...giving it, well, everything

Finally Everything Everything (recently honoured inductees of The Baron’s Top Track Club for their ‘Photoshop Handsome’ toon) which reminded me of a cross between XTC and the criminally underrated Dog’s Die in Hot Cars (RIP), in other words slightly bonkers intellipop that’s as good to dance along with as it is to sit and stroke your beard to...not that I have a beard as such. I think my silly ‘tash is quite enough facial hair for now. Happily EE were far more than one just track ponies tonight though, with ‘MY KZ UR BF’ coming across as a funky ass Foals meets Futureheads NY disco classic and 'Suffragette Suffragette' a weird hybrid of Talking Heads meets Ocean Colour Scene. Yep, they’re not an easy band to pin down (Fleet Foxes go indie disco is another comparison I found myself making during the gig – just check out set opener ‘Tin’). Of course anyone can take influences, it’s a different kettle of fish to take ‘em somewhere interesting and ‘Everything Everything’ do just that, gleefully playing around with pop’s past. The set ended all too soon (I think one of the band’s new and they’re still learning the ropes) but I’d seen and heard Everything (Everything) I’d come for. Yet another top night all round and proof that, whilst the music industry might be dying on its arse, the music itself is in fine fettle (fettle…did I really just use the word fettle?).

PS: I’m not sure how they’re doing it (witchcraft I guess) but Birmingham Promoters seem to have a bit of a knack for booking some of the best bands around just before they break through. Check out their listings and take a punt…you won't be disappointed.

The Dead Weather @ Birmingham O2 Academy Monday 26th October 2009

Ladeeez and gentlemen (cue fanfare…dancing girls…fireworks…Ant & Dec) it gives me great pleasure (more fanfare…some of those dancing horses with nubile young ladies on the back) to introduce (drum roll, flashing lights, lasers, dry ice..hell let’s have some more nubile young ladies…) Mr Andy Watsonnnnnnnnnn!!! (Over the top? Moi?) Yes, it’s guest reviewer time! This time Andy braves the wet weather (can you see where I’m going with this?) to catch the…(wait for it)…Dead Weather (ooooh that’s smooth)…

In January 2009, after an impromptu jam session at Jack White's “Third Man” studios, the idea for The Dead Weather came about. Two and a half weeks of writing and recording later and the band was fully formed with fellow Weathers Alison Mosshart ( The Kills ) Dean Fertita ( Queens Of The Stone Age ) Jack Lawrence ( The Greenhorns & Raconteurs) joining Jack White (White Stripes & The Raconteurs ).

Just a few short months later in March The Dead Weather debuted their first single “Hang You From The Heavens” at the launch of Third Man Record’s HQ in Nashville before playing their very first live show. Fast forward seven months and the band have been touring all around the world before landing in rainy Birmingham at the recently opened New O2 Academy. Surprisingly the venue was only about three quarters full, with the balcony area almost completely empty apart from the support band sitting down to watch Jack White's…well…what do we all them…side-project (or was that The Raconteurs)…Indie/Alternative Super-Group? On tonight's performance the only thing that comes to mind is SUPERGROUP. From the opening song Alison’s prowling the stage like a lioness scowling and snarling at the crowd who are lapping up every beat from Jack. W and Jack. L's rhythm section.

The band kept the talking between songs to an absolute minimum and just seemed to love playing, so much so that each song was played with as much if not more enthusiasm as the previous number. Half way into the set Jack White came out from behind the drums to take up guitar duties for one song and played one hell of a guitar solo, showing he’s one of the best riff makers around at the moment. Throughout the gig the crowd seem awestruck and under Alison's spell as she keep prowling the stage, often jumping up and walking across the monitors balancing like she was on a tight-rope. During the encore White again came out from behind the drums to take up guitar duties. At one point all the members of the band were playing guitar, with a drum machine and sampler providing the beats. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a band play so tightly and be so connected by the music. For a time, when White was playing the guitar, Alison was dancing in an almost a hypnotic state, her eyes fixed deep into his showing this band is all about the music. No egos just pure music!! The highlight for me was the closing song “Treat Me Like Your Mother” with great beats, seething guitars and one hell of a rhythm section. Jack White surely has the musical Midas touch.

The Twilight Sad / Mutineers / Goodnight Lenin @ The Hare & Hounds, Kings Heath, Monday 26th October 2009

The Twilight Sad...out of darkness comes light.

Are you sitting comfortably? Right, then I’ll begin. Once upon a time in a magical kingdom far, far away (oh alright then, it was Birmingham) there was a rather fine band called The Allies. They had more than a touch of the Arctic Monkey’s about them (no bad thing), but one or two tracks hinted at a more unusual and intriguing Celtic flavoured direction. For some reason they split up (‘musical differences’ no doubt). Now several of them (there seemed to be about 97 people in The Allies) have returned as part of a brand new five piece, Goodnight Lenin. Ditching the indie direction entirely they’ve gone all folk harmonies - Simon & Garfunkel meets CSNY on the way to a barbecue at Bob Dylan’s house (B.Y.O.B…Dylan’s a bit of a tight arse). When I say brand new I mean it. This was only their second ever gig. Their MySpace thingy currently features a mere brace of tracks recorded in a kitchen (one of the band told me they planned to play a lot more kitchens in the future…makes a lot of sense to me, you can make a nice cup of tea halfway through the gig and rustle up a bacon sarnie if you get peckish). Whilst the MySpace tracks are acoustic the live sound’s beefed up by drums, amps, fiddles…one of the singer’s mum’s raucous laughter…so it’s a lot richer sounding. The one constant though are those gorgeous three part harmonies. I know they’ve sung together in one form or another in the past (so they’ve got a bit of a head start) but, for a group that’s only performed live in front of an audience for half an hour or so to date, this was simply a stunningly good performance with moments magical enough to tingle the strongest of spines. 'Wenceslas Square', 'Crook in the Creek' and 'Incendiary' were all crackingly good but, to be honest, there wasn’t a dud in the set for me.

Second on the bill, ahoy there m’hearties, pieces of eight etc etc it’s Mutineers. With echoes of such 80’s indie luminaries as the Lotus Eaters ('First Picture of You') and Fiction Factory (‘Feels Like Heaven’), especially on tracks like 'Shadow Kisses' (one of their set highlights tonight) there’s a lot to like about this motley crew Jim lad (actually they weren’t motley at all, they looked like lovely lads, but I have to keep this tiresome analogy going now I’ve started it don’t I?). Some nice jangly guitars, Nicolas’ angelic vocals (shades of Billy Mackenzie) and poetic lyrics (cop a load of "All the shallow graves laid by Chinese whispers. Through these sliding doors cursed with shadow kisses") combined to cast aside any thoughts of making the band walk the plank.

Finally it’s The Twilight Sad. Awww…shame. Cheer up chaps. It’s not that bad. Why so sad? Oh, your girlfriends have all run off with your best friends, taking your record collections with them. What’s that? They nicked your favourite jazz mag too? And made several long distance calls to a Thai brothel before they left resulting in a massive ‘phone bill and the unwelcome attention of several ladyboys who want to “love you long time?” Wow. I think I’d be a little sad too. That explains the music I guess. A mix of Glasvegas, Arab Strap and (swirly walls of guitar noise ahoy) The Jesus and Mary Chain it’s pretty miserable stuff, but miserable (done right) can, in a perverse kind of way, be uplifting too. What The Twilight Sad managed to do quite brilliantly in this live performance was to avoid making it all seem tooooo dark and depressing. There’s a defiant quality there, a celebration of the ying and yang of life all set against a torrent of guitars, some Joy Division-ish drums and intriguing angst ridden lyrics. Take these beauties for instance:

“Head up dear, you're shallow and blind
Head up dear, the rabbit might die
Because they're putting, the boot in, tonight”

Easy listening it ain’t, but then life ain’t a bed o’ roses all the time is it? At times tonight the music enveloped us like a thick fog (there literally was a thick fog in the venue too thanks to a highly efficient smoke machine…) but it was a warm, strangely comforting embrace, a little like being hugged by a drunken reveller on New Year’s Eve. James, the lead singer, was at the heart of creating and sustaining this atmosphere. He seemed genuinely touched that so many people had turned up. I imagine next time round, as more people catch up with them, he’ll be even more touched. He also seemed totally lost in the performance, not in a fancy ‘look at me’ kind of way, but genuinely singing as though his very life depended on it. It's a rawness that you rarely see these days. On ‘I Became a Prostitute’ this really shone through, the quite and loud bits giving him the chance to show his softer as well as his rockier side. At one point during the gig he knelt down in front of the drums, beating a drumstick against them with such ferocity that it splintered clean in two. Like I say, there was'nae any pretence here. As Richy Manic would’ve carved it, this was ‘4 real’. During ‘And She Would Darken the Memory’, abandoning his microphone altogether, James ended up bravely howling out the words against a viscous wall of noise. Like many of life’s battles depicted in their songs it was one he couldn’t possibly win, but the fact that he tried says everything you need to know about the band's heart and soul.

PS: Both Wayne and ShakeyPix were there last night to photograph the gig so click on Da Snapper links to the left for some proper pictures. Flash, bang, wallop.

Top Tracks # 5 - Everything Everything - Photoshop Handsome

Unusually for this series of random recommendations this one’s pretty recent (even though it has strong echoes of early 80’s legends XTC). On top of being a generally brilliant track (bonkers lyrics, some nice vocal harmonies and a side order of military drumming for good measure) the video’s not bad either. And, guess what? By a strange quirk of fate the band’s playing in Birmingham next Wednesday 28^th October at The Flapper...whether they'll end up beating each other senseless remains to be seen.

Nine Black Alps / Sucioperro / Black Market Empire @ The Hare and Hounds, Monday 19th October 2009

Nine Black Alps...one lousy photo.

A jaunt to the Hairy Hounds once more to see a band I’ve read about but never actually listened to, partly ‘cos I’m a bit slack like but mainly ‘cos whenever I go onto/into MyBook, YourFace or SpaceTube I inevitably get distracted by some Albanian Gangster Rap, videos of exploding goldfish or messages from people I’ve never met offering to enhance the length of my manhood for just $68 a month. For $68 a month I’d want my manhood to do all the housework, rustle up a nice bit of tea and sing me to sleep too. Why can’t science be more useful eh?

Black Market Empire

Anyhow, casting aside thoughts of singing members, tonight’s bill looked strong enough to get my left leg twitching (it does that a lot you know…it’s what passes for dancing in my eyes). First up were local boys Black Market Empire who kicked off proceedings with another fine Weller / Cast / La’s / OCS infused set. There’s an infectious jauntiness about this band that’s instantly likeable and each time I see them (I think this was the third or fourth time this year) I’m never disappointed. No ‘Get Up, Get Down’ tonight (often one of the band’s set highlights) but tonight ‘The Letter’ and ‘The Tony Allen Dance’ (it is called that isn’t it?) came off really well and, despite opening for two much ‘heavier’ bands, they got a great reception from the crowd too. Bonus points for a nice bit of banter with one of the audience who took the piss when the lead singer stuttered over one of the song titles “Thanks for coming Damo…you c***”. That seemed to do the trick…

Su...su...sucioperro

Next up Scotland’s Sucioperro (all wearing a distinctive ‘uniform’ of black trousers, white shirts and black armband with a red cross on it) who played a set full of meaty drum driven rock with a good chunk of (fellow Scot’s rockers) Biffy Clyro in the mix. That’s probably not a surprise as lead singer JP Reid is also in (the frankly terrifying) Maramduke Duke with Biffy’s Simon Neil. The set, mainly consisting of tracks from new EP The Dissident Code (out now), cracked along at a rollicking pace and featured plenty of thrashing about and ‘foot on the amp’ rock god poses. The funereal ‘No. 273’ and slower ‘Conception Territory’ took the pace down a notch or two, but we were soon back with the thrashy stuff thanks to a blistering ‘Mums’ Bad Punk Music’. “Believe in your dreams and tell the ones you love that you love them” implored singer JP Reid just before their closing number ‘Don’t Change (What You Can’t Understand). Coming from the mouth of some people that would sound a little sickly, but at the end of a bruising set, and delivered in that slightly menacing Scottish accent, I found it rather touching. Proof that heavy rock has a heart…albeit a slightly twisted, blackened one.

Finally, Nine Black Alps. Kind of like Nirvana fronted by Liam Gallagher in places (quite a few places actually) they put on a solid show of full on rock, balanced with a couple of slower numbers that seemed to make better use of Sam’s vocals. As with Sucioperro there’s some pretty heavy stuff in there and the gig kicked off with a prime example in the form of Salt Water (from the aforementioned album ‘Locked Out From the Inside) before settling into, well, a little bit of a gig rut to be honest. Nothing wrong with the songs as such, but to me they seemed a little samey in places and, with the band suffering from a nasty bout of phlegm, you could understand if their energy levels were less than 100%. Perhaps not knowing the band’s music also stopped me from really getting into it as much as some of the audience, including a particularly determined and energetic stage invader who had to be (literally) carried off and physically restrained for a few moments (Sam christened him his ‘private dancer’...awwww how cute). At times Sam’s voice seemed a little too, I guess the word would be ‘sweet’…I found myself yearning for some Lemmy (or JP Reid for that matter) style growling to match the heaviness of the music. The set picked up considerably halfway through though with ‘Unsatisfied’, the more melodic ‘Bitter End’ and the frankly brilliant new track ‘Vampire In The Sun’ (the set highlight by a good garlic clove or two). So, overall, not bad but I suspect they weren’t firing on all cylinders tonight. Muchos respect due for turning up and doing the show if they were feeling like a bag of shite though...

PS: Noticed a nice blog post on the Nine Black Alps MySpace page slagging off the NME (who, rather unfairly I’d say, gave the band’s new album 3 out of 10). As a reader of NME back in the 80’s and 90’s the magazine’s decline is pretty sad but, I guess, inevitable. The pace of change in the poppier, more mainstream sector of the music biz is so rapid that a printed format just doesn’t stand a chance, which is probably why the NME is now stuffed full of glossy posters and desperate attempts to latch on to any new act that might pull in the punters. As a well established (three albums under their belt so far) straightforward rock outfit, without a hint of the electro sparkle or garage-lite that’s so hot right now NBA would seem to be the complete opposite of what NME’s after. A shame, but I can’t be alone in wishing the NME a speedy end before its dignity and reputation is sullied even further.

PPS: Both ShakeyPix and Wayne (snappers to the stars) were there last night so, for proper pictures, click on the links under Da Snappers.

The Miserable Rich / Babel / The Random Family @ The Glee Club, Thursday 15th October 2009

It’s Autumn. My bits are getting cold. It’s this time of time of the year that going out gets just that bit harder. The temptation to curl up in the warm and eat your own body weight in Jaffa Cakes is difficult to resist but the prospect of seeing one of my favourite discoveries of 2009 again, The Miserable Rich, prised my sorry old ass of the sofa once more. But first the support bands richly deserve a mention, kicking off with The Random Family. How random are they? Well, for starters they’re not a family at all. Pah. I want my band names to tell the truth. After all the beatles were actually beetles, heavily made up I’ll grant you, but none the less beetles is what they were. To this day Paul McCartney still likes nothing better than rolling a big ball of dung around his garden. Fact. Anyway, glossing over the fact that The Random Family aren’t a family at all, they play a gentle form of folk pop, made for lazy summer days or, in tonight’s case, cider sodden autumnal nights. Some really lovely harmonies from the band, plenty of informal banter and a good dose of banjo made for a great start to the evening.

Next up - BABEL! That’s something biblical isn’t it? Actually there is something a little biblical about this lot…God they were good. No, really good. Watching them is akin to one of those spiritual conversions that you see on the telly. It was all I could do to stop myself from speaking in tongues. After 20 odd years of going to gigs I’m still constantly amazed by some of the truly great bands out there, doing their own sweet thing beneath the radar of much of the traditional media and, as a result, out of sight of the general public. Babel is one such band. Taking classical, bluegrass, rock n’roll, skiffle and folk, then sticking it in a blender and adding some (at times) oddball lyrics might not seem like a recipe for success but Babel somehow pull it off magnificently. Their lead singer Daniel has a lovely silky voice, note perfect (and I mean perfect) from start to finish. If chocolate could sing it would sound like him (hmmm…singing chocolate and dung ball rolling pop stars…this review’s getting weirder than usual…oh well, c’est la vie). Set against a musical backdrop that’s got shades of everything from Radiohead to Devendra Banhart, Dan Sartain, Canned Heat and ELO it was nothing less than a stunningly brilliant set. Buy the album. Go see them. Spread the word...or you'll be turned into a pillar of salt.

Babel were the dream support for another band that I’m determined to expose to the entire western world, The Miserable Rich. I first saw this band through one of those happy accidents at The Great Escape in Brighton. I was in a pub watching a band I’d planned to see then, after their set, I was getting ready to leave to move on somewhere else when I spotted a cello and stuff being set up on stage. I’m a bastard for a bit of cello so (spur of the moment kinda guy that I am) I stuck around for the next band’s set…The Miserable Rich. Described as chamber pop (that’s as good as description as I can come up with) they strike an emotional chord with me that few other bands ever have done. The wonderfully named James de Malplaquet (the lead singer) has a voice like a slightly tired and world weary angel after a double shift trying to save a gutter full of lost souls. There’s hope and despair in equal measure, songs that remind you of love, childhood and regret, lullabies and late nights. I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve (tried it once…blood all over the place…heart in your chest, that’s the best place for it) but The Miserable Rich are truly life affirming. Listen to ‘A Time That’s Mine’. When you’re young you look at your parents and think, I ain’t going to be like them. Work in an office 5 days a week for the next 45 years? Scrimp and save from one pay day to the next? No fear. I’m off. I’m going to be a cross dressing astronaut pop star who invents a cure for cancer, writes the best book ever written, stars in the best movie of all time and then marries a string of hotties before dying at the age of 147 in a bed full of junkie crack whores. And lo, fast forward 20 years…and you’re sat in an office. In my case (before being rudely evicted by the recession) I was actually in the same office block my father worked at for years and years and years. Well, ‘A Time That’s Mine’ captures all that emotion in just a couple of minutes, before ending on optimistic note that sort of takes you back to the age of 7 again, when the world is just so full of hope. Just lovely. That’s only one song. They have a whole album (12 Ways To Count…a true classic in every sense of the word) full of the stuff, most of which they played tonight in a set that, even coming hot on the heels of Babel’s fine showing, still managed to blow me away. From opener, Early Mourning through to Boat Song (which James touchingly dedicated to his mother) on to Monkey and Muswell each and every song is a pocket sized symphony to life’s ups and downs. You know what? If this was the last gig I ever saw, I’d die a happy man.

The Slits / PENS / The Courtesy Group @The Rainbow, Wednesday 14th October 2009

They may be less well known than The Pistols (Sex), The Spex (X-Ray) or…er…The John (Jilted) but The Slits richly deserve their place in punk history, not least of which for being one of the few mainly female punk bands (a good 20 years before an altogether more commercial brand of girl power).

Before getting my Slit fix though (that sounds a little wrong doesn’t it?), another chance to see Al Hutchins, Birmingham’s number one mad shouty genius and his band of merry men, The Courtesy Group. Imagine a mad fire and brimstone preacher trying to convert the unconvertable with a soundtrack provided by Frank Zappa and Acid Mothers Temple and you might get some idea of what they sound like. Then again you may have no idea (in which case it’s probably easier to go and have a listen first, then come back to this review and we’ll all pretend that you got what I was talking about all along). Although I’d seen the band a fair few times before, this was a different line up - the main change being the addition of a certain Fyfe Dangerfield, lead singer of The Guillemots. This ain’t as surprising as you might think (Fyfe is Al’s brother and was, I believe, in The Courtesy Group back in the day). Tonight, face hidden behind that floppy fringe of his, he played a mean guitar but otherwise remained silent, perhaps aware that his somewhat angelic voice might not chime too well with Al’s brand of Brummie street preacher. Line up differences aside it was, as ever, an engaging performance featuring another of Al’s stream of conscious poems, plenty of the classics (Brick House Blues and the New Beef were particularly fine tonight) and his trademark audience face offs. Watch out for their new album, ‘Tradesman’s Entrance’ (cue Kenneth Williams style sniggering) coming soon.

The next band, Pens, were a no show for some reason. Maybe they ran out of ink? So we pretty much dived straight into The Slits (hmmm that sounds even worse than ‘slits fix’), or a couple of them at least. Of the original era band only Ari Up and Tessa Pollitt remain. They’re joined by, amongst others, the rather brilliant Hollie Cook (daughter of Paul ‘Sex Pistols’ Cook) on keyboards and vocals. Like The Clash (who The Slits supported back in 1864) the band’s always been into the dubby reggae side of things and tonight’s set was a little like taking a deep drag on a phat one (not that I’ve ever done such a thing...much). Ari’s dreads look like the result of an over eager child using one of those Play-Doh hairdresser sets and her accent (a cross between German and Rasta) is a little unusual to say the least, but her bubbly enthusiasm (33 years into your career this has to be a pretty rare thing) was heartwarming. It warmed something else too as there was plenty of bumping and grinding going on (mainly between Hollie and Ari) and, for some strange reason, Ari poured half a litre of mineral water down her crotch to cool her ‘pum pum’ (that Little Drummer Boy song will never sound the same again). Mind you, given that one of the songs from the set, ‘Lazy Slam’, was an open invitation to shaft your partner whilst they’re asleep, perhaps her ‘pum pum’ needed a little cooling down. Speaking of songs (oh yes, this is supposed to be about music isn’t?) we got all of the hits, including a bowel shakingly dubby reworking of ‘Heard It Through the Grapevine’ (retitled ‘Heard It Through The Bassline’) and an audience participation version of Typical Girls, plus a selection of new tracks from forthcoming album Trapped Animal. Rather amusingly, before doing one of these new songs, Ari had been playing Tessa’s bass and got it stuck in her Play-Dreads as she tried to lift it over her head, ‘Me ‘air dun wanna le go o mi bass!’ she squealed. It took 16 firemen to cut her free…

After leaving the stage to rapturous applause from the audience (a mix of old punks, trendy young things, curious random folk and me) one of the audience members got on the stage, picked up the microphone and started the traditional call back the band for an encore bit. Ari and Tessa duly returned but, in return for the audience member’s impromptu MC’ing Ari left the vocals up to her and sat down behind the drum kit instead. So the encore was Ari, Tessa and (by her own admission) a slightly drunk girl. Actually she was very good, delivering a ‘hear mi now’ kind of toasting against more of the dubby stuff. A surprisingly endearing ending to a surprisingly endearing night.

The 'set Slit'

PS: All of my photographer chums were there last night so, for proper pictures of the gig, go to Da Snappers list to the left of this and fill yer boots!

This is Slits...

Tonight. At The Rainbow. Digbeth. The Slits. Legendary punk band. Gobbing by invitation only. Actually I don't think they ever went in for that gobbing business. Best not to try it. Maybe you could just pretend? Anyway, it's a rare chance to see them and a darn sight cheaper than the PiL gig at The Academy in December. £36! That buys a hell of a lot of butter Mr Lydon

PS: Did you know that John Lydon is Ari Up's (The Slit's lead singer) step father.

The Destroyers / The Toy Hearts / The Old Dance School @ The Town Hall, Sunday October 11th 2009

The Town Hall’s seen a fair few acts in its 175 years. The Beatles, Buddy Holly, Pink Floyd, MC Charlie Dickens on the ones and twos (playing Bleak ‘House’)…but tonight it’s the setting for some homegrown talent, kicking off with folk six piece The Old School Dance. Actually that’s Folk with a capital F. The real McCoy. The sort of music that you’d probably have heard played in ye olde inns across the land a couple of hundred years back. Of course they’ve freshened it up a little (tonight they revealed that one of the jigs was inspired by a late night drive home from a gig soundtracked by Radio One) but the music remains true to its roots.


It’s always heartening to see a young band embrace such a traditional sound. Images of desolate moors, flame haired maidens and wild ale fuelled dances around bonfires abound and I had to nail my feet to the floor to stop myself from doing a strange kind of Riverdance jig (trust me…no one wants to see me dance…very messy). The guy who played the ‘box’ (he sat on it and played it like a drum…can’t think what’s it’s called, but a few folk bands use ‘em now) was particularly good tonight, at one point he did a kind of duelling banjos style bit with the two fiddle players…break beat folk anyone?

The idea that one of the greatest bluegrass acts around right now should be here in Brum is, let’s face it, pretty preposterous. But here we are watching them. The Toy Hearts (a family concern – two sisters, one dad) have been going a while now. I first saw them at the inaugural Moseley Folk Festival and since them they’ve (in a coals to Newcastle stylee) played at Bluegrass festivals in the USA and cut a couple of rather fine albums. Shut your eyes and you can almost smell the campfires and mountain air. Papa Toy Heart’s an accomplished banjo and slide player and daughter # 1 (Sophia) is, it transpired, the only female flat pick guitar player to be featured in Flat Pick Guitar Monthly (available at all good newsagents). Daughter # 2 (Hannah) meanwhile was recently at something called the Bluegrass Leadership Programme, a US backed scheme to destroy the Taliban with an army of mandolin and banjo players singing songs about how their man/woman gon’ dun them wron’. I jest (no, really), but clearly the band’s getting the kind of respect stateside that most bands would give their wing tip collars for. As with The Old Dance School, it’s traditional music but delivered in such a fresh and enthusiastic way that you’d need to be clinically dead not to feel invigorated by it all. Highlight of the set included a new number entitled ‘Tequila and High Heels’ - a not entirely successful combination Hannah ruefully observed (I can vouch for that, those high heels are a bitch after a couple of glasses of dry white wine).

Finally, the explosive force of energy that is The Destroyers – Birmingham’s very own gypsy klezma ska collective (a proposition that’s probably even more preposterous than the Toy Hearts). I like to think that they all live together in a big house somewhere, cooking huge pots of stew and singing songs late into the night whilst plotting ways to overthrow the government and make the wearing of gypsy style clothing compulsory (I reckon those pointy hats that some of the band wear would end gang violence overnight). At the heart of this whirling maelstrom of fiddles, ukes, trumpets, clarinets, tubas, trombones and hurdy gurdys is Mr Paul Murphy, part demented ringmaster part MC and with a voice to die for (Scots with a distinct hint of menace and madness). The lyrics are as nuts as the music…just cop a listen to Glass Coffin Burial for example…an everyday tale of a scientist who finds a way to make himself dead….but alive…so he can lie in his coffin and watch time pass by. You don’t get that from Lady Ga Ga. The band started this track lying on the floor of the stage, corpse like before kicking off with a tune that could, quite possibly, actually raise the dead. Another highlight (there were many) was the mass sing along to Viva La Musica, several hundred people belting out the words, unaccompanied, back to the band. As celebrations for the Town Hall’s 175^th birthday go, you couldn’t get much better. It was a dizzying show, part celebration / part call to revolution…hmmm…perhaps it’s time to end the old three party political system once and for all and just introduce the PARTY system, courtesy of The Destroyers. They’d get my vote.

PS: It appears that this show was recorded using six cameras (that’s roughly one camera per 28 members of the band) so I suspect some form of film might be in the offing. As this was arguably one of their finest ever performances that’s a very, very good thing. Viva la musica!