The Subways, O2 Academy, Newcastle

Amazing.

Faith No More - If I Can't Go, I'll Just Make It Up In My Head

You probably already know that there’s more than one version of me – I’ve made no bones about it before. For example, in my professional life, I’m a meticulous planner and my Captain-von-Trappian organisational tendencies are unparalleled. But Weekend Nick? She is a pretty laid back kind of gal. You’ll find her with hardly any makeup, and so non-committal flying by the seat of her ripped jeans she's nary a care in the world. Making long term weekend plans is not her thing. “We’ll see,” she’ll say.

Except today, when someone asked me what my plans for the weekend were, my answer was out there without having missed a beat. “On Sunday I will mostly be moping, because Faith No More are playing two dates in London starting the day after tomorrow and I can’t go.” The tickets, dear readers, went on sale when I wasn’t working, so buying them as well as booking a hotel and train tickets was kind of out of the question. But now, the time has come and I’m proper doomed about it.

I’ll have a bit of a mope, and I’ll get over it. I’ll turn down my mouth and pout out my lip and puppy dog my eyes and do a bit of exasperated sighing and mooning. In preparation for this one-woman-pity-party, I spent a large part of today thinking about what kind of a setlist the band – who (unbelievably!) have so far eluded me for the duration of my gig-going tenure – might put together for the two London shows. And then I started dreaming up what kind of day I would have if I actually COULD get to the gig. And THEN, I started dreaming up exactly what kind of day I would have if I actually could get to the gig in a perfect world.

The last time I went to London was pretty hard to top, but I’ll give it a whirl.

Okay. So if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll set off on Saturday on the train. First Class, do you think? Obviously. Not because I’m a snob or anything, but because don’t you just love those seats that aren’t next to anyone else’s and you can get proper stretched out and comfy?

Mmm, yeah. Me, too. I’d have one of those, for sure.

As far as digs are concerned, if you have no wild objections, this suite at Claridges with the gorgeous piano will do nicely – is that okay?

Not too shabby for me.  No sir.  Allll good here.

It’s only right that I take afternoon tea in my room (if you please) and then – don’t tell anyone -- but I’ll jump on the bed for a bit. I might have a bath – I could take my book in there, couldn’t I? On the other hand, do you think I might be tired from my journey? Maybe a snooze would be in order. Then – do forgive me -- I’ll stuff an obscenely large wad of cash in my jeans pocket, grab my iPod and go for an explore.

First I’ll go for a pint of Moosehead at the Maple Leaf in Covent Garden. Then I’ll rock up to Camden Market where I will buy a couple of new pairs of boots. And some trainers, probably.

I’d sashay contentedly back to my hotel, pad around in my bare feet and play that piano for a bit before going to bed, where I would sleep in an obnoxious diagonal, for at least nine hours. None of that would prove overly offensive, to be sure. What say you?

I’ll fill Sunday in much of the same way, but not so as to wear myself out before the gig. I might go up to Rough Trade for a proper nosey around. I’ll need a good hour in there, minimum. I might head to Trafalgar Square to see the lions. Maybe go to the Tate Modern and listen to the inside of my head for a while.

And then -- the reason I’d be down there in the first place – Faith No More.

And, notwithstanding of course – this guy:

Mike Patton, Fantasy Husband

The setlist would include a good mix stretching the full length of their back catalogue and I’m not fussed exactly how they populate it as long as they include the following non-negotiables:

Remembering that this is a day constructed completely from fantasy, I’d throw in a couple of wacky covers as well – like the theme to the Muppet Show or some Kinks or Hollies or something. Still with me? 

Continuing through the Faith No More gig of my perfect-world imagining, Patton would notice me in the throng trying not to wet myself half way through Stripsearch and pluck me out of the crowd with one arm (in this world I weigh only very slightly more than a Russian gymnast) and let me lie flat on my back in the middle of the stage to watch and listen.

Ah, feck it - we had better bring Jim Martin back while we're at it.

The whole thing would be mind-blowing and skin-crawling and legs-crossing and boobs-squirming and all the things that I’m certain the real gig is going to wind up being.

And then after? I’d float two feet off the pavement, body buzzing, ears ringing, feet killing, throat bleeding, lungs stinging, head swirling back to the hotel. Too wired to sleep, I’d go down to the bar and have a quiet drink or two; that post-concert rapture making my bone marrow fizz.

And in the ultimate perfect world? At the exact same moment the barman pours me my second, Mike Patton, too wired to sleep and wondering where that enchanting green-eyed blonde wound up, descends from his Claridges hotel room looking for a drink.

STONE ROSES: MANCHESTER 2012

MINE ALL MINE.

So I’ll tell you, if you like, how Himself and I came to be at the Stone Roses gig this past Sunday in Heaton Park, in Manchester.

Like most Roses fans, over the years I had learned to pay very little mind to the frequent rumours of a big reunion. Many an arrogant drunken wager was offered up on many a Friday night, me slurrily offering my next born child/my right tit/a naked stroll down Northumberland Street should they actually reform in my lifetime.

But then! The rumours started to pick up a bit more speed and substance. I raised a sceptical eyebrow, maintained my cucumber cool and tried not to let anyone see that my guts were helter skeltering. But lo -- An Official Statement...like boom! Ticket sales announcement...like pow! Then all of a sudden I find myself at work on a Friday morning clockwatching for 9am with my credit card in my hot little hand to score me some tickets for a gig that I never thought would ever materialise.

Now, dear readers – you know I am old school. I’ve slept cross legged on a sidewalk in the rain to get tickets for gigs, I’ve tag-team queued in 6 feet of winter snow for Ticketmaster outlets to open. INFINITELY preferable to the maddening process of getting tickets to a show online, and I’ll tell you that for nothing. I just can’t be handling the stress of it! I do not like the lack of control! At least in a lineup, one can, if required, use one’s considerable girth as a human blockade. But in a virtual ticketing scenario, the scariness of one’s boots/voluptuousness of one’s arse is of little matter. All you can do is have twenty-five goddam web browsers open and F5 REFRESH F5 REFRESH F5 REFRESH hoping that you don’t lose your WiFi before you smash your keyboard to bits.

I mean. COME ON.

So there I was at work. I’m F5-ing like a motherfucker – phones are ringing and I’m ignoring them. People are querying and I am growling at them. Must refresh. Must refresh. 30 minutes goes by and I’m thwarted by every error message in the virtual world. F5, F5, F5. Another 30 minutes go by and I’m trying not to hyperventilate. I am sweating. My lips are pursed, my teeth are grinding. My eyes are little slits. I am muttering all the swear words and vitriolic filth I can call to mind.

THEN! Infuriatingly – a guy at my work comes flying into the room to boast that he got through and got some tickets.

AND THEN – AGAIN! Another guy at work comes flying into the room to boast that HE also got through and got some tickets.

I am livid. In normal circumstances, I’m not a big fan of hiding my emotions and am ready to throw an unholy wobbler of a strop, but I know I do not have time because F5 F5 F5 F5.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAND THEN?! Bam. I’m in. Credit card number entered in a feverish blur and ZING – confirmation of purchase email received.

I was going. I WAS GOING! I flung my arms up into the air and let out a victorious howl. I was going.

Fucking GET IN.

(Part 2 later.)

Maximo Park - The Cluny, Newcastle upon Tyne, 21 July 2011

And so on Friday night, I found myself – brace yourself – at the MetroCentre. 

On purpose!

I know, I know.  I hear you tsk-ing and tutting.  Even from here I can feel the displacement of air from the collective shaking of all of your heads.  I hate the place.  The teenagers!  The pushchairs!  The stores full of clothes that will never fit my arse!  But anyway – I was there for the movies, and had to go to the mobile phone shop.  I was in the middle of trying the patience of the man who worked there, attempting to get an impossibly jammed SIM card out of an unfeasibly cheap phone, when he says to me, “NO WAY! WERE YOU AT THE CLUNY LAST NIGHT?!?”

“HAHA!” I say, “YES, I WAS.”  Never one to pass up an opportunity for a demonstration of  inadequately disguised smug-twat-music-snobbery, with a glint in my eye I ask him, “Did you WANT to be at The Cluny last night?”

I let him wax persecuted about shop rotas for a little – I may have even affectionately traced my hand stamp while he was moaning, you know, for dramatic effect (I know, I’m AWFUL).  Eventually, came the inevitable question:  what were Maximo Park like?

Now, if for some reason you didn’t know about the spontaneous Maximo Park gig at The Cluny last Thursday night, allow me to present you with this useful timeline: 

• Tuesday:   The Cluny on Twitter announces a ‘secret’ gig.
• Tuesday, point oh-two-four seconds later:  Twitter blabs the secret.
• Shortly after that:  The Cluny tells us all we have to queue up Thursday lunchtime if we want a ticket.
• Immediately following:  I start looking for hard things to bash my forehead up against because, as you may recall, I do not enjoy being stuck at work when I need to be in queues for things. 

Right.  Are we all up to speed? 

I spend most of Tuesday and Wednesday lamenting – in varying degrees and volumes – about the fact that I can’t go.  BUT THEN!  One of our warehouse lads – at work we affectionately call him “The Small Boy” – said he would go and stand in the queue for me.  Hurrah!  Hero!  I love The Small Boy! 

The gig is BLOODY brilliant.  I have to miss the opening band (sorry) as I am quite extremely busy drinking some pints.  But when the right time rolls around, I squash my way down into the teeny tiny sweatbox that is The Cluny.  I say that with pure unadulterated admiration and joy – give me teeny tiny sweatboxes over stadia for live music any day of the week.  If you’ve been there before you will appreciate that I managed to secure a prime spot -- on the bottom step of the steps toward the front.  Behold – a whole new concert viewing experience!   This is what it must be like to be that obnoxious tall guy that always stands in front of me at a show!  

I’ve sat on this review for a few days, deliberately, trying to give my opinions chance to distil themselves into words potent enough to adequately convey how I felt, there in The Cluny, one of just a lucky couple of hundred people getting off on feeling the kick drum in our belly buttons, not minding the amalgamation of several dozen other people’s sweat up our backs and on our shoulders.  We were all rapt – Smith and his comrades could have trotted us all down the Ouseburn like Hamelin’s rats and we’d all have gone without remonstration.  I went to bed that night feeling electrically charged – buzzing skin, ringing ears, fuzzy soul. 

What a show!  I’ve never seen Maximo Park before:  a combination of the hype, the pints and not least the delectable back catalogue put me in pretty good stead for some fairly high expectations.  And every single one of those was smashed to bits with one eargasm after another, punctuated with judo-chop dance move brilliance from the cute and sweaty inimitable Paul Smith.  What a stage presence!  His enthusiasm is something else -- I don’t mind telling you, dear readers, that I (ahem) really particularly enjoyed (AHEM) watching him. 

*reflective pause*

Oh, who am I kidding?  The ripe old age of 35 is not the time to try and quell a lifelong propensity to fall instantly in love with sweaty lead singers.  He was LOVELY. 

The set was a considered mix of old and new; featuring the staple singles mixed with even some b-sides to appease the token diehards.  I was gripped from start to finish -- you’ll find the setlist here.

So the answer, Mr. Mobile Phone Shop Man, to your question?  How was Maximo Park?  It absolutely rocked my tits off.

Enjoy this -- it's my favourite favourite:

 

Evan Dando - The Cluny, Newcastle, 30 June 2011

Evening, all.  Giggy No Mates here.  Here are a few snaps from Evan Dando, which was last week, which means I am totally rubbish for not getting these up sooner.

Wait a minute - is it 1994 again? PLEASE let it be 1994 again!

Evan Dando, The Cluny, Newcastle, 30 June 2011

Great Big No.

Couldn't BELIEVE he sang this - a cover of Smudge's "Impractical Joke"... I knew that I knew it, but couldn't remember from where... then I came home and Googled it and VOILA!!  What a great song.  Here is a link to the original, if you are interested.  Sorry the sound is crap - I must have had my finger on the microphone!!  Duh.....

It was a great show - he played loads of things that I didn't know, but lots of old Lemonheads greats as well.  The Cluny is a great little venue, but if I had one criticism, it's that I stood quite close to the bar, and TONS of people were talking through his set, which was quite distracting.  It was really packed and I had a rubbish view -- fortunately I ran into some friends there, and we decided to move a little closer to get a better view...

Right before I took this picture I got yelled at by a girl who said, "Excuse me, I was standing there."  Oh, you paid for this specific 2 square feet of The Cluny did you?  Silly girl!  :-)

He did a cover of Gram Parson's "A Song for You" as well, which was quite nice ... fairly representative of the whole chilled out vibe he had going on.  The audience were singing right along with him, and it was a damn fine way of spending a Thursday night.  Completely opposite to the first and only other time I'd seen him (which, weirdly enough, was 17 years almost to the day -- on 1 July 1994 according to my Gig List) at Ontario Place Forum in Toronto.  What a weird venue.  The stage was circular, kind of Roman amphitheatre style... and it was revolving.  There was no security, so when scrummy delish Evan Dando came on the stage, loads of girls jumped over the barriers to give him a sneaky cuddle -- so I'm glad that this time, no one mobbed him and he could just get on with the business of transporting us all back to our our twenties.  And a good job he did of it, too. 

Into Your Arms

It's A Shame About Ray

Wish I could have stood a little closer to the front -- but I really enjoyed it.  Thanks to Helen and Dave for saving me from certain lonely loser fate. :-)

 

The Subways - Inside Out, Darlington, 7 June 2011

I'll make no bones about it and make a bold statement about this gig straight away:

BEST GIG THIS YEAR SO FAR HANDS DOWN.

In fact, I'll throw an imaginary blogger's gauntlet down and challenge any (like they'd even read this!) of the bands for whom I've got tickets for the duration of the year to impress me as much as The Subways did on Tuesday night.

If you don't know them already, this is the song that you might just recognise:

There -- now, have I got your attention?

Now then -- a word about the venue:  Inside Out in Darlington... took us about an hour to get there after work from Newcastle.  What a cool little place!  Couldn't believe my luck when I rocked up to the car park outside and saw how TEENY TINY it was -- and I knew right then we were in for a good night.  While we waited for the main event to start, we spent a happy hour or so outside:

I Tweeted this picture of the back of the bus to @billysubway saying, "I can see you!!!"

I was twitching to hear some new material -- following the band on Twitter I knew that they'd recently finished recording and they didn't disappoint - they played three tracks and if they are anything to go by, it's going to be a cracking collection of tunes come September.

What I really like about The Subways (I've seen them once before in 2008) is that it's obvious straight away that they live to perform.  Their on-stage presence and energy is so palpable; they are three people truly living their dreams and it takes about 4 seconds into their set before you can't help but get carried away on their buzz.  Their vocation is unmistakable; they will make sure everyone has a great gig experience -- from the school kids' parents at the back, to the partying students whose Tuesday nights are barely distinguishable from any Friday or Saturday, to the too-cool apathetic girly-girls dragged there by their wanna-be-rock-star boyfriends... to me -- trying not to think about the fact that I was already in high school when most of my concert-going-comrades were born.  But the band made, for me anyway, the whole experience so transporting; sure, they only have a couple of records, but they are both  real track-for-track hard hitters, and Tuesday night's (shortish) set was one punchy/poppy/punky/jumpy/bangbangSMACK after another and I couldn't give a monkeys that I was pogoing a little more than my 35-year-old knees deemed necessary.  Lots of between-song banter as well, which I totally love.  Add all this to the fact that Inside Out was about the size of my back garden... I was one happy lady -- even if it kept me up way past my bedtime on a school night. 

I shot a little bit of video -- it's surprisingly not too distorted despite my filming it on my iPhone... it's about 30 seconds of one of my favourite tracks from The Subways first record - 2005's "Young for Eternity" -- a 'hidden' track called "At 1am" (which is supposed to sound like this):

Anyway -- eleven out of ten from this mama... now if you'll excuse me, I've got sleep to catch up on, and the good books of my husband to get back into, who -- bless his cotton socks -- had to handle our two boys all on his own whilst I was gallivanting round the North East letting loose the repressed rock chick he married a hundred years ago. 

CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEW RECORD!!!  Roll on September.

Adam Ant: Newcastle O2 Academy, Sunday 29 May 2011



I promise I will try and get through this review without
making bad puns like how much I "ant-icipated" it, etc.



Well, a little girl's dream came true last night when Adam Ant came to town.  I've made no secret of how much I esteem him as a total underrated bloody marvellous musical genius, and when he announced he was going to tour again after all these years, I possibly waited about 4.5 seconds to work out whether it was likely that I was going to be in the audience that night:

Brain: Alive that day, do you think?

Body:  Most likely.

Brain:  WE'RE THERE. 

And what better gig-mate to accompany me than my fab Auntie Lisa (or should I say, "Ant-y Lisa") who is solely responsible for my induction into the insect nation back in the '80's.  Here's what I have said about Adam Ant before:

I implore you to have a careful listen and try not to be distracted too much by the videos – they are as mad as a box of frogs, make no mistake – but the innovations he makes especially in the depth and layering of the vocal harmonies is something truly special. Behind that pretty boy facade, Ant has a prodigious grasp of musical structuring, put together in an undeniably unconventional way that yet somehow makes you want to hit ‘repeat’ and listen again. And also? TWO drummers? Wha-hoo!

...and try as I might, I can't rephrase that any better to make you see why I love him so. 

Ever the show-off, the inimitable Mr Ant. 
*swoon*

I took some video but they all turned out too distorted and crap to share, but a few quick clicks to YouTube revealed some footage that I have spent most of this afternoon replaying.

If I had one bit of criticism, it's that he didn't really interact with the audience much, nor the rest of the band on the stage, which was a little odd.  Not to take away from the fact that I was enjoying myself immensely -- bopping and jumping and having a bit of drunken-Ant-mad-craic with the girls down at the front with us, representing the "naughty North" -- but save for the occasional 'thank you' and other generic between-song pleasantries he didn't talk very much and it distracted me slightly as I couldn't work out whether or not he was enjoying himself.  I felt a bit unsettled, because I really buzz off that,  you know?  Especially if I'm sweating my boobs off down the front, giving it crazy, shouting lyrics like a mental case.  It's like there was a noticeable deficit in one side of that give-and-take exchange of that energy that should bounce around a concert venue; fizzing between the band before thundering off the kick drum before being zapped  out across however many thousands of us are there watching.  You know what I'm on about, right? "Bad vibes akimbo." Hmm?

Be that as it may, it was still a fantastic night out - just the right ratio of new material to old, and I really enjoyed hearing some of my favourite songs performed nearly 30 years later and sounding as fresh and contemporary as some of the stuff I like these days.  Truly ahead of his time; Mr Ant and his music still tastes lip-smackingly delicious and I have no wish at all to try another flavour.  

 

Iron & Wine, Sage Gateshead, Wednesday 16 March 2011

There were three gigs to choose from in Newcastle/Gateshead this week – all on Wednesday night. The Academy was hosting Primal Scream (seen ‘em), Elbow was at the Arena (too expensive) and Iron + Wine were coming to The Sage. Since I was practically broke from seeing The Wonder Stuff on Saturday and The Wombats the week before, It was an easy choice to make.

I’ve only got one record – The Sea + the Rhythm – which, if you don’t know, is a little EP released on Sub Pop in 2003. It’s full of some real corkers – a man, an acoustic guitar and not much more. But you can’t go too far wrong with that kind of equation, so accompanied by a friend of mine (who only knew ‘of’ them) and after my description of what they were like he was firmly on board, so off we went.

But before I tell you what I think, can I please have a moment for a brief narrative in a scene-setting stylee which, I hope, will give some context to my review.

Over my distinguished and extensive career in music snobbery, there are a few points on which I am emphatically resolute:

1. No Top 40 Pop Fluff

2. No Country & Western

3. No Thrashy Vomit Noise-Making Death Metal

4. …and absolutely, for no reason, by no means, certainly not, under no circumstances ANY JAZZ.

Now that we are clear, please allow me to continue.

I wondered how the lovely Mr Sam Beam would handle bringing the one-man-one-guitar thing to the ‘big stage’ – Hall One at the Sage is a 1,640-seater so I was curious how intimate it could be, given the unsophisticated simplistic charm of the records.

It was… okay. There were moments of brilliance: I love the story-telling nature of the songs, and romantic sap that I am, I very easily got swept up in the romance of the lyrics and found that for the most part I was enjoying myself. But the whole thing was tainted slightly by the frequent and unfortunate downward crash into extended passages of jazz-pap-shite. It was quite quiet in there and I suspect it wasn’t received very well in more seats than just my own; I can’t have been alone in thinking OH MY GOD THE JAZZ.

Beam himself must have sensed it, saying, “I hope you don’t mind us fucking with your favourite songs like this. I figured you’d want to hear something a bit different to what’s on the records.” Ouch. Bad call – we minded. I found myself not even recognizing the song until the melody started, and more than once leaned over to my friend to babble apologetically to him, “It sounds NOTHING like this on the CD, I promise!”

But, I have no wish to be too harsh – I did enjoy it. The drummer was handy with a loop pedal, and there were some cool moments that employed its use. I am sad that it is not very likely that my friend will go and buy an Iron + Wine CD after all.

Here's a couple of videos for you.  They ended with “Naked As We Came” – that, to my great relief and pleasure, was largely unaltered arrangement-wise. Sorry the video is mostly of the ceiling of the Sage – no one was taking any pictures so I was trying to hide my camera.

 

Maybe I should have gone to see Elbow after all.

The Wonder Stuff & The Levellers, O2 Academy Newcastle

Oh, I'm so, SO glad I went to this show! 

I wasn't going to.  In fact, The Wonder Stuff have come to Newcastle a couple of times in recent years and I don't know why, but I never went along.  And their most recent visit to my fair city very nearly went the same way -- it was a Sunday night... they weren't even headlining... I felt slightly over hung from the previous nights' festivities... a million reasons why I was going to stay home.

But then!  Someone I know said she was going, and that I could hook up with her and her friends once I got there, and so yesterday afternoon I decided to buy a ticket at the last minute and go.  (Thanks Julie & girls whose names I completely forget!  You're fab!)

It was a brilliant show -- I broke with tradition and stood right at the front and had plenty of room to dance and jump (oh, my achin' bones though, today!)  I don't mind telling you that I had an absolute blast.  It wasn't 2011, it was 1993!  They played all of my favourites - A Wish Away, Give Give Give Me More More More, Red Berry Joy Town and a lovely acoustic version of Welcome to the Cheap Seats.  You may or may not know that the album version of that song features the inimitable Kirsty MacColl on backing vocals -- here is a little bit of video from last night of Miles Hunt telling us how she came to make the record with them:

The whole place was bouncing.  For me, the best bit was the collective admiration and all around good time we were all having was effortlessly matched by Miles Hunt; his smile never wavered the whole time he was on stage.  The guy has been making a living from playing gigs like that for the best part of probably far too many years than he'd care for me to mention... yet he was loving every minute.  And don't even get me started on his dimples. 

(swoon)

Seriously, though?  He danced, and told stories; his enthusiasm and vivacity was highly infectious and inspired us all sing along with that much more conviction.  Would that they have played for another hour! 

I drove home with the type of warm fuzzies one can only get from having crossed someone off my "Yet To See Live" list.  Hope you enjoy the video - sorry they're so fuzzy and distorted - you can just about make out Size of a Cow in the one above, and here is a little bit of A Wish Away:

Oh, The Levellers?  I'm rubbish - I only recongised the first song.  Much to the chagrin and outrage of The Levellers Number One Fan the guy standing next to me who chastised me for not knowing every word... I made some feeble excuse about being hung over from the night before, and despite receiving from him a drunken serenade accompanying the band with this song, he staggered off forlorn, but not before accusing me of having a heart of stone for not being moved to tears. 

Ah, you win some, you lose some.  Sorry, fan boy.  My heart belongs to Miles. 

The Wombats, Get People, O2 Academy, Newcastle upon Tyne, Saturday 5 March 2011

I love a good crowd shot, me.

You’ll know from this post that there aren’t many bands that Jase and I both like. But – wha-hoo – because The Wombats were playing in our town last night, and we both like them.

So off we go!

I really liked the gig – it was a sell-out and the Academy was packed. Packed WITH TEENY TINY CHILDREN. Whooooo baby, did we feel old last night. But, nasty bitch ever the optimist that I am, I was able to turn a uncomfortable situation into a positive one, and spent a happy hour before the headliner came on by developing my discourse on “Kids These Days”.

Jason thinks it’s despicable and small-minded of me but in my defence, HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY’RE WEARING? Are we at a garden party with that floral shorts set and old-people’s-home cardigan, or are we at a rock concert? PULL UP THOSE TROUSERS, YOUNG MAN! Don’t even get me started on their shoes.

Be all that as it may – we missed the first support band entirely. I wish I could say the same for the second support band; they were called Get People and they were pretty boring. Have a listen for yourself  but I thought their setlist was one degree away from what you’d find badly dubbed on a Maxell C-90 in the tape collection of that guy from American Psycho. There are lots of good things about the 80’s and the music scene, don’t get me wrong. The foundations of my own musical tastes were fired there, and it was an exciting time for a lot of people.

So, be inspired by the music from that time? Sure. “Borrow” a few tricks and aural flourishes here and there? Quirky. But what I heard last night was a blatant style-for-style rip off of all that was bad about the music of that time. Sorry lads; I was half expecting this guy to come out and provide guest vocals, and not even in a good way. Just about every song ended with the same noise that Ross’s song ends with here.  Not my scene.  But you know, I am not a kid these days, and all that. 

Anyway – WOMBATS! Hurrah! I loved it. First I heard of them was a few years ago; they got a bit of SXSW buzz about them in 2007 with their single "Let's Dance to Joy Division".  Proud to call myself a card-carrying moody and defensive lifetime Joy Division nut, I was prepared to be outraged on their behalf when I first heard OF this song - BUT it's so great I didn't mind it taking up residence in my ear and subsequently bought the whole record.  And I'm glad - it's  gem.

They came out and attacked their set; really looked like they were enjoying themselves and had the whole floor jumping. They played a good mix of new stuff and old – their 2007 release “A Guide to Love, Loss and Desperation” has some great little numbers, and I’m looking forward to picking up their forthcoming album “A Modern Glitch” when it is released this year.  You might already know their newest single "Tokyo (Vampires & Wolves)" which they finished the set with last night with full audience participation. 



Standing safely at the back; didn't even break a sweat. But heard everything and enjoyed it all. :-)



Enjoy the video!

DAMON ALBARN ALMOST DELIVERED MY BABY

So! The other day I was reading a post from Heather at Dooce.com about the “serious hots” she has for Blur/Gorillaz frontman Damon Albarn. Oh, dear readers, she is not wrong. Impossible to quantify or express the stratospheric levels of his hottie-ness. And he just happens to make bloody marvellous music, too. Heather links to a brilliant version of Gorillaz covering The XX’s “Crystalised” – click on this link and go and watch it, but come back here because I never told you about the time that Damon Albarn almost delivered my baby.

Let me give you a bit of background first: back in 2009, the rumour mill in the music news was churning with more than a steady trickle of talk that Blur were thinking of getting back together for a reunion gig that summer. In a year that saw just about everyone get back together for a reunion gig, I dismissed it until it really became really really real!

Let me take a moment to remind you of what I looked like for most of 2009:

Baby #1 and Baby Mama, and Baby Belly.



I’m not so great at math... so that last paragraph in that Guardian article took a little bit of working out. Proctor Baby #2 was due on 12 July. Blur reunion gig in London (a five and a half hour drive from where we live) on 3 July. Needless to say, as fond as I am for zipping down the M1 for a gig, it didn’t take me very long to comprehend that the likelihood of my attendance at Hyde Park was mostly in the “Not Very Bloody” category.

BUT! Ye gods of music snobbery smiled on me when, around April, Blur announced that they were going to do a warm up gig about a week before the Hyde Park show, just to see how things went.

IN MY TOWN.

The gig was announced for a teeny-weeny little venue on 25 June. More math (and a bit of “Thirty Days Hath September...” and I worked out that with about two weeks to go before the baby was due, I could certainly go to the gig. And you know, like... try not to jump up and down too much.

“We can make this happen,” I convinced my unborn little dude.

The day that the tickets went on sale was a Friday. I was at work at the time. Cleared my diary for the morning, instructed the rest of my team that I would be unavailable for comment/advice/fire drills/cups of tea or anything that would pull me away from TicketWeb come 9am. Knuckles cracked? Check. Credit card at the ready? Check.

But lo! Cometh the hour, cometh a weird message on TicketWeb’s site saying that a last minute decision had been taken that tickets for the Blur gig could only be obtained from the venue itself and that online purchase facility had been disabled.

(“I’ll bet she flipped out,” I hear you saying.)

I DID TOTALLY FLIP OUT. Tried to phone the venue; couldn’t get through. Tried other ticketing agents; no joy. Then heard through the grapevine that a huge queue had formed outside the venue in the last few hours and the police were there trying to keep order, etc. I look down at my six month belly, and over to my raging in-tray on my desk, and knew that there was no way I could leave work and stand in a day-long line-up. With my swollen ankles? Needing the loo every 4 and half minutes?

Fuck, twat, arse and shitty bollocks.

Was this happening? I was gutted with disappointment. Couldn’t believe that I couldn’t get tickets. Couldn’t find an explanation. Flounced around (can a waddling pregnant lady flounce?) all day in a horrid, foul temper.

So I did the only thing I’m really good at (besides swearing, pouting and stamping my feet) when I get a bee in my bonnet: I got ready to send a bitchy email. Okay, okay – riled as I was, I promise I’m telling the truth when I say that it wasn’t THAT bitchy. I found an email address for the ticket office, and spent the morning constructing a passionate yet strongly worded (not even sweary, I really really promise) tale along these lines: blahblahblah I’M PREGNANT blahblahblah CAN’T LEAVE WORK blahblahblah REALLY LOVE BLUR blahblahblah NOT FAIR blahblahwhinewhinewhine.

And you know? Not an hour later I got a lovely email in reply from a very understanding lady, who explained that at the very last minute and at the band’s request, the decision had been made to sell the tickets on the day only in person only, to stop scalpers and ticket touts from buying up batch blocks of tickets and flogging them at extortionate prices. Admirable, I thought. Fuck, twat, arse and shitty bollocks, I also thought – on 25 June I wouldn’t be watching Blur.

24 June rolls around and – the day before the gig -- and I was so big and huge and uncomfortable, complaining all the time about everything; it wasn’t pretty. I looked like this around then: 

Who ate all the pies?

BUT LO! AGAIN! Out of nowhere arrives an email from none other than the unfortunate recipient of my bitchy email of a few months before. It went like this: blahblahblah EXTRA BANK OF TICKETS BEING RELEASED blahblahblah ARE YOU STILL PREGNANT blahblahblah WOULD YOU LIKE TO RESERVE SOME blahblahblah I REMEMBER YOU hurrahhurrahhurrah!

Hy. Per. VENTILATING! I’ll spare you the formalities but will let you freak out with me when I arrived at the gig and was shown to a seat ON THE FRONT ROW OF THE BALCONY which looked like this:

V.  I.  Pregnant.  P, bitches!

I know I stink for waiting all this time to blog about it. I can’t even tell you how brilliant the gig was. Instead I will let the video and pictures speak for themselves. 

They opened with “She’s So High” – my favouritefavouritefavourite – which you might be able to discern for yourself when you watch this: that scream a few notes in when it becomes apparent which song it is? Totally me. Pregnant, screaming, water nearly breaking me.

https://youtu.be/ME0zBDrFGjk

Here’s a bit more of the same song- I WANT TO CRAAAAWL ALLL OVAAAAH HERRRR!!! Sexy, sexy, Damon. I’m practically contracting by now.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFVBKGdLKxM

A bit of “Chemical World”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQ9vRSaZMCQ

And here is a bit of “Country House” with some BLOODY BRILLIANT zooming-in on Damon courtesy of my gig-mate and most excellent cousin, the lovely Lauren. YOU CAN SEE HIS BELLY BUTTON. Oh, my giddy aunt! I just love how you can hear the audience screaming along with every word.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9kEr-b4ek4

And a brilliant bit of “Parklife”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orLjRTi62bY

I went into labour the following week and my gorgeous Jude was born on 7 July. 5 days early – rocked out of the comfort of my womb by my pregnant belly Blur gig waddle dancing. And that, dear readers, is how Damon Albarn VERY NEARLY delivered my baby.

Oh COME ON... I had to give you some flash headline to make you read all the way to the end.

SUPERCHARGER: 4 December 2010

Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.

I know, I know, I haven’t written in ages. I’m sorry. Call it a holiday – it sort of was... I went to Canada at the end of September, and then I guess when I got back, there was so much to bloody talk about and so I kind of procrastinated writing about it and HELLO IT’S DECEMBER?! Whoops.

But I’m back now, and what better way to get things rolling than with a gig review? As you well know, dear readers, something I never NOT write about is when I go to a show and I’m not about to start now. Or do I mean “stop” now? (Errrr...sorry; today it appears that my grammar has a hangover, too.)

ANYWAY. Last night, Jase and I found ourselves kid free (thanks Grandma!) and quite spontaneously we decided to check out SUPERCHARGER at Krash at The Venue in town. Our attendance there was not so wholly accidental as I would make out – I must take a moment to explain that back in the day when Jason was at the height of his ‘hot-for-teacher’ school of 80’s hair metal lunacy, one of his partners in music crime just so happened to be none other than SUPERCHARGER’s front man, the infamous (defined as such at least in my husband’s tales of legendary formative years debauchery and lash) Mr Nick Parsons, Esq. So we went along for equal parts rock gig slash high school reunion slash ridiculously tasty blue-coloured cocktails.

Would Mr Parsons please raise his hand?

Where was I? SUPERCHARGER. Local four-piece + couple of independently released records + teeny weeny venue = right up my street. Thoroughly enjoyed it, despite my usual tendencies towards music snobbery (I know you will all be shocked at such a deplorably scandalous confession). Here is why:

a) Punky chunky bangy thrashy crashy – can't go wrong.

b) Some really good melodies – not a warbling screamer nor a throaty death grunt puke noise-maker to be found.

(...and this is my favourite bit)

c) Some smashing guitar solos that were really well constructed, considered and melodic. I mean, less of the chaotic widdly-widdlies (bad) and more of the gut-wrenching wacka-wee-mow-mows (good).  Know what I mean?

This is my way of saying that I liked it. Lots! Check out their MySpace page.

PS - Holy shit though... I am old.  After the gig it was just a club... and I was like... THE OLDEST PERSON THERE, I swear.  It was packed to the rafters with surly, disagreeable, angst-ridden kids.  It felt a bit weird to realise that I was like... the token old person in the corner.  That same token old person the piss out of whom I used to take (yay, grammar!) when I was a surly, disagreeable, angst ridden kid.  It was enough to drive a girl to drink.  :-)

Check out my last gig review here.

And check out my master Gig List here.

Were you at the SUPERCHARGER gig?  Comment and let me know what you thought, too!

Rage Against the Machine, Finsbury Park, London

Doubtless you will all remember the Battle of the Christmas Number One from last year and how BLOODY BRILLIANT it was when Rage Against the Machine knocked the X Factor off the top after a Facebook campaign against Simon Cowell and his glorified Karaoke contest? And how Rage ATM are so rad that they promised to play a free gig in the UK as a thank you?

That gig was Sunday.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO BABY! Now, you know I always write gig reviews, and you might not be impressed that I always seem to rave and praise... but seriously? Can I just say? Future Gig Reviewing MammyP: THE BAR HAS BEEN RAISED. Raised, girlfriend.

Jase and me (stupidly) decided it would be a good idea to drive to London. “Drive to London? From Newcastle?” I hear you saying. That’s a six hour drive, music lovers. But it’s all good. For a couple of seasoned gig-goers like Jase and me? Him and me BLEED rock 'n roll - it was no problem.

After an hour or so of central London-related driving hilarity (for the sake of our marriage we are going to have to cave and buy a SatNav) we find the hotel and catch the Tube to Finsbury Park and WHA-HOO what an atmosphere already. Fairground rides! Clean port-a-poos! Yummy food stands! No queues at the bar! And best of all... forty thousand other Renegades of Funk almost spiritually unified against a music industry that, at best is saturated with barely listenable one-hit-wonders and at worst tinny teeny flimsy manufactured pop fluff.

Three support bands were on the same bill – Gallows kicked off the proceedings with a fiery 35 minute punk eruption that got us all in the mood to jump up and down and drink more lager, especially when there were a couple of Clash and Sex Pistols covers up for the offing. I took a little video of them covering The Clash "I Fought the Law". They were great – even at times, I have to say, endearing to my punky funky heart, especially when their frontman instructed the crowd to make a Wall of Death, barking at them, “And if you dunno wot a Wall o’ Deff is, you shouldn’ FACKING be ‘ere, roight?!”

Roots Manuva came on next – sorry Mr Manuva... I missed your set because I was having a little stroll around Finsbury Park. We had more lager, some yummy vegetarian spring rolls from the Noodle Bar, queued for the loos for a while, generally scammed the scene, had more lager, and more spring rolls... you understand, right? Because THOSE SPRING ROLLS WERE REALLY, REALLY DELICIOUS.

Then came Gogol Bordello. They got the crowd going but I’m not going to say much about them; they just weren’t my scene. Most of the time they were on the stage I was embroiled in a lively -- yet somewhat tipsy -- discussion with my husband surrounding how they went on tour with Madonna that time. Don’t ask me what conclusions we drew, I couldn’t tell you. BUT! We did have more lager. And spring rolls. GOD DAMN, they were tasty.

Then for the main event. Now, when Rage first announced they were going to play a free gig, I lost. My. Mind! So, so, so excited, saying to Jase, “We GOTTA get tickets, I’ve never seen them before! We GOTTA GET TICKETTTSSSS!!!!!” and actually? I have seen them before. Lollapalooza 1993. And that right there is evidence if you ever wanted it that working on your reserve set of brain cells at the age of 34? Not so much with the smart stuff.

Anyway – seventeen years is a long time, but I tell you... jumping around in the grass to the soundtrack of my formative years... you can’t put a price on that, my friend. I had a BLAST. They came on stage following an introduction in the form of a parody cartoon Simon Cowell, mock-lamenting how he “didn’t get to manage their money... er, um, I mean, their MUSIC,” (or similar). Click here to watch the whole thing. Oh, how we laughed!

Highlights for me? Well, every track they played off their first record but most notably Bombtrack and Know Your Enemy... and Bullet in the Head rocked my tits off. Here’s some more video. Sorry it’s so bouncy-up-and-down-ey, but what can I say? A girl’s gotta rock.

Now, listen carefully: I can’t finish this review properly unless I mention the following indisputable fact – TOM MORELLO IS A GUITAR GOD. Okay – I know I said guitar, but for him? It’s not just a guitar. It’s a percussion instrument, it’s a set of decks, it’s like an amplified extension of himself. When I wasn’t jumping nine feet off the ground and screeching lyrics like a crazy lady, I was totally in awe of him. At one point he yanked the lead out of his guitar and knocked out some beats with it on the palm of his hand, all heard thud-thumpin’ through the PA as if he was hammering on a couple of distortion-drenched timpani. A maestro. And when married to Zack de la Rocha’s poignant vocals and layered between Timmy C’s dazzlingly skilful pulsing bass and Brad Wilk’s barrelling, driving percussion? Is there any audible ecstasy superior to it? Not for me, rock fans. Not for me.

They encored with none other than Killing in the Name – of course – and Jase and me both emphatically agreed we felt like we’d been part of something extraordinary. Worth the seemingly endless driving around in the same triangle trying to find the hotel. Worth the extortionate cost of the petrol we needed for the 12 hour round trip drive. Worth the hangover! It was a free gig – but I’d have paid a month’s salary.

The rumour is that Rage are thinking of recording another album now. Please, please, please let it be true! So I say to Tom, Zack, Timmy and Brad, and the : thank you, thank you, a gazillion times thank you for such an outstanding gig. My star rating? A GALAXY.