The Subways, O2 Academy, Newcastle

Amazing.

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.

Totally Friends With Billy The Subways

I wander into the kitchen to help Jason with the dishes. This is uncharacteristic of me – we normally have a bit of an arrangement: I make the mess; he cleans it up. You might think that a bit unfair, but you couldn’t be more wrong. Those of you who know Jason well will know he loves it in there; his borderline obsessive-compulsive personality is directly conducive to all that dishes / sweeping / wiping / antibacterial-wipe-cleansering palaver. But I digress; the point is that he was in there and so was I, and like any evening Chez Proctor the DAB radio is on.

So, we do this dumb thing with the radio, every day it’s the same: if he leaves the room I switch it onto BBC 6Music. I have mentioned them once or twice here before. If I manage to do this, and then absentmindedly leave the room myself, he switches it onto Planet Rock. This is what we do.  Anyway – he’s on his hands and knees washing the floor (no, I’m not kidding) so it means that the dial was stuck on the latter. No matter – it happened to be a band that I quite like.

“You know what it is?” he says. “I just really don’t like The Ramones.”

“What?” I stop drying the plate I am holding.

He doesn’t look up from his position on the floor, and says again, “I just don’t like The Ramones.”

“But you have that greatest hits CD,” I remind him.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure you can have that CD,” he says.

I am happy for this floor-washing inspired generosity but simultaneously a little disappointed – I can count on one hand (hmm... okay, maybe two hands and a partial foot) the number of bands that we both like – we can hardly ever go to gigs together as it is – my tastes are bent toward the jangly-clinky-clanky and his are more growly-barf-chuggy. In this particular instance it is of little matter I suppose; it’s not exactly as if Joey Ramone is in any position to rally the lads up for a reunion show any time soon.

“So what you’re saying is that in our musical divorce, I would get custody of The Ramones,” I deduce.

He nods. “Without hesitation.”

“I suppose you’d lay claim to The White Stripes then?” I enquire.

“Nah, they’re not really worth fighting over,” he says, dismissively.

I deliberately sass him: “I get The Subways.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he says. “It was me who bought their first CD; you only like them because I played them for you.”

“Whatever, punk. I’m like... totally friends with Billy The Subways on Twitter, anyway. I follow him and once he Retweeted a joke I made this one time.”

“I don’t know what this means," he dismisses me with a shake of his head.  "But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t affect the argument; I will be guardian of The Subways.” He is cocky. It is unbecoming; transparent. He’s a pussy, really.

This is what we’re like when we do the washing up together. He can fucking** do it himself, tomorrow night.

**I just read this aloud to him and he said, "That was good right up until the swearing bit at the end."