tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945479568962809822024-03-05T15:54:25.438-08:00Every Gig I've Ever SeenThese are extracts from a book I'm writing about the hundreds of gigs I've seen. My first gig was in 1978 and since then I've kept a ticket or advert for every gig I've ever seen. Yeah, I know. Anorak. And that's the name of the book; "Anorak". Enjoy.Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-90464651085172991402010-05-11T13:06:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.582-08:00Every Gig I've Ever Seen #58 Iggy & The Stooges<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px; "><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; "><a href="http://www.carlstickley.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/iggy2.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; text-decoration: none; color: rgb(61, 156, 214); "><img class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-218" title="iggy" src="http://www.carlstickley.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/iggy2-300x198.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="198" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-color: rgb(250, 250, 250); border-top-width: 1px; border-right-width: 1px; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-width: 1px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-right-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-bottom-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-left-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); padding-top: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-bottom: 8px; padding-left: 8px; background-position: initial initial; " /></a></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">Hot on the heels of John Cale in March and Lou Reed in April, here comes Iggy and dem Stooges. Doing all of their difficult Third Album,1973’s “Raw Power”. I can feel it… </p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">Iggy has been dragging The Stooges Mk1 around the globe for about 4 years now. Ron Ashton, the original guitarist, died last year so, quick as you like, Iggy was on the blower to James Williamson, the second guitarist. “Dude, we got gigs”. And lo, The Stooges Mk2 get to play the whole of the only album they ever made, in the city where it was recorded in those dim, distant early-70s.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">Far as I know Iggy and Jim hadn’t spoken in 3 decades, but Iggy seems to be applying Swiftcover to his whole life, making belated hay now that he’s finally mainstream enough to coin in some money. Apparently, Bowie’s cover of “China Girl” made Iggy more money than all his other recorded output put together. Me? I know the Iggy act and the insurance ads are a bit tacky but it’s also vindication for Iggy. He and his crew helped write The Book, and almost died trying.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">I trundle up on the bank holiday with my oldest skool mate, Nick Edmonds. The Apollo, or Odeon as it should be called, is an Art Deco gem and lends a sense of occasion to any gig. Support on this one is Suicide, playing the whole of their debut LP.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">The original album was early-electro, drenched in echo and the corpse of rockabilly. It was a sparse affair but had an atmospheric, dreamlike quality. This live experience was horrible. Two angry pensioners, in “cool” ‘70s leather: one haranguing the mic, the other bothering an old synth. It was loud, sludgy, tedium.A shame, really. One of them smoked a fag onstage. Ooh, edgy. The “dramatic” power chords at the end came on like The Phantom of The Opera. We laughed. Suicide were famously bottled off-stage supporting The Clash in 1977. Harse, as back then it was genuinely ground-breaking stuff, but, today? An interesting footnote.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">Time for a pee and listen to James Brown at The Apollo over the speakers. See what they did there? We’re near the front of the circle balcony with a good view and, better yet, seats. I’m done standing at gigs. Lights dim and Jim walks on stage, picks up his Les Paul and starts Raw Power, the title track, joined by bass and original drummer Scott Asheton. Iggy grabs the mic, and we’re off.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">The sound is loud and bright with Iggy high in the mix. Iggy does his usual stuff and I spent most of the evening watching the guitar. Williamson is a big guy and looks relatively straight in a T-shirt. The riffs though! He wrote them!! Fast, loud blam. The band was super tight. Search & Destroy, Your Pretty Face is Going To Hell, Penetration, Shake Appeal – with mandatory stage invasion (one of my Desert Island discs), Death Trip. All played with vim and vigour. A classic LP. Every home should have one. </p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">The rest of the set included I Wanna Be Your Dog, I Gotta Right, LA Blues, Open Up and Bleed, Cock in My Pocket. Ur-riffs that I’d heard a million times, from them and thousands of bands since. When you consider James Taylor was the biggest thing on the planet in the early 70s, dem Stooges really did kick against the pricks. Their influence will live long.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 100%; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; ">Iggy’s 63 now but bossed the stage like a 20 year old. A true original. His voice isn’t just words. Every yelp and groan is another instrument playing. He makes the band gel. Sure, it is just a bunch of old guys playing old songs, but this didn’t feel like karaoke. It was a joy to watch. The world would be a duller place without Iggy and his Stooges.</p><div><br /></div></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-39850234673265678412010-04-21T13:54:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.548-08:00Every Gig I've Ever Seen #57 Lou Reed<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Lou Reed, Royal Festival Hall, London. April 19<sup>th</sup> 2010.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not a toe-tapper. That’s obvious though. The Metal Machine Music LP re-imagined by Uncle Lou as a Night of Deep Noise. On bass, guitar and drum. And sax. And gong. And gizmos. The Festival Hall is half empty.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The original album is 4 sides of electronic squall. Cycling white-noise. Distorted, tinny drone. Shifting frequencies. Famously, people took copies back on its release, assuming the vinyl was defective. Some reckoned sides 3 and 4 were actually sides 1 and 2 backwards. The wags.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To be honest, I never listened to the whole thing. Legend has it that Lou wanted to kill off his Glam Rock Star image, and piss his record company off at the same time. Part true, probably. But Lou has always liked noise. He was in the Velvet Underground, fercrissakes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I always liked the idea of the album. The conceit. The challenge. Something so “other” that you had to admire it, just for its weirdness. And this from a guy who wrote songs as fragile and beautiful as, “Femme Fatale”. A proper concept-album. Back then, it was as out-there as you could get. Still is. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lou’s assembled a Metal Machine Trio, improvising, based on the theme of the record. So, it’s not a note-for-note recitation. Which is a shame. The sheer skill to recreate <i>exactly</i><span style="font-style:normal"> the white-noise sound of the original, with real instruments, would have been something to behold. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tonight was intense, churning sounds but, strangely, also quite quaint. Quaint in its old-school Avantgardeness, which as we all know is French for “bullshit”. Lou Reed is officially an old man. He looks frail and moves like an old guy. How he manages to grind through a show like this has to be applauded. From the bleachers, it’s physically draining. My ears took a pounding just from the intro-tape.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The noise was big and repetitive and droning and feed-backing and pitch-shifted and reverb-ed. It was like the climax of a Sonic Youth gig, slowed down, and spread over 70 minutes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It started off sounding like early Hawkwind at their most trippiest, with a pulsing digital didgeridoo-type throbbing bass, only, not as much fun. The sounded recede. Lou fiddled with his amps, whilst sat on a wheeled office-chair, shuffling between them like a mad scientist. Lots of FX pedals and wringing of guitar strings. No tune, just dings and stabs and distorted harmonics, processed and filtered through an array of boxes onstage. It went on for a long time…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly, the sound dipped and Lou was creating a sound like My Bloody Valentine being played on a Stylophone. I laughed. It was preposterous. That’s not a slag. I enjoyed it. It was like one of Nigel Tufnel’s guitar solos. I almost expected to see Lou tune his guitar halfway through.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The sax player threw his all into squonking out notes on his sax. Somehow it seemed out of place with its organic, natural sound. Didn’t do it for me really. Curiously the show wasn’t overly loud. If it had been face-melting all the way through it might have been more effective. Total immersion. Shock and Awe. This was more sedate. Tame even.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Things only really took off when Lou actually stood up and blammed out a few chords. The sound, for a split second, was like the album. Big, grinding noise. My mate Nick always thought Lou’s guitar sounded like a toilet flushing. Dirty.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, was it any good? Really? Yes. It went pear-shaped, sure, but that was the risk. A totally improvised show. I’ve seen Lou Reed loads and at least this was different. He deserves his eccentricities. As part of the Ether Festival, which celebrates all things electronic, it was spot-on. And brought a little Rock Star magic too.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As Art, with a capital A, it was just the right side of Emperor’s New Clothes. It had the feel a proper classical music recital, only louder. Like the album, though, it’s the idea behind it that makes it work. Not an every day thing. Laughing Lou Reed. Legend. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-36502224008506982462010-03-18T09:56:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.541-08:00Every Gig I've Ever Seen #56 Big Star<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Big Star</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial"> The Grand, Clapham, London, August 1993</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(I wrote this before Chilton's sad death, 2010. RIP)</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Alex Chilton had been a teenage star in the 60s with the Box Tops. Big Star followed who were the ultimate cult band. They never played Europe and hardly played in the US. Bad management, bad drugs, bad luck. Ahead of their time. I’d seen him solo in Berkeley and had since bought all 3 Big Star albums and knew them inside out. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">And suddenly he announced a tour with the original drummer and back up from the Posies. Unbelievable! And it was just down the road from where I was living.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Large group of us went. They concentrated on the first two poppier albums, not the bleak third. Have you ever heard “Holocaust”? Music for the end of the World. Alex had a big semi-acoustic and made it look easy. He’s not sold on the myth and even spent 2 years working in a New Orleans kitchen. He didn’t care. But he played the songs as if they were fresh. Chiming riffs and licks. “September Gurls” was magic. “Back of a Car”, “Baby Beside Me”, “Way Out West”, “I’m in Love with a Girl”, “You Get What You Deserve”. Song after song, all of them bigger and better live. The crowd were screaming approval and Alex seemed to enjoy it, though he commented that he couldn’t believe we wanted to hear this “old shit”. He came back for one last encore 10 minutes after the house lights went up and the venue was half full. Michael Jackson had just been done for kiddy-fiddling (the first time) and he dedicated “Thirteen” to him. One of my Top Ten gigs, easy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-285083340104282362010-03-18T09:52:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.537-08:00Every Gig I've Ever Seen #55 Alex Chilton<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Alex Chilton</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial"> Berkeley Square, Berkeley, California, November 1985<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">I knew Alex Chilton had been the lead singer of The Boxtops and I knew one song, “The Letter” from my “Stardust” original movie soundtrack album. A great album by the way and is how I first heard Hendrix. KALX used to play “September Gurls” by his next band, Big Star, all the time. More recently he’d produced the first Cramps and Panther Burns albums, which I loved. He was indie underground Legend. Alan McGee, who set up Creation records and signed Oasis, apparently made all his signings listen to Big Star. They were like the Velvet Underground – no audience first time around, but became cult. At this stage, though, Big Star were a distant memory and Chilton had all but retired from music. So, a rare sighting of a Legend. Big Star reformed in the early 90s for a tour and finally got some kudos and dosh.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">He was short, kinda straight looking and played great guitar. There was no ego or rock God posturing. Normal guy. He played “Slut” by Todd Rungren, loads of old soul and RnB covers, one about AIDS (“fuck me and die”), no “The Letter” but did do “September Gurls”, the opening riff getting a big cheer. All very casual and almost throw-away. He made it look easy. The only song I recognised, when I finally heard more Big Star, was a version of “Big, Black Car”. Totally Cool. Made you want to keep it to yourself but at the same time wanting more people to know about this great thing.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Alex died suddenly on St Patrick's Day, 2010 aged 59.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-19590055100776871092010-03-08T11:01:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.535-08:00Every Gig I've Ever Seen #54 John Cale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiIg6WYS3OqibuwppbDtjBeXt-GGEyBIebmLcFY-Hgwy6bzVBlvYHSIrHzXuR2Q4HSGBtVYphCjgxXAaGx8QTXoHNrgwF8i5g0kWk79USsd_oYbxrqTt4jNBTLnT4H9SuYXDAqoIk4Mk/s1600-h/johncale.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiIg6WYS3OqibuwppbDtjBeXt-GGEyBIebmLcFY-Hgwy6bzVBlvYHSIrHzXuR2Q4HSGBtVYphCjgxXAaGx8QTXoHNrgwF8i5g0kWk79USsd_oYbxrqTt4jNBTLnT4H9SuYXDAqoIk4Mk/s320/johncale.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446341437297206882" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold; line-height: 19px;font-size:48px;"> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">If you live long enough you’ll see most things. I’ve seen John Cale many times, including the Velvet Underground reformation in 1993. But, the whole of ‘1919”? With an orchestra? Dude, I’m there!</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">In Rock’s twilight years we’ve seen many classic albums played in their entirety: Pet Sounds; Funhouse; SF Sorrow. The songs still work and fans, old and new, get a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. “1919” is Cale’s most complete album – orchestral pop with a weary strain of melancholia. The songs are loosely based around the theme of life after The Great War and Treaty of Versailles. Cale gave the Velvets their avant-garde edge and has always been about more than just 3 chords.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Officially Cale’s 67, though some say he’s 72. Whichever way, he has presence. With a capital P. He makes his entrance with an ‘Hello London, nice to see you”, casual suit, shirt out, hair dyed rust-and-blonde. El Hombre cool. And we’re off, straight into ‘Child’s Christmas in Wales”.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Strings, horns, drums and guitar all blend beautifully. Cale’s rich baritone cuts through it all. I’m Fan Boy and could happily listen to him singing it all a cappella. Mind you, I get teary when I hear Welsh rugby fans singing their national anthem. There’s something about the Welsh heart…</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Meanwhile, back in the jungle. “Hanky Panky Nohow” was gorgeous. “The Endless Plain of Fortune” cello-tastic with horns that made hairs stand. “Paris 1919” tailor made for the event. “Andalucia” aching. “Graham Green” jaunty. “Half Past France” made my eyes prickle. The songs, familiar to me over decades, were reborn. The ballast of the orchestra gave them a full, warm, analogue glow.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">“Macbeth” romped us home. Ovation and a visibly touched Cale patted his heart.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I could have gone home happy then but, seeing as the original album was only 30 minutes long, there was more to come. The orchestra went off, leaving Cale with the band. “Amsterdam” from his first album was a complete surprise and special treat. “Femme Fatale” was radically reworked and tipped a nod to his history. “Heartbreak Hotel” was the usual demented tale of woe. “Fear” is still scary whilst making you laugh. The band are great. Axe work that flowed, every note fitting. The drummer man – a joy to watch; loose but nailing it.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">The orchestra return for “Do Not Go Gentle” which builds and builds. Dylan Thomas set to orchestra with pounding piano clusters. “Hedda Gabler” is another obscure cut, which swells and unfurls beyond its original vinyl recording. It’s big. Things end with an even older curiosity; ‘Dirty Ass Rock n Roll”. Not an obvious choice but a jolly way to wind things up.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I was there. Tidy. “Music For a New Society” next, perhaps?</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold; line-height: 19px;font-size:13px;"> <!--EndFragment--> </span></div>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-39249590755517831952010-02-25T14:25:00.001-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.545-08:00Every Gig I've Ever Seen #53<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Martin Harley Band, Peter Parker's Rock n Roll Club, London. 22/2/10</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What will music be like when Grandad was a punk, not an RAF pilot? The Book's been written.What is music, now that you can turn it on like water from a tap via the web? Rock, for want of a better word, is dead. Dead from too much karaoke.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Authentic. That's what the People need. If all the forms are known, all the songs written, then it's the singer's take on the song that makes the difference now. Only connect. The human touch. Not Subo - the Diana Moment in Pop - but real performers playing real songs.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Martin Harley Band possess the chops and tunes to take an audience with them. It's acoustic, blues-based, with Django-esque jazz tinges. You'll "know" the origins, even if you can't name them.</div><div>Great, you say, just what we need, another set of well-worn cliches.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, a-ha, these guys are great. Harley's an engaging front man with a wonderful slide action and can turn a pretty lyric. The band are tight but loose, real connection between them. This isn't just another singer/songwriter with pick-up band. It's an entity in its own right.</div><div><br /></div><div>In an age of Lady Ga-Ga and ever increasing plastic Pop it's refreshing to hear and see proper musicians play live. It's the musicianship that makes it. And they make it look so easy. "Automatic Life", "Drumrolls for Somersaults", "Carnival Girls" and a pin-drop acoustic version of "North Lanes". A fine set of songs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Harley isn't about to fall into the David Gray trap: enough talent to "make it" but then what? He's old enough to know better. His craft will just get better and better. He'll get bigger but that's not the main event. It's about the music. The sheer joy of making an instrument sing. You can listen along if you like...</div>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-77852237208959355112010-02-03T05:52:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.571-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #52 Rolling Stones<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx14nnW69JE62_HuSLJExpiuseHMoe6jHRLfkyM5vHMx5qUVeKGp0oaO5NPPNMrIUo5VP9x-372pxSBwtSP_ecY-OHjuDCDSBJky_wpFdcU2ReL8dFINMP_w9Ecd0O2iQyalNnLeMIxj0/s1600-h/stones.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx14nnW69JE62_HuSLJExpiuseHMoe6jHRLfkyM5vHMx5qUVeKGp0oaO5NPPNMrIUo5VP9x-372pxSBwtSP_ecY-OHjuDCDSBJky_wpFdcU2ReL8dFINMP_w9Ecd0O2iQyalNnLeMIxj0/s320/stones.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434015261300463970" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><b>Rolling Stones</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"> Shepherds Bush Empire June 1999<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Rushed down to Tower Records, Piccadilly Circus, with Rod Webster on the Monday morning. We were supposed to be editing but we bunked off – um vee. Well, why not, it’s not like it happens everyday? Queued for an hour, handed over £10 cash money (bargain!) and got a ticket and wrist band.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><b>The Stones</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"> always liked to do a small club date in London, famously playing the 100 club, Brixton Academy and The Astoria on different tours. Although huge all over the planet, London is still their home town and they always needed to put on a good show in front of the home crowd. 1999 saw all sorts of unique gigs as the Twentieth Century drew to a close and I think people getting in a tizzy over YK2 (remember that?!) was a red herring, a distraction from a sense of loss, End of The Millennium Psychosis Blues, literally the end of an era. Part of this naval-gazing saw Macca play the Cavern Club in Liverpool, doing old rock’n’roll numbers. It made world news. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">So, whither goest the The Rolling Stones in The Twentieth Century? Can they still pull it off? Does it matter? Is Rock Dead? That kinda thing. Having seen the Stones the year before at a routine Enormodome gig (and been underwhelmed) the chance to see them in such a small venue was novel.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Gig was good, but…. it got a wee bit dull it has to be said. They didn’t do the really big set-piece songs (no Sympathy?!). Bits of it were, frankly, pub-rock. Keith, perched on a stool, did “Memory Motel” or some other coked-up nonsense from Black & Blue (a nasty soulless piece of vinyl). They did “Cherry O Baby” and it was horrible. The rest descended into Chuck Berry jamming. It wasn’t all bad but after the initial rush of “kinnel, it’s Them!” you were left with just watching a band and it didn’t seem to gel.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I don’t wish to sound ungrateful of course. It was great but it didn’t change my life. Special, if only for the chance to see them in such a small venue (about 2,000). Weirdly, I saw them again on the Saturday at Wembley Stadium and they were amazing. Go figure.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-81059297727958799982010-02-02T12:19:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.576-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #51 Tolpuddle Martyrs<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial">Battersea Park. July 29<sup>th</sup>. 1985<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">A gig to celebrate the 150th Anniversary of the Tolpuddle Martyrs. Can you imagine that happening now?! Another day of music. Free in a London Park! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Wandered off to see Jimmy Page playing on a small stage with Roy Harper. THE Jimmy Page. THE Roy Harper. Roy had sung “Have a Cigar” for Pink Floyd. Led Zeppelin wrote “Hats Off To Roy” about him. The songs were OK but I didn’t quite get it. Usual feeling of “big brother music”. Now, though, I think albums like “Stormcock” are amazing. Sigh, youth. Roy looked a bit untogether on stage. I’d seen them recently interviewed on the Old Grey Whistle Test, halfway up a mountain in Wales. Roy was a bit shot in those days and they came over as very defensive. Was he mad? I’ve got video of Roy playing Stonehenge Festival that same year, which says a lot about him. No rock star he, living in a rock star pad. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">John Sebastian. He was at Woodstock and his whole act and performance was the same, pretty much. He’s ripped to the tits in Woodstock but if you see footage from other festivals of the time he acts the same way. All tie-die and goofy. “ Do You Believe in Magic?” and “Daydream”. I didn’t mind but it seemed, well, a bit sad. What do you do after something like Woodstock? Still, you didn’t see Woodstock legends every day of the week and at least we knew the words! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Christy Moore was amazing. He was the Guv’nor of folk in the 80s. Big powerful voice, beautiful guitar playing. He did one song about all the young Irish men who’ve come to London over the decades for gold and end up drinking on the streets of Camden and can’t go home to Ireland. Lost souls. I saw the London Irish in a different light after that song. Proper folk music.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Paul Butterfield Blues band were sixties Rock Legends. Like an American John Mayall’s Blues Breakers. The hub of serious white blues. His guitar was dirty and loud. It had a presence that the British pub rock I’d heard didn’t have. Maybe it was Civil Rights or the Draft and Vietnam or the assassinations of King and the Kennedys, but American Sixties guitar was an altogether angrier beast. The Stooges and MC5 couldn’t have come from Chipping Sodbury. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Alan Price did the one about Simon’s amazing, dancing bear. He was in the Animals and gets all the royalties from their biggest hit, “House of The Rising Sun”, much to his bandmates’ chagrin. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">A nice day out. Once the GLC was scrapped these gigs stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-31162343731560169732010-02-02T12:14:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.539-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #50 Jobs for a Change Festival<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial">Battersea Park. July 7<sup>th</sup> 1985<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Third day in a row of live music after having seen Jonathan Richman and Broooce. Another GLC Jobs For a Change Festival. Big event. Usual stalls and collecting buckets. This was about the time of Red Wedge where people like Paul Weller did a UK tour drumming up support amongst young voters to go and vote Labour and kick the Tories out. Labour MPs actually spoke at these gigs. Mobilise the Yoof. ‘Cept they didn’t really. People did genuinely have conversations about the overthrow of Capitalism and the righteousness of Socialism though. South Africa was the other big grievance. Apart from a bit of Glastonbury you don’t see such activism attached to music festivals now. Or anything really. Have we really won the war? iTwats.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">We stayed by one of the 4 stages for most of the day. The Beat Farmers were jokey RnB. The Men They Couldn’t Hang were nu-country. Wreckless Eric seemed very bitter. He did a song about AIDS, which was the big News story of the day. Government adverts with collapsing tomb stones warning of the perils of unprotected sex. It was still seen mainly as a gay plague. The gist of Eric’s song was that he wished someone he knew would get AIDS and die. Nasty. He looked a bit pissed too. Bit of Boot Hill Foot-Tappers and Hank Wangford, which was pleasant enough. I wouldn’t cross the road to hear them now. Saw some of The Pogues moighty craic thing but it seemed lost in an open space. You have to be in the mood as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">By this time we were knackered. 3 days in a row. I ended up walking to Waterloo with sister Leah and her friend Louise to get the last train back to Andover. We missed it and sat on a milk-train for hours before it set off. Didn’t get any sleep and got a cold. I rang in sick the next day. That week’s NME covered all the gigs I’d been to, on one page. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-74556320820346515682010-02-02T12:10:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.569-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #49 Bruce Springsteen<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Bruce Springsteen</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial">. Wembley Stadium. 1985<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">The day after seeing Jonathan Richman we all trudged up to Wembley to see Broooce. Met at the Glass Blowers Arms in Soho. Dunno why but I remember it. Chris was there with his sister Cath and I think brother Mike. We didn’t have tickets but we thought we’d get them at the door, or cheap off a tout, because it was the third consecutive night so, we reasoned, most people would already have seen him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">It was Bruce’s turn to be Mega that year. Bowie had done it in 1983, Dylan the year before. Live Aid that year revived some careers and people like Simple Minds, U2 and INXS did their stadium shows in the late 80s/early 90s. Product, man. Still we liked Bruce and even yer parents had heard of him. “Born In The USA” had done big box office and yet he was a known anti-Reaganite. It was an irony even then that Born In The USA, the song, was taken up by gung-ho America. “Dude, the chorus. It’s fuckin America, buddy!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Lines about young men being sent off to fight the yellow man didn’t seem to register. Despite the bombast, Bruce knew which side he was on. And compared to, say, the Stones or Bowie or Dylan he was Karl Marx. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">It was a beautiful day and the walk up the Wembley Way was great, thousands of fans smiling, the twin towers getting ever closer. Wembley was as big as it got in those days. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Tried in vain to get tickets. Non on sale and the touts were charging double. We sat on the grass at the back of the stadium. Bruce was doing 3 to 4 hour sets so we listened to the first bit which was all solo acoustic. Then, kinnel, the doors at the back were opening and people were running in! Huge wave of people surging forward, fast. I grabbed Leah’s hand and dragged her along with me. Saw a girl get knocked to the floor, people leaping over her to get into the stadium. Scary. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Suddenly we were in running, laughing onto the terraces at the back of the stadium. Way at the back. If you’ve been to Wembley you’ll know that’s far. The stands were still the concrete steps of old, before Heysel and Hillsborough and seating. There were two TV sets either side of the stage. Well, Jumbo screens but looked like little tellies from where we were. Sound was loud and clear except the place was so big there was a sound delay of a full second. Bruce would be mouthing “huh” or “ergh” or “yeah” into the mic, then snap his head back and then you’d hear “huh” or “ergh” or “yeah” rumbling out of the PA. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Some of it was magic. “Born To Run”. “Thunder Road”. Cliches, but still good air-guitaring anthems. 70,000 pairs of hands clapping. Bellowed choruses. But it was Broooce, after all, so there were loads of tedious work-outs. Clarence with his sax. Nils Lofgren shredding axe. Boss running from side to side. Every last ounce of pure, honest, rock’n’roll sweat pouring out of him. He was the People’s Rocker. His head’s too big for his stocky little body by the way. By the fourth hour I’d done Bruce it has to be said. Still, a modern Rock Legend, a good show and it was free! Result.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-82632054436417572012010-02-02T12:08:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.579-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #48 Wilko Johnson<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Wilko Johnson</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial">. Bull & Gate, London June 1985.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">If you ever get the chance to see him, go. Demented. He’s a snapshot from a sweaty pub somewhere in 1974. Slack-jawed, machine-gunning, gum-chewing, duck-walking, leg-kicking axe man. He looks exactly the same as he does in old footage of Dr. Feelgood. When bands like Yes were releasing triple albums with Roger Dean sleeve covers (“Tales from Topographic Oceans”, the Platonic Conception of the Ultimate Bloated Excess Prog Album) Dr. Feelgood were sharp, 2-minute stabs of amphetamine R’n’B. All the Punks of ’76 – Pistols, Clash, Damned – saw them and enjoyed the speediness of it. Loud, fuck-off Rock music. They are the missing link between the New York Dolls and the Clash. Attitude in a riff.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Their “Stupity” live album hit Number One in age of ELO, Elton John and The Eagles. Unheard of. The Kidz were mobilising against the Forces of Blandness.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Bull & Gate is next door to The Forum and has been a bedrock of the north London music scene for generations. My flat-mates Nick and Howie played there. A typical Tuesday night with 4 bands on the bill, usually outsiders playing their first London gig, and each band has brought along 30 friends and family so the Pub’s happy selling beer on a Tuesday night. And for this rare privilege each band paid £50 to cover “costs”. Pay-to-Play. A monopoly that has been broken, thankfully. Still, it was a lovely old Victorian boozer and almost a rite of passage for any band.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Wilko was fanatastic. A genuine performer. He plays guitar like Hendrix in that he uses his thumb and fingers to press down on strings to form chords and with his other hand plays lead and rhytmn. The secret’s in the thumb as it makes a barre shape leaving the fingers free to shred axe. He machine guns the audience with his battered Fender Telecaster. Tight 3-button black suit, done up, and white shirt. Simple, striped down, basic. “I’m a Hog For You Baby” was glorious. One little piggy went to Hong Kong. Cue Chinese melody as Blues riff. On the beat. Tighter than a nun’s chuff. Body and tune in sync. The Form indivisible from the Content. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Wilko. A normal bloke who plays the Idiot Savant but who probably is one for real. A holy goof like Neal Cassady. Unique. He’ll make you smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-16728785328803076192010-02-02T12:07:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.531-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #47 Jonathan Richman<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Jonathan Richman</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial">. Jackson Lane Community Centre. June 1985<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Summer 1984 I shared a flat in Putney with Chris who got me a job at SunMed for the holiday. Craig and Andrea were down from Scotland to go to Glastonbury with us later that month..<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Lovely old Victorian building used as performance space, crèche, restaurant, theatre, meeting space. Proper Community Arts centre. Jonathan had a new album out and was back again to push it. And he had a new band which had Asa Brebner from the Live album and Andy Paley on drums. Cool. I’d been given a camera for my 21<sup>st</sup> birthday the previous year and I discovered a love of taking pictures. I’m not tech-y in anyway but I love seeing the fruits of my labours back from the developers. Haven’t got the hang of digital yet. It’s no the same, ken? Anyway, I took some photos that night. The band was great. Much tighter and Jonathan did much more improv and dancing. Good srummin’. Crowd really enthusiastic. Laughter. That’s what you get at a Jonathan gig. In truth, I’ve never heard such laughter at <i>any</i></span><span style="font-family:Arial"> other gig. Weirdly, as a parent now, I see him as a bit Wiggles. No “Road Runner” though.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-13941546637900634722010-02-02T12:04:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.528-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #46 Jonathan Richman<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Jonathan Richman</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial">. Dingwalls.1984<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">The original Dingwalls. A long room with a raised section along the back wall with a bar. All open plan with a tiny stage at the other end with iron poles holding the ceiling up. Camden hadn’t been Starbucked then. The market was titchy and home-made. Dingwalls was a name gig for any band despite the grubbiness. Well, almost. It was small and intimate. Which meant that it got very squashed. We saw Jonathan by Camden Lock before going in and said hello, which was nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We didn’t have tickets and they said it was sold out. Just then Ellie the singer walked in and we asked if she could get us in. And she did! She also opened her handbag for something and I saw a vibrator just lying there. Not very chivalrous of me to mention it but it was quite a surprise, having never seen one before.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Cries of “Road Runner” went unheeded. Don’t remember this gig as well as the first one, mainly because the view of the stage was restricted and the sound was quiet. Still, those Dingwalls ads were part of growing up. The tickets were like old-style cinema tickets coming off a big roll. No band names written on them or anything hi-falutin like that. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-42633568608175752092010-02-02T11:54:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.555-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #45 Bob Dylan<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: bold;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Bob Dylan</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">. Wembley, 1984.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Bob had done a few Christian albums after 1978 that weren’t really up to much. “God Gave Names To All The Animals” from “Slow Train Coming” was appalling. He was still Bob though and it was his turn to play the world’s big stadiums that year. Uncle Greg had never seen Bob, I’d never been to Wembley Stadium, so we went along on spec. Bought tickets off a tout for 10 quid each and went in.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Wember-lee! We entered into the arena. It’s big! There’s the twin towers! Place is packed. Smell of turf, rubber, sweat, beer, smoke. Got to the half way point of the pitch, to the right of the mixing desk. Caught the end of Santana which was all head-back, eyes-closed, axe noodling. No video screen so they were diddy little images in the distance. 4 heavy looking miners stared at us. Greg’s 6’5” and has one of those faces. We supported the Miners in principle but when you met a real one there was a huge divide. We had some hash oil which, like Red Leb and Afghan Black, is a very rare thing these days. Skunk hadn’t become the norm yet. We were very relaxed after the initial wave of Miners paranoia. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">And then, BOB! Ecstatic reception. Bob in long leather coat, shades and battered top hat. The Joker Man hisself. He did all the biggies but hard and fast. Some tunes were only recognizable after about 2 verses. A girl was sitting on a mate’s shoulders ahead, blocking the view. “Sit down, girlie!” we yelled in our best Glasgow. That got a cheer from those around us. Another girl stood in front of me and started grinding her bum into my crotch. I started fondling her boobs under her T-shirt. Weird. Nice, but weird.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">It was a good show. Loud and the mix was good. You could hear Bob’s rasp clearly. Mick Taylor, ex-Stones, was on guitar and it was very rock-y. “Maggie’s Farm” got a huge cheer with its line about not working on it no more. “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat”. ”Mr Tambourine Man”. “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue.” “Blowing In The Wind”. “Tangled Up In Blue”.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">“All Along The Watchtower.” “Like a Rolling Stone”. He wrote that! Van Morrison and Eric Clapton came on for the encores. Finished with “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”. 72,000 happy punters and a much better gig than Blackbush 6 years earlier. Well, by this time I knew the songs, which helps. By the end of the decade Bob had started his Never Ending Tour and now regularly plays 3,000 capacity venues. The days of enormo gigs behind him. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Trudging out we got paranoid about the security cameras and secretly popped the rest of the oil into the back of a random guy’s ruck-sack. He looked the sort. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-68478151203427388242010-02-02T11:49:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.567-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #43 Jonathan Richman<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:Arial;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:Arial;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.1pt;line-height:200%;mso-outline-level:1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.15pt;line-height:150%;mso-outline-level:1"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.15pt;line-height:150%;mso-outline-level:1"><span style="font-family:Arial"><b>Jonathan Richman</b></span><span style="font-family:Arial">. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Hammersmith Palais. June 1984</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.15pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.15pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.15pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:18.15pt;line-height:150%"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">I remember “Road Runner” in the summer of ’76, working for a fruit & veg Man, delivering produce around hotels and shops in the Trossachs. Great riff and cool lyrics, tooling about in beautiful scenary. Come 1983 and I’ve just started a degree in Stirling. Met Craig and Andrea and we shared a flat. They’ve been together 25 years now and have 2 lovely kids, my Godson Jack and Alice.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Anyway, one day we were looking at second-hand vinyl and came across “The Modern Lovers Live”. Andrea’s brother had been at the actual Hammy Odeon gig where the album was made. So we bought it. I loved it. It made me laugh. It was dumb but had cool tunes. After that first album I bought the back catalogue, scouring record shops and jumble sales. The original ”Modern Lovers” album recorded in 1972, with John Cale producing, but not released until 1976, is the missing link between the Velvets and punk. No lie. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Then “Jonathan Sings” came out on Rough Trade in 1984. We loved it. He had a ragged-y little band with girl vocalists and he played his squonking sax on some songs. Funny,happy little songs. I was always amazed thatJonathan had followed the Velvet Underground as a teenager. His first album from the early 70s is still a cracker. Dark but poignant. And some great riffs. It’s up there with “Marquee Moon” and “Horses”. After that he sounded mello. There was a song on the new album about how he’d gone to Bermuda after that period and learnt to chill-out. I was a fan and that summer in London he was due to play his first UK gig in about 5 years! Craig & Andrea came down from Stirling.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Orange Juice<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>had asked him to support on their big end-of-tour London gig for them. They were fans too, led by Edwyn Collins and on Postcard Records - the Sound of Young Scotland. Their first album had some lovely tunes with wry lyrics about wearing their “fringe like Roger McGuinn”. Scots have always been good at recognising a cool tune, absorbing influences and coming up with something different: Rezillos; Jesus & Mary Chain; Aztec Camera; Hue & Cry; Teenage Fan Club etc. Orange Juice were probably just as thrilled as the audience to see Jonathan play. It was a glorious double-bill on paper.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">The Hammersmith Palais was the venue. As in “White Man in…”. While writing this the Palais is due to be knocked down after 90 years. For more offices and Starbucks. Hooray. If it was a West End theatre it would have listed status but it’s been deemed “architecturally unimportant” and, anyway, it was always a bit, well, common. You know, pop music and such like.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">It was/is a great venue. Not as opulent as the Hammy Odeon (or the Labatt’s Carling Hammersmith Apollo as it was renamed – tossers!) but it had a wraparound balcony and an enormous wooden dance floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">Jonathan got an ecstatic reception that even took him by surprise. The drummer had a bongo with a splash cymbal strapped to it. An upright double bass. Ellie on backing vocals. And Jonathan. It was staggering. New songs, old songs. “I’m a Little Dinosaur” “Stop This Car” “Summer Feeling” “Hospital”. He acted out the songs, stepping back from the mic to dance, like a little kid. The voice like someone with a cold, but the words were so funny. And heartfelt.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">During “Affection”, a quiet song about the need for affection, (none of this stuff was rocket science), I went “aah” in an exaggerated way. “That’s right, Pal! I’m serious.” I felt myself flush. My cool in-on-the-joke utterance had back-fired. He’d really pulled me up on it. He WAS serious! I felt shamed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">He only got 45 minutes and didn’t do “Roadrunner”. The crowd were stamping and screaming for more. Eventually Jonathan had to come out to quieten the crowd explaining they were running late and Orange Juice had to get on. Boos. Orange Juice came on and half the audience left. I’ve never seen anything like it since. And of those who stayed, half shouted for Jonathan during the gig. It was a real shame for Orange Juice who bravely plowed on. There was a definite dip of energy in the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">We managed to get backstage to say hello to Jonathan. The band were buzzing at the reaction. We got a free beer. There’s Jonathan! By then the excitement was too much and I went bounding up to him. I was aware that I probably looked totally wired, all hot and sweaty and smelly. “That was amazing! I don’t know if you’re a genius or madman!”. I remember blurting that out. Can’t remember his response. He gave me a badge and didn’t seem displeased. In fact the overall impression was of a really nice person. Honest.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0cm;margin-right:-10.25pt;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-left:36.0pt;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;text-indent:-36.0pt;line-height:150%"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;line-height:150%"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Arial">I wrote him a letter later saying how the gig had touched me. It was real, it wasn’t fashion, how he represented something good and honest and tapped into the joy of life etc. He actually wrote back saying he didn’t mind people laughing but he didn’t like the “cool” laugh… “they’re dead inside. Too many video-games. When they can really laugh, then they can really cry”. I was chuffed! I lost count after 20 gigs by Jonathan over the years. There was something that pulled me in, tho’ the magic dimmed over the years. I still play the “Rock’n’Roll With The Modern Lovers” to Hugo. What a great title. Years later I saw Orange Juice’s set from that night on TV. It looked like an amazing show with an adoring audience, but I knew different…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right:-10.25pt;line-height:200%"><span style="font-family:Arial"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p><p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p><p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-78702959756462333762009-11-23T12:16:00.000-08:002013-11-04T12:48:29.573-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #42 Status Quo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzAYrupuuHcbwNOqs3oeAyFCUxrYeSyj-h2yDORS4KWSsI4NP7BPRyFGu1Pm8cZe-SxRwUEpS6GdoU9cBw8QUO1oYveJZ_1-RTmwOy59jaHeZG5DiVmHP3Rqkht6OcPtmbdU_X16UwCU/s1600/IMG00010-20091123-2012%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzAYrupuuHcbwNOqs3oeAyFCUxrYeSyj-h2yDORS4KWSsI4NP7BPRyFGu1Pm8cZe-SxRwUEpS6GdoU9cBw8QUO1oYveJZ_1-RTmwOy59jaHeZG5DiVmHP3Rqkht6OcPtmbdU_X16UwCU/s320/IMG00010-20091123-2012%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407396153716854674" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Status Quo, Basingstoke, 2009.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div>Even my Mum has seen Status Quo. And she hasn't been to any gigs. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Quo. You can laugh. I remember "Caroline" on Top of The Pops in 1973BC or whenever. I loved it or rather the 12-bar blues in it and thus, through the Quo, I got into Blues music. True. Not the Rolling Stones. </div><div>The "Hello" album by Quo is a classic. Cheap Fender guitars but a hard sound - 3 years before The Ramones debut. "Quo Live" was/is a corker. One of the few live albums that really captures a gig and its atmosphere. I've spent countless hours, banging my head with tennis racquet or air-guitar to that one. My young uncles, Greg and Ciarin, used to play "Down the Dustpipe" on their guitars at family Christmases in the 70s. The first time I met my father-in-law he was playing with his pub band and they did "Caroline" in their set.</div><div>So, yes, I've always had a soft spot for the Quo. But I'd never seen them. In London they always played the shit-hole that is Wembley and I couldn't be arsed. Deep down (deeper on down) though there was a part of me that always fancied seeing them. I've seen everyone else so, why not?</div><div>In August of 2009 our family moved to a village outside Basingstoke and I saw the Quo were playing the 1,100 seat Anvil theatre. Hmm. On my birthday too. Maybe...</div><div>On the day my old friend Chris came to stay so we thought we'd try and get tickets. We got to the venue and asked the nice ladies at the box office if there were any returns. Keep popping back, they said, and you might get lucky. 20 minutes later we were at the bar and one of the ladies came up and said "You're in luck!" We got 2 tickets at face value, right in the middle, 11 rows back. Wah-hey!</div><div>Once inside we looked at all the middle-aged couples and entire families of Quo fans. A roadie was hoovering the stage. It couldn't have been more sedate and MOR. I expected a soft-rock version of "Quo Live", seeing as Parfitt and Rossi were both 60 by now. The amps started to hum loudly. Intro music. The band appeared. The opening chords to "Caroline" blammed out and we were off.</div><div>They were great. Proper loud, 70s, rock gig. Rossi's stage patter took the piss out of himself, the band, the audience, but in a friendly Max Miller way. There was no rock star ego. They came over as a pub band with knobs on. They were so tight! And, because we were so close, we could see their fingers running up and down the frets. Licks and riffs I'D HEARD A THOUSAND TIMES! They made it look so easy and FUN. </div><div>OK, they played rubbish like "Living on an Island" and "Something Bout You baby I Like" but it was great just to see them bouncing around and do the guitar line-up, heads bobbing, rocking from side-to-side, just as I did 30 years ago at skool with my mates. </div><div>What really impressed was the variety of tunes. They played "Pictures of Matchstick Men" and "Ice in the Sun" from psychedelic 1967. They played old songs: "Mean Girl", "Rain", "Junior's Wailin'", "Paper Plane", even "Down the Dustpipe". They even did "Softer Ride" from the "Hello" album, a personal fave - I ain't going to work no more! Almost a political statementduring the 3 Day Week. "Rocking All Over the World" sounded much harder live and "Down Down" was just brilliant - their "Paranoid" or "Stairway" or "Smoke on the Water". A true classic. </div><div>You can slag 'em but they are unique and a fun live band. They know who they are and what they can do. An awesome beast. I'm glad I've seen them.</div>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-17761805451205822192009-07-31T12:39:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.533-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #41. Ten Pole Tudor.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Tenpole Tudor</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; ">. Dingwalls 1984</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Eddie Tenpole Tudor had auditioned for the Pistols, been in their film “Great Rock’n’Roll Swindle”, had hits such as “Swords of a Thousand Men” and been on TOTP dressed as a leather jacketed Knight of old. Apparently he was a superb athlete at public school too. Mad crazed eyes and a cartoon vocal delivery. Very ragged and a real boys thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">I think we went for the tenuous Pistols connection. Years later I saw a girlfriend of mine snogging him at a very mashed party. Her flatmate knew him and we used to see him at gigs and Camden pubs. Like John Otway his appeal was as an English eccentric. But he did do TOTP.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Years later I saw him support Greaseball, a mate’s band at the King’s Head, Fulham. It was a free gig and it was just a few locals and band friends. He was playing solo and two 30-something businessmen at the bar suddenly realised who it was and went excitedly down the front to jump around and sing along. It was quite sweet although Tenpole looked a bit sheepish. It wasn’t the coolest spectacle on the planet.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Last time I saw him was in 2009 at the funeral of the girlfriend he’d snogged all those years ago. He looked as shell-shocked as I felt on that occasion.</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-40444014774980538782009-07-31T12:38:00.001-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.550-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #40. The Meteors.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;"><b>The Meteors</b></span><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;">. Dingwalls. Camden. 1985.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;">Rockabilly was a large subcult throughout the early 80s. US High School jackets, Levis, white socks, check shirts, tattoos, brothel creepers. An alternative to New Romantic stupidity and High Street shoulder pads. The Meteors were the kings of the scene. Cartoon characters. “Teenagers From Outer Space”.<span> </span>“Earwigs In my Brain”. Good, jokey knockabout stuff. Stand up bass for that authentic 50s slap. Semi acoustic Gretschs twanging with a whammy bar.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;">Dingwalls was an ideal venue to see this in. Big, sweaty, raucous crowd but friendly. Huge blokes with spider web tattoos swigging Snakebite. Spoke to a black guy who had a Cramps tattoo. Not a common sight. Moshpit full of mad chicken dancing. Fun but a one-joke band.</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-6643026632711211532009-07-31T12:36:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.565-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #39. The Smiths.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Jobs For a Change Festival</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; ">. Jubilee Gardens, London 1984.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Right in the heart of the GLC, across the Thames from Thatcher’s Parliament, a day of music and speechifying. 3 million unemployed. Bad. USAF Cruise missles. Bad. Nuclear Bombs. Bad. Miners Strike. Bad. Red Ken spoke as usual. Nerdy but down to earth. Missed the Red Skins and heard there’d been a riot with 200 skinheads storming the stage. Broken glass still on the floor. Hank Wangford there doing his songs about jogging with Jesus down Life’s long highway. First time I saw Billy Bragg or rather craned to peer into a jammed tent. The Smiths were starting to get big and this was a big gig. All eyes on them. Morrissey all floppy quiff with the ear piece and gladioli sticking out his back pocket. Not the full PA loudness and apart from a few riffs it didn’t do it for me. The lyrics make funny reading but it didn’t Rawk. Call me shallow. There’s always been something end-of-the-pier about our Stephen. Catholic demons too. A camp Nick Cave. Mari Wilson was uplifting with her beehive and doo-wop girls. Like the Darts only less panto.</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-44891788409665116172009-07-31T12:35:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.558-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #37 and 38. Elvis Costello.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Elvis Costello & The Attractions </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Edinburgh Playhouse 1984<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Went with Craig and Andrea. Up in the balcony. The Pogues supported and went down well. Shane McGowan. Some great lyrics but that voice. I’ve tried. It hurts. The Pogues were really rough and ready, banging their heads with tin plates. Moighty craic from pissed Camden.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Elvis with the Attractions. Great band. I remember Steve Nieve’s keyboards being really clear and rocking. Amazing musician. Elvis didn’t vamp so much this time or get carried away vocally like he did in Glasgow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">A curiously empty feeling about the whole thing really. I can live quite happily<span> </span>without ever hearing an Elvis Costello song<span> </span>again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Elvis Costello </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Edinburgh Playhouse 1984<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Elvis played solo 2 weeks later. T-Bone Burnett was support. He was great. Easy-picking guitar. Southern US drawl. Country rock. I bought his album. He went on to play with Dylan and won an Oscar for work on “Oh Brother! Where Art Thou?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Elvis doing Unplugged before Unplugged. Stripped of the bombast<span> </span>of a band he let the lyrics and tunes breathe. Ballads like “Alison” really worked shorn of clutter. Low-key but effective. His voice still bothers me though…</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-45156644238379745832009-07-31T12:23:00.001-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.560-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #35. Elvis Costello.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Elvis Costello</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; "> Glasgow 1983<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">By 1983 Elvis was the indie King of sharp song-writing. Emerging from Punk he evolved into a Top 20 act but with schmartz, jah? I’ve tried, I’ve really tried but ultimately, after all this time, I’m not an Elvis Costello fan. The first 3 albums are great fun but it’s his voice. The fact he ended up doing “She” on the “Notting Hill” film soundtrack confounds me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Anyway, great old ballroom at the far end of Sauciehall Street in the centre of Glasgow. The Attractions are a great band and the crowd were up for it. Glasgow audiences used to chant “Here we go, here we go, here we go!” before bands came on stage. Not like their jaded seen-it-all London brethren.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Elvis was wearing a shiny pink/purple mohair suit and doing his crooner impersonation. The fast ones were tight and rockin’. “Pump It Up, “Oliver’s Army”, “Mystery Dance”, “Radio Radio”. The ballads all seemed to end in extended vamps with Elvis dragging out the words in Tony Bennett style. Emoting. Wringing the songs out. And it got tedious. Even “Ship Building” a great song about the Falklands War was bludgeoned my Elvis’ vocal workout. Which was a real shame as that song is part of the REAL soundtrack to the Eighties, not “Rio” by Duran Duran.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">A minor Legend and obviously a very clever man but…</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-40810357985507038382009-07-31T12:22:00.001-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.553-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #34. Bo Diddley.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7Odt2NPRd4YjMNo31M9KTtiFt3vKmTOkdv9DfqSWIGlx4JbS6-QYSMbWAhS6YokTC7B9JpcHwqQON9TGg05MBa5NJ_89SBcgJjb1ub2WQA62f0GQju_q5mVqF8XEwr-_I5IbQ5jDNog/s1600-h/bo.png" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0); text-decoration: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7Odt2NPRd4YjMNo31M9KTtiFt3vKmTOkdv9DfqSWIGlx4JbS6-QYSMbWAhS6YokTC7B9JpcHwqQON9TGg05MBa5NJ_89SBcgJjb1ub2WQA62f0GQju_q5mVqF8XEwr-_I5IbQ5jDNog/s320/bo.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340599604010574850" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px; border-width: initial; border-color: initial; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 4px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 4px; border-top-width: 1px; border-right-width: 1px; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-width: 1px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-right-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-left-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); " /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Bo Diddley.</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; "> Glasgow Arches. 1984</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">There was a minibus going to Glasgow. Me and flat-mates Craig and Andrea had gotten involved in the University Music Society. I got voted as President. Not bad out of about, ooh, 7 people. We joined so that we could arrange tickets and transport for ourselves, if truth be told. Nobody ever played Stirling as there was no point: stuck halfway between Glasgow and Edinburgh any touring bands would just play those two before going off to Aberdeen. For that reason the Student Union was pretty useless. So, the best way for us to get to gigs and back was with transport, paid for out of student funding. We’d see a gig we’d like advertised, vote on buying a dozen tickets and book the mini-van. We were supposed to help musicians with facilities but I never got involved in that.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">So, Bo Diddley. Again. At the time one of my courses was Popular Music in the 20th Century. Stirling used the 2-semesters-a-year system with a Major subject and add-on units to build up a degree. I also did a term of Fine art in The Twentieth Century. All these courses were later scrapped – useless liberal Arts costing money, who needs ‘em? Thank God, the Tories were there to sort out such nonsense! Anyway, the Music course was great. One of the lecturers was Otto Krayoli, a wonderful man who’d fled Hungary in 1956 when the Russian tanks rolled in and wrote what became a standard text; ”An Introduction To Music”. Others were old Blues fans who saw Big Bill Broonzy in 1956. Occassionally, a student would give a guest talk. I gave mine on Chuck Berry. The night of the gig I had to turn in an essay the next day entitled, I kid ye not; “Can White Men Sing The Blues?”<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">So, we were up for some Bo. The Arches was literally that. A small vaulted basement. So small that Bo and band had to climb the same spiral staircase to get in as the audience. The band came on first and warmed the crowd up. Suddenly, Bo was on the stairs ready to go on. People were smiling, shaking his hand. Bo Diddley! Standing next to us! The music wasn’t particularly loud so I told him about my essay. “Can they?” “Sure. If they get their shit together” That was the opening quote of my essay. I wrote it overnight when I got back to Stirling. Got an A+.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Bo had a beige, 70s looking suit with wide lapels. In fact it was a beige, 70s suit and looked a bit acrylic. John Lee Hooker once said that white boys didn’t know how to play the blues, “coz they don’t know what it <i>is</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; "> to wear nylon socks!” It was a really intimate crowd and Glaswegians are great. If they like you. They liked Bo. The set wasn’t as hard-hitting as the Lyceum show I’d seen. A lot more robotics and games with the guitar. It was an act. I knew this because I’d seen it and that seemed to rob the spontaneity from it. Strange feeling. When he played it fast though, it was mesmerising. His hands like pistons, fluid movement, hammering out the timeless beat. A Legend but working hard for it.</span></p></span></div>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-46911288671116060012009-07-31T12:21:00.001-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.562-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #33. Dr John.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Dr John.</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; "> Clapham Common Bandstand. 1984<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Free gig on Clapham Common. The stage was the Victorian bandstand. The GLC was still in existence then so I imagine they paid for it, probably in the belief that allowing free access to Culture of all kinds would improve people’s lives. How quaint. Good thing the Tories stamped that sort of nonsense out. That evening I was due to fly to Mykonos with brother Ewan, having spent the summer vacation working for SunMed, who specialised in Greek holidays, and earned a free holiday for two. So, in quite a good mood all told.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">The support acts, Diz & the Doormen and Balham Alligators, were pub-rockers always appearing in London at venues like the Half Moon, Putney. Some of them probably still are. Gigs were long affairs back then, especially when you got there early to see support acts. Don’t bother nowadays.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">About 5 O’clock the band started and there was Dr John with his feathers, bag of ju-ju (huh?) and big cane walking up to the bandstand. I knew he was a cult figure from the Sixties, creating the persona of The Night Tripper and had appeared in the film, “The Last Waltz”. And that was it really. It was all ‘Nawlins funky stew and sugar-po-nah-nah. Bit too smooth in parts. He did some beautiful solo piano which I recognized from an LP I’d bought. Boogie-woogie and some slower blues. Amazing sound. It was “muso” but good! We were near the front but couldn’t quite see his fingers on the keys. Shame.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Before catching the plane we had time to have some food with my old skool mate, Bill, who lived around the corner. Nice one. </span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-38039233438992486712009-07-31T12:20:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.543-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #32. The Cure.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>The Cure </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Edinburgh 1984<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">The Playhouse was a lovely old theatre. Flatmate Craig had worked there as a night security man before coming to Stirling. We bought a dozen Cure tickets for the Music Society, which we were running, but nobody wanted them. So, I ended up going. I liked the early singles but things like the “Pornography” album was horrible Gothic dirge.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Possibly the most boring live band ever. Nothing but dry-ice, green and purple lights and motionless black-clad figures. They did “10.15”, “A Forest” and “Killing An Arab”, which were fine. But these songs were 6 years old. And at that age 6 years is a lifetime. They carried on having hits with great videos by Tim Pope but I felt their day had been and gone. “Better live, prefer their old stuff” was a common phrase amongst us hip Kidz, ‘cept the Cure weren’t better live.</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-894547956896280982.post-12619350199038246462009-07-31T12:19:00.000-07:002013-11-04T12:48:29.526-08:00Every gig I've Ever Seen #31. The Gun Club.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; "><b>Gun Club</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; "> Edinburgh Oct 1984<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">I bought the first Gun Club album based on an NME review. Found a copy in Boots, Andover, same time as the first Cramps album, also bought based on an NME review. Must have had a groovy record buyer at Boots who read the same reviews. Loved both albums. The Gun Club sounded ancient but bang up to date. Savage blues shouting and fierce guitar. The finest psychobilly. “Sex Beat” is a classic. Jeffrey Lee Pierce was the main man. Shock of long dyed blond hair. Other than a few photos we didn’t know what the band looked like.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">And here they were playing a naff night club in Edinburgh.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">The Hoochie Coochie Club was small, low ceilinged, red velvet, chrome tables with big bouncers in tuxedos and dicky bows. Pay your money at the door and in. Mix of psychobillies, students, Goths and rockers. Band came on late and the audience were baying for it. The stage was about a foot tall with silver tinsel at the back, like a stripper revue. Which it probably was. Tiny, loud, rough sounding PA.<span> </span>Crowd surged forward. Bouncers pushing everyone back. Gig stopped. No violence as such, just bouncers worried about the band being swamped.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Patricia Morrison was on bass. An Amazon of a woman with red lips, back combed fright wig, leather and studs. Glamorous but hard. Her and Poison Ivy of the Cramps were strong women in a male world. They looked sexy in a 50s B-Movie way but they weren’t there for fluff. They could play. In that sense they’re probably important as feminist Icons. It was OK to feel turned on by them, without the usual “objectification of women” guilt. They were cool.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">Jeffrey Lee was cool personified. Ultimately drugs killed him but, then, he was still young and reasonably beautiful. The authentic whiff of the Swamp about him. Dirty slide guitar. Howled lyrics. Big rockabilly beat but demented. Crowd really behind them. Big attack guitar solos mere inches from people’s sweating faces. “Fire On The Mountain” was dynamic, a huge stop-start riff of a song. This was proper hard, heavy Rock. The Pixies learnt a lot from them. American guitars, drenched in the sound of that Continent. From Robert Johnson to Punk. The Smiths? Wimps.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-family: Arial; ">A great band and the missing link between Gene Vincent and The White Stripes. Keef says he wants written on his gravestone: “He passed it on”. Jeffrey Lee did. Legends in my book.</span></p></span>Carl Stickleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15302404868101391417noreply@blogger.com0