Every Gig I've Ever Seen #58 Iggy & The Stooges

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… 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

Every Gig I've Ever Seen #57 Lou Reed

Lou Reed, Royal Festival Hall, London. April 19^th 2010.

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 exactly the white-noise sound of the original, with real instruments, would have been something to behold.

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.

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Every Gig I've Ever Seen #56 Big Star

Big Star The Grand, Clapham, London, August 1993

(I wrote this before Chilton's sad death, 2010. RIP)

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. 

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.

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.

 

Every Gig I've Ever Seen #55 Alex Chilton

Alex Chilton Berkeley Square, Berkeley, California, November 1985

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.

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.

Alex died suddenly on St Patrick's Day, 2010 aged 59.

Every Gig I've Ever Seen #54 John Cale

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!

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.

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”.

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…

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.  “Macbeth” romped us home. Ovation and a visibly touched Cale patted his heart.

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.

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.

I was there. Tidy. “Music For a New Society” next, perhaps?

Every Gig I've Ever Seen #53

Martin Harley Band, Peter Parker's Rock n Roll Club, London. 22/2/10

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.

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.

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.

Great, you say, just what we need, another set of well-worn cliches.

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.

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. 

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...

Every gig I've Ever Seen #52 Rolling Stones

Rolling Stones Shepherds Bush Empire June 1999

 

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.

The Stones 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.

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.  

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.  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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #51 Tolpuddle Martyrs

Battersea Park. July 29^th. 1985

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

A nice day out. Once the GLC was scrapped these gigs stopped.

 

Every gig I've Ever Seen #50 Jobs for a Change Festival

Battersea Park. July 7^th 1985

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.

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.

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.

 

Every gig I've Ever Seen #49 Bruce Springsteen

Bruce Springsteen. Wembley Stadium. 1985

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.

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!”

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.

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.

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.

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.

 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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #48 Wilko Johnson

Wilko Johnson. Bull & Gate, London June 1985.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.   

 

Every gig I've Ever Seen #42 Status Quo

Status Quo, Basingstoke, 2009.

Even my Mum has seen Status Quo. And she hasn't been to any gigs. 

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. 

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.

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?

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...

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!

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.

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. 

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. 

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.  

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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #41. Ten Pole Tudor.

Tenpole Tudor. Dingwalls 1984

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.

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.

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.

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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #40. The Meteors.

The Meteors. Dingwalls. Camden. 1985.

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”.  “Earwigs In my Brain”. Good, jokey knockabout stuff. Stand up bass for that authentic 50s slap. Semi acoustic Gretschs twanging with a whammy bar.

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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #39. The Smiths.

Jobs For a Change Festival. Jubilee Gardens, London 1984.

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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #37 and 38. Elvis Costello.

Elvis Costello & The Attractions Edinburgh Playhouse 1984

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.

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.

A curiously empty feeling about the whole thing really. I can live quite happily  without ever hearing an Elvis Costello song  again.

 

Elvis Costello Edinburgh Playhouse 1984

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?”

Elvis doing Unplugged before Unplugged. Stripped of the bombast  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…

Every gig I've Ever Seen #35. Elvis Costello.

Elvis Costello Glasgow 1983

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.

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.

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. 

A minor Legend and obviously a very clever man but…

Every gig I've Ever Seen #34. Bo Diddley.

Bo Diddley. Glasgow Arches. 1984

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.

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?”  

 

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+. 

 

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 is 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.

Every gig I've Ever Seen #33. Dr John.

Dr John. Clapham Common Bandstand. 1984

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.

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.

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. 

Before catching the plane we had time to have some food with my old skool mate, Bill, who lived around the corner. Nice one. 

Every gig I've Ever Seen #32. The Cure.

The Cure Edinburgh 1984

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.

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.