After a nine year wait, I finally got to see Hank III perform live last Sunday night (13th Sept). I’ll cut to the chase by saying that it didn’t disappoint. In fact, it excelled any expectations that I may have had. I travelled (once again) from Galway, the bog’s arse of Ireland over to London to catch his second night at The Garage in Highbury. The dark, beer sodden cavern being the perfect setting for what would evolve into a gargantuan display of raw, unadulterated talent. There’s something so visceral it’s almost feral dwelling within Hank III, this manifests itself within the skill in which he writes his songs and the passion with which he delivers them.
With full (Damn) band, he had the crowd going from the get go, tearing through favourites from his back catalogue such as ‘7 Months, 29 Days’, ‘The Grand Ol’ Opry (Ain’t So Grand Anymore)’ ‘Mississippi Mud’, ‘My Drinking Problem’ and ‘Dick In Dixie’. It was evident that the audience comprised of proper fans, both old and young. The rockabilly kids were all out in form, sporting the best hair and outfits I’ve seen in some time, rubbing shoulders with the crusty punks and the dreadlocked metal heads. This mixture worked so well, resulting in the perfect atmosphere. Everybody there was aware of what a treat this was, and so no one set out to mess it up for everyone else by being a drunken idiot (the downfall of so many concerts).
The sound was great and the lighting minimal. With such a large band and a mass of equipment, they dominated the stage. The line that Hank draws between punk and country is entirely his own and ultimately inimitable. He draws from his influences (as covers of songs such as ‘Cocaine Blues’ and Hank Williams classic ‘I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive’ display) but morphs them into his distinct and incendiary fashion. His ethics are ingrained deeply within his lyrics and he is never one to shy away from expressing his opinions, which are generally ones which I can relate to. He is a man who sees through all the bullshit, someone who knows what it’s all about and above all, a highly talented individual.
All of the supporting and accompanying musicians on the night were fabulous. After a dream like set of his Hellbilly classics, the pace lifted as the amalgamation of the Damn band and Assjack began to take place. I don’t know if the crowd were ready for Assjack, maybe they all just needed a smoke, maybe they were afraid of messing up their hair, I’m not sure, but there was a definite lull in the crowd once the country set finished. Thankfully, this proved to be temporary as within a few songs, there was a great number of people back up at the front. Nothing, I repeat, nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught of Assjack, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Melting punk, hardcore and balls out metal in a manner of which I have rarely witnessed carried out to such success; this was the ultimate second half. Favourites from the new album including ‘Cocaine’, ‘Choking Gesture’ and ‘Gravel Pit’ blew my spiky haired little mind. Endless riffs and the addition of a second (man mountain of a) vocalist really meant that all the hardcore heads had something to take away with them. Hank’s time in bands such as Superjoint Ritual and Arson Anthem really shows when he lets loose with the heavy stuff. I have to say, I loved every moment. The man did not take a single break from start to finish and I think that’s it’s fair to say that there is a new contender for the crown of ‘Hardest working man in rock’.
Ghostly, enigmatic and powerful, Hank III leaves you with something indescribable. An artist who appreciates the fact that anyone comes out to the shows, expressing sincere humility and respect for the fans, a rare thing in the ego obsessed, image conscious façade that permeates the musical culture of today. I’d have been happy after an hour, we were lucky enough to be given several. Speaking of luck, I got to meet Hank briefly after the show and managed to have a brief chat with him. I am not one to usually do this, but I felt compelled to say hey and overall, ‘Thank you’. He is as charismatic and charming an individual as I could have ever hoped. I look forward with baited breath to the next time I get to see him live, let’s hope it’s just not another nine years before that happens.
And remember, even though artists like Hank III are totally cool with fans taking video and making recordings at the gigs, they need us to help them survive. Do this by buying your albums or merch from the official site (HERE) or just go to a show. Let’s not let great music die.
You would never have known there was a festival on as you approached Pont de St-Cloud on Saturday 29th August. The trains were sparsely crowded with the usual mixture of commuters, tourists and kids. Only walking up to the densely foliated parks, did crowds begin to assimilate and flow into the slipstreams. Promoters handed out everything that one might require for the festivities, programmes were supplied free of charge, as were condoms, earplugs and various other memorabilia. It was a great introduction to how the French manage their festivals, and manage them well they do.
The surroundings were so picturesque they belied the nature of the event in the best possible way. At no point did I see the thronging crowds of yahoos that exist at the likes of Oxegen, Electric Picnic or Glastonbury. Gone were the screeching hordes that act as if they were just let out of the house for the first time. Replaced were they with amiable, pleasant people in their thousands. I was confused and a little bewildered. More so once again when we sampled some of the amazing food that was on offer. The bars never had more than two or three people in front of you and accepted cash!
We wandered through the galleries and poster exhibitions that were on display and idled away a few hours underneath the shady trees until it was time for the first act, one which we (Lady P and I) had been anticipating greatly since seeing the lineup several months previously. Kitty, Daisy & Lewis is a (very) young London band, comprising of the synonymous Kitty, Daisy and Lewis Durham (and their parents). Their style is that of classic swing and rock and roll (I am not going to use the term Rockabilly, because it’s connotations of late have been more style oriented than musically descriptive). Switching instruments between each track, the siblings display something resembling a sixth sense when it comes to timing. They play off each other’s abilities and seem to be challenging each other within the songs, in regards to the impromptu tonal and pace changes that pepper the tracks. The crowd seemed mostly unfamiliar but exceptionally eager and they were met with a great response which is encouraging. Authentic is a dangerous word to use when describing anything, but I really feel that there is something timeless and beautifully imperfect about them which in turn serves to accentuate their unique and captivating presence. The setlist featured two covers, Johnny Horton’s ‘Mean Son Of A Gun’ and Canned Heat’s ‘Going up the Country’, both were met to rapturous applause. It was almost a shame to see them so early on in the day, as judging by the amount of dancing that was going on, a later slot would have guaranteed that the whole floor would have been swinging like it was prom night on Happy Days. (Kitty, Daisy & Lewis are signed to Sunday Best Recordings and seem to be on tour all of the time.)
A later set for K, D & L may have also meant that we could have missed some of the bends that we did see with more desirable slots. The Noisettes were so pointless and squeaky that I won’t even bother to elaborate any further. I’m sure they have their fans, but I don’t have anything nice to say and as my Granny always says…….
After The Noisettes, The Asteroids Galaxy Tour was up next. Now, I’m not going to win any friends with this one, but when I see someone walk onstage in oversized sunglasses, with a gold sparkly jacket and gold tights on, sporting the trendiest of trendy hair and then proceed to squeal incoherently over some insipid blibbidy bloop beats that don’t go anywhere, things are not off to a good start. My instincts were correct and after Lady P wittily dubbed them as The Hemmorhoid Galaxy Tour, we agreed that would be a good high note to leave on.
There were a few weird times during the festival when there was only one band playing, which could be heard echoing across the park. This was a bit odd, but the atmosphere was so relaxed that nobody minded, it gave for good time to get a few beers in and take another wander around the amenities. The crowd gathering for Ebony Bones was impressive in size, but unwilling to give away my energies to stand whilst there were luscious embankments to rest upon; observation was chosen in relation to participation. I doubt that I would have lasted too long anyway. EB lie somewhere between Fela Kuti and Basement Jaxx, except done very ham fistedly and having the downfall of being far too inane and saccharine. Day-glo felt costumes, endless shout outs to things like ‘Adversity’ and ‘Being different’ started to get on my nerves, especially when combined with entire songs in which every second line is ‘Now jump to the left, now jump to the right, now take a step forwards, now take a step back’, I’m not five, I hate the hokey cokey and I don’t want to play, needless to say, toys were gathered, gardens were left.
I was cheered up instantly by Dananananaykroyd! I love happy Scottish bands, they’re so much more fun than the misanthropic, yet fingernail removingly twee and painfully stylish ones (Camera Obscura you sit back down right now!). Just hearing someone with a strong Glaswegian accent announce ‘Hallow, we’re Dananananaykroyd!’ made me smile with so much glee you could have used it to bring a dead horse back to life. I was really surprised with how heavy they were live, so much shouting! So many really nice riffs! They were like a cute little Fugazi, and that’s not a comparison I make glibly. A band who are, dare I say it ‘fun’. You may not like them on record (they under whelm in that respect a little) but live, they are a must see.
The Horrors were next and they not only lived up to, but surpassed any preconceived ideas that I may have held. Thoroughly enjoying their debut when it was released several years ago, I was an enthusiastic champion of them, especially in the face of such adversity as all of my mates slagging me off and saying that they were shit. Well, I now have fewer friends and love The Horrors more than ever. Now, before you begin the onslaught, please be advised that I am aware of the arguments. I know that they sound like Joy Division; I know that they’re so Shoreditch that it hurts; I know that there are several other huge influences that bear down on their shoulders, threatening to disallow them to justify themselves. Faris stalked around the stage like some sinewy, goth mantis whilst the introduction of ‘Mirrors Image’ drifted through the trees like acrid, translucent smoke. The domination of the synths and bass being more reminiscent of ‘Pornography’ era Cure than anything else. And this is a bad thing for absolutely no reasons at all.
Highlighting both albums and captivating all who witnessed, The Horrors not only portrayed themselves as musicians who are more than ready to take on the world, they have settled into themselves so much more within the last two years. Just off the back of a support slot with Nine Inch Nails on their later tour, their fans extend as far as Faith No More, who referenced them directly in their set later in the night. They will have their haters and they will certainly take a lot of flack with their ascension, but I have a feeling that we are yet to see the best work from this band. They pulled off bleakness and desolation during the brightest part of the day; now get me to a smoky underground club with them as the headliners and we’ll talk then.
Unfortunately, this elation was somewhat short-lived, as to attain a good spot for Faith No More, it would be necessary to endure an entire set from The Offspring on the main stage. Not even alcohol or nostalgia could rectify the effects of this band. I admittedly used to like them when I was about 13 and ‘Smash’ came out, although their late 90’s return with such ‘classics’ as ‘Pretty Fly For A White Guy’, ‘Why Don’t You Get A Job’ and ‘Hit that’ simply annoyed me, having more sense by that stage. This was an almost two hour ideal of songs that I had happily forgotten existed until now. I was amazed when this bleached haired group of elderly gentlemen continued to play on, and on, and on…….. The crowd loved it and they have no small following (outnumbering the number of Faith No More t shirts on display that day easily), announcing that they were happy to have the number one rock album in France that week. Oh dear.
The awfulness continued for some time, with Dexter Holland having the audacity to send Grandpa Noodles and the gang away whilst he subjected us to a solo piano performance which made my bum rumble and the middle of my brain itch. Still, it ended and like any successful campaign we stood in our conquered spaces, front and centre, exactly where I like to be. Then there was the wait……..
This
Went
On
For
Quite
Some
Time
Well over an hour in fact, whilst they played us Abba songs and people smoked a lot. This was a long hot hour, feeling the occasional slimy passing of an exhausted reveller making their way to less crowded climes. The red curtain was up, Mike Bordin’s drum kit was on display and I reflected briefly on just how amazing their Download show was a few months previously and the initial excitement and anticipation that I had felt returned in electrifying sensation.
Then it was time.
Gliding onto the stage and launching into the now familiar ‘Reunited’, the band once again generated a feeling of elated relief and joy, the sharp exhalation of an entire generation, fulfilling one of their musical cravings that they never thought would be satisfied. Faith No More are well and truly back, over this summer they have become the talk of the forums, the seasoned concert goers and the bloggers, and every positive word is entirely validated. The band know this as well, they never disappoint and tonight was no exception.
Forsaking first leg second track ‘The Real Thing’ for ‘From Out Of Nowhere’ the crowd exploded. A sea of bodies rushed, swelled and swayed like a powerful current. This was not assisted in any way by the one flailing drunk who kept trying to send us both under so that he could take our spots. After an entire song of getting elbowed incessantly by this nine foot douchebag, I did the only thing that a man should do when presented with such buffoonery and I punched him hard upside the head, which made him go away promptly. The force from FNM continued with ‘Be Aggressive’ which continued the frenzy, albeit in a far more civilized fashion at this point. The favourites continued to be exhibited as ‘Caffeine’, ‘Evidence’ & ‘Surprise! You’re Dead.’ maintained a heavy, fast paced vibe which solidified FNM’s status as rock legends.
Patton has a beautiful awkwardness when he talks to the crowd, a modesty that belies his infamous onstage demeanour. Billy Gould was thrust prominently to the front of the bass heavy sound for the night, to wonderful results; this added heaviness and vigour to the show. When this element is combined with Puffy’s drumming and Bottum’s astounding keyboard skills, you have a magical outcome. John Huston erases all requirement of big sick hairy ugly Jim Martin (I think it was Metal Hammer or Raw used to religiously refer to him that way). There were some nice setlist changes from the first leg of the tour including ‘King for a Day’, ‘Just A Man’, ‘Midnight Cowboy’ and ‘I Started A Joke’ (All of which were magnificent, especially Patton making everybody give jazz hands for ‘Just A Man’).
Halfway through ‘Midlife Crisis’ during the breakdown, they threw in the Eastenders theme song, complete with whistling section, which was glorious, if a little lost on the majority of the audience. ‘The Gentle Art of Making Enemies’, ‘Ashes to Ashes’ and ‘We Care A Lot’ were stormed through with such force that the crowd were now feeling the fatigue. No less enthusiastic, just more eager to stand back and watch, enjoying for what will be many, a once in a lifetime chance to see their idols. It is not known how long this reunion will last, and so every fan is taking the opportunity to witness them with a reverence and admiration that would warm the coolest of hearts. A fabulous performance and another fantastic evening spent in the company of a band who may be more relevant now than ever before.
We though it was all over. A bit battered and sweaty, we strolled towards the far stages where, to our amazement not only all the bars and merch stalls were open, but the bands were still performing. This was unusual to find after the main stage has cleared, the last act on the second stage being Birdy Nam Nam. Their stage set up was equal to that which I have seen Kraftwerk and Daft Punk use, towering layers of luminescence split the silhouettes of thousands as some severe and enthralling turntablism was taking place. The four French DJ’s created everything from their decks and using the skills that they displayed at the 2002 DMC’s, combined with a wry awareness of electro and techno, blew me the hell away. We spent the next hour dancing like it was 1994.
Overall, the organization was excellent, the bands superb. The experience was sublime and the memories fantastical.
It all hit me on Sunday. Four nights in a tent had taken their toll. It was also the hottest day sofar. For me, in many ways, Slipknot had been the grand finale; everything today was just an added bonus. It was however, a very different place to the one we had left the night before.
There were substantially more day visitors on Sunday, clearly drawn in by the AOR nature of the line-up. Ageing rockers with more patches than denim showing emerged en masse in the early morning heat. With them they brought children, lots and lots of children. I think it’s commendable that the festival was so accommodating to families and I support any event that does so. As aforementioned, however, I had been in a tent for four days and the last thing I wanted was to be placed in the middle of a scorching field with absolutely no shelter to find that it had been transmogrified into a rudimentary nursery. Yes, it was Surly Sunday for the Zombiehamster.
My grumpiness was aided with the confiscation of our whiskey. I was under no circumstances going to drink anymore warm, flat expensive beers and so we sought the pleasure of the vine. This proved suitably pleasant and reclaiming our preferred vantage point, we sipped our Sauvignon Blanc’s and watched Stone Gods, whose traditional biker metal was surely indicative of what was still to come.
Tesla were second to perform on the main stage, their best song being ‘Signs’ which was sampled by Norman Cook a few years ago ‘And the sign said, long haired freaky people need not apply’. I really enjoyed Tesla; they were great fun, although the singer did resemble the recently resurrected corpse of a Native American dipped in candle wax. His teeth were whiter than light itself. They got the crowd going really well, but I knew that there would be no circle pits today, oh no, this was the day for air guitar and power poses. Anyone who knows me will profess to the fact that I have absolutely no issues with this whatsoever.
The specially reformed Skin (Not the Skunk Anansie Singer) followed with another display of 80’s soft rock. Their last song surprised the hell out of me however; as it transpired that they were the originators of ‘Unbelievable’ which was brought to popularity by EMF in the early 90’s. Skin’s version is far superior, with the old school riffs perfectly suiting the fast pace of the song. This wasn’t turning out so bad after all.
Black Stone Cherry. Again, I had seen so many of their shirts over the weekend that I assumed they must have a considerable following. Their set transported me back to a hundred pub rock gigs that I have seen against my will and better judgement. As with several of the bands that I saw over the weekend, there was nothing wrong with what they did, but there was nothing progressive or overly exciting to it either. Their set seemed to last a lot longer than it did as well, which is not always a good thing. Still, I didn’t care, the very reason that I got out of bed on Sunday (aside from the girl on acid in the tent next to me who had just hooked up with a tattooist named Rob) was Journey, and they were due to play in a matter of minutes.
I was sceptical and a kind of unsure of what to expect from Journey as I had seen very little footage of new singer Arnel Pineda. I needn’t have been so apprehensive. In forty minutes, they powered through their greatest hits and made everyone very, very happy. ‘Anyway you want it’, ‘Wheel in the sky’ and ‘Don’t stop believing’ were now the anthems of the day. It was possibly the most perfect band to see on the last day, bedraggled and wounded from the sidelines. I have included some of the official videos for you to get a better indication of just how well they performed.
Things took a horrible turn for the worse when Dream Theater played next. I have never before in my life experienced a band that was so awful that they actually made me vomit. Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything. I just couldn’t take it, trapped in the sun with the most horrendous prog rock ever made. It was like living downstairs from Rick Wakeman and half hearing his week long noodling sessions through a pillow that you have protectively wrapped around your head to try and make it all go away. It wouldn’t end. They just kept going, playing, solos, no, couldn’t take it. Horrible, horrible band.
When I ran an indie record store for a while, we used to sell bucketloads of their cd’s. If the place still existed I think I would track down these people who ordered their albums and have a serious talk with them, before beating them around the head with cans of salmon. Why Dream Theater exist is entirely beyond me and they have now taken place I my list of bands that I never want to hear again as long as I live, where they stand proudly alongside the likes of Bob Marley, Pink Floyd and The Beatles. Oh if I never had to hear a song by any of those artists again what a wonderful world it would be.
The pain was eventually relieved and it took me a while to recover, I felt violated. They got me after Journey; I was all happy and vulnerable. Bastards.
To hell with bad prog rock though because there was some proper rock on next, in the hairy bear form of ZZ Top. ZZ Top are like walking cartoons, they are amazing. They seem like such delightful old men too, although this can make it a bit weird when they’re singing about shagging. They are fantastic blues musicians (as anyone who knows their early work will agree) and it was only in the 1980’s that they developed their pop rock formula which catapulted them into megastardom. This was a delight as their shows can be quite rare and so I made sure that I enjoyed and appreciated every moment. ‘Cheap Sunglasses’, ‘Legs’, ‘Gimmie All Your Lovin’ and ‘Sharp Dressed Man’ were just so much damn fun to hear and jump about to. Their departure signalled the end of the fun.
I had been looking forward to Whitesnake. This anticipation was diluted, spilt and evaporated by the end of the second song. Dave Coverdale is like some awful Bruce Forsythe / Butlins Redcoat hybrid, with about as much charm as haemorrhoids. Opening every track with lines such as ‘Here’s another one you’ll like’ and ‘I’ve got another little song for ya’ in his ridiculous lord of the manor voice was really starting to annoy me. The meandering solo’s lasted three or four days. The banter was endless and equally flat and forced. I began to hate Whitesnake after 20 minutes. After an hour I wanted to go home. By the time they got to ‘Is This Love?’ and ‘Here I go Again’ they rocked, but I barely cared.
It was with this, the fatigue, the heat and the entire lack of enthusiasm to see Def Leppard; I went back to my tent where I passed out, only to wake an hour later when they started lighting fires.
It was all a bit scary for a while, every few moments another tent would explode, then some campers began letting off flares which illuminated the sites nicely for the Police helicopters that circled overhead. The air was filled with smoke, the red glow showing the scurrying guards and Police as they stormed through the tents to stop the mounting fires.
It all ended peaceful and we made our escape on Monday morning, managing to rearrange our boat home. This was one of the most welcome eventualities imaginable, well for me, because I wasn’t driving. Many thanks do go to Soup however, you were a legend man and I can’t thank you enough. 25 concerts in three days was hard going, but worth every moment. Any quibbles I may have had were minor ones given the unique and memorable line-up. I saw some bands I loved, some I didn’t know I would even enjoy and a few that were just great to make fun of. I haven’t seen sun since I returned to Ireland and have no intention on leaving the house anytime soon. Well, not until the next good gig comes around, I don’t think that’ll be too far away either.
Biggest douche of the weekend goes to Marilyn Manson for wasting everybody’s time. Oh and for the most disturbing moment of the weekend, when a mother approached me during Manson and, motioning to her daughter, said:
‘You’ll have to put my daughter up on your shoulders so that she can show her tits to the camera’.
When you are staying in a tent, beside an airport runway with a few thousand other people, any sleep gained is a mammoth achievement. I managed a solid eight hours, possibly assisted by my extended front row shenanigans the night before. We did unwind in a very pleasant manner after the shows on Friday, by listening to Classic FM, eating olives and playing chess for a few hours. Now that’s rock and roll kids.
Saturday’s bill was getting underway early, with the first band on at 11am. Being very much there for the music, myself and the illustrious Soup (more legend than human and my wingman for the weekend) hotfooted it down to the arena for some questionable breakfast substances. Whilst trying to enjoy a beer and a pastie on the hill overlooking the main stage, we were subjected to an aural molestation by Tim ‘Ripper’ Owens. It’s amazing how much difference good sound can make to even the most mediocre performance. Unfortunately, in this case, the soundman seemed to have arranged a lie in and sent one of his mates down to do the job instead. It was a case of poor sound making a bad gig sound even worse.
Owens was the replacement singer in Judas Priest after the brief departure of Rob Halford. The atrocious sound, making his vocals ear rupturingly loud in comparison to the instruments, did not heighten the experience for anyone. Clichéd and difficult to listen to, this was far from the ideal start to the day. The combination of the tired songs, poor lyrics and shoddy delivery with the already scorching heat were beginning to make me cranky. Thankfully, the sets were nice and short and so the torture didn’t last long. I don’t think that I can go as far as to recommend Tim ‘Ripper’ Owens to anyone, but he’s trying, bless him, so I’m not going to slate him either.
The sound was strangely perfect again with the introduction of 5 Finger Death Punch, who I had previously never heard of. If the amount of t shirts that I saw over the weekend was anything to go by, then they seem to have quite a following. I’m not really sure what there is to say about them. They were dumb, very dumb indeed, but far from unenjoyable. In fact, they cheered me up loads and managed to get the crowd considerably riled up, not an easy task before noon. I can’t say that any of their songs stayed with me, but I didn’t find any of the disagreeable either. I may even investigate them further someday. In short, nothing special but good fun on a sunny Saturday morning.
Then the action really started. Ex Coal Chamber singer Dez Fafara’s band Devildriver have a long standing reputation as a great live band. This early afternoon appearance certainly justified any such claims. The man has some voice! A perpetual growl which carries across so much better in person than on record, they were a band that demanded immediate attention, and got it. The crowd’s reaction was unbelievable from the offset. The pits grew bigger and bigger until Dez announced that The Guinness Book of Records were present and that they were going to attempt the biggest circle pit ever. This wasn’t an opportunity that a man should pass up on. The wonderful thing that I discovered about circle pits is how nice everyone is in them. They are not as terrifying or as brutal as they look. It’s like a big game of ring a ring a rosies, except with a bit more pushing. See the video below and you get an idea not only of the stupendous nature of this phenomenon, but how damn cool it looks too.
Now we were riled. Devildriver had ignited the day and there was no going back now. The heat would just have to do its worst, because nothing was going to get in the way of a good stomping at this stage. Hatebreed were up next. One of my good friends Shay of Hardcore Times interviewed Hatebreed once and they were cocksuckers to him, so I only watched one song before deciding to go and see Charlie from Busted’s Fightstar instead. This, in retrospect, wasn’t one of the better decisions that I’ve ever made, but I’m no man for regrets. Fightstar had their moments, but they were sparse and not very good ones. Hatebreed were apparently brilliant, so fail one for me.
Phil ‘You treat your stepmother with respect Pantera’ Anselmo’s Down were now playing on the main stage. Their ballsy southern swamp metal was all a bit pious and serious for me to be honest; they are fantastic musicians, but suit a dimly lit dive of a venue far better than a sunny field near Derby. I have several Down albums and really enjoy them, but I wanted something a bit more fun. Anselmo pulled his angry monkey faces and pouted a lot, spat a bit and stamped his feet. I’d had enough.
Fun was certainly had at the second stage as Fightstar had awoken a nest of angry bees, which were now enveloping all of the barriers. Security looked befuddled as they tried to decide whether to put on the next show. Circular swarms blackened the air and everyone was a wee bit worried as they all seemed exceptionally pissed off. But when metal calls, it has to be answered and it takes more than a swarm of bees to stop the mighty Static X. The first thing that blew me away about seeing Static live was Wayne’s voice. It’s exactly like it is on the albums; something I always assumed was the product of mass filtering and effects. On this basic setup, they shined. Tight and pounding like a regrettable incident in college, they blasted out old ‘evil disco’ classics like ‘Push It’, ‘I’m With Stupid’ and ‘Black and White’ amongst some new material which once again, sounded infinitely better live. They had ho’s too! Ho’s with Jager shots. It may not be big and clever, but it was pretty cool. I had missed Static back in the early messy days (mine, not theirs) and so this was a personal highlight of my weekend and needless to say, I was really psyched up for the rest of the day.
Beers were attained and prize vantage points were taken for the musical behemoth that is Dragonforce. My word, I jumped a lot. They have unlimited energy and really just shake the audience by the groin, vigorously and relentlessly while they occupy the stage. It was the most rewarding power metal experience that I have witnessed in my not inconsiderable years spent as a human man. The audience were in shocked adulation and the finale of ‘Through the fire and flames’ rocked like no other current anthem of its kind. If the chance ever arises for you to see Dragonforce, do not cast it away like a discarded tissue; embrace it like a warm blanket on a chilly November night when the electricity has run out. They had the most amazing hair as well, truly beautiful and it trumps Andie McDowell’s. Dragonforce, because they’re worth it.
The day was flying through, it was a strange sensation because we had already seen several cracking shows and the headliners were only getting going. Pendulum were up next. I have both enjoyed and slated Pendulum in the past. I always just associated them with horrible Drum and Bass heads that stay in your house for weeks using up all the amenities and taking liberties whenever possible. I also found their albums to be patchy at best and the trouble with D&B is that it sounds so horribly dated now. I am now retracting my words and shall eat them in my lovely new white panama hat after completion of this piece. Pendulum seem to have mutated into some derivative form of Asian Dub Foundation, Atari Teenage Riot and The Prodigy (Who I missed as they clashed with Slipknot). With a full band adding extra dimensions to their early structure and the addition of a frontman (who is more of a hype man than a performer) have definitely taken the band to new levels. It was a matter of seconds before the place went insane. All weekend there had been moshpits, walls of death and circle pits galore, but this was just violent. Circle pits would spring up out of nowhere and within seconds, you found yourself at the other side of the crowd. Once again, I am so glad of my decision to bring my knee high New Rocks, they provide such sturdiness when required, very handy when you don’t want your ass to end up on the ground under several thousand people’s dirty feet. The rest of their set was fantastic (if exhausting and partially demented) and whilst I still wouldn’t listen to them at home, I’d gladly partake in another hour of such unbridled mayhem.
Fifteen years, that’s how long I’ve waited to see Marilyn Manson. That’s a long damn time. I have also defended him through countless questionable albums and embarrassing predicaments. No more. It’s all over, done, finito. Manson’s performance was a huge disappointment to us all. I’m not going to superfluously pontificate on the setup of the actual show itself, as there isn’t much to describe. It was nice to see Twiggy back, but this was a short-lived pleasantry. Manson flailed around the stage with a stupid grin on his face like some drunken clown. It transpired that it was more cocaine than alcohol to blame, as he told us all about it, at great length and in lieu of playing any songs. Long warbling nonsensical interludes spoiled any momentum that had existed and it wasn’t long before the crowd weren’t even applauding. Manson fluffed almost every song he played, even ‘The Beautiful People’, by which time I was walking away. I tried so hard to enjoy it, but watching this abominated version of something I once held in so much emulation and respect, was a shattering experience. After Faith No More, Manson was who I was most excited about, every song was delivered in superb musical form, but the half arsed, erroneous vocals sullied any clarity or professionalism. Manson would stop or obstruct the musicians from playing, for the sheer hell of it. He would approach the camera every few moments and pull stupid faces, then he would talk about cocaine some more. A massive letdown, a shattered hero and a waste of everybody’s time. Just let it go Manson, you’re finished. You are now the rock star cliché you once struggled against being, just join Motley Crue and stop bothering everyone. Rousing cries of ‘shit’ and numerous boos amplified my own personal feelings.
Slipknot were onstage for approximately thirty seconds before I had forgotten that I ever even liked Manson. Their stage setup was epic; their introduction was subtle but tense. This as the biggest show that they had ever done as headliners. Their ten year anniversary was being marked by this performance. In ways, they seemed as anxious as we were. To the riotous anthem of (SIC), they made the crowd merge into one giant organism, pulsating and thrashing like a dying monster. The next two hours were the most punishing I have ever experienced. As you will see from the live footage, Slipknot deserve the rightful acknowledgement of their ability in a live situation. They are astonishing performers; their visceral energy is unfathomable, their sound immense and their connection with the fans is unprecedented. This is a band that has so much love and appreciation for the people who put them on that stage and they have no qualms about sharing this. Corey Taylor’s voice is strong throughout, his vocals never failing once. The multiple percussionists adding extra clout to each track. DJ Sid was remarkable as were the rest of the group. The act itself was a once in a lifetime experience. The energy that emanated off every single person in that crowd is only partially visible on any recorded footage. . The smells, the heat and the sound were accumulating into driving this monster home and they did just that, in my eyes, nothing could top this. Faith No More and Slipknot had etched their performances into my mind and since returning, I have rewatched both shows several times. Both are currently available online.
I left, dazed, battered and happier than I had been in a long damn time. I slept well that night too, for it wasn’t over yet.
I’m very much still on edge; anxious, excitable and slightly jumpy. I woke up in a tent yesterday morning after my fifth night in the Download campsite. I woke up this morning in my bed, several thousand kilometres away and am somewhat unsettled. We arrived on Wednesday during a torrential storm. Things did not bode well. We travelled from the west of Ireland, through Wales and down towards Donnington Park, soon the rain was so thick that transparent arteries bled across the windscreen, seriously limiting any visibility. After getting lost in Derby (shut up, I know), we arrived at the desired location via a ridiculously narrow walled road near Melbourne.
Car parked, we bundled everything together and began the trek to the campsite. Forty five minutes of walking later, we were saturated, the rain relentless but thankfully not cold. The hill through the green campsite was turning into a river of sludge already. If this was only Wednesday, it was looking like it was going to be one hell of a muddy weekend. I haven’t pitched a tent since I was about thirteen and trying to negotiate one in the dark, in the lashing rain on a rocky hill isn’t the ideal situation for resurrecting such skills. Perseverance and misery prevailed and the tent was erected. Shortly afterwards we felt settled, until the ground began to rumble.
I hadn’t realised how close Donnington is to East Midlands Airport, I had even less of an inclination that our campsite was beside the runway. Every hour or so, everything would appear to forcibly undulate due to the departing aircraft a few metres away. Nothing so trivial could spoil my weekend though; I don’t sleep much at the best of times anyway. This momentary relaxation was shattered when we discovered that the next tent over had several industrial megaphones with them. Even if I fail hear the phrase ‘Buttscratcher’ ever again, it will never leave my brain, damn you.
Then there were the toilets, or lack thereof. I have seen poo in places where it is impossible to put poo without severe determination, effort and a great deal of dexterity. What were you doing with it people? Don’t play with it for the love of God, just get rid of it. There is a point where poo stops becoming funny and just becomes smelly.
This is where all the negative points ended. Thursday morning was so hot that by lunchtime, the mud had all but disappeared. Summer had reappeared with a vengeance. The village by the campsite was pretty well equipped for anything that you may have needed over the weekend, but we had come prepared. The day was spent meandering around doing nothing in particular. Energy was being conserved for Friday when the bands started, in hindsight; this was a very good idea.
The excitement upon pouring into the Arena on Friday morning was electrifying. With 100,000 people congregating with a shared love and passion for the music, this really was something special. There is certain camaraderie and bonhomie that exists amongst metal fans that is horribly absent from almost every other form or genre. There was no point where I felt out of place or experienced any form of elitism whatsoever. This was so refreshing and made conversing with total strangers easy, the general feeling of goodwill remained prominent throughout.
With the first band, came the first mistake. Someone had told me to go and see Steadlur, that they were worth watching. They were wrong. Whilst there was nothing inherently bad about what they did, it just held no appeal to me. Their pub rock stylings are those which I have already witnessed dozens of times before and it was only a few songs in before I got bored enough to wander off and catch the last few minutes of Hollywood Undead, who I wished I had gone to see. Still, that was a minor regret. They are a new band and I’m positive I will catch them again.
There were very few major clashes on the Friday, Motley Crue clashed with Faith No More, but given the Crue’s rigorous touring ethics, it was no contest really. One guy was wearing a great shirt with both of the band’s logos in it with the caption ‘You want it all but you can’t have it’ which I think summed it up well.
A Day to Remember were next up on the second stage, this is a band that I was really excited about seeing. The Florida based pop metal act are reaching higher ground each year and this live show did a lot to support this development. Their entrance to ‘2001’ which broke into ‘Downfall of us all’ was so energetic and forceful that it was the definite beginning of the festival for me. They are a band who are so close to perfecting what they do. This made it such a pleasure to watch. The response was immense and they were visibly appreciative. Their traditional metal and punk moments contrast surprisingly well with the sing a long chorus format that was so indicative of Nu Metal. They are a band who are well worth looking out for, and their accessibility and general appeal is something to be savoured and not scorned.
Now I mention it, it was all a bit of a Nu Metal resurgence for me, the bill was littered with acts whose glory days were very much in the late 90’s and early 00’s, it was going to be interesting to see how they performed over the weekend. Resurgence or not, nothing was going to get me to go and see Staind, who were on next, and so I went to the bar instead. Now happily relaxing on the bank overlooking the main stage, I watched Billy Talent from afar. It’s good that bands like Billy Talent are included on the bill, because it gives the attendee time to explore the food courts, merchandise stands, use the bathroom and anything else that is far away from the musicians as possible. I spent about fifteen minutes trying to figure out what the point of this band were before I realised that my feelings were not exceptional in any way. Their response was lukewarm, leading their lead singer to threaten the audience by saying ‘Any of you who are booing us, I’ll come down there and cut your face’. Not the best way to win new fans really; I wouldn’t expect to see them back next year. They are Canadian, which resulted in lots of Terrence and Philip quotes being thrown about, which pleased me greatly. Especially when the singer referred to the crowd as friends and one wag responded ‘I’m not you’re friend, buddy’ in a remarkable T&P impersonation. Ah, referential pop culture humour, it’s what binds us all.
One act who I had never really gotten into was Killswitch Engage, although for some reason, I had an idea that they would be worth seeing live, so I made my way closer to the front. I didn’t realise that the front would take me for the next six hours or so.
Either I missed something when I was listening to Killswitch before, or they are primarily a live act, because I was truly blown away by them. They were such a remarkably tight band, achieving a spectacular overall sound and presence the entire time. Their crowd control was something else, during ‘Rose of Sharyn’ they set up one of the biggest ‘Walls of Death’ that I have ever seen. They also do a fabulous rendition of Dio’s ‘Holy Diver’.
It was very decent of the festival to allow live streaming of almost every act. Especially now that I am back at a pc and can nab them all for prosperity! Mwaa ha ha.
Killswitch were a bit exhausting, but there was only about twenty minutes to recover before Limp Bizkit started on the main stage. I’ll get this out of the way now, I used to like Limp Bizkit, well, the first two albums anyway (Chocolate Starfish was woeful), so I was pretty eager to see them. This was perhaps also due to the return of original guitarist and delightfully eccentric Wes Borland. With a scratch filled intro by Ex House of Pain man DJ Lethal, it was moments before it struck me why Limp Bizkit were such a success. Why? Because they are amazing showmen, that’s why. They put everything into their concert, with Fred Durst seemingly leaving his ego back in the ‘Rolling’ era. He was consistently gracious and humbled to have returned to such a reaction, even thanking Korn at one point for all they had done for them. The crowd happily thrashed about to the likes of ‘Break Stuff’, ‘Faith’ and ‘Show Me What You Got’ and it occurred to me that some bands don’t need poignant lyrics and highly developed concepts. Certain things are just fun to leap around in the sun to, amongst thousands of people who are enjoying it just as much as you are.
It would be easy to be snide, to be facetious about Limp Bizkit but what would the point be? What I saw was a very well prepared band, delivering a brilliantly developed performance to a grateful and thrilled audience. If that’s cause for backhandedness, then I’ll gladly pass, thank you. It may be childish, but it was the perfect hour of escapism and I’d happily see them again if the opportunity presented itself.
By the time they had finished, I found myself (via a few circle pits) in the front centre stage area of the audience. Faith No More were only one act away. I decided to retain my position at the front throughout Korn. That wouldn’t be too hard, would it?
Ouch.
Korn was a gig that took effort to remain in any one position for too long. With a setlist comprising of mostly recent material, it was a conflictive show. The sound was superb (as it was all round with one notable exception) and Fieldy is a G. David Silvera and Head are missed though, having been replaced with two musicians who are obviously not far enough through the hazing process to appear on the band’s tour t shirts yet (Cold, guys, really cold), but they did their best to replicate a sound that is unfortunately, quite inimitable. If this absence of magnetism (Davis practically ignores all the band members for the entirety of the show), the obscurely picked setlist, or Davis himself were the main factor in the lack of connection, I am not entirely sure. Like I say, it’s hard to explain, the crowd loved it, everybody had a great time, but you never once got a feeling that Korn were enjoying themselves. It was everything that you would expect from a Korn show, but maybe that was the problem. It’s a possibility that Korn have now become so uniformed in their live acts that they have mutated into a ‘by the numbers’ rock band such as The Eagles. That would however make them The Eagles of Nu metal, so I might have to revisit that analogy later. It was my first time seeing them live and I wasn’t in anyway disappointed, but I didn’t feel the love.
Still, I didn’t give a fiddlers flute what Jon Davis and Co made of it all because Faith No More were on next, they being the main reason that I was at the festival in the first place.
I had retained my place; I was standing at the front of almost 100,000 people about to see one of my favourite bands of all time, who I never thought I would get to see. Where the hell do I start?
The luscious red curtains towered over the stage and any behind the scenes activity caused a roar of applause. The anticipation and excitement grew continually as the time approached. The sun finally eased off slightly, allowing for a very welcome breeze across the front row. The sealed area filled with press and photographers, the majority of them looking bored and miserable. Why do music journalists often seem to be this way? Have years of writing hundreds of standardised chin stroking articles depleted their serotonin? Probably not, that’ll be the cocaine. After observing this lethargic bunch of ingrates for a while, it was time and for the next two hours, I focused on nothing but what lay a few feet away from me.
Emerging to a gloriously acerbic cover of Peaches & Herb’s ‘Reunited’; they had us all at ‘Hello’. Faith No More have always been a band who excels on the festival circuit. Footage of them at 1997’s Bizarre Festival in Germany remains one of their greatest unofficial live concerts. With each band member beaming at every given opportunity, great things were promised in the opening moments. Mike Patton wobbled shakily onstage with the help of a white cane, emerging in a full red suit which brought Willy Wonka to mind, reappearing outside his chocolate factory gates after years of ambiguity and mystery. Patton’s projects outside FNM have always been fantastic, but they never received the adulation of his original breakthrough band (yes I know he was in Mr Bungle first). This is where he belongs, in front of tens of thousands of people, all of them baying for him.
Twenty three songs were played (twenty four if you include the cover of Lady Ga Ga’s ‘Poker Face’ on the introduction to ‘Chinese Arithmetic’), each version trumping any studio rendition that I have heard to date. Patton’s banter was sublime, he also proved himself to be the epitome of debonair. His grace and vocal dexterity are second to none, adding both impromptu and intensively laboured oral diversity, sometimes mid song. The strength of his vocals is matched by the relentless talent of the rest of the band. Billy Gould, Mike Bordin, Roddy Bottum and Jon Hudson were amazing to watch, and just as spellbinding as Patton.
There are few artists who work together quite so well and it’s a thrill and delight to have them back. They can deliver everything and broaden your musical horizons without you even knowing it. The set was everything that I could have wanted; I have included some clips so that you can see for yourself. The feeling that they commanded was nothing short of magical, it was truly one of the most memorable shows that I have ever seen. I urge you to take the time to watch some of these exerts because they really are worth it.
Before I knew it, they had finished and the gargantuan crowd began to disperse. I left somewhat dazed, slightly battered and feeling so grateful that I had been there to witness it. I abstained from any subsequent tomfoolery because I knew that an equally gruelling day lay ahead of me tomorrow, if it was going to be anything like what I had just witnessed, I was going to need some sleep.
Faith No More Setlist Download Festival 2009:
1. Reunited
2. The Real Thing
3. From Out of Nowhere
4. Land of Sunshine
5. Caffeine
6. Evidence
7. Poker Face / Chinese Arithmetic
8. Surprise! You’re Dead!
9. Easy
10. Last Cup of Sorrow
11. Midlife Crisis
12. Introduce Yourself
13. The Gentle Art of Making Enemies
14. Take This Bottle
15. Ashes to Ashes
16. Malpractice
17. Cuckoo for Caca
18. Be Aggressive
19. Epic
20. Mark Bowen
21. Encore:
21. Chariots Of Fire/
22. Stripsearch
23. We Care a Lot
Dawn of the Don is over. Months of planning, stressing and hoping accumulated in the most beautiful manifestation possible. London was scorching on Friday 29th May, and with all the excitement of preparation, it was only as we sped through the shimmering streets on route to the show that it struck me; the summer has officially started.
The Gaff is one of the most charming venues in which we could possibly have hoped to stage a gig such as this. Friendly and accommodating staff made for an instantly relaxed atmosphere as we set up our wares in sunny Holloway. A few of the regulars were a little perturbed when large rappers strolled in and started soundchecking, the anxiety was written on their faces. Being predominantly Punk, Rockabilly and Metal oriented, I think they were just a little unsure as to what sort of crowd was about to descend upon their darkened haven. It was just as well then that the audience were diverse, friendly and universally ecstatic at the proceedings.
Blonde Jeremy Deacon (Ex Piranha Deathray Frontman) introduced the night spectacularly. His mix of obscure Japanese tracks and horror soundtracks really brought the essence of the night into fruition. Playing for over an hour, he treated all the early arrivals to a plethora of unheard treasures and will hopefully grace the decks again sometime soon (as this was his DJ’ing debut).
Yours truly was up next, showcasing my favourite surf, soul and B-Movie records (which I somehow managed to sneak through Ryanair’s draconian luggage stipulations, leaving me somewhat short of clothes for the weekend). The response was brilliant and by this time the floorspace was becoming scarce. On the door, makeup artist Sam was offering professional zombie makeup to anyone who hadn’t come prepared. News and stories of zombies being spotted on the tube and about town really helped to build anticipation and everyone was surprised with how many people arrived fully made up. Thanks to all who did so, the effort was greatly appreciated and you all looked wonderful.
Marvin the Martian and Pixel gave a balls-out performance (Marvin’s first live outing in about 6 months) and really got the crowd going (including the regulars). DJ’s Kill Witnesses provided some turntablist trickery which helped once again to illustrate the variety of acts which existed upon the bill. When the time came for Akira The Don to grace the stage, it was hot, sweaty and the crowd were baying for him like rabid wolves (or hungry zombies as the case was).
With the Lynchian red light creating an otherworldly feel, ATD ran onstage in a pink dressing gown emblazoned with his moniker on the back, a name that will become more familiar to the masses over the coming year. Having seen ATD several times now (even once bringing him over to Ireland for a show) my expectations would have been higher than most. I am so pleased to say that they were not only matched, but exceeded beyond any preconceptions that may have existed. Banishing the laptop in favour of a full time beats genius (Joey2tits) Akira is now the frontman that he has always meant to be, allowing himself to bask in the presence of his adoring followers without having to distract himself after each song. His rapport with the crowd is second to none. James Harrison’s guitar adds a depth and power that was previously absent from his performances and backing Singer Morty added a nice accompaniment also. The brass section should most definitely be a permanent feature if the crowd’s reaction was anything to go by. New songs were played alongside old favourites, the audience absorbing and almost subliminally recognising every hook and chorus and belting them out with both ferocity and vigour. The sign of a truly great pop song is when you can sing along by the end of the first listen. This is essentially what Akira has brought to the table, he has recreated intelligent pop music the likes the world has not seen in almost 20 years.
In an age where the ideals and structure of the music industry are collapsing, due to the greed and ineptitude of an antiquated, insular system, it is clear that the future holds great things for Akira. Long has he existed on the precipice of stardom, precariously balancing his talent, voice and ethics. His strong willed nature and complete refusal to compromise his integrity may have famously cost him a record deal with Interscope, however, it is in this humble journalist’s opinion that this was meant to be. What would have sent most artists retreating to their hometowns with their tails between their legs, only served to make him stronger, more committed and improved the output and content of his work dramatically. One can’t help to think that had the Interscope deal worked, ATD would have been pigeonholed and forced to be more malleable than he is, probably being made to do duets with The pussycat Dolls and other such promotional garbage where the dollar takes precedence.
A comment was heard during the performance (from an industry insider) that it was akin to ‘Seeing a stadium show in a pub’ and that is one of the best summaries that I have heard sofar. It was electric. During the video shoot, the zombie crowd participation was phenomenal. Envy appeared for a brief, but powerful duet, which served to illustrate how well Akira plays off equally talented artists. His diction and delivery has increased in strength so much since I last saw him, which allowed his spectacular lyrics to resonate successfully with the baying undead that lurched towards him.
To summarise, this was an event more than a show. An event which suited Akira perfectly in every way. Unique, heartfelt and memorable, which is more than can be said for about 70% of live shows these days, were pretenders to the throne present by the numbers gigs. It leads me to wonder what the future will hold for him and it’s an exciting prospect.
Production legend Stephen Hague (New Order, PIL, Pete Shelly, A-Ha) appeared to play a selection of wonderful party tunes (many of his own creation), while Joey2tits finished the night with a great selection of electro and breakbeat goodness. Dawn of the Don may now be over, but if the comments and banter that I overheard from revellers upon the conclusion of the night was to be taken on board, it won’t be long before we see something similar and I for one, can’t wait.
There are certain advantages to living in the bog arse of nowhere. Tonight was a vivid display of one of them. In regards to gigs, it is rare that any show in Galway cannot be described as ‘intimate’. Morrissey’s performance this evening was no exception. For some reason, the only time that you would imagine to see Morrissey in a leisure centre would have been back in the 80’s when the Smiths were touring the working men’s clubs of the UK.
Amongst the stench of chlorine and sweat, the hall was filling up early with eager fans young and old. It almost seemed like a competition for a while as to who had the oldest Smiths T Shirt, but the friendliness of the revellers was a pleasant reminder of when gigs were social accumulations of like minded people. Talking to others before the show really emphasised the commitment and love that Morrissey’s supporters possess. One guy who I was speaking to approached me to compliment my clothes, saying that it was great to see that ‘Some people still made the effort to dress up for a gig’ it transpired that he was there on his own, his ticket being a gift from his girlfriend, who whilst supporting his love for Morrissey, refused to accompany him to the show. The delightful Lady P had previously maintained a similar stance on Mozza, but tonight definitely changed her mind. It’s a shame that this guy’s good lady didn’t give herself the same chance.
The setlist was everything a long-time listener could have hoped for. Bursting onstage to ‘This Charming Man’, Morrissey seemed in fantastic form. He was quite short on banter, making up for it in the power and delivery that he put into each individual track. He did find time to get a nice dig in at HMV though: ‘Just to let you know that HMV Galway wouldn’t stock our new single. I guess the moral is that it never gets any easier.’ This brought a particular smile to my face. He played very little new material, preferring to stick to Smiths songs and favourites from ‘You Are the Quarry’.
His stage presence is still second to none. It was as if he felt more at ease with the tiny venue and the basic setup and stage. He relished the opportunity to be this close to his fans, and his accentuated gesticulation is such a joy to witness a few feet away. ‘Ask’, ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’, ‘Some Girls Are Bigger than Others’, ‘How Soon is now?’ and ‘There Is a Light That Never goes out’ were personal highlights. With ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’, ‘Let Me Kiss You’ and ‘First Of The Gang To Die’ becoming stronger assets in his arsenal than upon their initial release (can it be five years already?). ‘Throwing my arms around Paris’ is soon becoming an equally anthemic track. The band was note perfect, aside form a brief mistake with the drumming, to which Morrissey quipped: ‘Was it me that made a mistake? No? Well, then that’s all that matters then.’
In short, I converted my good lady wife with this show, she reminded me of the time, almost a decade ago, when we first moved in together. She mischievously hid all my Smiths Cd’s so I couldn’t listen to them. It was so nice to see just how much she enjoyed tonight’s performance. With so many Morrissey hater’s in the world, it would be great if some of them would just try a live show, and see if their opinion remains by the end.
It was a long time coming, but every moment of this evening’s show was masterful and highly memorable. To see such a musical giant, stripped down to the bare essentials, with raw and uncomplimentary sound only adding to the atmosphere, was a great pleasure. It’s not often such things happen. For old Smiths fans who I spoke to after the show, it was like seeing him twenty years ago. As good a compliment as I could imagine. In short, if he’s coming near your home town, Morrissey’s ‘Refusal’ Tour is one to catch.
Support was by ‘Doll and the Kicks’ who were a fantastic warm-up. At first sight, they serve as a reminder that you haven’t been in Topman for a while, but their music quickly detracts from their ultra cool image. At times they sound remarkably like ‘Siouxsie and the Banshees’ and Kate Bush and then Tori Amos and then, they just sound like themselves. A really interesting and exciting new group, who have remarkable potential. Fingers crossed for them, they have a great opportunity and here’s hoping they do well, as they deserve to.
A great show, it was such a rarity for an artist who would more likely be seen from the rafters of the gargantuan O2 Arena, or at a crowded festival. This small town comes up trumps once in a while, and it has done itself proud tonight. One of the best shows in a very long time, Morrissey is truly on top of his game right now, and you would be doing yourself a disservice by missing out.
Setlist:
This Charming Man
Billy Budd
Black Cloud
How Soon Is Now?
Irish Blood, English Heart
How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?
Girlfriend In A Coma
I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris
Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed
When Last I Spoke To Carol
Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others
Let Me Kiss You
The Loop
Something Is Squeezing My Skull
Seasick, Yet Still Docked
The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores (Not Played)
I Keep Mine Hidden
Sorry Doesn’t Help
Ask
I’m OK By Myself
First Of The Gang To Die
I never thought that I would ever get to see Tom Waits. Not the most profound introduction to a review, but it was as simple as that. He just seemed to play so few concerts, with his tours over the last decade being sporadic, to say the least. The announcement of the Glitter and Doom tour filled me, as I am sure it did many, with great excitement and hope of attaining a ticket.
Paris was exceptionally hot and the id requirements for entry to the concert provided several logistical problems. The main drawback was the endless queuing. The day before the concert, we went to pick up our pre booked tickets, thinking that this would be the sensible time saving thing to do. After waiting for an hour, we managed to acquire them thinking that entry on the following day would be a swifter affair. Wrong. More hours were spent waiting in the blistering heat before the show. The doors didn’t open until an hour and a half after the announced time. Then when inside, where there was no bar, the show was late starting. However, none of this could really detract from the event that followed.
Waits captivated all within seconds of his arrival, his sideshow hawking, demented ringmaster persona in full effect tonight. Taking place on a customised podium, rigged with several foot pedals which set off a thundering percussion through the rows of tannoy speakers that hung from the ceiling, he stomped on the wooden panelling of the podium, sending a cloud of sawdust into the air, emphasising his silhouette in the harsh primary coloured spotlights. Stomping and barking, gesticulating wildly and doing some rather nifty things with his hat, he dove into a set, lasting two hours in length, with only one break of a few moments.
This was all accompanied by further percussion, thanks to his sons Casey and Sullivan, with Seth Ford Young on upright bass, organs and lots of saxophone. The primary sound of the night was that of Waits’ recent material and style, more Blood Money and Orphans than Mule Variations and Big Time. The heavy gospel howls exemplified by the clunky blues riffs, dreamlike organs and thundering drums. Stomping his way through an earth shattering Rain Dogs, followed by a beautiful rendition of Falling Down, I was already bleary eyed and perfectly happy to sit and quietly revel.
His trademark banter and fantastical stories were as amusing and ridiculous as ever. His proclamation that he was going to show us all his glass eye, then bounce it around the stage, led into an eerie Eyeball Kid. Gods Away on Business, Lie to Me and Hoist That Rag left a shattering effect. Waits showed no signs of his 58 years, ever the showman; this was theatre at its best. The show was truly magnified by the decadent and intimate settings of Le Grand Rex, an old cinema and vaudeville joint, this could not have been more perfect for Waits. Cantankerous and wry, he stopped a song halfway as the crowd were clapping off time and putting him off. “It’s clear to me that none of you come from a musical background, you will clap when I signal. See this hat, this means I’m in charge. Now I feel that we’ve all come a little further in our relationship, we shall proceed.”
After almost an hour of intense lighting and booming renditions, the band retired, leaving Waits solo on piano, for a short performance of some of his quieter songs, namely Tom Traubert’s Blues, Johnsburg, Illinois and conducting a beautiful sing along version of Innocent When You Dream, not one person could complain that the set was not varied enough. He took quality selections from his entire back catalogue. What I cannot wait for is to see if he will ever do a tour of playing his individual albums, like Sparks did. That would certainly be worth seeing. After the piano, it was back to the clomping around, his dusty work boots epitomising the junkyard vagrant side of the man. Dirt in the Ground was sad, Make it Rain was scary; Jockey Full of Bourbon was sublime. Very few artists can do all these things, let alone well.
So, after over a decade of affection, the man who has seen me through so many late nights, sparked so many conversations and evokes so many memories, was no longer just an idea, it was a joy to behold and an experience that I hope to achieve a few more times round at least. Here’s hoping the touring experience for him is a good one, for in a musical world so full of mediocrity and predictability, it’s a comfort to know that there are still men like Waits about, just to keep rattling things up.
The complete set list was as follows. Pictures to follow. Although cameras weren’t allowed and we nearly got booted out for using it (even with no flash), but we got a few!!!!
Lucinda / Ain’t Going Down To The Well No More
Rain Dogs
Falling Down
The Other Side Of The World
Lucky Day
God’s Away On Business
Hold On
Eyeball Kid
Jesus Gonna Be Here
You Can Never Hold Back Spring
Johnsburg, Illinois
Tom Traubert’s Blues
Innocent When You Dream
Lie To Me
Hoist That Rag
Heigh Ho
Lost At The Bottom Of The World
Hang Down Your Head
Poor Edward
Black Market Baby
Dirt In The Ground
Make It Rain
Way Down In The Hole
I am still not quite the same since Sunday. To say that I witnessed a momentous event in my life is a meagre understatement. To attempt to convey exactly what emotions were felt and the elation that was experienced is almost impossible. If I could verbalise it, believe me, I would. It would not serve justice however, as I am greatly aware of the possibility of vulgarising the affair through poor description. When one writes in an instance of high emotion, the tendency to slip into cliché and overused terminology presents itself to a much greater extent than when covering topics of a lesser degree.
Finding our seats for the Leonard Cohen show last Sunday evening June 15th, we could not believe our eyes. It has been approximately a dozen years since I fell for Cohen’s music. I never actually thought that I would get to see him in concert at all, so what emerged as our location for the evening took us by extreme surprise. Taking precedence over the sheer joy of being at the venue, finding ourselves in the second row, dead centre, about ten feet from the stage, in a crowd of over 10,000 people, was an exhilarating feeling to say the least.
Although initially apprehensive about the presence of Damien Rice as a support act, he had the good sense not to outstay his welcome. A total of five songs were played lasting approximately twenty minutes, interspersed with some genuinely kind and honourable statements on the privilege that had been bestowed on him by just being there. Whilst the cynic in me would normally dismiss this as both sanctimonious and sycophantic, there was a clear impression that he was quite moved to be sharing a stage with a man who had made an indelible impression on his life. That is the beauty of Cohen. There are very few casual fans of his work, it permeates the mind and resonates in the soul and no one is ever quite the same after hearing him.
Within seconds of appearing onstage acknowledging us as his friends and launching into “Dance Me to the End of Love”, a song that most artists could only dream of to have as an encore piece, the entire crowd were mesmerised. Cohen, dressed immaculately, put to rest all queries concerning his vocal ability at the age of 73. Each note rang with perfect diction and tone, his voice sounding so confident, so at ease and perfected. It is unimaginable just how charismatic and gentle he is, until witnessed up close. Accompanied by Sharon Robinson and English folk duo, The Webb Sisters, who did beautiful renditions during the significant female led sections of key songs such as “First We Take Manhattan”, “If It Be Your Will” and “Everybody Knows”
Cohen removed his hat after almost every song in gratitude and admiration to both his musicians, singers and to the audience itself. This reflected greatly how much of a gentleman (and complete ladies man) he really is. Thousands of women were transfixed and quite clearly fell in love right there.
Being Ireland, it took less than an hour for the wind to rise and the heavens to open. The rain was merciless and unforgiving, making for a spectacular atmosphere as “Anthem” kept us focused on what was really important. Soaked through completely, it did not matter one bit, as our spirits were being lifted far beyond any state of physical discomfort. The choice of songs was infallible, encompassing his entire career, with alternate takes and interpretations, the pitch perfect band and the flawless sound all made this an altogether enchanting experience. To sit so close and see someone whom you hold so dear and personal, is a truly spellbinding thing. For the most it felt dreamlike, especially so when the sun came out simultaneously with the beginning of “Hallelujah” and the rains finally ceased.
Smiling throughout, impassionedly delivering each line with a sincerity and force like no other, Leonard Cohen seemed delighted to be sharing the joy with all of us. Light, it seems has found its way into his life and just as we shared in his sorrows for so many years, he seems now to want us to share in his peace.
After it seemed to be over, I was reliably informed that three hours had passed by whilst Leonard had been onstage. Checking my watch I found this to be true. I had expected a running time of possibly ninety minutes, so, to be given a show of such length and magnitude, which contained such momentum and consistency, is one that will remain unparalleled for some time to come.
My wife and I had such a special evening; it was the first time that we got to use our beautiful new Sony DSCH9, which I can highly recommend as the best lightweight camera for gig photography! We took over 200 shots and are currently working thorough them all so I will post a selection a little later on. We have some truly amazing pictures to share with you. Paula threw up a bunch of flowers that we had brought along, one of the Webb sisters caught them and placed them in front of Leonard, who picked them up, gave thanks and took them backstage with him. It was a truly exciting and personal memento for us to have. I am in two minds, I have a yearning to see him again, yet the memory and circumstance of this night were so unbelievably perfect that I don’t feel that I could ever replicate it again.
In such an often harsh, generally toilsome and unforgiving life, there are rare moments of unspoilt beauty and joy. I have had a few of these, and I can happily count this night as one of them. There was a pure and genuinely moving atmosphere and once again, Leonard Cohen has helped me to believe in love.
The setlist for the night was as follows.
1. Dance Me to the End of Love
2. The Future
3. Ain’t No Cure for Love
4. Bird on a Wire
5. Everybody Knows
6. In My Secret Life
7. Who By Fire
8. Heart with No Companion
Intermission
9. Anthem
10. Tower of Song
11. Suzanne
12. The Gypsy Wife
13. Boogie Street
14. Hallelujah
15. Democracy
16. I’m Your Man
17. A Thousand Kisses Deep – poem
First Encore
18. Take This Waltz
19. So Long, Marianne
20. First We Take Manhattan
Second Encore
21. That Don’t Make It Junk
22. If It Be Your Will
23. Closing Time
Third Encore
24. I Tried to Leave You
The final song was an acappella, sung by Leonard & the whole band, with Mr Larson playing hammond organ.
