Model Society: Water Rats, London

London four piece Model Society made great inroads a few years back but, their lack of presence left a ‘what might have been feeling’ in the air. Thankfully, they are back, with a new bass player and new tunes to boot!

Old fan favourites ‘Horizons’ and ‘Sounds’, were always steeped in The Members and The Buzzcocks but, now, they’ve taken on a rock n roll desperation. The feeling of last chance saloon echoes around the room and, it only breeds more love for the band.

The time off has clearly done them no harm. The new material is on fire. Latest single ‘Valentine’, hones their pop instincts whilst ‘Forever’ could be a lost Strokes classic circa ‘Is This It?’

All of this should be enough for any gig but, Model Society have ‘Systematic’ in their arsenal. It’s a rare breed of great social comment and great pop chorus combined. With the hallmarks of classic Blur and The Buzzcocks pulsing through its blood, set closers don’t get much better.

Morrissey: Brighton Centre - Live Review

At 58, Morrissey could be forgiven for just going through the motions on the live circuit. With nothing left to prove, why should the fire still burn? As he eloquently puts, “because of you”.

There is something however, clearly more to Morrissey's colossus stage presence than the adoration of fans. None more prevalent than on 'The Bullfighter Dies'. Backed with extreme images of animal cruelty, the Manchester icon lays bare his anguish and hopes for change.

So often now, the press hones in Mozza's political views. Friday night at Brixton he professed a longing for 'free speech', and the worse was presumed. For the Brighton crowd, the lovable roguish Morrissey was the only thing on show.

'When You Open Your Legs', so embroiled in humor and melody, the crowd is either singing or laughing. After The Pretenders cover 'Back in the Chain Gang', he quips “the easiest song I ever wrote' and, when a rose is tossed at him, a one handed catch stuffs it in his pants. This is not the work of a man who has lost all sense of humour or hope, as discussed in the Guardian or the Telegraph.

Frankly, this charming man's light has not and will not go out!

Image courtesy of Jamie Macmillan & https://brightonsfinest.com/html/index.php/component/eventgallery/event/Morrissey

The Blinders Live: Lexington, London

2017 began as the year Cabbage looked set to conquer but, ended up being the year The Blinders invaded our consciousness. The Doncaster trio, support act for so many gigs, upstaged all and sundry. Pulled from the great This Feeling tour last autumn (starring Shimmer Band, Blackwaters and Bang Bang Romeo) to head into the studio, would they emerge with the substance to headline?

The new material is greeted to a positive stunned silence. The Lexington crowd are fully aware that something special is happening. Not only have they continued their visceral punkadelic song writing, but now, the full package is emerging.

Frontman doesn’t do Thomas Haywood justice. He is a post-apocalyptic William Blake wrapped in the soul of Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain. The dank Orwellian poetry oozes from every pour so naturally it feels utterly spontaneous.

For those who imagine the other two In the band sit in the background and follow the coat tails, you imagine wrong. Bassist Charlie McGough is a baby faced Nick Drake who has adopted a Wilko Johnson approach to playing. He fires out behemoth bass lines with a venom and a style unrivalled today.

So, insert drummer joke here right? Wrong again. Matt Neale is hugely reminiscent of The Enemy’s Liam Watts. Neale looks great and like any drummer whoever mattered, drills the skins as though he’s life depends on it.

The Blinders already had half a great album made, it appears another great half is on its way. With only Leeds and Ramsgate left to play, we urge and deplore you to go see them!

Image from http://www.paulhusbandphotography.com/

Cabbage Live: 100 Club

With their debut album ‘Nihilistic Glamour Shots’ just around the corner, the Mossley outfit are back on the road. With no material in tow, can they pull off their status as a headline act?

At their best, Cabbage are that thing you have been waiting for. They have innate ability to pull together all the Manchester legends mentioned on ‘Tell Me Lies About Manchester’ with the volatility of the punk greats. ‘Terrorist Synthesizer’ combines the swagger and stagger of the Mondays circa ‘Bummed’ with the snot and snarl of The Libertines and the Pistols. This continues on ‘Kevin’ and new single ‘Arms of Pleonexia’ and, in this groove, the brilliant Idles, Shame and The Blinders cannot compete.

However, when they stray into the straight up rock n roll numbers ‘Indispensable Pencil’ and ‘Preach to the Converted’, their power fades slightly, and puts them back into the pack. it

What brought real hope was the undeniable ‘Necroflat in the Palace’. To witness such a young crowd lose its shit as one unifying entity, screaming the lyrics 'I was born in the NHS / I will die in the NHS’ has to be the most beautiful thing ever seen.

Mark Morriss Live: Spotlite Club, Southend

A strange gig in many ways. What was due to be an intimate setting with an icon became even more so with a poor turnout. This was Southend’s newest small gig venue, not a great sign of things to come. Nevertheless, Morriss took the ego hit in his stride and regaled stories and jokes in-between worthy of Live at the Apollo.

In-between the anecdotes and Bluetones classics, Morriss displayed his criminally underrated solo material. From his 2014 album ‘Flash of Darkness’, was ‘It's Hard to Be Good All The Time’ which kept the spirit of Crosby Stills and Nash alive. The sullen acoustic guitars of ‘Carry On’ and the brooding nature of ‘Dark Star’ combined with Morriss’ unique pop vocals.

From his debut solo effort ‘Memory Muscle’ came the more Bluetones-esque ‘I’m Sick’. The spritely melodies which embody all that is great about his band. More interestingly, there is sense of longing for something unfound, a notion that, with all the glory of the 90s, you’d feel Morriss would not have anymore.

The standout offering was the CSN styled ‘This Is The Lie (and That’s The Truth). A brilliant story of self-reflection and what it is to be a solo artist. Morriss’ ability to intertwine feelings of isolation with pop music have never been better here.

This was not a gig BBC4 will be making a documentary about but, for the small crowd, its one they will cherish more than most. Humble and hilarious, Morriss reminded them of the glory days and, better still, demonstrated that he is a force to be reckoned with as a solo act.

Get Cape Wear Cape Fly at Village Underground

A new bar has been set. If you’re going to make a comeback, you need a twelve piece band. You need to take everything anyone has ever known, and, as dear old Edwyn would say, rip it up and start again.

Sam Duckworth’s re-emergence as Get Cape at the village underground displayed everything that’s righteous about music. Jazz, soul, drum n bass, folk and punk all came together for a holistic party for the ages.

When Duckworth is on this kind of form, he transcends music. ‘DNA’ becomes a solemn stand of defiance, not just against Brexit, but for anyone who has ever been downtrodden. With his new band, he takes an indie-folk track like ‘Man2Man’ and makes it so freeing it could be an Ibiza classic.

After the early sing-along classics, a rousing speech about the NHS and new powerhouse single ‘VHS Forever’, one thing is strikingly clear, Get Cape is no longer the plucky underdog with a laptop. He is a musical pioneer and explorer with big adventures ahead.

Liam Gallagher: Ally Pally, London

Ally Pally, last week, was ventured to with a big sense of trepidation to see the immortal one, Liam Gallagher. The last Beady Eye gig at Brixton was only 3 quarters full, the stardust was fading. So, would this be a giant karaoke set? Will he be killing the memories of youth culture at its finest?

Fears were not put to bed on arrival. Ally Pally acts more as a wankers paradise than a gig venue. More people were queuing for a 15 quid burger than a pint. Then there was the support acts, Kyle Falconer, once great in The View delivered a bland set. Was this an omen? As for Rat Boy, give it up, just become a Jamie T tribute act, least then they can play some good tunes.

However, 'Fuckin' In The Bushes' drops, and there he is. This last great colossus front man. Enigmatic, angry, and disdaining of what he purveys. As “I live my in the city” leaves his lips all reservations float away. Yes, these are Noel’s songs, but without Liam, Noel would be still be polishing Clint Boon’s organ.

The opening pace is relentless, like Roy Keane tearing lumps out of Alfie Inge Haaland in his pomp. As a result, 'Paper Crown' becomes a welcome break. As do all the ballads of his new album. If there was a ‘mic drop, exit stage left’ moment, it was ‘For What It’s Worth’. The apologetic and defiant ode to brother Noel unites this packed crowd in a way that, previously only his brother could.

‘Rockin’ Chair’ was the only time Noel was missed, as the acoustic solo was butchered. Nevertheless, as soon Liam steps to the mic, the Lydon via Lennon vocal makes this blip irrelevant. No matter the song, no matter the writer, this crowd is one big Jager bomb boshing, bank card scratching party.

As you were!

The Spitfires - Chinnerys, Southend

All too often, The Spitfires are written off as just another Jam revivalist band. Anyone in Southend last Friday surely has to dispute this, loudly!

They are band steeped in the English greats such as The Jam, Specials, Billy Bragg, and Madness. Sometimes, The Jam comparisons shine a little too bright but, with this much melody and passion, they seem destined to outrun this tag. 

This is particularly pertinent on ‘4am’. This earnest tale of abusive landlords stops Chinnerys dead in its tracks. Social comment is always a plus point in the alternative music community but, this poetic, and with this much integrity, a rare thing indeed.

Former singles ‘So Long’ and ‘Move On’ go down well. The Clash via The Beat inspired ‘Move On’ has the Southend faithful skanking whilst ‘So Long’, reminds us all of when The Ordinary Boys first emerged and were not fame hungry whores.

Whilst we have all be lauding Liam Gallagher’s new found confessional song writing style (and rightly so), The Spitfires, Sullivan in particular, nail this one epic song. ‘Spoke To Soon’ recounts a tale of degradation and personal failure towards a loved one whilst all around it, is a swirling Who via Arcade Fire epic.

With new material on the horizon, watch out as this has to be their breakthrough year.

Apeman Spaceman at Old Blue Last, London

“A work in progress” decrees frontman Johnny Cooke at the end of the night. If he is right, then spectacular things loom for the London four piece.

Whilst their status as a band is relatively new, the heavyweight experience from Dogs and Razorlight is obvious. They know what works and waste no time flaunting their brilliance. ‘Have Not Love’ and ‘Spacecatraz’ stomp their way into a pack Old Blue Last’s hearts and minds their abrasive and infectious post-punks riffs.

Amidst the poetic degradation and fury, a nugget of pop gold, ‘Birthdays’. Cooke’s delivery is worthy of the paisley and c86 scene of the 80s. Whilst the melodic vocal shimmers, the guitars build to anthem levels as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Closing the set is the “bipolar express” ‘War’. Whoever wants more from a last song is one greedy cunt. Frenetic, poetic, and anthemic, it’s a drunken singalong triumph. Radio airwaves have to take notice of Apeman Spaceman, and fast!

Snapped Ankles at Citadel Festival

As the giant door of the Jager Haus stage slides back, the remarkable Snapped Ankles emerge as only they can, tree loving warlocks!

Their blend of The Fall and motorik fires and swirls around the small stage with a tenacious flair not seen anywhere else at Citadel. The epic ‘Jonny Guitar Calling Gosta Berling’ rumbles along like the purist of post-punk outsiders.

The vocal on ‘Director’s Nostalgia’ is pure Mark E Smith but, more overwhelming is their sense of Flaming Lips fun. The big riffs roar almost sarcastically which inspire people to dance like no one’s watching and, this, is inherently what Snapped Ankles are all about.

The Blinders - Camden Assembly, London

The Blinders took to the stage last Friday at the Camden and then, then everything changed.

In three minutes of ICB Blues The Blinders have rendered The Wytches obsolete and made The Horrors classic 'Primary Colours' a footnote. Cabbage might be the frontrunners in the punkadelic scene right now but, make no mistake, The Blinders are its heroes in waiting.

From start to finish, this was more than a gig. It was a piece of art, it was pure drama and exciting as fuck. Frontman Thomas shuffles on stage as if the idea just occurred to him decked out in a John Motson fur coat and black face paint, everything about him screams your new hero. Meanwhile, bass player Charlie, parades around like the offspring of Nick Drake arching his bass at the crowd like Wilko Johnson. This is a band with style and substance.

There is a sense of theatre and poetical beauty despite the mayhem, especially on ‘Swine’. As Thomas decrees ‘I need not to be the man on the street’, a sold out crowd looks on wondering how he has ever been one of us. He is a god.

For 40 minutes tonight, it wasn't about hope or potential, it was about the present. That longing for something heroes to set alternative music lovers is over. Punkadelia has landed in the form of a vomiting, gut wrenching visceral juggernaut from Doncaster.

Sisteray - Camden Assembly, London

Sisteray have been making a lot of good noises with their newly released EP 15minutes and opened a memorable night the Camden Assembly.

The fast and furious ‘Who R Ya?’ opens with it’s Strokes-esque guitars meets the Buzzcocks . It encapsulates everything to love about Sisteray. Every time you have them pegged as a kick ass punk band, guitarist Dan Connolly fires a Pete Townsend via BRMC slice of swirling mayhem.

Social comment is tough get across to live audiences when you’re the second support band. However, with the election looming and frontman Niall Rowan’s charismatic aggression, the Camden crowd are braying for Tory and reality TV blood by the end of this set.

The most poignant moment of the set emerges on ‘Nostalgia Trip’. The QOTSA riot attacks the endless stream of bygone acts hogging the limelight and delivers the line ‘'it's a nostalgia trip I can't afford the ticket', a message not lost on the gig lovers present.

This is a good set with great moments, such as ‘A Wise Man Said’, a furious homage to The Libertines’ ‘Delaney’ or, halcyon rock n roll of ‘White Knuckle Joyride’. Nevertheless, Sisteray seem to have merely scratched the surface of meshing punk, rock n roll and lyrical sniping. This is a journey you must be part of!

British Sea Power: Shepherds Bush Empire, London

BSP’s new album ‘Let The Dancers Inherit The Party’, has reawakened everyone’s love for the 6 piece with its social comment and string of pop anthems. So, this tour surely could not fail.

BSP have always bred a respectful and loyal following, so, unlike most bands 6 albums deep, the new songs were a treat not an excuse for a piss. That said, 6 of the opening 7 being new tracks dimmed the mood after opening with the protest banger ‘Who’s In Control’. The pop prowess of ‘Bad Bohemian’ and the introspective Nick Drake-esque ‘Electrical Kittens’ are destined to remain in the set for a long time.

When BSP get into 5th gear with ‘Lights Out For Darker Skies’ the west London crowd spring into action. Their unique spirit rises to the surface as Martin Noble unleashes his brand of Springsteen meets punk rock.

Conspicuous by their absence are tracks from their classic album ‘Open Season’. The fact that BSP can pull off such a top draw show without classics ‘Please Stand Up’ or ‘It Ended On an Oily Stage’ is a testament to their quality, but what is it a brave step too far?

One note of Abi Fry’s violin on set closer ‘The Great Skua’ gave an emphatic answer of no. The colossal beauty and warmth was enough to think ‘fuck the encore, it’s never topping that'. Perhaps only their early firecracker ‘Carrion’ came close.

One thing is for certain, where there are dancing polar and grizzly bears, there will be a group of indie and punk lovers willing to cherish one of Britain’s best kept secrets.

The Claim at the 100 Club

The illustrious 100 Club played host to the inaugural Medway Weekender. Headlining the first night were The Claim, a genuine hidden treasure from Cliffe in Kent.

They open with the ‘Say So’, a solid reminder of a time when singles could be a blend of infectious and thought-provoking melodies. ‘Do You Still Feel’ furthers this notion, the Roses style drums are met with a withdrawn Boo Radleys-esque vocal during the verses. They serve as a perfect precursor to a rousing chorus and irresistible guitar part.

Closing the set was the classic ‘Sporting Life’. The guitars are as sharp as ever on this paisley gem. The contrast of the high and low guitar parts is a thing of beauty. It builds the tension expertly in this tale of gambling woe and then, as all hope is seemingly burned, comes the lightest of jingle jangle touches.  

What remains apparent, is without frontman David Read, there never would have been an audience for so many beloved alternative singers. He has a great nous of creating something truly interesting within a great guitar melody. Where Ian Brown and Mark Morriss were going for pop nirvana, Read straddles that line of underground/overground like The Simpsons did for its initial 8 seasons with aplomb.

How long The Claim will be back for remains unknown, but this was a special night with a special band so, here’s hoping for a lot more.

Steve Mason: The Barbican, London

Scotland’s finest singer (FACT) brought an extraordinary show to London’s Barbican Centre. Accompanied by arranger and conductor Joe Duddell, a string and brass section, two drummers, a percussionist and pianists, this was something truly remarkable.

Mason’s ability to blend folk, psyche, electronica in to alternative pop music is feat everyone should see live. However, the first part of the second half saw Mason’s angelic vocals twinned with just the orchestra. This, particularly on ‘Boys Outside’, brought out a purity in the song not heard before which, is remarkable as it details his former demons.

Throughout the set, Mason revisited his Beta Band days and rightly decries “I’m extremely proud of all the work”. There is a strong feeling that Mason is enjoying these postcards from his younger self as much as the audience.

‘Dry The Rain’ brought a respectfully sat crowd to its feet and to the Barbican's aisles in many cases. The orchestra shined brightest on this classic, as the song builds and loops over and over, the true spirit of this song encapsulated the room.

Mason though, is not someone that needs to rely on his early days to lift a crowd. ‘Alive’ and ‘Planet Sizes’ go down as well, if not better than anything from his past. On this kind of form, Mason has to be considered for big festival slots this summer. 

Cabbage: Old Blue Last, London

For 20 minutes of this 30 minute set, Cabbage are the best band on the planet.

They open with 'Uber Capitalist Death Trade' and hone the ramshackle beauty of The Libertines via the oddball genius of the Happy Mondays.

With barely time to draw breath, they launch into ‘Kevin’ cause everyone to question everything they know about music. A pulsating channeling of The Sonics via Bo Ningen provides a superbly violent anthem for this small but adoring set of fans.

Some light relief comes in the form of the decadent 'Fickle'. It strides drunkenly wherever the fuck it wants before a warped guitar solo chimes out like an acid ridden four minute warning siren.

Closing the show out are ‘Necroflat In The Place’ and ‘Free Steve Avery (Wrong America)’. The intensity remains, but, the quality dips ever so slightly as the peculiarities of ‘Kevin’ fade. What you are left with, is another dose of Palma Violets or Libertines b-sides. To be clear, they are matching their quality, no mean feat!

Cabbage, at their best tonight, are setting the agenda and blowing all their peers away. Be sure to be on their tour in the New Year.

Farewell to The Enemy

Ten years have passed since Coventry's three-piece The Enemy rolled into town. They were a rare working-class voice in British rock music and Friday witnessed their last-ever London gig at The Forum. Although, from the riotous atmosphere, you’d think it was a band on the brink of the big time.

Nobody left Kentish Town without losing a stone in sweat and jaded vocal cords. It’s what all gigs aspire to be. For anyone who reads TT regularly, sentences such as “why are Radio X and BBC6 not playing this” feature regularly. A sentiment echoed by frontman Tom Clarke on stage as to why they are splitting up.

It’s a cast-iron fact that their debut album is a classic. This should have given them the right for their singles to be a-listed when they returned for the second album. But the indie bubble of the time burst because major labels were destroying it with Scouting For Girls and the fucking Hoosiers, so they deemed The Enemy irrelevant. The presence of these tuneless gutless witless fucktards made the band more vital than ever. Clark’s venom and lyrical insights were needed to uphold a generation of indie fans who were about to be left behind.

Already the UK is a poorer musical landscape without them. As much as we love Frank Turner and The Vaccines, their middle-class and private school backgrounds can never write a song like ‘You’re Not Alone’ or ‘Be Somebody’.  Let’s hope Nicky Wire never gets bored of music!

The night itself was a joyous send-off for the band and its fans alike. The crowd was bang up for it from the moment the DJ played ‘Parklife’ 30mnis before they came on. Any opportunity to sing “now this song is about you” in-between songs was gladly taken, especially in the tube station and, for some, all the way to Bank.

The chink of light for fans should be Paul Weller. His varying and consistently high career since The Jam split will hopefully provide the inspiration for Tom to carry on in some guise.

So. Farewell to Tom, Liam, Andy, and everyone I’ve shared a sweat-filled room with since 2006. You’re not alone!