Oh. (Russ L going to and fro in the Earth)

There won’t be a LOTTSADITWM for May, principally because I can’t be bothered. I don’t think anyone actually uses it anyway, though, so I’m sure you’ll all live.

It was another one of those ‘Shrub Rocketeer’ occasions. Saturday the 28th saw an afternoon/early evening gig (I approve) held at The Medicine Bar (I disapprove), as a benefit for The Friends Of Moseley Road Baths (I approve). The line-up consisted of Pram (who I already liked and were the main draw for me), Poppy & The Jezebels (I’d heard the name and distantly remembered reading good things about them) and Paperweight Industry (never heard of them in my life). I hold each and every one of you responsible for not informing me that Paperweight Industry are young and that P&TJ are very young.

Rewind, pull it back, start at the beginning, a very good place to start. I got there slightly early with the intention of having a pint or two on Digbeth High Street, but (not being a football fan) didn’t realise that Blues were playing at home (if you read that and thought I was talking about Chelsea then do me a quick favour and punch yourself in the face, ta). Naturally, all the pubs were rammed and I found myself heading into The Custard Factory to pay way over the odds for some really quite incredibly crappy lager in The Kitchen.

I observed the soundchecks, and saw Poppy & The Jezebels being filmed for the BBC. Did anyone happen to catch whatever they were on? When Paperweight Industry finally began to play (dull modern emo-rock with a silly American accent, nothing interesting) I found myself the only sensibly-aged person in a room of teenagers-or-younger and their parents, and the recipient of a few strange looks. “Hmmm,” thought I. “They probably think I’m bringing some freight back from Ebbw Vale” (one person in the world will get that, and he won’t be reading this). I repaired across the road to The Old Crown (now much emptier, with the match actually going on by this point) before the lynch mob formed.

A couple of pints later and I return, finding a greater spread of crowd and Poppy And The Jezebels just beginning their set. A bit of research this morning has taught me that there’s a lot of hype around them, but I couldn’t find much to like about them myself. I almost feel like I’m picking on them for saying this, but it was unimaginative indie-pop with the occasional slightly punkier bit, the occasional slightly glammier bit, Poly Styrene-esque deliberate flat singing, and very little to excite. Time is on their side, of course, with them all being about ten years old or whatever they are. I’m sure they’ll develop into something a bit more interesting eventually. Would it be more or less patronising to suggest that they’re about as good as a band of that age are probably likely to be? Dunno. (EDIT: It later dawned on me that P&TJ were the 666th different band I’ve seen live. What a waste of that particular honour…)

Blessings to Pram, then, for rescuing the whole affair with some actual interesting music. They play loosely/broadly Warp-style wibbly electronics with a faint (and hard to pin down) retro/60s feel. As a description that sounds very similar to Broadcast, which they sort of are and sort of aren’t (helpful, I realise). They are equally difficult to describe, as you may be beginning to imagine. All that they do is beautifully textured, anyway, with an interesting variety of instruments combining to form a seamless sweep of sound. ‘Floaty’ is an adjective that comes inescapably to mind, but not in a way that implies a lack of substance. Gorgeous.

To sum up: A good cause supported, one out of three bands any good, and a lynch mob avoided. It could have been a lot worse.

I was off to Wolverhampton’s Wulfrun Hall on the 25th, so I was, for Spiritualized’s (almost) acoustic set. I was quite surprised as I entered. In all of the 21 gigs I’ve been to at this particular venue, this was the first time I’ve ever seen rows of chairs deployed. Others around looked similarly bemused; some looked actively annoyed. Silly sods.

An (almost) acoustic set from The Lines started the proceedings. I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with them when I saw them at The Varsity a few months ago, but without the air of boisterousness they had there they were outright dull. One of their songs had the line (Edit: unintentional) “I’m just sitting here, waiting for something significant to happen” (or similar). That more-or-less summed their set up.

I’m not sure whether or not I’m meant to use ‘Spiritualized Acoustic Mainline’ as the name for this particular version of Spiritualized (if the name has to be changed then I’d be happiest with a second ’s’ instead of a ‘z’). Whichever way up, it was dragon-chasin’ Jason Pierce on lead voice and acoustic guitar, a bloke on electric piano, a four piece string section, and three gospel singers.

It was the latter who’ll give you the key to what was going on here. Religious imagery has long since been a feature of Pierce-O’s lyrics (as far as I know, anyway. I can’t pretend to be an expert in-depth fan), but this was all Jesus this and Lord that. Further evidence for this atheist’s assertion that the old adage “the devil has the best tunes” is demonstrably incorrect? Maybe so.

They made a gorgeous sound between them. It was beautiful from start to finish, although the highlight was the early/mid set one-two of “Cool Waves” and “Amen.” The encore version of “Oh Happy Day” was lovely too (and would have been a great surprise if I hadn’t earlier copped a glance at the soundman’s setlist).

I’d like to see your standard version of Spiritualized now, for comparison purposes.

(This is just me being a silly-arse, but it was amusing to write. There’s lots of punditry about the actual fightcard all over the internet if you want to read it. This one is quite fun).

“‘Ow do.”
“You stupid man.”
“We haven’t even got out of Moor Street station and you’ve already got lost once. You stupid man.”
“She looked amused, although I suppose the colour of that shirt will inevitably attract children. And, possibly, insects.”
“Two saver returns to Manchester please.”
“Let’s get some cans, then.”
“She was giving that fiver some scrutiny.”
“I felt like shouting ‘IT’S SCOTTISH!’”
“Stoke station. That takes me back a bit.”
“I always thought Macclesfield was further North than Manchester.”
“Stockport Pension Centre is terrible.”
“Right, we need to get from Picadilly to Victoria. Have they not got one of those timetable board things?”
“I think it might be this Metrolink thing.”
“It’s a tram!”
“Like our own Metro, then?”
“Ah right, Ted.”
“Look, do you want take this map off me and be in charge? No? Well shut up then.”
“I don’t know if it’s Manchester or the weather, but there are gorgeous women everywhere.”
“Everywhere!”
“Everywhere!“
“Travelodge found without getting lost. Hithangyew.”
“Jesus Christ. Let’s find a pub and wait for this queue to reduce a bit.”
“Over there. On the corner. Where the pub sign is. Buildings with pub signs on the side often turn out to be pubs, you know.”
“‘The Black Lion.’ I bet says ‘…In Zion’ on the back.”
“This looks like A Local Pub For Local People.”
“Don’t be a wooftah.”
“You see? Just the usual clientele of hardknocks and old buggers.”
“This queue has moved about six foot in the half hour we were gone.”
“Halle-bloody-lujah.”
“I say we find a pub that does food.”
“Everywhere!“
“They’re all this busy. Let’s have a couple in that sportsbar and if no ideas suggest themselves we can go to that baguette shop.”
“Everywhere!“
“Sorry mate.”
“You had to pick the biggest bloke in the room to burn with your fag, didn’t you?”
“I swear, if he’d taken exception I’d be quietly sidling away from you now.”
“Look at the size of his mate!”
“That could’ve gone badly.”
“Let’s patronise that baguette shop, then.”
[Geordie accent]“If they even attempt to put any kinda lettuce on that I’m gunna go mad.”[/Geordie accent]
“This is actually really nice.”
“Quick one in the Lloyds Bar, then.”
“Drink up, it’s about time to go.”
“Ten past six and it was meant to start at quarter past. Good timing.”
“Oh wow Bruce Buffer.”
“Hang on, Liaudin vs Siver was meant to be the second fight.”
“Oh bugger. We’ve missed Paul Taylor. The first West Midlander in the UFC and we missed it!”
“He’s got the arm, he’s got the arm… beautiful. That was beautiful.”
“In the sweepstake I’ve picked Sakara by strikes in the first round, but I’m beginning to regret that now.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t regret it! Oh… Wait… I thought he’d stopped it. Hold on… Now he’s stopped it.”
“I’ve picked Assuncao in the sweepstake but obviously it’d be nice if Lee won.”
“Teeeerrrrrry! Teeeerrrrrrrrrry!”
[Crap attempt at a scouse accent]“Nice one, la.”[/Crap attempt at a scouse accent]
“Umbongo umbongo dey drink it in de Kongo.”
“Did he just say the last judge scored it 28-28? How did he manage that?”
“There’s a staring competition going on up there. Take that pint up for me, I’ll see you back inside.”
“Alright, brace yourself for this…”
“WHOO-HOO!”
“BIS-PING! BIS-PING! BIS-PING!”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t come out for the second round.”
“BIS-PING! BIS-PING! BIS-PING!”
“This looks bad. No, no, no, not like this, not like this…”
“YEEEEEEESSSS! WHOOOOOI! BLUH! BLUH! BLUH!”
“So much fun.”
“This one has potential to be fight of the night.”
“Do something, then.”
“This is not fight of the night.”
“Mirko! Mirko! Mirko!”
“This is unlike him, I’ve seen him a lot more active from his back than this before.”
“…”
“Shit!”
“…”
“Oh my life.”
[Welsh accent]“Your life? I think Cro-Cop just saw his life flash before his eyes.”[/Welsh accent]
“Did I actually just see that happen? Am I hallucinating?”
“Where are you? I have winnings to collect.”
“Ah, the spoils of the sweepstake. I suppose the first round is on me. Where are we going?”
“We’ve been walking so far, I think we’re in Stockport.”
“We’ve been walking so far, I think we’re in Stoke.”
“Tom, do you actually know where you’re going?”
“We’ve been walking so far, I think we’re back in the West Midlands.”
“Halle-bloody-lujah.”
[Nasal whiny student accent]“Was there much blood at the ultimate fighting?”[/Nasal whiny student accent]
“I’m not sure this was worth the walk. Still, Budvar on tap.”
“You stupid man.”
“Bye everybody.”
“They’re still serving in there. Couple more?”
“To the Travelodge on Blackfriars Street please mate.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. We need some sort of kebab-y, chicken-y, burger-y thing.”
“Be honest now, did I actually see Gonzaga K.O. Cro-Cop with a high kick? I wasn’t hallucinating?”
“Chip shop, straight ahead.”
[Extremely posh accent]“That’s the Northern way.”[/Extremely posh accent]
“Whereabouts are you from, then?”
“I was not chatting her up. Does that sound like something I’d do?”
“Zzzzzz.”

I went on holiday. This is significant because I don’t do it very often, although I don’t feel like writing anything much. It was lovely, that’ll do you. We stopped at The George Metro Hotel, which I would recommend.

A tip, though - if a Scotsman ever tells you your last ferry back is at “Twenty to ten,” make sure they’re not actually saying “22:10.” Doh.

A quick round-up post, methinks. I haven’t felt a lot of enthusiasm for doing this just lately (this may or may not be apparent from the even-lower-than-usual standard of writing), but I’m off on holiday next week (hurrah!) so I want to be up to date before then.

There’s been food and drink. Maxine took me to Las Iguanas as a belated birthday present (that’s not so bad. It was only at this outing that I actually handed over her Christmas present…), which despite being a generally South American (rather than specifically Mexican) place really reminded me of Chiquito. I don’t know why. It just did. I had a tiger prawns in lemon type thing for a starter, anyway, and steak fajitas for a main. All very nice. The tortillas were a little bit on the small side, though. Last Saturday, following another nice pie at The Old Joint Stock, I went with the parentals to the Moseley Beer Festival, which (despite going in the middle of the afternoon) I was expecting to be a hell of a lot more busy than it was. I’m told they were a lot busier at other times in the weekend, though. Quite a few nice things were sampled, with ‘Spring Zing’ from Hopback being a highlight.

There’s been music. I went to The Civic on Sunday the 8th. Very short preliminary sets from 4Sure (locals, of ‘X-Factor’ fame. I really wanted to like them more than I did) and Megan Rochell (someone get that girl a pie) passed by without fireworks. Boyz II Men were my main reason for going, although when I actually stopped and thought about for a moment I realised that the only song of theirs I knew was “End Of The Road” (I do love that a lot, though). A few more seemed familiar during their set, though, and they were quite fun. Not amazing but quite fun. Joint-headlining with them and on last was Brian McKnight, none of whose music or hits I could recall at all. Nothing he sang sounded familiar, either, but it didn’t seem any great loss – R. Kelly style “Lots of emoting, very little emotion” type stuff. Last night I went to Symphony Hall, to hear some Elgar courtesy of the Philharmonia under Sir Andrew Davis. I got as indignant as the next man about them taking old Eddie off the back of the twenty in this of all years, but the thought occurred that I’d never actually been to hear any of his music performed. We got “Prelude And Angel’s Farewell” from “The Dream Of Gerontius,” the “Sea Pictures” song cycle, and after the interval his 1st Symphony. I enjoyed the first two a lot, but got a bit lost during the actual symphony – there’s a lot, and I mean a lot, to try and follow. It might be one to sit down with a bit more; perhaps familiarity will make the themes easier to track.

So there you go. Nothing worth reading there, but I’m up to date now and can thus bugger off to Stranraer for a bit. Cheerio, gang.

I very, very nearly dropped a Jackson and found myself unable to see Clutch at The Barfly on Friday the 6th of April. I’d heard a ‘sold out’ scare earlier in the week, and although that turned out to be a false alarm I really should have seen the writing on the wall and arranged a ticket. When did Clutch go and get themselves famous, though? Madness. I turned up and found it sold out, but fortunately arrived at a jammy time when a bunch of young lads milling about outside had one to get rid of at face value. Thanks and praises to Jah/God/Allah/James Thompson/whoever-have-you.

Taint opened, a band I’d never seen before despite them having been around forever and having hovered on the edge of my radar for most of forever (I remember ‘em putting out a mini-album on Household Name back when it was still a decent label, that’s how far back we’re talking). I was expecting something really sludgy, but they only seemed to be like that during occasional bits of songs; for the most part they sounded like more of a mid-paced end of Black Flag sort of affair, with some balls-out all-out rock (possibly ala older Clutch, although I may well be subconsciously being influenced by the headliners there) and some Helmet-ish repetitive riffy parts. It all came together perfectly and they sounded pretty destructive; I get the feeling they’d blow the roof off the place in a sensibly sized (i.e. a lot smaller than The Barfly) venue.

The bit of a conversation I overheard by some people standing me seemed to indicate that they thought Taint were actually Clutch. I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.

The Sword were through derivative and out the other side, achieving heights of unoriginality dense enough for them to dilate time and leave you wandering whether chronology works entirely the way you always used to think it did (or maybe will go on to think it does in the soon-to-happen past) and whether they actually did come before Sabbath’s more upbeat songs. They were quite fun, though, believe it or not. I don’t think I’d ever want to listen to them at home when I can just stick ‘Children Of The Grave’ on instead (ooh, now there’s a thought…), but I did enjoy them this once.

Finally, Clutch - the eighth time I’ve seen them (my most-seen foreign band by a fair ol’ distance) and yet another group about whom I’ve gone on far too many times before to leave me anything to say now. This was a typically great set from them. Best Rock Band Going, loads and loads of groove, Neil Fallon is an amazing frontman, all the usual hoo-har I usually go on about. It’s all true. They’ve been around for long enough now, if you haven’t bothered thus far then you probably won’t at all. Your loss.

Then again, though, if they’ve now got enough people behind them to sell out The Barfly maybe more folk are starting to discover them of late. I’m still surprised by that. Have they been in an advert or something?

I live in Rowley Regis, which is in Sandwell, which is in The Black Country, which is in the West Midlands.

I went to the Sealife Centre in Birmingham. This isn’t really a lot to do with the main body of this post, but I don’t think I can spin a separate one out of it. I liked the otters, seahorses and giant turtles the most.

On Saturday the 31st of March I went to see Thea Gilmore at The Little Civic in Wolverhampton. I missed supporting artiste Erin McKeown, which is a shame since she was either going to be really fantastic or really embarrassing if the songs on the player on her website are anything to go by. What I can tell you is that she’s about 4’6”, and that includes a good few inches of hair.

Thea, anyway. I’m not an expert in her works by any means and don’t have any of her albums, but I’ve always liked all the odds ‘n’ ends I’ve heard and have been meaning to have a proper examination for ages. In short, she was great. Her voice is lovely – very strong and clear, allowing you to make out every word (I am phenomenally bad at making out words, ordinarily), and with only a slight hint of the Celtic accent adopted by rote by many artists of this type (slight enough for it to sound natural). Her songs are great – engaging affairs with lyrics that often seemed like they might be quite interesting (even if the last one in the main set did get a bit “shout along with my slogans”). Her on stage manner is likeable – even if she did make the cardinal sin of thinking Bilston and Wolverhampton were the same town.

Regional faux par aside, her set was fantastic. Yet another one to pay attention to.