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

The Barfly was due to be visited by Battles on Thursday the 24th of May. In the run-up to the gig, P’Ashton had mentioned that he was surprised it wasn’t sold out yet, and my old homedutchpot Matt had told me (to my surprise) that he’d heard Battles on the radio. I didn’t disbelieve these sterling fellows, it was more just that it didn’t all sink in. When I got there and found it sold out, I was stunned. Battles, that band who I saw at Supersonic the year before last? They’re famous now? Blimey, Charlie. Big shouts go out to the bloke who actually ran around the corner to catch up with me and offer his spare ticket to me for face value. Cheers, guv.

There’s a massive sense of Déjà vu about this, but never mind. I suppose the lesson to be learned here (since I’m already well aware that my finger isn’t exactly on the pulse these days) is to get tickets in advance more often. I wish The Barfly had a box office.

Those good ol’ Modified Toy Orchestra boys were a genius idea for support, although in all fairness I’d probably have them playing at every gig ever organised if it was up to me. They really felt right here, though. I suppose one of the great things about them is that they work on so many different levels. The first thing people pick up on is the “Wahey! Music made with toy!” gimmick. Beyond but within this, though, there’s an arty/conceptual side (which makes a lot of sense to me). Beyond this (and probably most important, given the context it’s all presented in) they have some great fun tunes. The backing visuals that they use are great beyond this still, including Freeno And Olaf which was probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen and came very close to bringing a tear to my eye.

There are very few bands I’d say this about, but it’s hard to imagine anyone disliking Battles if they gave them a fair listen. They play mad polyrhythmic business and combine it with dayglo stampy glam-pop without the slightest hint of incongruity. Rarely do bands bring together all that is great in life so well. My favourites from the album (“Atlas” and “Leyendecker”) were amazing, and so was that one geezer’s hair, but the whole set was a ridiculously huge amount of fun from start to finish.

Can anyone actually decipher the words to “Atlas” (without looking them up), incidentally? I can’t, but I’m notoriously bad at this sort of thing. ”Feed the monkey, feed the monkey, feed the monkey, feed the monkey, wear ‘em, scare ‘em, show ‘em interest…” probably isn’t right.

An absolutely fantastic gig all round, anyway (even if I was partly shown in one of the clips of last year’s Supersonic that was projected onto the back wall between bands. Yes, you can find this on YouTube. No, I’m not telling you where). I once more salute the lad who sold me a ticket.

Although there are lots of reasons for one to be happy to see local bands doing well and a fair few of them are genuinely nice and altruistic, it’d be a lie to pretend that ‘bragging rights’ doesn’t loom large. The phrase “I saw them before they were famous” needs only to pass your lips and you’ll see that adoring crowds of rapt listeners will gather at your feet. “Of course, I prefer the earlier stuff…”

Whether or not you keep your tales of gig-going daring-do within jabbing range of the truth is a matter for your own conscience. I did see Editors, for example, back when they were still called Snowfield (I still think that’s a far better name, incidentally), but only about the last song of their set. Despite always meaning to see them again, a long time passed before I actually did, and the hype was already around them by that point. They were already bona-fide stars by the third time I saw them, and there the total still stands.

Can I redeem myself with The Twang? Well, not really. I’d read and heard a few interesting things about them and made sure I caught them when they played as part of a free alldayer at The Sanctuary in March 2006, but despite mightily enjoying their set I fell foul of the same trap and didn’t quite get around to seeing them again for a long time. The hype set in, gigs sold out, and it wasn’t until this current May 2007 that I managed to get a ticket (for The Wulfrun Hall in Wolverhampton, one of the two local gigs they’re playing this month. The other is at The Sanctuary in Digbeth - where I saw them the first time around. The more things change…)

On another ‘bragging rights’ tangent, maybe this is the point to mention that I predicted the still-growing backlash. I called it, baby. I don’t suppose I can take too much credit, though; it was always more likely than anything else.

The gig, anyway. I got there in time for the last couple of songs by openers The Harrisons, who played a straight-ahead indie-punk sort of thing. I can’t say I really liked the bit I saw, but I got the feeling that perhaps I could like them. Maybe. Dogs were the doggies-in-the-middle and bored me with their Razorlight-ish stuff. There wasn’t really much to see on the support band front at this one.

One interesting thing about The Twang at this gig was that they seemed to be genuinely happy. The previous time I saw them, they were overflowing with attitude. At this gig, it was all “We’re so happy that so many people have turned up.” “We were in The Little Civic a few months ago, so this means so much to us” your man confessed at one point, and I can understand that. It’s rare that bands become more pleasant with fame, and worth noting. The actual performance was similar enough, although they can now afford dry ice. And lots of it. The three instrument players (including the bassplayer who just doesn’t look the part next to the rest of them) hang back in the mist, while the singer and the backing singer/Bez-type take the limelight and press forward.

Highlights would include their lairy opening with “The Neighbour” (probably my favourite Twang song. I’m still not convinced it works as a story, but it’s a great song), and it had never quite dawned on me just how sweet ‘Either Way’ is before this. Bless it.

A hugely fun set.

“He told me he could get me a job in the bookmakers, but I told him no ‘cos I’m not interested in reading books. I wasn’t to bloody know, was I?”

I don’t understand the idea of ‘guilty pleasures’ when it comes to music. If I’ve found something to like in a band then that’s what I like about them, and I don’t see why I’d be even remotely embarrassed about it. Many would call me uncool for liking Meatloaf and having seen him in 1993 (it appears I was taken to task recently for having seen him and Al Green rather than Dylan and, erm, The Strokes), but sod ‘em. On 14/5/7 I went to see him again.

I worked late and went straight from Walsall, encountering the best train conductor ever on the way. Someone had obviously told him that Meatloaf was playing at the NEC. “Change here for Steak ‘n’ Kidney Pie,” he said over the tannoy just before Birmingham International; “The backing group will be Chips And Mushrooms.”

The seats we’d managed to acquire weren’t bad but were a touch on the bizarre side, positioned in a tier on the left hand side as you look at the stage, at maybe a ten-twenty degree angle in front of it. Quite close (relatively speaking. It’s an arena after all), but a strange angle to view from (and not in optimal position regarding the speakers, although the sound was reasonable enough. Relatively speaking, again). The seats seemed very cramped together there, too, or at least a lot more so than I remember ever having experienced at the NEC before. That could well just have been my faulty memories, though.

Supporting artiste Marion Raven (there may or may not have been someone before her that we missed, I’m not sure) was a bit dull. She had that weird jump between “bubbly” between songs and “angsty” during them that we’ve all seen before on many occasions, but it seemed particularly jarring here. Strong voice and all the usual blah that this sort of artist always has, but bland songs.

Meatloaf’s set began early. I should’ve been expecting this since I knew perfectly well he’d be doing more than two hours, but y’know, I’m thick. Out he comes with a saft wig on and my instant thought is that he’s looking his age (he’s really looking quite jowly these days, although has lost a lot of weight). He was also (for reasons best known to someone other than me) putting on a weird shambling gait for the first song or two. Meatloaf acting like Ozzy, now ain’t that something to see.

He soon dropped it to become the whirling ball of energy everybody knows and loves, and ain’t he just. Stock terms like ‘showman’ and ‘entertainer’ get overused, but he does justify them completely. One aspect of his performance that was slightly unusual was that he phrased a lot of lyrics in quite a few of the older songs differently (not changing the words at all, just the phrasing). It makes perfect sense (singing these songs for so long must make you want to do things slightly differently), but isn’t something you expect at a gig like this. Long solos and wandering middle-eights yes, minute changes to the vocal lines not as much.

Highlights were a’plenty. ‘Life Is A Lemon’ was very stomping and aggressive, quite Nuremberg rally-esque, while ‘Objects In The Rear View Mirror’ was the absolute height of drama and, of course, ‘Bat Out Of Hell’ was every bit as much fun as you might expect. An encore of covers was the absolute last thing I expected (The Ram-Jam Band’s ‘Black Betty,’ The Rolling Stones’ ‘Gimme Shelter’ and ‘Mercury Blues’ by… erm… who sang that?), and the string of new songs he did all sounded very, very big. It’s just dawned on me that I’m talking about Meatloaf songs here, and so as a description that doesn’t particular narrow anything down. Ah well. One called something along the lines of ‘In The Kingdom Of Pigs’ was the one that stood out, an aggressive-ish affair with a nod (well, more of a headbut) to Orwell in the lyrics.

I’d like to be able to hold this in comparison with the first time I saw ‘Loaf, but sadly far too many years have passed since the previous one. I was only little at the time. Whichever way up, this was great, great fun, and as an added bonus we eventually managed to make our way to where the car was parked afterwards without running out of iron rations. You want to talk big, then never mind Meatloaf’s music – consider the NEC carpark…

I promised Meatloaf by this point but have failed. Sorry. Please note that my waffling about that particular gig isn’t likely to be anything any greater than usual; it’s just that, y’know, it’ll be about Meatloaf. That’s surely enough.

Me saying “my waffling about that particular gig” rather than “my review of that particular gig” is important. I do not consider anything I write on this ‘ere blog to be a review (and if I ever do, it will be under a very specific rubric announcing as such). I’m not quite pedantic enough (I’m very pedantic, but not quite this pedantic) to correct everyone who uses the word ‘review’ in a comment or whatever-have-you, as has happened many times, but it’s certainly not how I view anything written here. The trouble with announcing this is that I don’t have any sort of specific criteria of what I consider reviews to be, but whatever they are this blog definitely hasn’t involved any so far. It’s a series of “What I did on my holidays” style ramblings (although ironically enough I didn’t write a fat lot about what I did on my holidays).

The thing that has brought this to mind was a message I received recently from Dave of the new Robot Professor outfit, who are putting on some gigs at the skate park in Moseley. I was asked if I wanted to review the first one. I demurred, and pointed out a couple of other people who might be interested. This brings us on to the second stage of this little ramble – I’ve written about music on request before (when I was involved with The Communion) and have had very mixed feelings about it. There are good things – you get loads of free stuff and get your witty, witty oh-so witty quips read by far more people than would do so on something like a personal blog – but there are plenty of bad things too. The immediate problem lies in having to think of something to write about yet another entirely mediocre rock band (those are the hard ones. Of any given ten CDs you receive, one will be good, one will be bad, and the other eight will be nondescript beyond belief. It may sound silly, but the bad ones are better - at least you can think of something to say. I recall when I was at school a kid told me he thought music was bad if he listened to it and thought it was average. At the time, I thought and told him that was stupid – if you listen to it and find it average, then surely it’s just average? – but I now know exactly what he means. This has been a long bracket. Thank you for sticking with me), and the longer-term problem arises out of this.

I used to think I liked a lot more music than I disliked, and I suppose that in so far as my experiences went (and what other evidence could we use for this?) I actually did. In retrospect, of course, I can see that was only because I had my own filter. I’ve never bought an album ‘at random’ – it has always been because I’ve read something about the band or heard something by them that has led me to think that I would like it. This doesn’t provide a 100% strike rate, obviously, but there is at least some sort of filtering process going on. When one starts getting sent an entirely random selection of gubbins (weeeelllll… a selection of gubbins determined by the cumulative effect of several other filters that may as well be random, if we’re going for precision), one begins to realise that most of the music in the world is simply not of interest. It is very hard to refrain from becoming hugely cynical.

Erm… It does say in the title that this is mostly blah, and I’m not sure where I’m going with it all. I suppose the upshot of all this is for me to point out that I’m not about to go and write about anyone’s gig on request. If I go, I’ll write something, although it may consist purely of a list of the shiny objects I was distracted by over the course of the evening.

Having said that, if someone has a general topic they’d be interested to see me write about then please feel free to stick it in the comments. I suffer from an appalling lack of imagination and find it very difficult to think of that sort of thing myself. I know no-one wakes up wondering what Russ L’s thoughts are about any given topic, but if anyone does want to throw me a bone then feel free.

These Robot Professor sorts, anyway. They’re putting on some gigs at The Epic Skate Park in Moseley (my map), and for some reason beyond me I do feel slightly bad about having to have said no to their request, so here’s a plug. I’m not as keen on them not putting the last band on till quarter to eleven and by the looks of the bands being booked I assume that the term ‘post-rock’ can be used to describe ‘any band at all, whatsoever’ these days, but there’s potential for great fun here. Of the bands they’ve got booked over the next few months I would especially recommend Mothertrucker, Mills & Boon and The Arm, and there are lots of bands new-to-me to discover too. I won’t be at the first one ‘cos I’m going to see Travis at The Academy this Friday (yeah, bite me), but I definitely hope to make it to a few of them after that.

(All via Created In Birmingham, which seems to have eaten the last couple of comments I’ve left) (Edit: One of them has been un-eaten, only to reveal that I’ve got the HTML all wrong. Blast.) (Editing the edit: It seems to have been corrected for me.)

Now although (from what I’m told) the recent Flapper re-launch basically appears to sum up to them having cleaned the toilets (I pity the poor soul who drew the short straw and had to advance with a lead apron and a water cannon filled with bleach), the re-opening of The Hare & Hounds in Kings Heath looks like it may present some significant changes.

I only went to seven gigs there (between September ‘05 and February ‘07, when I last went), but I really liked it as a venue. Pete Ashton’s article therelinked tells you all you need to know about the relick, and the matter that figuratively charges towards me waving its lance and shouting “Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards” (you think my metaphors are pain in the arse? Try living with the brain that thinks of them) is neatly summed up by our local blogging Capofamiglia when he observes that it was a place that “up and coming promoters could hire for a reasonable fee and, unlike other venues, didn’t have a house promoter taking the best nights.”

Add “other grass-roots promoters who may be ‘coming’ but have no wish of travelling to where-ever this ‘up’ may be” and you have the biggest problem here. Well… I’m not going to deny that the main problem for me is that they’ve probably (this is conjecture, but it seems likely. I really would appreciate confirmation, if anyone who goes there before me would be so kind) stopped selling tins of Carlsberg Export for £1 each from the upstairs bar. I will be quite upset about that. If I don my Right-On hat, though, this other little matter presents a pain in the arse. It started to have an effect a while ago - “the Hare and Hounds won’t do it now cause they reckon they only do bigger acts when its refurbed” said one local promoter; “The new guy reckons its a 200-seat venue so I needn’t bother with anything so lowly as ‘might get 30 people’.” (Source: 13th post down et seq.)

The number of venues that Johnny & Jilly promoter can simply go out and hire when they fancy putting on a few bands seems to be constantly depleting in Birmingham. I’m trying not to be cynical, and so I’m quite happy to admit that I’m probably jumping the gun. What we need to do is wait and see for a little while, so that we get a chance to observe what the new establishment is all about. And hope. Hope like mad.

The other thing to worry about is that the stated aim is for the place to cater for “young bohemian(s) and savvy professionals.” Ugh. That sounds even worse than your standard gig-going crowd.

Let’s wait and see. There some interesting stuff happening there soon-ish, including a variety of gigs and discos at the re-opening and bank holiday weekends, as well as a bit of metal courtesy of Capsule.

Hare & Hounds website
Hare & Hounds MySpace

***

The next post may possibly stand a slightly better chance of being worth reading. It’ll have Meatloaf in it and everything.

A gig with a nice little line-up took place at The Jug Of Ale on Friday the 4th of May, a nice little line-up indeed.

Betty & The Id opened affairs, with their off-kilter bass-driven garage rock, incorporating some bubblegum pop-ish bits and some bits reminding me a tiny bit of The Stranglers (in a weird sort of way. Don’t go mad with that as a comparison, it’s not helpful in terms of their sound as a whole). They’re an unlikely looking bunch, but their set was most enjoyable - catchy songs that aren’t quite straightforward, also capable of a bit of stomping swagger when called for.

Mills & Boon and The Courtesy Group are both very hard to describe, and for the sake of retaining my own minimal dignity I should probably give up trying. I wrote about both of them here, then Mills And Boon here and The Courtesy Group here. Cobble a description together in your own mind from that little lot.

Mills And Boon normally sound very messy - I don’t mean that in anything even remotely approaching a bad way and it’s certainly not that they aren’t tight, it’s just that their music is very chaotic. Here, they actually were messy. It doesn’t hurt their sound anywhere near as much as it would some, though. Raggedness is what they do well. This was lots of fun.

The Courtesy Group seemed a tiny bit more subdued than the couple of times I’ve seen them before, but still insane. There were a few songs and between-song poems that I don’t remember having heard before now (unless that’s just me being too drunk by this point in the evening. I was quite drunk) and the singer didn’t have his customary Hawaiian shirt (unless, again, that’s just me being too drunk by this point in the evening. I was, again, quite drunk), but plenty of lunacy and great songs were still at large. I’m beginning to think “On The Rock In The Rock” (or whatever it’s called) is my favourite of theirs. Bostin’, as those of us West of the Western edge of the outer circle bus route say.

Last night I had a dream in which I travelled to see a Ricky Hatton fight. There were some sumo matches on the undercard, and Don Frye competed in one of them. None of this seemed strange in the dream.