Category Archives: Gigs

Vintage Trouble, ABC, 4th August, Act #39

Posted on August 4, 2011 | Leave a comment

A strange gig! A one album band stretching their set out to two full hours with no covers (apart from the final, final encore)

Firstly the Vintage DJ set that opened tonight, rather than have a support band ,was a great idea and also highlighted how shite the normal pre-gig music can be and also the manner that it’s presented, namely inaudible and/or muffled.

The gig itself had been moved up from the tiny ABC2 and I worried that the larger hall, with presumably a less than capacity crowd, would dilute the atmosphere. Wrong! The hall was as busy as I’ve seen it, with a demographic running from fat aunties, through Furry Freak Brother Clones to punks wearing mohawks!

A family affair, we (Shields, Rhurscach and me) are joined tonight  by Tote just returned from a year’s exile in Lille. Brother Artie is running late, assuming that there is a support band to avoid. We arrange, by text, to meet him under the largest glitterball in Europe. It is while looking up at this enormo-beast, when he arrives, that I realise our entire dynasty could vanish in a trice, if that wee cord snapped, as all male members of the family are now rubbing shoulders.

Vintage Trouble! I’ve never seen anyone sweat as much as this band, and I include Elvis Costello in that statement.

The back line looked absolutely tiny on the big ABC stage and they’ve obviously practiced a lot in front of mirrors, as the whole evening was incredibly choreographed.

Age wise, they’re not in the first flush of youth and look as if they’s been round the block a few times

The bass player actually looked like Ronnie Wood badly disguised as Hen Broon!

I feel singer Ty Taylor has still to find his own style, there’s a lot going on in there;Wilson Pickett, Otis, James Brown, Arthur Connelly and Paul Rodgers which obviously makes him a black man sounding like a white man trying to sound like a black man, doh!

But they’re actually good, even if they stretch every tune out for far too long and we have to endure the ‘clapalong, singalong, I sing this and you sing that’ sorta thing.

One of these bands who will either go ‘mega’ or sink without trace!

Ty Taylor gives the Duracell Bunny a run for it’s money!

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Anthems of the City (Next), Blackfriars, 23rd July Act #38

Posted on July 23, 2011 | Leave a comment

Candidate for oddest gig/event of the year (and that’s saying something). To listen to a vinyl copy of a thirty eight year old album, on ‘state of the art hi-fi equipment’ in the basement of Blackfriars, in the company of two of the performers on said record, Zal Cleminson and Ted McKenna (gtr/drums)

Shields and I arrange to meet Billy B in Babbity Bowsters forgetting that it’s The Merchant City Festival. It takes me a full fifteen minutes to get served. We walk round to the venue (having been requested to be prompt) and are kept waiting for half an hour for reasons never quite fully explained. While there, a nearby covers band plays Sweet Home Alabama and the bloke in front of us asks if we’ve ever heard Neil Young’s recording of Southern Man. Doh!

Introduced by a journo-chappy with a clipboard who, to be honest, didn’t seem too familiar with the record in question or the period/background that spawned it, the album plays track by track, with the two protagonists sitting on a B&Q garden bench drinking Rioja and an unidentified amber beverage. While aware that this is Nerdsville Central (they applaud every song), I try to placate a bored looking Shields. Surprisingly when the Q&A begins they, Zal ‘n’ Hugh, transpire to be far wittier and articulate than I would have given them credit for. Bill points out that if you close your eyes then Zal sounds just like Graeme Sounness talking, he does! Many topics are covered but basically they reckon they could have ‘made it’ much bigger but were hampered by being considered a comedy band (viz Delilah). Zal questioned the whole validity of The Penthouse Tapes and more than hinted that mental problems may have been the reason that they split up with Alex. At this point, Bill Bones Esq. asked a lengthy question. When I say lengthy, I mean that small civilisations have formed and decayed in shorter periods of time. What Uncle Frank may have called A Small Eternity. Round about this time we all started to receive texts to tell us that Amy Winehouse had died, however I don’t think this was connected to the ramblings of Oor Bill. I think we saw off three pints during this part of the evening. Headed out and onwards to McChuills to witness some Freakbeat Deejays ply their trade, however when we get there it’s bursting at the seams so we repair across High Street and into The Black Bull to chew the fat and discuss what we’d seen. While this place is fine,(what used to be called spit & sawdust, although there’s little sawdust in evidence), a change of scenery is decided upon. A ‘fast black’ then takes us to The Park Bar in Finnieston whereupon, accompanied by a local worthy, Shields immediately demonstrates that she was paying attention at the country dancing lessons when she was a nipper. We slide along Argyll St. towards the brand new Brewdog pub, opposite the Art Galleries, but it’s even busier that McChuills so we then visit The Stirling Castle. Big mistake. A pox on this place! Empty apart from seven or eight shadowy characters, some of who may have escaped from Bates Motel, they along with the bar staff snigger at Shields asking after the provenance of their white wine. Boo!

To make your party go with a swing, Whisky and Sherry, Brandy and Gin!

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Ringo Starr, Clyde Auditorium, 23rd July, Act # 35

Posted on July 23, 2011 | Leave a comment

Ringo pauses to check contents of incontinence pouch!

Ringo pauses to check contents of incontinence pouch!

One wonders why Ringo Starr bothers. What with his Thomas the Tank royalties and the ensuing repeats fees that they must accrue, he obviously doesn’t need the money. You can understand his ol mucker Macca having to reluctantly work past normal retiral age, as after all, he has to share most of his early songwriting 50/50 with that other one, that one that got shot. However, once again I digress………

Shields and I meet up with Billy Bones in The Brass Monkey. The Difficult to Contact Accountant is living up to his name and gone awol. We eventually move to the bar of the Crowne Plaza for a drink, before the show begins and meet him and Mother Theresa there. The tickets state Ringo Starr and His All Starr Band plus Special Guests at 19:30 (All Starrs?, the Trades Descriptions folk are still refusing to return all my calls to date) .This is a pale imitation of the previous line-ups this band has had, check them out on Wikipedia, This is the first time in Glasgow and I reckon we were sold a pup as they say!

At 19:32, a helpful eavesdropping barman suggests that Ringo may already have begun beating the skins. We make, with haste, towards ‘the Armadillo’, through the usual maze of connecting corridors. On the way, we ask an usherette if there’s any way we could all sit together and to my astonishment and delight, she radios ahead, confides to us that sales have been poor for tonight, and gets us all in the one row sitting together.
We tiptoe into the hall while the band plod their way through Hang On Sloopy and plunk ourselves down. Within perhaps thirty seconds of realising “I’m under the same roof as a Beatle”, I twig something is seriously wrong too. The ratio of normal gig-goers to windowlickers is seriously skewed here. Everyone seems to want to demonstrate that they can clap and sing along to whatever tune the All Starrs throw up.However it would appear many audients are hearing different tunes!
One wonders why Ringo Starr bothers. What with his Thomas the Tank royalties and the ensuing repeats fees that they must accrue, he obviously doesn’t need the money. You can understand his ol mucker Macca having to reluctantly work past normal retiral age, as after all, he has to share most of his early songwriting 50/50 with that other one, that one that got shot. However, once again I digress&hellip;&hellip;&hellip;<br /> Shields and I meet up with Billy Bones in The Brass Monkey. The Difficult to Contact Accountant is living up to his name and gone awol. We eventually move to the bar of the Crowne Plaza for a drink, before the show begins and meet him and Mother Theresa there. The tickets state Ringo Starr and His All Starr Band plus Special Guests at 19:30 (All Starrs?, the Trades Descriptions folk are still refusing to return all my calls to date) .This is a pale imitation of the previous line-ups this band has had, check them out on Wikipedia, This is the first time in Glasgow and I reckon we were sold a pup as they say!<br /> At 19:32, a helpful eavesdropping barman suggests that Ringo may already have begun beating the skins. We make, with haste, towards &lsquo;the Armadillo&rsquo;, through the usual maze of connecting corridors. On the way, we ask an usherette if there&rsquo;s any way we could all sit together and to my astonishment and delight, she radios ahead, confides to us that sales have been poor for tonight, and gets us all in the one row sitting together.We tiptoe into the hall while the band plod their way through Hang On Sloopy and plunk ourselves down. Within perhaps thirty seconds of realising &ldquo;I&rsquo;m under the same roof as a Beatle&rdquo;, I twig something is seriously wrong too. The ratio of normal gig-goers to windowlickers is seriously skewed here. Everyone seems to want to demonstrate that they can clap and sing along to whatever tune the All Starrs throw up.However it would appear many audients are hearing different tunes!<br /> The band are lined up across the stage in front of a lurid backdrop that Billy Butlin, in his prime, might well have considered as too kitsch. The 'cheese-ometer&rsquo; is bouncing in the red, tonight!<br /> Edgar Winter, brother of Johnny the albino bluesman, the one that Mike and Bernie never talk about, and who talks like Foghorn Leghorn, demonstrates his chops on keys and horns. Normally, I wouldn&rsquo;t snigger at a partially blind man, knocking over several mike stands, as he &rsquo;gets into it, maan!&rsquo; but tonight&rsquo;s not normal. Centuries ago I was in a band, It Conquered The World, that played 'Frankenstein&rsquo; and if our version wasn&rsquo;t actually better than tonight&rsquo;s offering, then Honey, it&rsquo;s time to salt and pepper my homburg and pass me the cutlery!<br /> Rick Derringer has aged quite a bit since last I saw him and nowadays resembles one of the older Osmonds.His party piece is Rock 'n&rsquo; Roll Hootchie Koo which just about sums up the evening. Gary Wright, introducing 'Dreamweaver&rsquo;, name checks George Harrison which nearly brings the house down. By the time Richard Page serenades us with (Take These) Broken Wings, I&rsquo;m sliding down in my seat in case anybody I know sees me here. Then Ringo steps down from the riser to do his bit and while he sings Peace Dream<br /> &ldquo;So try to imagine if we give peace a chanceAll the world could be living in harmonyOne day our dream could be reality, reality&rdquo;<br /> I realise he must be wearing some sort of incontinence device. No one&rsquo;s that shape immediately below the belt, apart from perhaps Bertie Basset. How very odd!<br /> Then as suddenly as it began, following a rather limp Give Peace A Chance, we&rsquo;re released from our purgatory and scuttle back to the bar to discover that it&rsquo;s still daylight and only twenty past nine. Rock and Roll, indeed!

The band are lined up across the stage in front of a lurid backdrop that Billy Butlin, in his prime, might well have considered as too kitsch. The ‘cheese-ometer’ is bouncing in the red, tonight!

Edgar Winter, brother of Johnny the albino bluesman, the one that Mike and Bernie never talk about, and who talks like Foghorn Leghorn, demonstrates his chops on keys and horns. Normally, I wouldn’t snigger at a partially blind man, knocking over several mike stands, as he ’gets into it, maan!’ but tonight’s not normal. Centuries ago I was in a band, It Conquered The World, that played ‘Frankenstein’ and if our version wasn’t actually better than tonight’s offering, then Honey, it’s time to salt and pepper my homburg and pass me the cutlery!

Rick Derringer has aged quite a bit since last I saw him and nowadays resembles one of the older Osmonds.His party piece is Rock ‘n’ Roll Hootchie Koo which just about sums up the evening. Gary Wright, introducing ‘Dreamweaver’, name checks George Harrison which nearly brings the house down. By the time Richard Page serenades us with (Take These) Broken Wings, I’m sliding down in my seat in case anybody I know sees me here. Then Ringo steps down from the riser to do his bit and while he sings Peace Dream

“So try to imagine if we give peace a chance
All the world could be living in harmony
One day our dream could be reality, reality”

I realise he must be wearing some sort of incontinence device. No one’s that shape immediately below the belt, apart from perhaps Bertie Basset. How very odd!

Then as suddenly as it began, following a rather limp Give Peace A Chance, we’re released from our purgatory and scuttle back to the bar to discover that it’s still daylight and only twenty past nine. Rock and Roll, indeed!

Former Beatle presents a shadow of his former band(s)

Former Beatle presents a shadow of his former band(s)

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Leon Russell, City Hall,1st July, Act#37

Posted on July 1, 2011 | Leave a comment

With a few right stinkers of gigs under my belt recently, it was hoped that Leon R would pull something out of the hat, and what a hat it was. The good thing about these city festivals (Jazzfest, Celtic Connections etc) is you can set your watch by them generally. If the ticket say half seven then that’s when the act steps on stage. Billy Bones, me and Shields met up in what is by far the best city centre ale pub, Blackfriars.

We moved round the corner early doors to discover that the crowd was being shepherded into their seats. ‘Is there a bar, can I take a drink into the hall and is there an interval? I am not an alcoholic!’ I blurted out to the usher who answerd no to all my questions and advised that the show was about to commence.

leonFirst time in this hall since it’s refurb and very impressed (though not really taken with the colour that the walls and pillars were painted)

Leon Russell (the nearest I’ve seen to a South Park cartoon made flesh) walked slowly on stage  and wondered aloud how he came to be playing at an International Festival “Seems that sometimes you have to come across an ocean to realise you’re a jazz musician,”. He then played for the next half hour solid but it wasn’t until he started telling between song anecdotes about ‘Bobby Dylan’, Joe Cocker etc. that the show really took off. I’m not an Elton John fan, far from it, but he’s done the music world a great favour by recording The Union with Leon and in doing so, introducing him to a whole strata of listeners that would never have heard of him. His band, two guitars , bass & drums, clearly love the man and are all impressive players to boot, all getting a small solo spot of their own. Chris Simmons in particular is impressive and makes blues noises the likes of which I haven’t heard for decades. Leon’s own style embraces many others, he even plays that Susan Boyle song ‘Wild Horses’!

leon2

So bad are his legs that for the encore, he stands at his piano and asks that we pretend he’s gone backstage with the rest of the band before they return and regale us with a Chuck Berry medley. A fine wee night!

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