Category Archives: Gigs

Colin Blunstone, The Ferry, 11th March Act#17

image

McSorleys, Jamaica St, and Billy Bones was first to arrive, before being joined by Shields and me and finally Spanner. A few beers and then we wandered along to the gig. It was still quite quiet when we arrived and the folk who had opted for the Dinner Package were, sitting at their tables, looking across an empty floor at the stage. Ever the gentlemen, Billy B and I removed ourselves to the side of the hall where we wouldn’t spoil anyone’s view. Spanner & Shields, however, decided to pick their spot and unfortunately this was right in front of a table occupied by either Boycie (Only Fools and Horses) or at least someone who could be employed as his stunt double. The body language, and ensuing debate, confirmed The Publican and my suspicions that this hadn’t gone down well. Chivalrous to the end, I remained leaning on a pillar to watch my beloved tell Boycie, in no uncertain terms, that she was staying put.

All this was, unfortunately, interupted by The Colin Blunstone Band coming on stage and plying their trade. The first two tunes were seriously middle of the road tosh and had me wishing that I’d stayed a little longer in McSorleys. The second one, in particular, was so like Eye of The Tiger that I sang that tune, to my chum, to prove that you could.

Then a sudden gear-change, he sang Jimmy Ruffin’s What Becomes of The Broken Hearted, with that Dave Stewart arrangement, started telling some stories about the olden days, meeting The Beatles, travelling to the studio by bus while Rod Argent drove a Rolls -Royce etc. and eventually it turned out a fine night.

Second half, we moved centre stage (Boycie had now stood up like everyone else) and, while standing there, I suddenly realised that it wasn’t a Nehru suit he was wearing and exactly where Justin Currie’s trousers had gone.

I had also marvelled at the way Colin carried his hands throughout the night and noticed that two giant strings went up to the ceiling, off to the back of the hall and were being ‘worked’ by two retired Gerry Anderson puppeteers.

What a night, not as good as The Zombies but still a great singer!

Hands, in “Supermarionation”, attempt to draw attention away from stolen troos!

Hands, in “Supermarionation”, attempt to draw attention away from stolen troos!

Jack Bruce, The Arches, 5th March,Act 24

Sunday, 21 August 2011

Surprisingly, this wasn’t a sell out. There was certainly a lot less people here than there was last week when we came to see Goblin. Tonight I’m joined by Shields, Rhurshach, Billy Bonesl, The Difficult to Contact Accountant and The Young Hotelier.

The Ronnie Scott’s Blues Experience opened up the festivities and I assumed that they would play a couple of tunes before shepherding Jack stagewards.

Flawless, but workmanlike, they overstayed their welcome somewhat (although their version of Junco Partner was indeed quite sublime). At this point, the sound was a little ‘bass heavy’ and I put this down to ‘Mr. Soundguy’ having left Jack’s particular slider settings ‘up’ on the board.

Eventually, it was time to put our hands together and on he came. A driving bass line and a punchy three strong horn section had the hairs on my neck looking at each other to see if they should stand up or not. “Fuck me,” thinks I, “he’s playing Never Tell Your Mother She’s Out of Tune”. In all the years I’ve been going to see JB, he’s never done this. Mind racing, I immediately fantasise that he’s going to do the whole of Songs For  A Tailor and, for thirty seconds or so, slowly begin to levitate, to the amazement of those standing nearby. The opening vocal line ‘When I hear that big black whistle they blow!’ comes squeezing out of the PA and suddenly Designated Driver, Bill and I all look at each other – the sound’s really bad. Can’t put my finger on it but somethings quite awry.
The moment’s gone, neck hairs stand down and my adrenaline level reverts to normal. I go for a beer quite crestfallen, on returning I find the sounds getting better but it’s still selling him short. Quick sprint to/back from the toilets and by the time the third song’s begun it’s getting closer to what it should have been all along. Material wise there were no surprises, but no complaints either, We’re Going Wrong, Spoonful, White Room all the usual suspects.

Tony Remy is a fine guitarist and his mammy must be proud of him but I couldn’t engage at all with what he was doing. I was reminded of another earlier JB gig at The Fruitmarket. Vernon Reid was all technique over feeling. Soulless!!!

The last song and a half, Jack developed an amplifier fault which resulted in a roadie crouched next to the amplifier in question doing something far too technical to discern from our vantage point. Again, it takes me back to the last time I saw him at The Academy and Robin Trower’s amp suddenly went on fire. Change your equipment supplier, Jack!

During the show, I noticed Jack’s ears begin to grow, I thought I was imagining it but realised he was slowly inflating them via a small footpump, on stage. By the end of the gig it was a surreal sight. Roadie couched on stage and Dumbo playing Cream songs. A good night!

Jack has a cooling, post gig, drink as ears deflate back into the vicinity of normality!

Jack has a cooling, post gig, drink as ears deflate back into the vicinity of normality!

Goblin, The Arches, 25th Feb, Act 23

Goblin, The Arches, 25th Feb, Act 23


Amongst my circle of muso friends, only Billy Bones,a long standing fan, has heard of Goblin the Italian Prog/Soundtrack maestros. Before the gig begins, him & I are standing at the mixing desk when a youngster comes up and starts chattering away to me, in Italian. It takes some time to convince him that I’m not Maurizio, the keyboard player, although, later on, I see that M and I share the same taste in beards ‘n’ shirts and understand the lad’s confusion. The band start to play and spend most of the night in silhouette, backlit mainly in blood red. The three large screens, that had been showing Un Chien Andalou, now show the relevant scenes from Suspiria, Dawn of The Dead and Profundo Rosso, as the group play their theme music from those films. What can I say? To generalise, the Italians have always been very, very good at what is now called Prog and Goblin are in the vanguard. Lush keyboard ‘scapes and lashings of Gilmouresque guitar at thunderous volume . Why Spanner’s not here has never been fully explained, he would love this.

The visuals? It’s an unusual and impressive approach, spoiled as ever by these morons who insist upon holding their camera phones up in the air. Do they ever bother to look at the results of this less than furtive photography? A quick swatch at you tube advises this viewer that it’s pointless and, more to the point, annoys me somewhat greatly. I want someone to invent some sort of cyber hand grenade that can be unpinned and I can lob into a crowd like this. No damage to anyone, it just temporarily disables the camera on their phones. What a spiffing idea, I’m off to patent it!

 

Not your traditional support by a long chalk. Prior to Goblin, those arriving slightly late (ie us) were greeted by a screening of Buneul’s Un Chien Andalou. Me? I can never get enough of donkeys in pianos or razored eyeballs. Great stuff!

Not your traditional support by a long chalk. Prior to Goblin, those arriving slightly late (ie us) were greeted by a screening of Buneul’s Un Chien Andalou. Me? I can never get enough of donkeys in pianos or razored eyeballs. Great stuff!

Spirit Aid, Oran Mor, 17th Feb, Acts 18-20

Spirit Aid, Oran Mor, 17th Feb, Acts 18-20

This was a Charity fundraiser. We arrived to be met by a ridiculously long queue to get to the bar (since when did we start queing for bars?)  which degenerated into a mob about thirty seconds before I should have been served.

 Looking as if some escapees from Fraggle Rock had mated with humans, The Bluebells came on to a raucous reception and played an unplugged set of hits. Stand out song was The Patriot Game. I had hoped for Syracuse University or the 12" Sugar Bridge, but no. After they’d finished and I was exiting the lavvy, Ken McCluskey was posing for some photos with fans and asked me to do the honours. I obliged and snapped happily away.The folk involved then assumed that I must also be a similar, but less recognisable, minor celebrity and insisted that I pose with them also. I affected a Borders accent and suggested I’d left my armour and sword at home, to tantalize them.

Looking as if some escapees from Fraggle Rock had mated with humans, The Bluebells came on to a raucous reception and played an unplugged set of hits. Stand out song was The Patriot Game.

I had hoped for Syracuse University or the 12″ Sugar Bridge, but no. After they’d finished and I was exiting the lavvy, Ken McCluskey was posing for some photos with fans and asked me to do the honours. I obliged and snapped happily away.The folk involved then assumed that I must also be a similar, but less recognisable, minor celebrity and insisted that I pose with them also. I affected a Borders accent and suggested I’d left my armour and sword at home, to tantalize them.

  Justin Currie performed a set that was pedestrian at best. He looked uncomfortable being there and only performed (if memory serves) six songs, all of them Del Amitri. He had brought along his gurning pal too.During the set I cast an eye around the place and noticed a tiny figure wearing an Arafat Scarf, lurking in the shadows, and leaning against the sound desk. He was slightly smaller than Little Britain’s Dennis Waterman. It wasn’t until all the bands took to the stage to sing the finale, an elongated Will The Circle Be Unbroken and invited ’Laydeez ‘n’ gennelmen, a big haun for the man who made tonight possible’ that I realised that it was Hayman the Halfling. He had to stand on a large box to reach the microphone!!! As we shuffled towards the exit, I bumped into Fraser Spiers and briefly reminisced about nights in the very early seventies, watching Frankie Miller and The Groundhogs in The Picasso (a deathtrap of a place, just up from where Forbidden Planet in Buchanan St. is now). All was well, as I recalled him rubbing snake oil onto fellow members of the gigs queue’s foreheads, but then my ’minor celebrity Tourettes’ kicked in, I said something a bit off and he sped away into the night realising he was in the presence of a maddie! Another night at Oran Mor but, once again, not a great one.

Justin Currie performed a set that was pedestrian at best. He looked uncomfortable being there and only performed (if memory serves) six songs, all of them Del Amitri. He had brought along his gurning pal too.
During the set I cast an eye around the place and noticed a tiny figure wearing an Arafat Scarf, lurking in the shadows, and leaning against the sound desk. He was slightly smaller than Little Britain’s Dennis Waterman.

It wasn’t until all the bands took to the stage to sing the finale, an elongated Will The Circle Be Unbroken and invited ’Laydeez ‘n’ gennelmen, a big haun for the man who made tonight possible’ that I realised that it was Hayman the Halfling.
He had to stand on a large box to reach the microphone!!!

As we shuffled towards the exit, I bumped into Fraser Spiers and briefly reminisced about nights in the very early seventies, watching Frankie Miller and The Groundhogs in The Picasso (a deathtrap of a place, just up from where Forbidden Planet in Buchanan St. is now). All was well, as I recalled him rubbing snake oil onto fellow members of the gigs queue’s foreheads, but then my ’minor celebrity Tourettes’ kicked in, I said something a bit off and he sped away into the night realising he was in the presence of a maddie!

Another night at Oran Mor but, once again, not a great one.

 
 James Grant was the big surprise, with Fraser Spiers riding shotgun by deploying a bundle of moothies that he wore on a holster. These were processed/treated in real time, through an effects unit, Very impressive, Frippertronics for the harp!!! Grant was very droll, telling amusing tales regarding his Da’s wallies and a trip to the Golden Arches while chiding those ‘fans’ who only shout for Love & Money material.

James Grant was the big surprise, with Fraser Spiers riding shotgun by deploying a bundle of moothies that he wore on a holster. These were processed/treated in real time, through an effects unit, Very impressive, Frippertronics for the harp!!!

Grant was very droll, telling amusing tales regarding his Da’s wallies and a trip to the Golden Arches while chiding those ‘fans’ who only shout for Love & Money material.