J D Wilkes and Th' Legendary Shack Shakers - Broadcast (Glasgow) 07/05/18

If you want larger than life then look no further than JD Wilkes.

Off stage he’s allegedly a mild mannered gentleman, but on stage he is anything but. Plucking pubic hair (his own) and casting it into the audience, relentlessly displaying tourette styled ticks, gurning and contorting his body into pretzel shapes are all par for the course when attending a Legendary Shack Shakers gig. The man is a combination of sweat, spit, and angels and demons fighting for control.

And more power to him.

It may well all be an act, but he plays it to the hilt. The stage persona is as real as you can get to lunacy unleashed, and unlike the Victorians who would simply gape at the madman, we get to sing and dance along with him and his band.

That this show was billed as an acoustic affair was something that wouldn’t neatly lodge in my head though.

It kept slipping out and I’d have to pick it up, look at this strange little thing, and then I’d shrug and try and pop it back in.

It was messing with me and I didn’t like it.

And up until the day of the gig I was actually in two minds about going.

That is until a random message from a friend asking if I fancied it tipped the balance of the scales from a maybe to a why the hell not, and I’m glad it did because ultimately it wasn’t really an acoustic show at all.

My perception of what it would be, and what it was, had nothing in common at all.

Rather than an acoustic guitar strumming snorefest facsimile of what I had experienced at Shack Shakers gigs before,  it was a stripped back set up that featured a basic drum set up, a double bass, and an electric guitar that more than delivered.

Throw in JD and his harmonica, and a guest appearance of a fiddle, and the juke joint on moonshine angle on entertaining was well covered.

In hindsight I’m comfortable in saying that energy wise you can’t differentiate between a full blown Shack Shakers set and this version of it.

In the aftermath of a show I’ve often pondered where the band would sit most comfortably. Sonically speaking that is. And it has come to me that they exist in that moment when the party peaks. When the drink has worked its inhibition magic and the madness is in full flow, but also in that moment just before the darkness slips in and fucks everything up.

You can smell the danger in the air and it’s intoxicating, but the violence and blood hasn’t arrived yet. It’s a good time; a moment that rests on the cusp, but the real deal never lasts long while these guys can stretch the feeling of that moment out over a much longer period by tightly controlling it.

They work on the premise that it has to sound like the train is about to jump the tracks, and if it doesn’t then what is the point.

It’s an illusion, but a damn fine one to get lost in as most of us will admit that the feeling of living on the edge is thrilling, but the reality carries a cost that is often too much to pay. This is why we gravitate towards the rollercoaster at the fair and throw ourselves into night long marathons of horrors movies. We want the thrill without the cost, and JD Wilkes and the Shack Shakers deliver that very same thing. The pretence of danger without the burden of having to live with the consequences, and that’s what makes it so fuckin good. 

It’s a best of both worlds scenario and they know it.

Next time let’s all see how near the edge we can get.

Beechwood. Your new favourite band. (Joe Whyte)

Imagine if you will, three waifs from Queens who look as if they’d crawled out of the background of a scene in Coppola’s “Mean Streets” and who wouldn’t be fussed about either mugging you at knife point in a dark alley or alternatively taking you to the hippest, druggiest, supermodel-infested late night dive and keeping you out till you’d experienced a full-scale psychotic meltdown.

Add to that, two albums bursting with seedy, opiated, dirty rock a la Lou Reed or Patti Smith mixed with a pop sensibility that seems so ridiculously right and you have Beechwood, a band from NYC who genuinely would be in jail or dead if rock and roll hadn’t saved them from themselves.

Managed by Cynthia Ross, former B Girl, member of New York Junk, friend and confidante of Sid and Nancy, former partner of the late Stiv Bators and erstwhile heart and soul of the beating heart of NY rock, it’s fair to say they’re being guided by a hand that’s seen and experienced the pitfalls….

The debut album, “Songs From The Land Of Nod” came out last year and showcased the young trio’s tense, brittle and beautiful songs that are indebted to Television, Lou, Bowie and The Velvets and are as close a match to the heartbeat of the city that birthed them as the subway that dissects it.

This is a band that is the polar opposite of the mannered, manicured scuzz-lite of The Strokes; they genuinely need this as a route out of the hustling and criminality that they were involved in before. The songs very much reflect this; desperation, melancholy, loss and a laconic, deathly attitude that infuses them with a dark and powerful grace. Entwined among these are songs with a classic pop sensibility that have a bittersweet delicacy about them that totally enriches.

The new album (less than six months on from the debut) is “Inside The Flesh Hotel”- they’re both on Alive Natural Sounds- and is a step up from the debut in song quality. There is a real depth to the material that unravels and entrances on repeated listens. There’s a grubby glamour, a pallid and bloodless ache amid songs of loss and betrayal and joy and solace. It’s barely been off my turntable since it arrived.

They’re on tour in Europe as we speak; unfortunately there’s only the one UK date in London. Hopefully that’ll be corrected next time around.

Beechwood are;

Gordon Lawrence (guitar/vox),
Isa Tineo (drums/vox)
Sid Simons (bass/vox)

Joe Whyte

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Back to the seventies

I love a bit of Dr Feelgood, and I’m equally enamoured with a  great deal of the pub rockers that predated punk, but when the plaudits are thrown at them as being some sort of sole chain in the link that took us from the bloated stadium rockers to the year zero snarl of punk I get a bit uppity.

What about glam rock?

Bowie, Roxy Music, Slade, Mott the Hoople, Marc Bolan, and so many more, were right there at the birthing of punk rock, and their DNA is stamped throughout the wailing of the nascent scene.

With their chart topping hits they most definitely influenced punk far more than a band playing on a Friday night in the local boozer purely by dint of having that greater reach.

Mick Jones was a Mott fanatic, everyone loved Bowie, would we have the Stooges success in the UK without him?

How about Bolan and the Damned?

And on the subject of Bolan this musical is looking rather good.

 20^th Century Boy is currently mid run with these dates still to come.

1-5 May  BRADFORD ALHAMBRA 

9-12 May  KINGSTON ROSE THEATRE
14-16 May  CRAWLEY THE HAWTH THEATRE
17-20 May  ST ALBANS ARENA
22-26 May  NOTTINGHAM THEATRE ROYAL
28-30 May  PRESTON CHARTER THEATRE
31-2 June  LINCOLN THEATRE ROYAL
4-6 June  GLASGOW KINGS THEATRE
7-9 June  CARLISLE SANDS
12-13 June  DARTFORD ORCHARD THEATRE
14-16 June  LLANDUDNO
21-23 June  WYCOMBE SWAN
26-27 June  YORK BARBICAN
28-30 June  CHELMSFORD CIVIC 

As a primary school kid I would religiously watch Marc Bolan on tv. I'd pour over newspapers to see what shows he would be on and commandeer the tv for the duration of his appearance.

I was a fanatic, and my bedroom was a shrine to him.
Too young to have been caught up in Bolanmania I didn't really care as it was still going on in my head.
Other kids didn't get it, but even at this young age I was already used to being out of step with my peers.

The lads were all into football, but I was wondering if I could get away with wearing eye make up. Everyone wanted to stay up and see the Sweeny, but I was more likely to be sneaking a peak at Monty Python.

When it was announced that he was playing Glasgow my head exploded.

March 12, 1977 – Apollo Theatre, Glasgow (supported by The Damned)

I was ten years old, and with some determination I set out to have my parents let me go, or take me.
Tears before bedtime followed tantrums as my pleading fell on deaf ears.
To be fair no parents were allowing ten year olds to go to gigs alone, and if any took their kids then I don't remember it happening.

My childish mind couldn't understand why they wouldn't accommodate my need to see my idol though.

It especially struggled with resentment when the news of his death knocked me for six as the awareness that I would never see him settled in.

In hindsight all is forgiven. Or nearly all because if I'm honest there's a tiny little kernel of resentment still lodged in a corner of my mind.

Still, this looks like it could provide some closure.

The critical reviews are positive, and the more important public reaction is even better.

I guess I might need to look the glitter out.

Ticket links and further information.

Wait! That isn’t enough love for the seventies being shown?

Well how about this.

Holy Holy will be back next year.

FEBRUARY

08 YORK, ENGLAND

09 LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND

10 GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

12 NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, ENGLAND

13 BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

15 SALISBURY, ENGLAND

16 CARDIFF, WALES

17 BEXHILL-ON-SEA, ENGLAND

19 GUILDFORD, ENGLAND

20 LONDON, ENGLAND

21 MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

23 LEAMINGTON SPA, ENGLAND

24 CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND

The first time Kelly and I seen Holy Holy it ranked up there as one of those "you should have been there" gigs.
The ensemble cast of musicians delivered a spectacular, and emotionally charged, performance that left those attending appreciating that they had seen something very special indeed.

Unfortunately our second experience failed to hit similar heights. It was a perfect storm scenario that sucked a great deal of fun from attending.
Hiked ticket prices impacted on the turn out, the seating put in place at the last minute to make it look busier just served to provide a dead space front of the stage, and while Glenn valiantly soldiered on with a cold affecting his vocals the Academy's notoriously poor sound was sabotaging his efforts throughout.

"Ziggy" comes a close second to "Hunky Dory" as my favourite Bowie album and the opportunity to see Holy Holy do it in its entirety was something that had me giddy with excitement for months leading up to it, but the reality ultimately left me feeling deflated.

Tickets for this one are however being sold far in advance of the event which may well address the poor uptake from last time, and the show has returned to the ABC which most definitely suits it better.
That's two positives to consider, and on balance I think we will go back for a third bite of Holy Holy.
Fingers crossed that health issues are avoided and this time we get the Ziggy material delivered in a manner that sends jolts of electricity up and down our spines.

Event details and all Holy Holy news

Don't be like Robin.

Don’t be like Robin.

Don’t wear green tights because no matter what anyone tells you they will not look good on you.

Peter Pan; that boy or girl or gender non specific person from neverland is the only person that ever looked good in green tights. So don’t even go there. You can't carry it off. Listen to the mirror.

You can go to Neverland Ranch if you want though. It might look like shit now, but even with an abandoned fairground that is a health and safety risk it’s still more kid friendly than it used to be.

And don’t say that there is nothing good out there when talking about music because after Batman slaps that nonsense out of Robins mouth he will undoubtedly do the same with your cretinous remark, and then I will be next in line and I will promise you that I will make your teeth rattle.

I will smack you so hard that people will think you have a birthmark the shape of a hand on your face a whole year later. And after I do that RandySavages will take over, and Darling Boy will be right behind them too.

There’s always good music out there. Especially if you don't feel inclined to be stuffed into a little genre box.
If you do start to look for it then after minutes online you will be gasping for air as wave after wave of it pushes you ever further from the shores of chart mediocrity.

You want proof. Have at it.

Disclaimer : No Robins were hurt in the writing of this update. 

Crazyhead - 100 Club (London) 04/05/18

Part travelogue, part review, part rambling flow of consciousness from a sleep deprived rock and roll junkie.

I'm not sure if that's a promise, or a warning, but at the very least it is a heads up before we proceed.

I'm sitting on a Megabus writing this, one hour into a twelve hour journey home. I could count the hours that I have slept in the last three days on the fingers of one hand. Mentally and physically all is fine. I've broken on through to the other side of exhaustion hours ago. That's what happens after a while. Just when you think the tank is empty the reserves kick in. I don't think I could sleep now even if I wanted to. 

Megabus probably wouldn't let me anyway. As a company they are apparently at war with Hypnos. None shall sleep could be their motto, and they take their motto very seriously.

Outward appearances are more deceptive though. 

I look like a wreck. 

I've got more bags under my eyes than Ryanair lose in a year. If I sat a polystyrene coffee cup down in front of me then random strangers might start throwing loose coins into it. It's a common look for those who do silly things like travel through the night from one end of the country to the other to see a band in a club.

Old hands like to claim they look elegantly wasted in the aftermath of such trips, but strip the romantic prose away and they mean shell shocked and fucked. I'm wearing that barge with pride.

I'm not bothered though because I seen Crazyhead last night. 

Yeah, that Crazyhead. Leicester Grebo kings. 

Remember when Grebo was a thing for a blink and you would miss it moment? Well I loved that shit. That melting pot of rock and punk paired with an attitude of not really giving too much of a fuck about the populist culture of the time when you could conjure up a fantasy world of your own to inhabit instead.

It was all a bit Mad Max and 2000ADs Cursed Earth fashions sound-tracked by garage rock and roll with some liberal soap dodging thrown into the mix for good measure.

If your leather trousers couldn't stand up on their own then you weren't really trying hard enough.

And out of all the bands that were spawned from that loose scene it was Crazyhead that stole my heart. Stole it and kept it. 

I've had a little flame burning for them in the hope that one day they would return, and every once in a while I'd fan it with a binge of playing their records just to keep it alive. I never really gave up hope.

And yet last year when they finally did reform, the chance to see them unfortunately passed me by, and when it did a little demon that I call Cunto whispered internally that I'd blown my chance.

I, of course, whispered back "we shall see Cunto" and fanned that tiny flame with the sleeve of Desert Orchid.

And now here we are in 2018 and Cunto is gleefully being told to shut it as I bathe in the luxuriant memory of seeing them in the 100 Club. 

I'm grabbing my "sneer and gloating in London" moment, and if he could be manifested in physical form then I'd rub his face in every glorious moment of the night.

There's always a bit of trepidation lurking around these gigs. Will the band deliver? Can they match former glories?

Any gig is a toss of the dice, but it feels like there's more of a risk with a band returning to the stage after an extended break. In the main it’s just a perception thing though. More often than not bands do deliver. Good bands that is.

The Stooges return to the stage was off the hook, The Sonics killed it, Mott the Hoople was another one that easily slapped the intervening years out of the way to come crashing into the present.

And now Crazyhead have emulated the success of them all.

Stepping onto the iconic stage of the 100 Club they took the faithful on a trip.

The songs from Desert Orchard still sounds as good live as they ever did. There’s a deeper growl to Andersons take on the material, but it doesn’t take anything away from the delivery. In fact befitting the passage of time it feels like the songs have picked up some dirt on the way, a raw throated tone of experience that contributed to them sounding as if they have done the hard years along with the rest of us.

Some may have wanted a note perfect carbon copy of the album in its entirety, but that would be a strange approach to take as Crazyhead were always about pushing the pedal down hard and pushing the needle up as far as it could go. Even back in the late eighties you wouldn’t get a sterile studio rendition. They were a live band, not a studio one. So why expect that to change? No, let’s just set that aside and appreciate that the aggressive passion is still something that is firmly in the driving seat when they play.

There was a point mid set when I looked up and considered the nostalgia angle on gigs like this, but it was a fleeting thought. It’s not something that matters much to me. In the heat of the moment it’s not about reliving the past, but about losing myself in the present, and song after song of their set that’s where I was. Lost in the moment, not a moment, but the moment, and so was everyone around me.

Beaming smiles seemed to be the unspoken order of the night, and as the band pushed ever further through the album the smiles just got bigger and bigger.

The smiles were not just plastered over the audiences faces either. Each member of the band was revelling in the moment too. As they thundered on the wall between band and audience was demolished and the show became a party of like minded people who had one mission in life, and that was to collectively get down with the music.

In short I came, I saw, they conquered.

The world needs more bands like Crazyhead, or to be more accurate people need to reengage with bands like them. They are one of those bands who when they take to a stage they draw from the audience a need to punch the air and let loose a primal scream, and that’s a positive.

Now all we need is everyone to shower these lovely bastards with love and maybe we will get a UK tour out of them. Or at the very least a few hit and run weekend gigs up and down the country.

Note : Some photos from the night will be added as soon as Kelly manages to send them to me. 

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Dan Stuart- The Unfortunate Demise Of Marlowe Billings (Cadiz CD/DL/Vinyl)

Former Green On Red enfant terrible with final part of his literary trilogy.

Dan Stuart, for those of you who don’t know him, was front man and main songwriter with 80’s roots rockers Green On Red.
GOR were a band who, due to an unfortunate sense of timing, ended up lumped in with that whole Californian Paisley Underground scene. Despite being something a journalistic-dreamt-up fantasy, that scene actually produced some really good bands- Long Ryders, Dream Syndicate, The Rain Parade and others who were only really loosely associated due to a love (Love?) of 60’s garage rock and psychedelia.

Green On Red were always the odd band out; marrying a punk rock snarl to a rootsy Americana saw them beloved of music fans but literally unable to be neatly pigeon-holed by the then all-powerful music press.

Of course, they made their own problems too; Stuart and co-conspirator Chuck Prophet (possibly one of the greatest guitarists of his generation) saw their dream crumble in record company machinations, poor decisions and drug ensnarement that nearly killed Stuart after the band dissolved.

A reunion tour in 2005 saw the band firing on all cylinders but a long-term resolution was never likely.

Stuart had collaborated with Steve Wynn from Dream Syndicate on their Danny and Dusty side project for a tour and a couple of albums but it seemed that things were on the perpetual downslide from that period on.

Releasing his first book, the “false memoir” The Deliverance of Marlowe Billings in 2014, Stuart unleashed an accompanying album of the same name with a press release that rather alarmingly alluded to Stuart’s planned suicide following him splitting with his wife and “breaking out of a psychiatric facility” and heading to Mexico.

How much of this is fanciful is open to debate but given the bleakness of that album, it certainly has a ring of truth to it. The memoir was a barely disguised journey through the life and death of Green On Red (with some laugh out loud tales- see the account of a hotel room in Edinburgh with a U.K. Subs roadie for a flavour) and our hero’s personal journey.

2016 saw “Marlowe’s Revenge” released which was a rollicking take on love, loss murder and revenge backed by The Twin Tones, a young Mexican band.

Stuart has a way with a phrase, a word. He always has done, even back in the days of Green On Red; a world-weary, cynical, blackly humorous tone that has a morbid self- sufficiency about it. Dan Stuart doesn’t really care whether you or I like him; that’s not the point…

The Unfortunate Demise….is the final part in the trilogy and Stuart asserts that it’ll be the last record he releases. Given the previous alarm raised by his first “Billings” release, this may seem slightly bleak. Hopefully, it’s a Ziggy Stardust type retiral because the world needs more maverick guys like Dan Stuart. Remaining holed up in Mexico, this one has an odd finality about it nonetheless.

The album is a much more personal sounding record than anything that he’s released before- there’s an aching vulnerability about this ‘un that’s often been shielded in previous releases.

“Last Century Blues” comes on like a modern Sympathy For The Devil without the Jagger self-mythologizing. Stuart is, if you like, a bit of a post-punk  Hemingway-if old Ernie had anything of a sense of humour which he seemingly didn’t- he enjoys a bit of legend-making and allegory and his songs often paint a real aching picture with the barest of musical backing and his sometimes monologue drawl. The record is a dark, almost-travelogue through places real and imagined and the instrumental “In Transit” has a bit of the Ry Cooder dusty blues about it.

As mentioned, there’s a personal touch; “Upon A Father’s Death” and “Here Comes My Boy” are reflections on fatherhood, parenthood and death. “the Day William Holden Died” is seemingly about the youthful Stuart and there are a couple of songs (“You Were the Flower” and “Why I Ever Married You”) that are clearly his Blood On the Tracks moments.

“The Disappeared” is a lament to lost souls in South America and “Love And Danger” is simply beautiful in its simplicity.

As Dan Stuart puts it himself, “At the end of the day, it’s the end of the day.”

Joe Whyte

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The Defects/Heavy Drapes/Crimedesk - Bellfield Tavern (Kilmarnock) 13/05/18

Apparently Crimedesk are not a real a punk band.

They are too melodic, you can make out the words to the songs, and they can play their instruments.

How very dare they.

Imagine having the audacity to try and pull the wool over the "real" punk fans eyes by being good at what they do. Someone should write a strongly worded letter of complaint in words of one syllable and post it to "punks reunited" as the catalyst for a debate on what colour of tartan bondage trousers are in this season.

Stuff and nonsense. 

Crimedesk flash their punk rock credentials out every time they play a gig.

It's only those who are uncomfortable with anything that doesn't fit their narrow ACAB, smash the system, anarcheeeeeeeeee, cider4life, understanding of what punk is that can't accept that they are quite literally the definition of a punk rock band. 

From paying homage to The Stranglers to rolling out the tongue in cheek self penned " Manky Hoor" they are doing their own thing and refusing to be told what they should do. 

Isn't that celebration of non conformance to expectations exactly what punk is?

Crimedesk came to Kilmarnock and won over new punk fans on the strength of the power of a live performance and that in itself is the best counter argument to those who seem to cling to wilful ignorance when it comes to defining punk. 

They let the music do the talking and can walk away with their punk rock reputation intact after their set in the Bellfield Tavern in Kilmarnock.

Those who disagree are wrong.

And similarly Heavy Drapes are another band who suffer the slings and arrows of contemptuous sneering from those who are as equally keen to flag up their ignorance of what punk is at any given opportunity.

And again the argument carries no weight.

Heavy Drapes are carrying the torch that was lit by punk rock legends, and they can trace their aural lineage back to the primal roar of all the greats who defined what people widely understand to be punk rock. 

How anyone can claim they aren't punk, or not punk enough, is something that makes no sense at all.

There are of course the jealousy tinged dissenting voices that ask why they get the quality support slots, the festival offers, the support of the year zero pioneers, and a wave of media support.

The answer isn't complicated, and they know it.

It's because they are clearly better than most.

As the debut album creeps ever closer to being released their set continues to swell with new songs and they are operating at all killer no filler levels right now. 

It feels like a privilege to have seen them develop from those short sharp shock gigs to the current crowd killing shows that they are playing now.

Anyone who claims to have a passing interest in punk should already know who they are, but if they haven't seen them then they should rectify that as soon as possible as Heavy Drapes carry a real deal reputation lightly on their shoulders.

Not punk rock? Pfft. Put the cider down, slap the green eyed monster out of the way, and just join the party. It's happening whether you are on board or not so you may as well jump on and enjoy the ride.

The Defects suffer no such attacks on their punk rock credentials, and quite rightly so. Taking a leaf from Charlie Harpers book they are forever playing here, there, and everywhere, and cementing their reputation as a solid punk rock outfit as they go.

The reputation hasn't simply come from the relentless angle of playing though, but from delivering quality shows.

If they were bog standard then it wouldn't matter how often they played.. 

The longevity of their career, and the love and respect that is attached to their name, comes from being good at what they do.

Again it's not a complicated concept to wrap a head around. 

If a band have an ear for a tune and the ability to perform it with expertise and passion then they have struck on the winning formula, and if they can repeat that then even better, and the Defects can do that.

Song after song they kick the perception of punk being a stupid and unimaginative one trick pony into the long grass.

Far more melodic than their peers in the loose scene usually referred to as UK82 - a scene I have little to no interest in - they stand head and shoulders above their peers by avoiding all the tired old redundant unintelligible shouty cliches and instead concentrate on delivering a show that so many other bands wish they could.

It's bands like the Defects who take the jaded fans of punk and give them an injection of the good stuff that reminds them why they love it in the first place.

Viagra should sponsor them as they can bring life back to even the most tired old prick.

They came, they played, they conquered. What more could you ask for?

Here's to the next time they all congregate together to shake things up a bit.