Russell Howard - Bradford - November 2008

"I am NOT sitting there!"

When her boyfriend presented her with tickets for row D, she was probably a bit reticent; that's a bit close to the front for a comedy gig; definitely within range of the man on stage.

When she got there and discovered that St George's Hall didn't have a row A, B, or C, she freaked. Needless to say, the stewardess didn't take long to find another couple; more safely located; who were only too willing to swap.

The 40 or so student types between us (we're on row J and, yes, I had a seating plan when booking) and the action (they looked like they were on a class trip) grumbled.

It's just as well the rest of the seventy-seven THOUSAND people who have bought seats on this tour weren't all as troublesome.

Seventy seven thousand.

When I booked our tickets about six months ago, this was one of a dozen or so shows being advertised on Russell's MySpace. Now it's one of over 50 essentially sold-out gigs including one at the Wembley Arena.

I think it's fair to say that Russell's ship has come in this year.

We weren't anticipating a warm-up act and, in fairness, Steve Hall realised that. His poundshop David Baddiel routine, basically a series of amusing situations featuring his dad, went down well enough, though. It wasn't until afterwards that I discovered that he's one of the contributors to the sometimes-hysterical We Are Klang, so I'm putting this down as a disappointment.

Not so the main man.

Russell bounded onstage just like he does when he knows he's got a winning line for the performance area on Mock the Week. Then he talked. And he talked and he talked and he talked. And we laughed and we laughed and we laughed and the world was, for an hour and a half, a much, much better place.

The highlights were, of course, the unscripted bits; the impromptu debate between members of the audience about the relative merits of pies and pasties with Russell playing Jeremy Paxman will live long in the memory.



But not as long as the shoe incident. He probably thought it a bit odd when someone asked if he'd sign his shoe, but Russell continued with his performance and had probably forgotten all about it when, 15 or so minutes later, a Nike Air Jordan flew past his head and crashed into the wings.

If the momentary look of terror on his face as his brain raced to process what had just happened was worth the entrance, his vengeance was priceless.

Having asked the young man to come down from the balcony, Russell brought support act Steve back onstage and invited him to indulge in some, shall we say intimate behaviour with the trainer.

Needless to say, the would-be Iraqi journalist(*) wasn't too keen on recovering his footwear and it's probably just as well because Steve suffered what the tabloids call a wardrobe malfunction on removing said shoe from his underpants.

Just in case there had been any doubt about his religion.

I sincerely hope that guy didn't have athletes' foot.

Amazing show; narrowly pipping Frankie and Jimmy to join Andy Parsons as my joint favourite comedy show of the year. Actually, no; give Russell the title exclusively just on account of the lack of recycled material.

We even managed to get out of the carpark before midnight.

(*) George Bush had shoes thrown at him by an Iraqi journalist during his "farewell tour" of the middle east just a couple of weeks after this gig; http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/7783325.stm

Vampires Rock - Blackpool - November 2008

In The Court of the Crimson Queen



My clubbing days were over before rave took off. Blimey, does that age me or what? We used to get hi-energi and a bit of electronica; it wasn't total shite, but, in honesty, I never really "got" it.

Club Live and Let Die is, of course, not your run-of-the-mill two-Bacardi-Breezers-and-a-quickie-in-the-carpark meatmarket but our second visit in just twelve months is, you've probably guessed, the girls' idea.

Tracie and Dann are at the restaurant before us (again!) and there's a brief panic about parking penalties before we dine but the highlight of the preliminaries is the slightly tipsy bloke who's bought the object of his desire three presents; a woolly hat, a stick of rock and a pair of furry handcuffs.

"Are you a Goth?" he asks Linda.

To which I suppose the answer is, "Tonight, Matthew, yes. Yes I am."

This year's Vampires Rock is different enough to last year's to merit a fresh write-up, but I want to compare and contrast so you'll have to piece it together for yourself.

The three lead roles are still filled by Steve Steinman (von Rockula), Emiley Clark (Pandora) and Mike Taylor (Stringfellow) but the cast is now augmented by Toyah Wilcox as the Devil Queen.

What has the addition of an extra character done to the narrative? Buggered it up completely, that's what. The "old" story was unimaginative and simple, but at least it flowed; with the addition of a wife on the sidelines, the Baron's seduction of poor Pandora becomes needlessly complicated.

The song introductions are clunky; each title being the "punchline" to a pretty obvious build-up. The set list has been juggled just enough to freshen the show (a decent Hell's Bells replacing If You Want Blood; Stringfellow's Queen numbers, the highlight of the show; Steinman and Toyah making a decent fist of the otherwise utterly execrable Changes; the bizarre inclusion of People Are Strange which just doesn't fit; a couple of songs which, to my shame, I didn't know - maybe they were Toyah songs because It's A Mystery and Thunder in the Mountains were conspicuous by their absence).

Ah, Toyah. She's aged well, has that one. That'll be the clean living, godly lifestyle she's been following for the last 20-odd years, I suppose. Looking good and hitting all the right notes - especially on Sweet Child o'Mine which suited her voice perfectly. She also cracked an "X-Factor reject" joke which would have been soooo much funnier if she'd made it "Stars In Their Eyes".

The sound was poor, it has to be said; the vocals were turned up way too high which caused distortion (which in turn accentuated the diction problems of both Steinman and Clark). It was particularly noticeable on last year's highlight, Total Eclipse of the Heart which was drunken karaoke standard this time around.

The band was solid; Jordan Bracewell filled the rather large boots of Eddie Ojeda but seemed to be on a short lead; not allowed to rock out too much so whether he's a Fripp (or a Rosingana, for that matter) we know not.

The everyone-on-your-feet-and-sing-along encore showed La Wilcox's influence again with the inclusion of God Gave Rock'n'Roll to You. This was introduced by way of a lengthy diatribe by Steinman telling off his audience for cheering the show's demonic references.

You need to keep your guest star sweet, Steve; we don't... At the altar of rock and roll we kneel.

Oh, and Blackpool had shut for the season when we got out. Two thousand rockers looking for a pint or five and they shut the Winter Gardens bars? What genius is in charge there?

David Cassidy - SECC - November 2008

"Over'rer, hen, in the armadillo"
"How dae you know wherr we waaant tae be?"
"Audience profilin' doll, audience profilin'."

Two women of a certain age are redirected away from the hall where Paul Weller is to play to a collection of soul boys and grown-up mods. We only know it's the Modfather because the audience-profiler-come-bouncer didn't stop us and we'd reached the merchandising stalls before realising we were at the wrong gig. This has me thinking that my new Henry Winkler-style satin bomber jacket isn’t as cutting-edge as I’d imagined.

I watched them build the SECC. It was a big, red box the last time I saw it, but that's changed. Sometime between me leaving home and now, they painted it grey and Norman Foster (see the account of our visit to Wembley) built the armadillo or "Clyde Auditorium" to give it its official title. This is my first time in it. It's rather nice; solid, in a corporate conference kind of way; I can see John Harvey Jones, Richard Branson or Alan Sugar addressing massed ranks of blokes in suits (actually, scratch JHJ, what with him being dead and all).

Surprisingly, it doesn't seem to be a sell-out; the credit crunch having an effect on sales, perhaps? With the falling pound, tours by American artists will only become more expensive (if they happen at all); I wonder how many will regret missing this one in years to come?

Those who are here have come from far and wide; there's an Italian girl beside us who has friends scattered throughout the hall in odd seats. Why they didn't get seats together, we'll never know.

The lights go down and Glasgow demonstrates that the Apollo spirit never died. Seats are abandoned and if half of the audience isn't crushed against the stage, reaching for their hero, then it isn't far short. The Apollo bouncers used to drag out a token fan or two for a beating, but they were only dealing with punks, rockers or mods; not menopausal women. No-one even thinks of trying to stop them.

"It's unbelievable" are David Cassidy's first spoken words a couple of songs into the set. The crowd screams as they are acknowledged, but Cassidy goes on, "unbelievable how quickly a guitar can go out of tune in my hands!"

A laugh and the bond between stage and floor is made. I've said it before and tonight merely confirms it; Cassidy, former teen idol, is the consummate showman. At no time is it better illustrated than when he launches into his obligatory Lennon/McCartney number. This time, it's You've Got to Hide Your Love Away which David makes a singalong. Not, as you'd expect, with roof-raising "Hey"s, though; tonight, conducted by the puppetmaster in the spotlight, Glasgow whispers the Beatles song in perfect harmony.

The quiet theme is continued by a somewhat unlikely cover; an only-slightly-lighter-than-Deep-Purple's arrangement of Hush. Arrangements are a bit of a theme, actually - we get "Dance Party" versions of two staples; I'll Meet You Halfway is OK, but Cherish doesn't need funking up.

David swaps places with his drummer and she delivers a fairly decent rendition of Brass In Pocket, but the night is really all about what the fans want to hear, as determined by an online vote.

Some Kind Of A Summer tops the poll (in no small part thanks to my own vote, I like to think) and the only curve ball is Mae which David plays acoustically, unaccompanied, authentically struggling with the chord changes since he hasn't played it in anger in years.

The lights go up, the amps go off and I get my wife back; back from her trip down memory lane; she's spent the last two hours, as she always does in the presence of her hero, 35 years ago. I'm pleased to say that, since tomorrow is our sixth anniversary, she never looks too disappointed when the 21st century reclaims her.

Frankie Boyle - Bradford - November 2008

AC/DC. Whitesnake. Iron Maiden.

Those are three tour t-shirts I once owned which, alongside the mighty Glasgow Apollo, featured impossibly exotic venues like Leicester's De Montford Hall, The Hammersmith Odeon, the Royal Concert Hall at Nottingham and tonight's auditorium; St George's Hall, Bradford.

Blimey.

When I were a lad, I thought the Appalling (as it was known locally) was what concert halls were like. In reality, it was a 1920s cinema (the biggest in the country - it sat four thousand customers) converted for concert use, but the Glasgow audience earned it the reputation of the greatest gig in the world - AC/DC, Rush, Quo, Gary Moore all chose it to record their live albums.

Oh lordy (or, indeed, Lordi); what would we have done in a place like St George's Hall? What must it have been like to see Maiden in their 80s prime at a wonderful, compact, standing venue?

I never thought I'd say it, but I'm a bit jealous.

Someone else who must've visited the Apollo once or twice is following in the footsteps of Rock's elite tonight and, just as they probably did for the World Piece Tour, the "Sold Out" signs are on the doors as we approach the 150-year-old venue. At the Apollo, he'd have been awarded a "Sold Right Out" golden statuette; I suspect Frankie Boyle, unlike Johnny Cash who famously left his in the dressing room bin, would have treasured such a trophy.

Warm-up act Martin Bigpig is a revelation; a big, loud, bearded bloke from Norn Iron who reminds me of Billy Connolly in his younger days - a very enthusiastic, very offensive, very funny guy who sets the bar (and the cursemeter) at just the right height for the headliner. His handling of the would-be gatecrasher and the ineffectual bouncer was absolutely fantastic.

Regular readers will know that I've been lucky enough to catch several of my favourite comedians over the last couple of years. Tonight is the first time, though, that I've actually been nervous to the point of fear before a show. Frankie gets away with murder on Mock The Week; just what is he going to be like without censorship?

We soon find out as Shannon Matthews and the sainted Madeleine (or rather, the two girls' families) become the focus of prolonged, uncomfortable but, yes, hilarious attacks.

The "C" word is bandied about with such abandon that it loses its shock value but it is the material between the deliberately offensive punctuation where Frankie demonstrates his talent as a wordsmith and raconteur.

Quite simply, the guy is one of the funniest ****s you'll ever see.



There's some familiar stuff from Mock The Week, but most of the material (maybe 75%?) is fresh (or at least unfamiliar - some of the "topical" subjects are starting to get a bit mouldy - the Josef Fritzl stuff, for example).

Audience participation is good though he didn't have much to work with. Complaints? An hour and a quarter is a bit short, no encore is a bit poor and that NCP carpark took forever (well, about 45 minutes) to get out of.

A good night.

Jimmy Carr - Halifax - October 2008

The only entertainers I've previously heard described as "technicians" are drummers, so it is somewhat appropriate that Jimmy Carr's latest 240bpm stage show is titled Joke Technician.

It seems a strange thing to say but, in a comedy sea of meandering observational comics and satirists, Carr's one- and two-liners are a breath of fresh air; set 'em up, knock 'em down jokes which you can repeat in the pub after half a dozen Stellas. If you dare.

He's been compared to the late, great Bob Monkhouse but I'd offer a, perhaps, slightly less eminent comparator. Carr, in the spirit of "The Comedians", is a latter day Frank Carson; it's the way he tells 'em.

Oh, and tell 'em he does. Nothing longer than 10 seconds or so; joke-laugh-joke-laugh-lather-rinse-repeat. Some material hits the spot, some hits a nerve; anything that misses is quickly forgotten as another line, then another, then another hit home.

Props are minimal - a Powerpoint presentation, an (unused in this performance) piano and a few clipboards.

Material is fresh (a few old favourite lines thrown in, but largely new) and topical (a show in Halifax in the current financial climate? An opportunity not to be missed).

Hecklers are dealt with stylishly or dismissively, depending on the quality of the heckling (the acknowledgement of the "caravanning" woman was a nice touch, the interaction with the HBoS IT guy was great. Why is there always an IT guy on the front row?)

A great crowd (well done, Halifax) and a performer feeding off them made for an excellent show - Carr even hosted a line-up (oo-er, missus!) in the Foyer afterwards, signing programmes, tickets and (probably) body parts for anyone who cared to wait.

He might still have the most punchable face in British comedy, but there's a thoroughly good bloke behind it.

I wonder why he had a picture of Johnny Vaughan on his posters, though?

Jagged Edge - Colley WMC - October 2008

Once again, my mental sat-nav got us to within yards of a venue then got us lost; this happens alarmingly often - I can get you to within half a mile of just about anywhere in the country you care to name, but don't ask me to find the hotel/pub/theatre. Usually, it's no big deal but tonight the band were closing Runaway when we arrived.

A cracking venue, Colley WMC; big and symmetrical with lovely woodwork which looks as if it's probably recycled from a previous premises. It's also the only club I've ever been in with a dedicated, cordoned off and signposted "Standing" area. I smell health and safety...

Standing at the bar I hear a tsst-tsst-tsst sound similar to that hiss you used to get when you played records quietly with the turntable lid up. Stage centre, though, the sound is great; despite (or possibly because of?) being limited by a Waterloo-style decibel meter.

First highlight of the night is Blue Collar Man. Dann's in terrific voice - best I've heard him sing, I think. The song gets a fantastic reception from the sizeable crowd, most of whom I'm guessing haven't heard it before (this being the first time the boys have played here).

An excellent Take it on the Run follows, then Comfortably Numb seems to come around much sooner than normal (missing a couple of songs really does shorten the set) and is spellbinding enough to stop the two blokes behind me discussing their sex lives for five minutes.

Oh joy... an hour of bingo. Ah well, it gives us time to catch up on gossip.



The dancefloor is filled for the second half. I've been disappointed by the number and standard of mad dancers this year - one bloke tonight looks like he should be auditing the local high school, but whither the sunburnt teletubbies and leprechauns of yore?

(Love is Like) Oxygen gets an airing and the well-deserved second encore is Is This Love? but the highlight of the second act is Big Dave being outscreamed on ...Rosie. I don't think he needs to worry about being replaced, somehow.

Dave'n'Dave

Dave'n'Alan

Dave'n'Dave

Dave'n'Dann

Dave'n'Dann

Anything you can scream...

Let's Dance




Dann: So then I wiggle my finger here and it goes peeee-ooow
Dave: Cor! That's clever!
Dave: [mutter, mutter] I showed him how to do that [mutter, mutter]

Jagged Edge - Rochdale Transport Club - August 2008

Best laid plans and all that... Seems that Blackpool's Whitefire have called it a day before I got the chance to see them.

Anyway, just a few brief comments because this was simply a thoroughly enjoyable show by a bunch of lads who looked to be ready for the well-deserved break they are now taking.

A considerably bigger crowd for this, our second, visit to Rochdale Transport Club. Bigger crowd and smaller PA (this is becoming a theme this summer) which gave a great sound in the oddly-shaped room.

The first set followed the customary playlist; highlights were Blue Collar Man, Every Rose Has Its Thorn (with local boy Carl guesting again) and Comfortably Numb.

The second set kept the dancefloor rocking, with all the usual G'n'R, Bon Jovi, etc being augmented by Whitesnake (...Love Tonight) and Van Halen. Now, the Transport Club building is probably close to a hundred years old and it was probably built to withstand some serious abuse, but some of those Rochdale lads'n'lasses really shouldn't have been encouraged to Jump.

Big Dave (who'd been even more animated than usual throughout) brought normal proceedings to a close in his own inimitable manner then we were treated to (the always welcome) Girl Can't Help It as a bonus.

Enjoy the sabbatical, guys - you've earned it.











This is the voice of the Mysterons...


Who ya gonna call...?

Jagged Edge - Riffs, Blackpool - August 2008

We didn't know it but, back in the much-maligned eighties, we were spoilt rotten.

In the days before 24 hour music television, the big bands recorded an album a year then toured - really toured - so we unwashed masses could see our gods in the flesh. It was the only way for them to stay in the spotlight; rock fans have always been fickle.

Looking back to calendar year 1984 (end of high school/start of college), I reckon I saw; (deep breath) The Scorpions (with Mama's Boys supporting), Gary Moore, Whitesnake, Thompson Twins, Ultravox, OMD, Iron Maiden (with Waysted), Dio (with Queensryche), Kiss (with Bon Jovi), Big Country (at least twice), Duran Duran, Malmsteen's Rising Force (that might've been '85) and Hanoi Rocks. The most expensive ticket was Kiss at £8; I think Hanoi was a couple of quid on the door.

In and among these big shows, though, were the Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights spent at The Heathery Bar, The Dial Inn, The Mayfair, The Howff, various students' unions and dozens of other pubs and clubs hosting a most vibrant local music scene; The Dolphins (the finest band who never made it), Glasgow (named for their home city because "it's good enough for Chicago or Boston"), Zero Zero (whose least talented member, Andy McCafferty, changed his name to Tantrum and went on to play guitar in the Almighty), Heavy Pettin' (Scotland's Def Leppard, until some muppet promoter talked them into entering Eurovision) or Chasar (a heavily Rush-influenced power trio with the biggest - I'm talking size of individuals here - following I've ever seen; not one of them under 6 foot).

So what if my memories are from Lanarkshire and the west of Scotland? Barrow, Huddersfield and Bradford would have had their equivalent (OK, maybe not Barrow); take a moment to wallow in your own nostalgia...




Feels nice, doesn't it?

OK, there is a point to this (apart from me namedropping all the rather cool bands I got to see, even if OMD were well past their best) and that is that we simply don't have the wealth of places for bands to play these days. The money men tied up acts and venues alike many moons ago, so it feels bad to criticise a new place, especially a rock-friendly one, but...

Naughty, naughty, very naughty. To advertise a support band - on the door, on the night - when you know perfectly well that they're a no-show - is just rude. Especially when they sound as good as Whitefire do on their MySpace page. I was rather looking forward to seeing them; not to an "I'd go to Blackpool specially" extent, but I'll certainly be keeping an eye open for them appearing on this side of t'hill.

Apparently, Riffs don't employ cleaners, either. The boys' last appearance there resulted in numerous complaints about muck being dislodged from the ceiling into glasses, so this performance is an adventure in lo-fi; Jagged Edge on a house PA, no fancy flashing lights, no annoying flashing laser; just The Rock.

Let's smell what it's cookin'...

Without the distractions, I'm immersed in the sound. The mix is fantastic; swirling keys and wailing guitars twist and turn around the solid rhythm; vocals are perfectly blended; DB will hate me for saying it, but this sound is up there with the very best presentations with the full kit. Only a slightly muddy bass and some spurious feedback let it down.

Runaway trips over itself in the closing bars so we get a rather ramshackle improvised ending; ...Miss a Thing has rarely sounded so chilled; Boston, Styx and Thunder are effortless, Comfortably Numb is possibly the best it has ever sounded; all the more surprising, then, when we learn that Dann can't hear a thing onstage.

Opening part two, Big Dave teases us by introducing Asia's Don't Cry but the song (sadly) doesn't get an airing ( I hope the rest of the band are listening to the big man's new song suggestions). The set is, instead, fairly standard with Jo making her usual appearance in front of her home audience, Don't Stop Believing and the Bon Jovi double providing the singalong soundtrack and All Right Now and Rock'n'Roll filling the dancefloor; the audience becoming more animated as the night draws to a close.

Dann's solo highlights just how good the sound is; every single note is crystal clear; watching the slowly encroaching crowd gather around him brings back school memories; fight! fight! fight!

As I noted previously when we visited the Royal Oak, the Blackpool crowd enjoy their music and show their appreciation; it's a shame that Riffs doesn't have the same respect for its punters.

The rather feeble house spotlights didn't make for great photography, either;

Jagged Edge - Rock Cafe - July 2008

I think it's fairly well documented that the Rock Cafe isn't my favourite venue, but our most recent visit started promisingly with a much-reduced PA; maybe it wouldn't be as ear-splittingly loud as usual.

DB's tired, Dann's voice is in doubt; there must be a good case for the band to take a proper break – it's only rock'n'roll, after all.

Our understanding of DB's psyche; as revealed by his iPod; was furthered in an interesting direction. MSG followed by Gary Numan? Kiss by Leif Garrett???

Remembering the 70s disco heart-throb knocked me right off kilter, I must admit, but it turns out he's lived the regular fallen star lifestyle and is a hopeless junkie these days as this mugshot from his bust for heroin possession proves;



He's only forty-something, y'know. Drugs is baaaad, kids.

Anyway, the boys gave a knockout performance on Thursday; the Journey/Jovi/Aerosmith trio sounded fantastic and the first set included REO, Styx and Boston to scratch my AOR itch good and proper. The sound had deteriorated a bit by the time Comfortably Numb came around, but it was still an order of magnitude better than normal for the Cafe.

The sound was sorted out for the start of part two and the second set featured wee Jo on Sweet Child... and an unexpectedly loud guest on ...Bad Name. The highlight of the night, though, was big Dave's encore spot – the big man was rock'n'roll personified; a blistering performance.

Throw in Bed of Roses as a bonus and the night's easily the best we've had at the venue.









Loudest ever crowd participant;



At least one former teen heart-throb has aged a bit better than Leif;

Jagged Edge - Broad Oak - July 2008

Independence day. America is, what, 232 years old this year? And still acting like a spoilt brat playground bully? They need to shift their fat arses along to a Jagged Edge gig or two; learn to relax. Maybe we could get Osama along, too; they could all have a beer together and debate whether Whitesnake counts as "heavy" or not.

I'm wandering again, aren't I?

Over the last few years I've missed a fair number of gigs because of prior commitments -
2005 Styx (away on business), Dio (performing Holy Diver in its entirety, no less - holiday)
2006 Journey (Augeri - holiday)
2007 Journey (JSS - business), Marcus Brigstocke at the LBT (holiday)

Last week takes some beating, though; Def Leppard. Whitesnake. Journey (Pineda).

What a week to fly to the Canaries.

Ah well; if I'd taken the punt on tickets for Saturday's Harewood House show we'd have missed it anyway thanks to flight delay; just need to make do with this outdoor event...

The Jaggies' last attempt at playing Broad Oak fell foul of the weather and it looked - as late as Thursday - like this one might go the same way. Thankfully, the God of Rock smiled upon his chosen ones and Linthwaite partied all night long.

The sound was a bit weedy in the first half with the vocal delay being lost to the slowly-darkening night sky, but that didn't detract from a set chosen to be recognisable to the large contingent of younger attendees. The assorted hoodies, ladettes and other "bangin' tunes" afficianados sang along with the ones they knew (Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, Thunder) and politely ignored the ones they didn't (pretty much everything else, including a fantastic rendition of More Than A Feeling).

Quote of the night came from a skinny, pasty-white, red haired lad in an England trackie top who spoke like Ali G (honestly, you couldn't make this stuff up); "That guitar guy's wicked, man".

The sound came together much better in the second set; Alex Mullen joined the band for a cracking run-through of Bad Company's Can't Get Enough, we had The Sweet, Journey, Guns'n'Roses and Bon Jovi before "that guitar guy" defied the plummeting temperature to deliver a stunning solo spot.

Adagio just sounds better in the open air, somehow.

The encores pushed the show right up to the midnight curfew. Great show.

For trailer trash.


Trailer trash.


Where's my crowd?


We're over heee-eere!


It's all gone a bit Eye of the Tiger


Listen closely and you can hear this photo


Alex'n'Dave


Tubthumpin'


Psychedelic


What does this button do?


Michael Bolton moment


Plugging the website. This guy's a closet Big Brother viewer, y'know...