Jagged Edge - Old Tramshed, Shipley - May 2008

doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof

The Tramshed is packed to the rafters on Bank Holiday Monday. The boys are playing their third show in as many nights (the Barrow posse having clocked up over 600 miles so far) and Alan's drumkit is very, VERY LOUD!

doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof

Seriously, I went to the loo during Faithfully and thought the place was coming down; the walls start shakin', the earth was quakin', my mind was achin'...

Well, the plumbing was rattling in sympathy anyway...

So, brief (sorry, I'm busy!) highlights of the night;

(i) BLUE COLLAR HEADBANGERS! During Blue Collar Man, there were a dozen or so people lining the staircase, heads nodding merrily. I've never seen anyone headbang to Styx; maybe time to add some Quo to the Tramshed set?

(ii) NEW SONG! No, not the Howard Jones track (though that was good - hey, I'm an eighties kinda guy!) - Whitesnake's Fool For You Loving. You'd guess Big Dave would take the vocal and you'd be right - bloody good it was too (I still want to hear him sing Still of the Night, though). Good choice, good interpretation; a future set fixture is born, I'm betting.

(iii) EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED! Y'know that pillar in the middle of the stage? It was fairly inevitable that someone, someday, would indulge in a bit of pole dancing, wasn't it? How come it was a BLOKE? And a bloke in a HAWAIIAN SHIRT at that? Only at a Jaggie show...

Oh yeah, the Blackpool squad were in town and wee Jo did her usual cracking job on Sweet Child...

On the whole, another good night out.

Did I mention that Alan's drums were very, VERY LOUD?

doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof - doof


Mr Tambourine Man



Lonely Boy, Lonely Guitar



Hey Jo(e)



Prince Charming (Ridicule is nothing to be scared of)



Invoking the Spirit of Jim Morrison

Jagged Edge - Eastwood View, Rotherham - May 2008

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time. - Sir John Lubbock

It's been a long time since they rocked and rolled and the boys look unusually keen to get on stage. Rain stopped play at Linthwaite (a fairly common occurrence, to be honest) so they've had their feet up for the best part of a month and, it has to be said, they look the better for it.

The venue (once we finally figure out how to get into the place) looks for all the world like someone's wallpapered over the wooden panelling in my old school assembly hall. There's a big, high stage and, OK, the bar's a bit incongruous, but the hall's big and boxy - the ideal layout for a great sound; so no pressure on the crew!

The setlist is a joy for the Journey lovers with the full repertoire (Higher Place, Faithfully, Any Way You Want It, Don't Stop Believing, Separate Ways, Be Good To Yourself and Girl Can't Help It) being aired between the usual Jovi, Aerosmith, Styx, Floyd, GnR, Free etc. Poison and Thunder fill the "sometimes" spots.

All is well in the world - DB's in fine voice for the ballads, Dann's pulling all sorts of foot-on-the-monitor poses, big Dave's sporting a grin the width of Rosie's celebrated rear, DS is boogie-ing away and Alan, even though we can't see him, sounds like he's having a ball.

Comfortably Numb illustrates just how good the sound is - the vocals (which can be a bit cluttered and muddy on occasion) are crystal clear and Dann's solo is a veritable wall of sound. Linda and Tracie claim there's a bum note in there somewhere but I reckon that means his hit rate is still something like seventeen-trillion-to-one.

Best moments? With a show like this there are so many to choose from. Blue Collar Man has, as predicted, become a show highlight; Faithfully (another song which can lose its impact when the sound isn't right) just rocks; Sweet Child… gets the dancefloor swinging; the three drunk guys channelling Freddie Mercury with the campest dancing ever seen in a WMC; even the half-time bingo provides entertainment as we debate just what language the caller is speaking ("South Yorkshire" might be a bit more of a challenge for big Dave's translation software than French or German).

Oh, and the encores. Remember I hinted at a theory a couple of dates back?

Just because my position on imaginary sky pixies makes Richard Dawkins look like the Archbishop of Canterbury doesn't mean I didn't pay attention in RI class, y'know. According to Judges, God bestowed a child upon an infertile couple on condition that he never have his hair cut or drink alcohol (OK, that might be a weakness in my analogy but, come on, some people believe the biblical stuff). The deal was that God would stay with the child - Samson (he was part of the Tribe of Dan, don'tcha know) - for as long as these conditions were met.

It's some nine months since big Dave had his locks shorn and, though not (yet) back to the Coverdale/Plant proportions of yore, his curls are at least bothering his collar again. Now, it might just be me, but I reckon his performances are getting better and better as his hair returns. Both ...Rosie and Rock & Roll are blistering tonight; the voice is restored and he really looks like he's enjoying himself.

So, great show; the guys are refreshed following their little break and head into a busy period firing on all cylinders - a good time to catch them if you can.







Someone's having fun;


To complete the oil painting collection;

Andy Parsons - LBT - 7 May 2008

After years in the doldrums when, let's be brutally honest, the shite floated on a stagnant pond, the British stand-up scene is on a high, maybe an all-time high.

Intelligent, perceptive humour from people like Jeremy Hardy, Mark Steel and Marcus Brigstocke has passed into the mainstream via television exposure on programmes such as Have I Got News For You, QI and Mock the Week.

The thing is, they're not overnight sensations - they've been beavering away for years on the live circuit and in radio (still the natural home of proper, verbal humour).

This has instilled in them a work ethic which means they tour like rock bands used to - dozens of dates up and down the country bringing live comedy to those of us with limited access to the comedy clubs of the metropolises.

In the Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield has an outstanding venue which has, in the last twelve months, hosted not only the aforementioned, but now possibly the most underappreciated comedy talent in the land, Andy Parsons.

Andy's the same age as me, but that's not all we have in common. Oh, no sirree Bob. We've both lost the battle of the receding hairline and shamelessly sport compensatory facial hair; we both like Hobnobs; neither of us understands the popularity of David Blaine; we are both MySpace "friends" of Russell Howard.

There, however, the similarities end because, where I can amuse workmates for a few minutes at a time (scientists aren't the most demanding audience, it has to be said), Andy Parsons is one of the funniest people you will ever hear.

I first (knowingly) encountered him on Radio 2's Pullout Sections, the comedy news review he presents with long-time part-time partner, Henry Naylor. His pedigree, though, stretches back to Spitting Image, Alas Smith and Jones and Noel's House Party (but don't hold that against him).

The front row become aware, very quickly, that they are an integral part of the show. One lass offers Andy some nuts (she should have been paying more attention. Hobnobs, girl). One bloke (not the brightest light in West Yorkshire, it seems) becomes Robin to Andy's Batman for the night - a convenient excuse to explain the plot for the benefit of slower readers. We also have Craig and Chris, one the archetypal IT guy, the other a young goth who becomes the butt of more Cure jokes than you'd think possible - no idea which was which, I was laughing too much.

The subject matter for the show isn't exactly innovative; crime, politics, terrorism, Hobnobs, everyday stupidity and sex; Andy may stand politically opposite the Daily Mail reader at the bar of the Whistle & Ferret, but his concerns are comparable.

The routine could, I suppose, be viewed as a "greatest hits" package; a collection of the artist's favourite material from club nights and telly/radio shows. It's largely tried and tested stuff and it gets exactly the desired response, but the highlight of the night for me goes right over the heads of all but a handful.

During the interval, there's a track by the Cure slipped in to the music.

I don't think Craig (or Chris, whichever) even noticed.