This, otherwise Jaggie-less, summer has been bookended by two outdoor shows.
The first, at Golcar Conservative Club (30 May) marked DB's return to the limelight (or, since it was a Sunday afternoon, daylight).
The car park of Golcar Tory club is about as un-rock'n'roll, as unglamorous a venue as you can imagine. Quite a feat given that it is (a) a car park (b) behind a Tory club in (c) Golcar; somehow, it still manages to underwhelm. They haven't even got the decency to have a picture of our new bum-faced overlord on display so I can recycle the Maggie joke which got me thrown out of the Airdrie and Coatbridge Conservative And Unionist Club in 1982*.
After 2009's no-show "barbeque summer", hopes are not high for this year's weather and we get a taste of what's to come when, about thirty seconds into Higher Place, the sun disappears behind the gathering clouds and leaves us shivering in the late spring winds.
She Don't Know Me is followed by old favourite (well it is for some people) Don't Want To Miss A Thing during which DB just about bursts. "Now I remember why we stopped doing that," he wheezes.
More than one voice inquires, "because you can't sing it?"
Ouch.
It's very much a feet-finding gig for Dave and the sun finally comes out for him again late in the afternoon; not soon enough to stop us freezing half to death, though.
My "Dann sounds even better outdoors" theory, though? Definitely holds up.
And so to the August Bank Holiday (28 August); "Outdoorfest" (how long did it take them to come up with that name? Ten seconds? Less? Did it sound catchy after 13 pints of Yorkshire Blonde?) at the Wills O'Nats. Guess what?
It's fucking freezing.
Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to hold a gig on the moors over Meltham? Even if the sun had been out and we were mid-drought, this was always going to be more windswept than interesting. The Wills O'Nats was specifically built to offer shelter to poor souls trying to cross the Hills. You wouldn't organise a barbeque at a bothy half-way up Ben Nevis, would you? Actually, whoever had this brainwave probably would.
We arrive in time to catch the last few songs from Sheffield's Top Gun. Singer Paul is marvellous and guitarist Mark is pretty damn good too. However, where the former looks like a rock star, the latter looks like an economics teacher (albeit an economics teacher with a Flying V). Musical highlight is an outstanding version of Boz Scaggs' Lido Shuffle, which is just the thing to get feet moving and hands clapping to ward off the cold. Sadly, the rest of their choices are a bit unimaginitive. They help me decide once and for all, though, that it's not the Jaggies' fault, it's just that Bed of Roses is an excruciatingly dull song. I'm shivering.
Good to have a word with Bob Wider who's come along to watch, but - doctor's orders or no - DB's back in front of his band.
He's found the Running Man jacket he last wore three or four years ago. It still looks camp.
Higher Place opens - DB's voice is better than he's sounded in a loooooong time.
By half-way through, my spine has started to contract in the cold.
No Miss A Thing mistake this time; we get...
At bloody last.
If DB had listened to me 5 years ago, Who's Crying Now? would, by now, have been a well-established highlight of the band's set. As it is, I doubt there's a better version of the song on the circuit; absolutely top-notch arrangement; excellent three-way vocals, note-perfect, faithful recital from Dann followed by an extended, improvised solo. It's a work of art, quite frankly, but hasn't Journey-fatigue set in in club land?
By now, my knees are starting to ache.
Thunder, then Dann excels as usual on Blue Collar Man. Big Dave blasts out Separate Ways.
The cold wins. We head for the car.
See you somewhere warm sometime soon, guys.
*Me(pointing to picture of the Wicked Witch of the West hanging behind the bar): I see you've found the right place for Maggie
Steward: How d'ye mean?
Me: Nailed to the fucking wall
Finally, the sun comes out on DB;
