Clearing the Backlog

I've been sitting on a pile of half-hearted notes for weeks now.

I tried to clear my backlog at the start of the month, but my enthusiasm evaporated with the devastating news of Gary Moore's death and, for the first time in my life, I've been wrestling with writers' block ever since.

This weekend, though, this weekend I'm furious and it's helped blow off the cobwebs. Let's get you up to date.

We went to Rochdale (October 29th) to see the Jaggies at the Bar Mystique. When we got there, we found DB and the sound crew installing the PA in the pub downstairs, The Flying Horse. Turns out the staircase was too narrow to get the rig up so it was downstairs or nothing.

The pub wasn't a classic rock pub, the audience being more eight-pints-of-Stella-and-wotchoofookinlookinat? than we're accustomed to. The layout wasn't really live-act friendly, either; the guys being tucked away around a corner such that we could only actually see DB; not one we'd rush back to.







The following weekend saw us in the familiar and much more amenable surroundings of the Ashfield (November 6th); a good gig on the eve of my photoshoot with the band at Owen Towers where Alan's old workshop made an excellent setting for some new promo photos.







2010 was brought to a close with an appearance at Golcar's Junction One (December 5th), another rather-too-intimate venue which would be better suited to an acoustic set should the guys ever feel that way inclined.


Into the new year and Mark Steel (January 26th) started his 47-date "In Town" tour at the LBT. Two hours of solid laughs in which the 20 minutes or so of bespoke material more than made up for the stuff already familiar from his books. Great stuff.



A couple of decent Jaggie gigs to get the new year off to a good start, too.

Ings Lane (January 29th) is a thank-god-for-Streetview venue; I'd never have found it if I hadn't recce'd with Google's stalker-cam beforehand! Good venue, too, if a bit too keen on bingo.



The Rock Cafe (February 3rd)? Well, it's the Rock Cafe, isn't it? Drunken women. I got dragged up to dance. It wasn't by Linda. We'll say no more.

Then the Moore news came through.

(Posted 27 February)

Davey's On the Road Again - Jagged Edge Summer 2010

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;

Jason Manford - LBT, May 2010

Laughter's the best medicine.


If you've been paying attention (you have been paying attention, haven't you?) you'll know I was a bit low, but sometimes things just fall nicely.

We were away on holiday the last time Jason Manford appeared in Huddersfield and I feared we'd missed the last chance we were going to get to see him in the LBT - his star was in the ascendant; he was heading for bigger (and better?) things. Consequently, I wasn't paying attention and didn't notice this warm-up for his Edinburgh Fringe show until it was well on the way to being a sell-out. Our seats are therefore what was left rather than our first choice, but we're facing the stage, even if we're ~ahem~ slightly more elevated than we'd like.

It's a surprisingly long way down from the second tier; Victorian Methodists clearly didn't suffer from vertigo.

Actually, the first pleasant surprise of the evening comes even before we've reached our seats; Jason reckons a £5-per-ticket refund (on the already bargain £14 face value) is in order because the show isn't polished yet. Jessica spends several minutes studying the notes we've been handed, checking for signs of forgery; they're real.

Jason quickly establishes an easy rapport with the audience; there's no fear from the floor, no worry that he's going to humiliate anyone - he's just a mate who wants to chat. A postman on the front row gives Jason a chance to slate "modernisation", a couple of forensic science students from the Uni let him have a gentle dig at Polyversities ("Where did you want to go?") and - courtesy of their absent friend - students in general.

Armed with nothing more than a few reminder notes, he takes us through growing up; touches on politics, football, school, religion; nothing too challenging or threatening but all beautifully observed.

We're invited to offer up our favourite misunderstandings during the interval and this provides the kindling for a very interactive second half. A request for tellings-off from famous people encourages the ginger girl from the Jimmy Carr show...

...STOP PRESS...

I never wrote that up, did I? OK, very briefly then...

JIMMY CARR "RAPIER WIT" - Huddersfield Town Hall, 19 March 2010

Jimmy's Rapier Wit tour started about a week after his Joke Technician tour ended.

We saw him at the Town Hall and he was every bit as good as he was last time.

There was a ginger girl heckler who really didn't know when to shut up, no matter how many times Jimmy told her.

He didn't tell the amputee soldier/paralympic team joke.

But he should have.

Right, where was I? Oh yeah, a request for tellings-off from famous people encourages the ginger girl from the Jimmy Carr show to volunteer her bollocking. This has the effect of getting her heckled by someone else who remembered her. Jimmy Carr is trumped by Brian Clough, which is fair enough.

Jason regales us with his Royal Variety Show experiences then personal hygiene (or rather, lack of it) forms an unlikely subject for a bit. Jason is, in turn, impressed by Huddersfield's Christmas lights being switched on by Patrick Stewart then somewhat taken aback by our blasé dismissal of Jean Luc's "celebrity".

Finally free of the Peter Kay comparisons, Jason has carved himself a potential niche as a new century family entertainer; there's enough "bad language" to give him a little edge, but not so much that you'd hide the DVD from granny or all but the youngest children. Would it be unfair to call him a slightly-less-middle-class Michael McIntyre? Probably, not least because his age means that Jason is younger than the bulk of his audience.

Jason's tour proper is selling out multiple nights at three and four thousand seater venues and each and every person who pays their £20 will leave believing they've had value for money. Tonight, we got over two hours of stage time, with pretty much all-new, extremely funny material for nine quid. That's a bargain in anybody's books.

Dio è morto – God is Dead

My hero is dead.

In 1983 my life changed. Up until then, I’d been quite a chart follower; a fairly conventional teenager – the bulk of my record collection was made up of stuff which had been top 20 – Duran Duran back to The Specials back to The Jam, back to Blondie back to the Four Seasons (December 1963 being the first record I ever went into a shop to buy).

I’d quite enjoyed my music but it had never really defined me; I’d liked some punk without being a punk, some ska without being a rude boy, some electropop without being a new romantic, some rock without being a rocker. That changed on an evening in late summer 1983. Tom Russell’s rock show on Radio Clyde – “Lie back, relax, enjoy yourself and stay awake!” - was my falling-asleep-sound of choice back then; I usually lasted half an hour or so but, when Tom opened the show with a song called Holy Diver and promised more later, I knew this wasn’t going to be a normal night.

An hour or so later Evil Eyes and Don’t Talk To Strangers had sealed the deal; I was a Dio fan. On Saturday morning I was in old Mr Jameson’s record shop; of course he knew Dio, didn’t I? The album wasn’t out yet, but the 12” single got played and played and played until it was. I rounded up the troops and organised the trip to the Apollo to see this wonderful new band live. It was, and remains, the best gig I ever went to. The Apollo was the greatest venue in the world and Ronnie knew it.

I wore my tour t-shirt for all my Highers in 1984. Of course I passed them all. Its “lucky” status thus established, I wore it for every exam through college, so my degree, my career and most of my life-defining decisions owe rather a lot to Ronnie James Dio.

In time, I explored the back catalogue – Black Sabbath, Rainbow, Elf, all the way back to his rockabilly-doo-wop-whatever-you-call-that-fifties-sound origins with Ronnie and The Prophets (well worth a listen, metalheads - you might learn something) – and saw them again and again (the infamous Dio vs Denzil fight, and his apology from the Edinburgh stage for not playing “somewhere else” included.  That was with Brian from college - running for the train afterwards is probably the last time I managed more than 200 metres without collapsing in a spluttering, breathless heap.)

Ronald James “Dio” Padavona passed away peacefully after a long illness on Sunday 16 May 2010, aged 67. The world is a worse place for his leaving.

Jagged Edge - Ashfield - May 2010

Two for the price of one...

At Dann’s suggestion, I’m having a listen to the new (well, the latest) Dream Theater album while I’m writing this, so you’ll be getting two reviews in one.

Anticlimax. It’s a very odd feeling and one I’ve only experienced on a handful of occasions. Scotland going out of Argentina ’78 despite that performance against Holland; the second Spandau Ballet album on which they went from synthesiser innovators to crap soul/funk in the space of half-an-hour; Albion Rovers missing out on promotion 10 minutes after everyone else’s season ended because the East Fife game had been delayed for crowd congestion (yes, really) and they scored in the 90th minute; Evita, the film I waited for for two whole decades (I’d braced myself for Madge, but Banderas’ mediocrity took me by surprise); and now the 2010 election.

Black Clouds and Silver Linings opens with A Nightmare to Remember; a cheerful story about a car crash. Good musically, a bit "meh!" lyrically and downright embarrassing vocally, especially when they do the grunt-y stuff at the end.

I’ve been an advocate of proportional representation ever since John The Mon taught us the ins and outs of the single transferrable vote in 3^rd year modern history, but I never really thought I’d see it in force for a British parliamentary election. Despite my generally laid-back, cheerful disposition, I am quite a glass-half-empty cynic when it comes to the stuff that really matters; I tend to assume that the bastards won’t do the right thing, that way I’m rarely disappointed. Just for once, though, I dared to hope – almost believe – that things really were about to get better but, when it came to the moment of actually putting your marks on papers, you all bottled it and let your tribal hearts overrule your rebellious heads once again.

Well, most of you did. Enough to give us a bum-faced overlord for the next few years, anyway. Sometimes I hate you all.

It's just occurred to me that the last Dream Theater album I actually listened to all the way through was 1994's Awake, so it seems I managed to get through 13 years of NewLabour without our paths crossing. A quick check reveals that I've missed six studio and four live albums in that time. Really? Four live albums? Does anyone need four live albums? With rare exceptions, they're shite. Anyway, A Rite of Passage is an upbeat little ditty, maybe as close as Dream Theater will ever get to recording a pop song and certainly the closest the Masons will ever get to being in one.

In need of cheering up, we head for Barnsley, There. I said it. You’ll never hear or read that sentence ever again. I like the Ashfield, but it really could do with some form of carpark; it just feels wrong leaving the car on the main road like that. My t-shirt - last gig's "New Singer..." design - gets a few smiles (and a few scowls from those who think it's some sort of Tory propaganda); satire hasn't reached South Yorkshire, clearly.

Ooh! I take back the pop song comment! Wither could quite easily be a Styx song. The vocals are starting to annoy me a bit now; if DT had someone who could actually sing, they could be something really special.

Regular readers (there are a few of you) will have gathered that Linda and I have exceptionally unfashionable - make that uncool - listening and viewing habits so it'll come as no surprise to you to learn that Glee is on our weekly schedule. I have a theory, however, that we may not be the only Jaggie regulars with an interest in the show. It can't just be coincidence that the show has featured REO Speedwagon, Van Halen, Journey and now Motley Crue, can it? Is big Dave moonlighting on the production team? If he turns up in a cheerleader's outfit you heard it here first.

Uh oh. More grunting (or is it growling?) The Shattered Fortress has the feel of one of Rush's multi-parters, but it's a close-but-no-cigar effort; more Natural Science than 2112. There's a rather dodgy, heavily processed spoken part half-way through which doesn't do it for me. On the subject of Rush, the next track, The Best of Times, follows a similar vibe to its predecessor but does it much better; very Spirit of Radio. My favourite so far.

Anyway, there aren't any surprises in tonight's (pretty much unchanged) set, so it's nice to just sit back and enjoy a well performed show by a bunch of guys who are coming together really well. Dann is fluid and looking more into it than he has in ages; Big Dave and Alan are in the groove; Dave keys is dancing! Bob? Bob is finding his feet very nicely; a couple of gigs down the road he looks more comfortable with his new bandmates and it shows in his vocal, too; much more relaxed; my previous criticism about his harmonies dealt with and forgotten.

Final track The Count of Tuscany clocks in at an incredible 20 minutes; I'm fairly sure I own albums which barely last that long. It's another song which is really engaging from a musical perspective but is left wanting lyrically and vocally, so let's hear it for the Special Edition! Black Clouds and Silver Linings comes with a couple of bonuses; a compilation of cover versions (and why not? Everyone else seems to be doing it), and an instrumental version of the entire album; all the good stuff without the weaknesses. I wonder if The Brothers fancy recording some vocal tracks?

With excellent sound throughout, highlights are Feels Like the First Time, Blue Collar Man, Comfortably Numb and Dann's solo (complete with improvised finale as the rest of the band have forgotten to come back) but that isn't an easy choice from such a well executed set. As I've said before, some nights are just better than others. This was one of them.

Jo Caulfield Won't Shut Up! - LBT, April 2010

Where Were You Hiding When the Storm Broke?

One of those things in life which I’m resentful about for no good reason is the “where were you ...?” phenomenon.

You know what I mean – “where were you when Kennedy was shot?”, “where were you when man walked on the moon?” that kinda thing.

Part of the resentment comes from the former being before I was born and the latter being not long after I took my own first steps I suppose, but I think most of it comes from the rubbish events we’ve had since then and my rubbish responses to what little I’ve got to work with.

Where were you when Lennon was shot? In bed listening to Tiger Tim on Radio Clyde.

Where were you when Thatcher resigned? On the bus outside Huddersfield Job Centre (OK, that’s quite apt) listening to the story break on Radio 4.

Where were you when Diana died? Watching QVC.

Where were you on 9/11? Sitting in the car park of the sandwich shop near work as it unfolded over every radio station.

Where were you when the tsunami killed a quarter of a million? Tidying up after Christmas day and listening to 5Live.

You see a theme here? With occasional breaks for comic memorabilia sales on unfashionable TV channels, I’ve spent most of my life within earshot of a radio. Most of the big news stories have reached me that way; about the only exceptions I can think of being 7/7 (satellite telly in a hotel bar in Portugal) and Hillsborough (on multiple TV screens in the window of an electrical shop on Poole high street).

Our Jessica’s a different kettle of fish. She loathes the way radio insists on trying to sell her car insurance between bangin’ tunes; if anything separates her generation from mine, it’s patience.

So it came to pass that, on the day Europe’s airspace was closed for a week, Jessica’s first knowledge of the eruption of Iceland’s Eyjafjallajokull volcano came from a Jo Caulfield joke.

That, dear reader, is cool.

A good four or five years ago, BBC7 was broadcasting loads of stand-up routines in their comedy slot which I ripped from the web stream and loaded onto both my and Linda’s mp3 players for holiday listening. Beneath the Canary Island sun, we agreed that, by far the best (and the competition was pretty fierce; Nick Revell, Rhod Gilbert, Ardal O’Hanlon and the like), was a show from the Edinburgh fringe by a young lady named Jo Caulfield who immediately took a prominent spot on our “to see” list.

Events conspired to thwart us on our first attempts; Jo still hasn’t been forgiven for canceling her 2007 date in Huddersfield (which I whined about at the time if you want to go digging in the archives) then her Halifax show last year (which sounded great – nice and intimate) landed bang in the middle of my post-op recuperation when it hurt enough to breathe, let alone laugh.

So, you see, when our paths finally cross, Jo’s carrying a lot of our baggage. Will she disappoint?

Not for a moment.

Even allowing for the three comedians appearing on telly tonight (it’s the first ever British Prime Ministerial Debate) I’d’ve hoped for – make that expected - a few more locals to make the effort to see real talent. Jo’s a slick performer who clearly loves a live audience and deserves more than tonight’s 75% capacity.

Following, as it does, the standard agenda of introduction/tease the audience for a bit/deliver script, Jo’s show is never going to win any awards for revolutionary formatting, but the material is what matters and it’s top notch. From her wry observation of local mannerisms, through the well rehearsed meat of the performance proper, to milking the most she can out of some rather third rate heckling, she never misses a beat.

The feeling that she’s talking straight to you is hard to explain without sounding like a self-harming, virgin Smiths fan, but you probably get the idea; A Jo Caulfield show is like going to the pub for a blether with an old mate, drinking too much then spending the whole night inventing back-stories for everyone in the place.

Great stuff, and there always seems to be a little twist, doesn’t there? Plugging her new CD, Jo apologised for wearing the same blouse on the sleeve as she wore tonight. When we got home, Dave was (as usual) showing an old episode of Mock The Week. Guess who was on it? And guess what she was wearing?

Regeneration or evolution? Jagged Edge, Barnsley Trades, April 2010

"I don't want to go."

David Tennant's incarnation of Dr Who signed off with those words a few months ago. Tonight, his successor, Matt Smith, assumed the mantle and made a decent fist of a thankless task. Tennant was a hard act to follow and only time will tell if Matt has the talent, the style and the je ne sais quoi to carry it off.

Closer to home, another well loved, well established act may be even harder to follow. Dave Bamforth has, under doctor's (no, not Matt Smith's) orders, relinquished the spotlight and Jagged Edge have a new frontman. As a fellow member of the zipper club I have to say GET WELL SOON, DB!

Bob Wider has previously worked with Bradford's Street Sleeper, a heavier band than the Jaggies who feature Metallica and Iron Maiden tracks in their repetoire, so he's not an obvious choice, but let's see...

We speak to the diminutive singer before the show. He's a quiet, unassuming wee soul but he's excited about the gig having thoroughly enjoyed his first "official" booking the night before; when he excuses himself to "go and put on my dancing pants", Dann's unusually reluctant to give us any clues about what to expect.

Whatever we get, there's standing room only at the Trades.

"Here's a song for ya..."

Bob borrows David Coverdale's traditional introduction as the band launch into Fool For Your Loving; interesting opener, definitely a heavier sound than when they've jammed it in the past and, yes, Bob can sing.

Foreigner's Feels Like The First Time is debuted and is all kinds of great then She Don't Know Me, Home Sweet Home and Love Walked In all showcase different aspects of Bob's vocal abilities.

Blue Collar Man sounds as good as ever and, where Wayward Son has been subtly modified so that it's more faithful to the original, Comfortably Numb has been completely rearranged to let Bob deliver a Roger Waters-style solo vocal rather than the harmonised version we've become accustomed to.

Actually, Wayward Son highlights my only complaint about Bob's vocals; he needs to learn to drop into harmony lines rather than maintaining his lead volume over the top of them.

Dann, as always, owns the place as he solos the first half to a close.

The second half opens with a new Bon Jovi number - Lay Your Hands On Me will be a crowd pleaser, but I don't rate it; personally, I'd rather have In and Out of Love or old favourite Runaway.

Among trusty stalwarts like Sweet Child O'Mine and (dragged into mid-set) Rock'n'Roll, we get a few Journey numbers; Big Dave retains vocal duties for Separate Ways, but Bob has relieved Dann of both Be Good To Yourself and Don't Stop Believing; watching Dann remembering not to sing was one of the more amusing sights of the night.

Whitesnake's Don't Break My Heart Again is the final new song of the night; I've never been a big 'Snake fan - a bit too blues-y for my taste - but it's an inoffensive choice and, obviously, it's bloody well played.

Don't Stop Believing actually finds itself stuck in the nominal "last number of the night" slot where, in light of its recent over-exposure, it doesn't really have the impact it once would.

Dann's solo doesn't need reviewing, but I miss the segue into Rock'n'Roll.

Bob (I originally mistyped that as "Bon", hmmm...) replaces Big Dave on ...Rosie and, for the first time, something jars.

Living On A Prayer opens the way Desmond Child originally intended - as a tender, acoustic number - before bringing the night to a rocking climax.

No ...Bad Name? Really? Didn't see that coming...

A difficult show for the guys to play, a difficult show for me to review, but in the cold light of day, how was it?

WHAT I LIKED: Feels Like The First Time (a lot); the re-works of Wayward Son, Comfortably Numb and Living on a Prayer were great; the absence of Wanted was welcome (my heart sank when the hat appeared at the end); Bob has terrific stage presence.

WHAT I WAS INDIFFERENT TO: both Lay Your Hands On Me and Don't Break My Heart Again. I can see both songs catching on, though.

WHAT I'D CHANGE: Ooooh - sorry, even ignoring my prejudice, I don't think Whitesnake's a good opener - give us something bouncy with harmonies. And Rosie... Bob's vocal may be more authentic, but Big Dave's is just better; give the big man his song back!