Kate Nash: Colonel Fawcett, Camden

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder but then they say lots of things. Whoever they are. What is certain is that this is Kate’s first proper show on these shores since Christmas 2013. Arranged at short notice because she was “bullied” into it by a couple of friends. Rita Satch warms up the evening with a soulful warmth and the tempo changes with Brigitte Aphrodite and Quiet Boy’s punk rock poems which are a brilliant mixture of humour and venom that never relent.

Kate, accompanied by all by all but one of her band (drummer Alicia must have some wrestling to watch tonight!) launch into this acoustic set with Sister. And launch is the word. As Kate invades the crowd it’s obvious this is not going to be an introspective night. Emma’s awsome sounding double bass and Linda shredding melodies and riffs on her acoustic make the night bounce along, as does the wobbly floor to be honest. There is a positive vibe at play, partly fuelled by Kate being surrounded by her friends, family (this is also her sister Clare’s pub) and the Nashers in the crowd, or as Kate prefers to call us “her Fannies” but for the sake of avoiding any awkward social conversations let’s just keep with Nashers for now.

Kate is in good spirits and good voice too. Stalking the stage with a beaming face and treating us to selected highlights from the three albums. We get a rare treat in Nicest Thing, a unique version of Underestimate The Girl and two new songs that I can’t remember the names of. Or the tunes either now for that matter. Sorry. If I was forced to describe them from one listen I’d say they were poppier than the majority of Girl Talk but then of course this has no real bearing on fact as who knows how it’ll sound on record production wise. For the second newbie she invites the crowd to a mass sing along and as ever, the cover of Meredith Brook’s Bitch is a joy. There is also a heartfelt speech of her love of London and Britain with anti-Tory undertones. Or rather overtones! Any rant about the Tories is as good as a song in itself.

So as Kate returns to America for another absence from rainy old blighty, tonight’s show has certainly made the heart’s excitement for album number four grow even fonder. BRING IT ON

 

Cardiff, Wales. Consider Yourself WARNED! Manic Street Preachers At Cardiff Castle

Cardiff was bracing itself. Threats of rail strikes, forty mile tailbacks heading back along the M4 and a city centre rammed full of two very disparate looks. The combat, eye-liner feather boas wearing adults mixing with a different form of army, thousands and thousands of ten year olds wearing ‘I Love Louis/Harry shirts being ushered by harassed parents. If there was anyone wearing an ‘I Love Hoovering’ shirt just to confuse people then you have my respect. The passers by not knowing what the heck was going on might have thought some kind of twisted apocalypse was occurring. The capital had never seen the like before.

There was a way to escape the teenage takeover and that’s by hiding in a pub. So that’s what we did. Myself and fellow forumers met at the Brewhouse and talked and laughed and started having way too many shots for that time of day. There was also a Manics tribute act providing us with a perfect soundtrack to our pre-gig giddiness. We even had the honour of meeting James Dean Bradfield himself.

We made our way to the Castle around 7ish. Good job we’d been drinking so much already as the queue’s were horrendous. After taking in the rather spectacular surroundings we made our way closer as the support band were playing. I’d never heard them before but nothing about them particularly grabbed me, though to be fair the swirling conditions didn’t help them. I wasn’t too bothered about whether the support was good or not. I was hear for the Manics.

The Holy Bible performed in the sunshine and in such a big open space was always going to be a different experience to the claustrophobic assault on the senses that was the December tour. As James unleashes himself full throttle into Yes it’s clear that us at the front are having the time of our lives and you could almost sense a little bewilderment from beyond our shoulders. IfWhiteAmerica’s guitar slays and we all shout the collective vitriol to Of Walking Abortion. James’ luck with guitars for the night start to go wrong during the furious solo of Archives Of Pain as a string snaps he looks up bemused and says “Guitar’s gone!” but they bluff their way too the end. “That’s his best solo as well!” Nicky mocks with his evil grin. Truth be told, until Revol charges in, the sound is a bit too quiet for my liking. However, as with the Roundhouse shows The Holy Bible live experience really truly starts shattering your soul from song number six. The middle section to Revol is pure guitar porn and by now the groups of drunken lads, who are the only real down point of the night are vying for space down the front.

4st 7ibs, for such a deeply personal song about anorexia really does seem to get universal appeal. Even the butch security guard (who I shall name Bob) in front of the stage is lost in his own world singing along. Good chap. What follows is mesmerising. Nicky continuing to pace the stage as Mausoleum rages and faster almost crumbles under its own intensity. As for This Is Yesterday, it felt truly magical as the sun setting further gave it a more beautiful ambience than its ever had before. Die In The Summertime never fails to slay live, it’s barbed chords and roar are fierce as hell.

Can we, for one moment talk about Mooro? His drumming right now is out of the realm, sounding harder and quicker than ever. His mean marching beat to The Intense Humming Of Evil is sensational. This song, an unexpected high point of The Holy Bible live experience. And so to P.C.P , another powerhouse effort from Sean as James just about keeps in control of the fast paced diatribe.

After a quick interval James is back donning his acoustic flagged by a string quartet and leading a stirring rendition of The Everlasting. Bob, once again singing along merrily. It’s wonderful. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, Bradfield needs to do a show with just him, an acoustic guitar and a string quartet. I’d be there in an instant and blubbing away through the whole damn thing. Motorcycle emptiness has a real power to it and an impressive Walk Me To The Bridge is received so much better than on previous outings.

There are some curve balls on offer. In recent times the band have started to enjoy varying their set up more and Condemned To Rock N’ Roll (or “one long guitar solo” as Nicky puts it) is staggering. To see James tear through the outro with no words to hinder or get in the way. It sounds so kick ass and heavy. Sex, Love, Power And Money is another surprise. It’s great fun but I do feel Futurology has been undersold and overlooked by the band considering how proud they seem to be of it. I fear I’ll never see Let’s Go To War or Black Square live. Removables was another pleasant surprise but the crowd strangely didn’t seem to take to it. Golden Platitudes was the final twist of the night. Dedicated to “anyone with post election blues” (me for sure) it sounded massive and better than on the Postcards tour where they never seemed to quite nail it.

I’m never against a rendition of You Stole The Sun From My Heart because it’s so great to bounce along to. Or would be if the people out of their heads were capable of doing anything other than flailing about and clattering into you. They are the reason my back is in total agony right now. As For Your Love Alone, yeah that can leave the set now please. Thanks.

You Love Us is proceeded by James doing a Hendrix of the Welsh national anthem as ten thousand mostly drunk people tried to remember the words loudly. It was quite a moment. And as James bids us goodbye (“be careful out there, I know what Cardiff can get like on a Friday night”) we are united further with an even more epic than it normally is version of A Design For Life. So pumped up on passion and stirred on to even greater things by the surroundings and sense of occasion. Amid the feedback Nicky vainly throws his bass about and his last attempt seems to land on James’ pedals. Probably with a mix of annoyance and “let me show you how it’s done” Bradfield picks it up and tries to smash it, each crash against the stage greeted with cheers. With a look on his face that says “I’ve committed to this now and thousands are watching” he finally breaks the thing in half and with relief states “toughest fucking guitar in the world”. It’s even funnier than the finale of the Manic Millennium.

And so they are gone, probably for a while as realistically it’ll be a couple or so years until new material surfaces and tours are announced. If they ever happen. After each era I always have a deep fear that it is their last. I’m glad The Holy Bible era is now over so they can start looking to the future again. Was tonight the best they’ve ever played? No, it’s not even the best they’ve played The Holy Bible but as a sense of occasion and importance this will always be a night to be remembered.I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Afterwards we attended the Manic Street Mania aftershow, where my request for Prologue To History wasn’t played, and I, somewhat against my will got dressed in a camo turban. We then went to an “alternative rock” club here all the music sounded like nu metal played by boy bands. I honestly had no idea nu metal was still a thing. Thank God for alcohol. Then onto a club at 3:30am because it was the only one still open. We were offered pills by a very happy man but we decided to stick with the tequila. AT 5;30am, only two of us were left standing but got kicked out of the club (because it was closing not because we were being naughty). Leaving a club drunk and walking into warm, bright daylight is a very odd experience. We then had a discussion with a pigeon which we confused for a seagull. What a wonderful time to be alive.

Manic Street Preachers.
I love you one time.
I love you two time.
I love you three time.
Get pissed.
Destroy.
Tequila. I love you a bit less.
May your God go with with you.

TWO YEARS OF TUTTAGE

Almost two years ago, for a Kate Nash show just off Plymouth’s grubby and well.. a bit stabby.. bus station, a force of nature was about to enter my life. I go to quite a few gigs and that means quite a few support bands, a lot of whom can just pass you by. The Tuts are not here to pass anybody by. Ok, I admit it, I am quite partial to a woman in dungarees and here was THREE of them. Instant glamour radiating from this most shabby of surroundings. But it’s much more than that, it’s the things that I’ve grown to love more and more over the past two years.

– The energy and conviction of their show.
– Hair whipping. Seriously, don’t underestimate the power of hair whipping.
– The madness that usually follows them about like a shit crazy bat.
– The image. They not only look like rock stars – THEY ARE ROCK STARS. They’re glamorous AND kick ass. Neither afraid to be too glamorous or “normal” for want of a much better word. A lot of male bands I love have dabbled in femininity (Manics, Mansun, Placebo etc) and I used to myself when I was skinnier!. The Tuts project a “This is us, if you don’t like it sod off” vibe which is refreshing in this climate of mundane fake soul boy singers.
– Their willingness to stand up for what they believe in, be it sexism or hatred of the Tories. YES, FUCK THE TORIES.
– The eye wateringly hilarious interviews. Honestly. Comedy gold.
– The fact that, for all the fun they are deeply ambitious. They want people to hear them. They want to sell records and play to loads of people. Why did that ever become a shameful thing for bands to admit? It is music, it is MEANT for ears.

 The legend himself

The second time I saw them in Gloucester they had a fourth member, Fernando. a blow up doll. He didn’t really add to the dynamic but it was still sad news be told at a later date that he’d passed away before having the opportunity to be sacked. Rest In Peace Fernando, rarely a day goes by when I actually think about you. Sorry. And so, in 2013 I saw them another four or five times, my personal highlight was when they OWNED Shepherd’s Bush Empire. Or they did until a dull man band killed the vibe. What were they called, anyone remember? Now they DID pass me by.

A random drunk man in Exeter. He never became a full-time member

As a result of Tuttage (this is now a real word) I’ve found out more about ‘Dovetown’ and all it represents (the magnificent Colour Me Wednesday) and discovered an exciting DIY scene (Perkie, Block Fort, Ay Carmela!, Martha, Onsind to name some).

Last Saturday I made my way to Bristol in a last minute bid to see them supporting The Selecter. I had no ticket and no way of getting in. Half an hour before The Tuts were due on stage someone on Facebook contacted me with a spare. What with travel, I ended paying £30 to watch them play a 30 minute set. A pound per minute. And you know what, it was worth it. Yes, I may be a twat but I was a happy twat.

After a gig last year, Bev asked me why I liked The Tuts. Now, I’m not the quickest thinker on the block and that mixed with being filmed at the time resulted in a shy,  rubbish “I don’t know” response. I do know. Of course I know. I really should have said “Because they’ve got the tunes and the attitude. 2015 badly needs them – it just doesn’t know it yet”.

So there you go Bev, there’s your answer.