Wedding / Bells

Music:

Here’s an apology; I’ve hardly been two any gigs in 2016. In total, 3 and the first two of those were The Wedding Present. After their joyful almost Greatest Hits set at the Academy in late March, unforgivably in support to The Wonderstuff, I took myself off to Leeds to see them at the Brudenell Social Club, doing a set based around 1996’s Saturnalia. As ever in these instances, the crowd split 50:50 into Weddoes absolutists, happy to indulge Mr Gedge’s caprices and casual observers demanding Kennedy and Brassneck. Thankfully, both constituencies were catered for. The opening section of Saturnalia was intriguing and charmingly chaotic, with a part time extra drummer and sometime keyboard player that resulted in a definitely lo-fi vibe. Personally, I love Saturnalia and so hearing Skin Diving live was a real treat. The heartwarming thing was, to my ears, everything worked, though the on-lookers rather than the devotees needed to hear a few more favourites.  They got that with Corduroy, Brassneck and Kennedy. Despite the absence of Dalliance  it was a great night. Now there’s the small matter of the new album Going Going and gigs at The Sage in September and Sunderland in December, to conclude the busiest Weddoes year I’ve ever had.

Trembling Bells ended their Wide Majestic Aire tour at The Cumberland at the end of June. Talking of missing favourites, there was no Carbeth (either Willows or Swallows), no Just as the Rainbow and no Where is Saint George? However, there were 5 new solid gold tracks and news that, with Lavinia taking up a teaching position in September, a new album is being recorded in the summer. Thank goodness for that as these new tracks will be as familiar as all the other classics I’ve adored these past 6 years. Remember the names; Knocking on the Coffin, My Father Was A Collapsing Star (a mad, surreal waltz), Death Knocked At My Door (dissolves into freeform percussive nonsense in a way not heard since A Certain Ration first rehearsed back in 78), The Prophet Distances Himself from his Prophecy(where the band channel their inner Black Sabbath with a fair pinch of Curved Air) and Christ's Entry Into Govan, which is fucking awesome. I asked Alex what he says to people who still bang on about Fairport Convention; “fuck them” was his eloquent response. As well as a wonderful evening with wonderful creative people, I finally got a copy of Simon’s side project Youth of America and their Navigator 7” and while comparisons are odious, if you love sunny West Coast Pop, this is one for you. It is a slice of warm Californian 80s fuzzpop. Lovely.

Mind there’s not been a lot else I could have seen, other than breaking my heart to see Shellac played Brudenell the night after The Weddoes. British Sea Power play North Shields on 14 August, which is a definite; unlike the Mouth of the Tyne festival. Bryan Ferry? I’m not paying £45 to hear Avalon, Slave to Love and that shite; if it was In Every Dream Home, a Heartache  or Mother of Pearl, it would be a different matter. Mind the night after was Will Young; not the ex-Arsenal centre half either. The Saturday was James Bay (me neither) and Sunday was Lulu, so you’ll understand why I didn’t. Mind, fair play to South Tyneside; Sunday 17 July is a free afternoon show featuring The Proclaimers and Lindisfarne in Bents Park. I’d love to be there, but Tynemouth have qualified for the NEPL 20/20 Finals Day at the Emirates; I know where my duty lies.

While we await the stand out releases and gigs of the late Summer and Autumn from Teenage Fanclub and The Wedding Present, as well as the hugely anticipated Vic Godard and Band of Holy Joy show at The Cumberland there’s not been a lot I’ve got my hands on of late. Indeed, other than Christy Moore’s Lily, the cupboard is bare. As the title suggests, this collection of new stuff is almost entirely a paean to his beloved County Kildare, with songs that venture from Newbridge and Kilcock staying resolutely in the 32 Counties. It’s great; the auld bank clerk’s voice is holding up as well as ever and the understated acoustic backing, though augmented by more than just Declan Sinnott as in his live dates, fits perfectly. Highlights for me would include Mandolin Mountain, The Tuam Beat and the eponymous Lily. Certainly another fine addition to Moore’s unsurpassable canon of Irish folk music traditional and modern.

Books:

And now; another apology… I’m at a loss to explain why I’ve read so little of late, other than perhaps because of my extreme fatigue caused by work. I really must utilise the time off work to get back into some reading, especially this year’s Irvine Welsh, The Blade Artist. Indeed since my last cultural blog there have only been 2 books I’ve looked through, both of which were sent to me by friends.

Neil Laurenson is an exiled Aberdonian, who is a Green Party councillor in Worcester. He has written a couple of things for The Popular Side, but whimsical poetry is his bag. His collection Exclamation Marx is ideal for any John Hegley or Roger McGough fans out there. By turns comic and parodic, it is a gentle and amusing series of pastiches of well-known poems, amusingly and bathetic reimagined in a humdrum setting. I enjoyed it and I wish Neil well, recognising the talent of anyone who can make lines rhyme effortlessly.

Jon Tait is a Communist, a non-league football nut (recently having stood down as Northern Alliance Press Officer), an avid fell-walker and a writer of extraordinary fecundity. Having already been featured here for his fictional account of being a Northumbrian Scotland supporter at 5 World Cups, First Plane Home, as well as his history of the Alliance, Goal Mouths, his latest book Playing With Fire is an account of the 2015/2016 season following Spanish Third Division side Union Sur Yaiza. The thing is, Union Sur Yaiza play on Lanzarote and, having only seen them the previous July when on holiday, Tait relies on Twitter, You Tube and more arcane parts of the internet to discover another season of mild underachievement for his lads. It also gives him plenty of time to reminisce and veer wildly off on tangents about football, love and the world around us. A charming, eclectic read.