Mashed-up Headlines: 1. Trump announces two-week ceasefire in the Middle East - Goosebumps or Goosetrumps? 2. Artemis II travelling further from Earth than any other human being.
Stories People are talking about:
1. Evelyn Hollow - Saunas are the new pub
2. Grant Stott - Change in subscription laws
Mystery voice:
1. Curler Bruce Mouat
2. Danny Robins
Quickfire round:
"40% of young people in Scotland are not what?"
Best answer: Are not sure if a Mazda is a car or their maternal grandfather.
Klaxon "Send your poo to Dundee" - Martin Geissler
I've only ever been to one James concert before. My wife declined to attend this one, despite enjoying them last time. She felt that was a box she's already ticked. I needed to know if they were always this good. We'd had seats last time, so we were a bit removed from those who got to experience Tim up close as he crowdsurfed over them. I wanted a bit of that.
I arrived before the official door opening time, made my way through security (I always get frisked), and headed for the OVO presale door. And was let in. It felt like a Walking Dead moment, seeing so many standing outside beyond the locked doors, while I waited inside in a queue of four people at Door C.
Once each of the inner doors opened, a race to reach the barrier began; however, attendees were not allowed to run. Stewards dotted around the arena repeatedly reminded offenders to walk, but the boldest already had the edge, grabbing the centre. I landed a barrier spot on the left, as far along as the end of the stage walkway. Not an ideal angle, but right at the front.
The view before the masses descend
I'd left a six-inch gap between myself and the girl on my right. A hand reached out and grasped the pole, staking a claim. A bearded man wanted his daughter on the barrier, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to make that happen, maintaining his grip till James came on if need be. He asked the girl on my right if she'd give up her spot so his small daughter could see better. She bluntly refused. He didn't ask me. However, he wanted a drink, and his daughter was unwilling to leave her hand in his place, so they gave up and moved on.
The preshow music consisted of nineties classics: Oasis, Ocean Colour Scene, The Verve, Placebo, and such like. Even the young ones knew the songs and sang along.
The bloke on my left, wearing a James hoodie, was chatty and amiable. A Lancastrian, he was mad for James and travelled far and wide to see them. He'd come up from Morecambe with his wife, but she was hanging back. He admitted he would only wait on the barrier for the first six or so James songs, then go back and join her. We chat about Glasgow and our experiences at gigs.
Doves appear at 7.25 pm. I'm not familiar with their work, but I enjoy the performance. Not much to see except the band playing their instruments in the tiny space afforded them. At one point, the guitarist takes over the drum kit so the drummer can sing lead vocals. At the end, almost all of them are on percussion. After forty-five minutes, their turn is over.
Doves
During their set, the lads behind me were getting rowdy. They were loud, chatty and weren't interested in Doves. The girls next to them, led by an assertive, tattooed mother, try to charm me into giving up my spot. Nothing sexual. She wasn't offering me the youngest's virginity or anything. She asked if I would give up my spot on the barrier, and I declined. Then she started work on the Englishman. He was more amenable. He knew he wouldn't stay for the whole concert and promised them his slot. Nice guy.
Or so I thought. Within a few songs, his enthusiasm had elbowed me out of the way. I should have stood my ground, but, to be honest, I felt like a bit of a fraud, surrounded by fans who knew every word and wanted to dance up a storm. To be fair to him, he kept his word and manoeuvred the tattooed woman and her daughter onto the barrier when he left. They were ecstatic when Tim stood in front of them and held their hands. With hindsight, it's clear my English friend did the right thing. He was the better man.
Standing behind the girls felt more comfortable. I could easily see over their heads and take a couple of videos of the band for my YouTube page. Okay, yes, that tattooed arm ruined a few of my photos, but this wasn't a photography club. It was a live music experience. And it was brilliant.
Not my arm.
During the show, Tim admitted they change the setlist every night to keep it fresh, so we were not to expect anything slick. In fact, they didn't even stick to the printed setlist, changing it up as the mood took Tim. I suppose the band know their back catalogue so well, he trusts them to deliver.
Tim performing on the balcony was quite a sight and an amazing experience for the seated attendees. Granted, he didn't make it all the way round, but still, that's not something that happens at many other gigs. He made many fans very happy.
After two songs, Tim instructed the band to fill while he made his way back to the stage. The violinist initiated some experimental jazz, which Tim quickly shut down, telling them to play something less shit. They did.
Tim has a magnetic presence. His dancing is so loose and free, and he loves to be directly in front of his audience. Chloe and Debbie also came down to join us at different times. Chloe made the night for a number of girls on the barrier, holding their hands and gazing into their eyes as she sang to them. Such a personal touch. It was lovely to watch.
I may not have been intimately aware of all the songs played, but the experience was still sublime. I'll trade not being able to see every screen for that moment meeting with Tim's gaze. I didn't attempt to hold his hand. I let the dedicated fans have that experience. Afterwards, I saw one of the rowdy youths say to his mates, "Tim held that hand", while holding it by the wrist like it was now a sacred object, blessed by the Booth.
After the show, I waited and tracked down someone who had received a printed setlist, politely asking if I could take a picture of it. (See below). As I said above, though, they didn't stick to it.
Actual Setlist (according to setlist.fm):
Tomorrow
Waltzing Along
I Know What I'm Here For
Heads
Way Over Your Head
Attention
P.S.
Say Something (Tim singing in the arena’s Level 2 seating)
She's a Star (Tim singing in the arena’s Level 2 seating)
Five-O
Greenpeace
Shadow of a Giant
Moving On
Stay
Come Home
Ring the Bells
Getting Away With It (All Messed Up)
Encore:
Sometimes (Lester Piggott)
Laid
Ticket Price: £59.50 plus Service Fee: £8.05 plus Venue Facility Fee: £2.50 plus Handling Fee £2.50 = £72.55 from Ticketmaster OVO Presale.
It's rare for me to have read the book before seeing the film. It's even rarer to have read the book of a comedy show in advance of the gig. I now wish I hadn't, so the jokes would have been fresher. Having ploughed through the book (part memoir/ part self-help), I suspected this show might not be for me, but I'd already bought the tickets. We still went, as my wife is the perfect demographic for this material. Why shouldn't she have a laugh for a change?
Cally posts amusing reels on social media about funny incidents in her life, usually at the expense of a mansplaining idiot, but occasionally about her perimenopausal symptoms. She also has a lovely dog called Jeff. She's been a corporate high-flyer, a single mum with two kids, and, latterly, a comedian. 'Her' crowd are like-minded women of a similar age, or older, accompanied by their husbands and partners. The audience felt similar to that of a feminist rally, only with fewer placards and more jokes. Or have drinky-poos over lunch with their girlfriends, speaking in loud voices because what they have to say is so important (while overcompensating for their feelings of invisibility).
The show wasn't due to start till 8.30 pm, so we began our evening with dinner at the restaurant attached to the venue. My wife had the macaroni and cheese, and I ordered spare ribs, one of tonight's specials. When it arrived, I did wonder if they couldn't have spared any more (two fatty ribs, neatly posed on top of one another). As portion sizes go, there was more meat on the brownie I had for dessert, and a higher fat content. That said, it was delicious and more filling than expected.
When we've finished dining, the doors to the hall are already open. I get antsy and want to go in. My wife wants to know why we need to rush. We don't want to sit at the front. I remark, "But what if those seats are the only ones left?" I sense her eyes roll as we enter to find less than half the seats taken. We sit in the fourth row.
The stage is adorned with a high table displaying Cally's book, a white grand piano and a lounge chair with a low table, blessed with various books. The background lighting tastefully matches the pink and green of her book cover. The pre-show music includes women-empowering tunes like She's Electric by Oasis, Female of the Species by Space, and What a Feeling by Irene Carr. Cally was once an exec at MTV, so it's apt she also has Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles on her playlist (it was the first video they ever played).
Cally starts the show in a typical MC fashion, getting to know the crowd, establishing who is local and who has travelled from afar. Full-on Fiona in the front row is game for a chat, the older woman revelling in the attention, even when it's not directed at her. Gordon, in the row in front of me, takes one for the men's team, with Cally referring to him whenever her punchline involves a male figure.
So far, so okay.
When she moves onto her material, I get a sense of déjà vu. Most of the references are lifted directly from the text, but she's amiable and amusing and knows how to deliver a line. The darker the joke, the bigger the laugh she gets. The Andrew Mountbatten material didn't go down this well in Windsor, she says.
She opens the second half by murdering Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the piano. Not in a Les Dawson comically awful way, but the number of bad notes would have filled a dossier on mansplaining. She then spends most of the second half sitting down, reciting sections from her "Times-bestselling" book (available from the Waterstones merch stand at the back, signing to follow). She closed with a recital of the complicated Debussy piano piece, Doctor Gradus ad Parnassus, that she originally mastered as an eleven-year-old, but had to relearn over forty years later.
Afterwards, I asked my wife how much she enjoyed the show, as she hadn't read the book. Her response was lukewarm.
I thought the same. It felt like a book tour with jokes and crowd work. Who am I to complain, though? I'm only a man.
Ticket Price (x2 tickets): £42.00 & Booking fees £2.46 = £44.46 from MBC Tours & Specials
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