Gut Reactions (post-gig memories and other trips): Empyre

Sunday, 20 July 2025

Maid Of Stone - Sunday, Mote Park, Maidstone. Sunday 20th July, 2025

Another bad night for sleep. I'm running on empty, despite having filled up at the breakfast buffet.

At the venue, I retreat into myself, weariness kicking in. Absolva, the first act on the main stage, are too loud and heavy for my delicate head. I crave sugar, but the donut (sic) stall isn't open yet. Two acts, Queen Horizen and Battle Born, have dropped out of the line-up, so Karobela are up next. I last two songs, then bail by the third. I'm not keen on bands that play over backing tracks. The performance becomes like a rail journey with no room for diversions.

Absolva

Karobela

I return to the VIP section and sit on a bench in the rain, my poncho hood up as the wind billows the fabric around me. I can feel the beat of Parker Barrow's drums and bass pulsing across my frown lines. The rain is definitely dampening my mood. There's still no reply from Bobbie Dazzle (see Saturday's post for the origin of that story).

I doze while The Heat Inc. play. It feels like the long three days have finally caught up with me. Day four isn't getting any better. I get a duck wrap and a cola and make for the Inferno stage to catch Marisa and the Moths. The rain lifts as they take the stage. I gladly remove my poncho, but realise I've lost its pouch. It's no longer in my pocket. It must have fallen out when I removed my wallet to buy the drink or the food. I scrunch up the poncho and hold it in my hand. Marisa's music is different to the other styles at the festival, more punk. There's a passion on show, but it's not lifting my weariness.

Marisa and the Moths

I retrace my steps, attempting to locate the poncho pouch, but with no luck. I have no idea where the lost property is, so I concede to carrying the unruly garment in my hand. Then I have a brainwave.

Poo bags are not just for dog excrement.

I skip more bands, content to relax in the VIP area with Scott. I manage to get close to the front for These Wicked Rivers. The wind is so strong it blows over their lamps, breaking one beyond a simple tape repair, so the stage crew remove it. I'm always impressed by the band, and this show is no different. Now that I'm aware of the lead singer's disability, I notice it more. It doesn't change how powerful his singing is, though. A quality act.

These Wicked Rivers

I skip more acts, remaining in the VIP area, except when I wander away to grab some dinner. I need to buy an ice cream to cool my mouth from the spicy buffalo sauce I'd requested on my chicken burger. Stone Broken give a robust set, which I view from a distance. Empyre sound great too during their acoustic set. I make a mental note to catch them again during their Firestarter headline show.

Stone Broken

I feel like an idiot carrying my poncho in the stupid poo bag. Happily, Scott agrees to put it in his backpack.

We all wander over to Blue Nation. The rain has passed, and the sun is out. The band are amazing. The banter is incredible. They can't believe how large their crowd is, as they are more accustomed to playing to eight people and a tech, and sometimes without the eight people. They can't believe they've won a Blues award. They didn't even know they were a blues band. They thought they were more like Led Zeppelin. They accepted the award anyway. One woman has flown all the way from New Zealand to see them. The singer thanks her for the added pressure. He reminds her that there are better bands than theirs on at the show, listing them. Their humility heightens my enjoyment of their performance. These are three Brummie blokes who can't believe people want to listen to their songs, failing to appreciate how good they are. Brilliant band!

Blue Nation

I leave feeling happy for another reason. I've received a reply from Bobbie (or Sian, her real name), confirming that she has added me to her guest list. Fandabidozi, to quote her album title.

Sweet are fantastic. So many 'blockbuster' hits one after another. They could easily have closed the show. I listen from a distance, prepared to make my way early to see Empyre.

I'm surprised when elements of the crowd boo Empyre as they come on. The host introducing them makes a joke at the guitarist's expense, raising a laugh. The banter between the audience and the band helps undercut the pomposity of their music. The guitarist takes a lot of stick, but has the quick-wittedness of a stand-up to deal with it. A fun, serious band if that's not an oxymoron.

Empyre

Scott wasn't feeling well, so he left to return to the hotel, missing the final band, The Michael Schenker Group, who were closing the festival playing the music of UFO. I'd been looking forward to this set since the band were announced. "Doctor Doctor" is one of my favourite rock songs, and I like many of their other tunes.

I get a surprise when Doctor Doctor lands third in their set. Surely that's a closer. I needn't have worried. They had a brilliant setlist ahead of them. I thought they'd nearly blown it when Rock Bottom went on and on, the singer departing to let the rest of the band do their thing. Not quite a guitar solo, because it wasn't solo, but an impressive virtuoso performance from Michael. It wasn't the end, though. They had two more classics up their sleeve, Shoot Shoot and Too Hot to Handle, which they dedicated to Pete Way.

Bob said his goodbyes to his fellow Urinals (a fake band they'd designed, complete with T-shirts, badges, and plectrums, as a joke), then we left.

It had been a great festival, and we resolved to do it again next year. The beauty of a festival is your exposure to new music, like a sampler menu at a restaurant. Some you like, some you don't, but some you love. I still can't believe I'm going to Edinburgh to see Bobbie Dazzle support Alice Cooper.

Ticket Price: around £240 for the weekend VIP.

Addendum:

We departed the Travelodge at 5:10 a.m. on Monday morning. The rain was so heavy around London that the visibility dropped to a few dozen yards. We made it through the Dartford Tunnel before the toll payment time. I slept a lot of the way home, dog tired. I might be getting too old for this.

Regardless, we've bought tickets for next year. Rock on.

Saturday, 10 December 2022

GUN, "The Calton Songs Tour 22", Barrowlands, Glasgow. Sat 10th December 2022

Despite arriving later than intended, we found a parking space near to the venue. The short walk was Baltic with a real chill in the air and black ice on the pavement (I nearly went on my arse twice). Fortunately, we didn't have to wait long outside as the queue was tiny by this time.

This, unfortunately, meant the security team were under no time pressure and my frisking official did his duty with forensic diligence, even locating two pockets in my wallet that I didn't even know existed. He demonstrated a determination hitherto unseen by concertgoers, akin to a junkie looking for a fix, as he pulled out my credit cards and sorted through the notes and coins searching for illegal contraband. His eagerness was probably the consequence of him finding the Wagg dog treats that I'd forgotten were in my change pocket, which he didn't believe weren't illicit. I commented, "a sniffer dog could tell you they're not drugs", but then realised that suggestion would backfire if put into practice, the excited dog wagging its tail for the snack, ending up with me getting a cavity search. For all his fastidiousness though, he forgot to look under my hat, a small tip for all you drug mules out there.

Gin Annie, the second support act (we'd arrived too late to see the first one, Empyre), were excellent with a tight sound and great tunes. My wife didn't like them much because of all the gratuitous swearing, particularly from the guitarist (I'd never take her to see Biffy 'Fucking' Clyro). In a certain light, the lead singer could pass for Guz Khan in what became the first of three lookalikes of the evening.

The third support act, King Herd, disappointed me. I only enjoyed one of the songs, Halo. When the bassist and guitarist added their backing vocals, they were so out of tune, they sounded F**king Awful (as I later dubbed the band). By the end of their set, there were more audience eyes on their phones than the stage as people followed the final minutes of added time in the England World Cup game against France, the result coming through as the band left the stage. I like to think some of the muted cheers were for the band's departure.

The night's second lookalike came in the shape of the band's bassist, rocking some army reservist clobber, akin to Nick Frost in Spaced.

I missed GUN's Barrowland show last year because I had to isolate after being in contact with someone with Covid so I was excited to see them (even though I'd caught them at their Hard Rock Cafe show recently). They'd had to cancel the two previous dates on the tour due to illness so I wasn't sure what kind of performance to expect. They'd also replaced Tommy on guitar for reasons never explained.

When ACDC's It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll) came on loud and clear, the excitement started to build. A plain white curtain formed a backdrop along the entire length of the stage. The lights went down and the image of a Chinese dragon flew across the backdrop, twisting and turning until eventually, it came for the audience, jaws widening, revealing the GUN logo. And we were off...

If they were under the weather, it didn't show. Dante's vocals were powerful (though later in the set you could sense they were beginning to crack) and the band rocked us loudly. The audience was loud too singing along to their anthems in a set more focused on the older songs, the ones written at the Calton.

Introducing the second song, Dante had a cheeky wee pop at England, renaming it, "It's not Coming Home", followed by Vive La France, much to our amusement.

They hadn't come on till 9.30 pm so fourteen songs later at 11 pm, I figured they were going to have to cut the set short. But no, they kept playing, finishing on a high at ten past with Shame on You and Fight For Your Right ( to Party). Or Paaaaaaaaaar-tay, as we all screamed.

The third lookalike of the evening came in the shape of new/old guitarist Dave Aitken who I believe is a dead ringer for Ricky Warwick of Black Star Riders (albeit with fewer tattoos and longer hair).