After a pleasant drive to Edinburgh, arriving at 6.30 pm for a 7pm doors, I park at the Pleasance and head to the venue. I'm fifth in the queue, until security points out to the person at the front that the queue is actually up the steps, past The Mash House (who also have a gig on). It's not just up the steps. It's around the block, too. I end up on Chambers Street, parallel to the venue, within sight of the National Museum of Scotland. I guess I'll not be on the barrier tonight.
And I wasn't. Lots of tall people down the front, so no videos either.
First up is Kate Couriel (Seb Lowe's violinist and backing singer). This is her very first live performance as a solo artist. She's accompanied by Rory (?) from the band on keyboards. Her music is very like Seb Lowe's: lyrically dense, full of drama and opinion. And a bit samey. It doesn't do her voice justice. I think it would have sounded better with full orchestration, like on Raye's recent album, rather than with this pared-down approach of keyboards and violin. It's a short set, but welcome.
The Rooks are a Glasgow band who possess a swagger reminiscent of Oasis. Which is just as well because their singer sounds awfully like Liam, chewing his lyrics (confusion becomes 'con-few-shei-own'). Despite their confidence/arrogance, they actually sound good. I'd be happy to see them again, maybe with fewer tall people in front so I can see the singer, who's a little on the short side. Cool shades, though.
By the time Seb Lowe takes to the stage, the crowd is hot and sweaty. More youths have pushed forward, shifting the height dynamic, but I still can't see the stage clearly. I refuse to lift my phone above my head to record any of the performances, preferring to snatch the odd photo when I can. The Aberdeen setlist missed out a couple of my favourites, so I'm pleased when they slip in Mr & Mrs Human Race.
The first three songs flow into one another without any chat. I guess they're aiming to cram as much as possible into their hour-long set, favouring the new songs.
Seb likes to come down to the front of the crowd. Only, he is restricted by his microphone cable, relying on a techie to unhook the cord whenever it gets tangled. When Katie comes down, she's so small, no one except those at the front can see her.
There's no Hot To Go moment this time, but the crowd amazes me, being able to sing all those lyrics along with Seb. They are loud, too; the largely young and female audience nearly busts my eardrums, even with earplugs in, as they scream their appreciation between songs. It was nice having nearly six hundred people singing, "We all love dogs, we all hate cats", at the top of their voices.
I don't wait afterwards to meet the band. Let the young fans have their moment. I do keep an eye out for setlists being handed to fans and manage to persuade one youngster to let me photograph hers. As always, thank you for doing so.
Setlist:
Little Caesar
Here Come the Aliens!
Jump Scare
Kill him (he's a Socialist)
I'm Hateful, I'm Horrible, I Love You
Don't Say No to Hitler
One Day to Live
iPhone
Freak.
Mr & Mrs Human Race
People Like You
Ode to Britannia
A Westerner Walks Into a Bar
Terms and Conditions
No One to Kill in the Sky
Ticket Price: £14.00 & Service Fee £2.75 & postage £0.70 = £17.45 from TicketWeb.
If Peter Capaldi hadn't been the 12th Doctor, would I have gone to this gig? Probably not. Which would have been a shame, as it was a cracking night.
The drive through to Edinburgh was marred by my sat nav not recognising that Gorgie Street was closed, then attempting to make me drive through a dead end, then redirecting me back towards the closed road. I had planned for such contingencies, though, so I still arrived on time, parking on the Cowgate.
The queue had already snaked around the La Belle Angele covered area. Ticketmaster hadn't supplied me with actual paper or electronic tickets. The app message indicated that I should collect them from the box office. Overhearing a conversation between two lads, I realised that I was not alone in this regard. Only the doors to the venue were very much shut. I joined the queue and figured I'd work it out when the doors opened. Which was earlier than billed.
Security then told us to form two lines: one for those with tickets and the other for those needing to go to the box office. The box office line was longer and moved much more slowly. Oh well, I guess I won't be near the front. Wrong. I did quite well to get five from the front. Then a cheeky, young lad squeezed into the slight gap in front of me. He was a big unit, but shorter than me, so I let it go.
Unfortunately, he had phone Tourettes. When the support act played, he couldn't help snapping photos and short videos; his phone rose indiscriminately every couple of minutes, never recording a whole song, lifting it just high enough to affect my view. I resigned myself to forgetting about taking any videos myself. There were plenty of others doing it further forward, so if I was lucky, I'd be able to catch their work on YouTube later.
As soon as Zoe Graham took to the stage, I recognised her but couldn't think where I'd seen her before. I checked this blogsite and realised it was from Elbow at the Bandstand. Her set tonight was good. She played solo because bringing her band was unaffordable, so they were present in spirit via her tablet, which played the backing tracks. Her mum and dad were once again in the audience. She seemed an apt choice to open for Peter: plenty of guitar, Scottish vocals, meaningful pop tunes, and a confident performer.
Peter's young bandmembers were all attired in black Adidas tracksuits. Peter himself wore a black suit, speckled with sequins, over a buttoned-up, white shirt. He hasn't been the Doctor for over eight years, but standing on that stage, I could imagine this was the Time Lord having a whale of a time in his rock-star era. Except Peter is a far better actor than that, too skilled to allow that feeling to remain long. This was Peter Capaldi, rock star.
I'd been listening to Peter's two albums for a couple of days, impressed by the 80s indie synth/ guitar vibe and his lyrics. I got the sense that the production could have been punchier, though. This wasn't an issue live, though, as the place was properly rocking. At least at the start.
When he veered into his more soul-baring tunes, such as Bin Night, about expressing his love for his grandson, the audience remained rapt. He's obviously rehearsed his banter, the chatty bits as much of a performance as the songs. He takes the music seriously, but not himself, sharing his surprise that so many lovely, young people had paid to see a grandfather sing when they could do that at home for free. And should.
He's dapper and droll (I loved his comment after the Bowie cover about his band being his 'Spiders from Largs'). Even off the cuff, he's sharp (in response to his remark praising Edinburgh, someone shouts 'Gaun Yersel', to which he replies tellingly, "That's a Glasgwegian expression", bringing cheers from parts of the crowd). By including the "Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow" speech from Macbeth, he recognises and celebrates his foolishness as a poor actor, taking the stage for an hour, full of noise and passion, yet ultimately meaningless. How's that for Shakespearian satire?
I loved this gig. The audience was well up for it, though not too rowdy. Yes, the cameras popped up regularly at the start (Curses, I wanted to do that!), but settled down to manageable levels later in the set, when I could take a reasonably clear video.
The queue to get out was complicated by the masses queuing to meet Peter at the merch stall. Only when the venue staff shouted which stairs were for the merch queue did things get moving. I didn't mind. I got to peoplewatch. One young lad chatting to his girlfriend praised heaps on Peter's performance in the Paddington series. I couldn't tell if he was being serious, but he was of an age when that film would have been his thing. He would still have been in Primary School when The Thick of It aired, and he didn't look the type whose parents would have let him experience Malcolm Tucker's language. I was surprised by how youthful the crowd was, mainly young girls in their student years. How Peter became their demographic, I'll never know.
I didn't wait for an autograph or selfie. By the time I exited the venue, Peter hadn't appeared at the stall yet. Given the size of the queue, I think the strict cut-off time will have left many punters disappointed. I'm pleased I went, though. As he joked, he's 67 with a heart condition. This first tour could also be his farewell tour.
Let's hope not.
(Edit: On FB, my Kiwi pal asked if Peter's heart condition was having more than one. Bravo, Al).
Setlist:
Is It Today
It's Not Over Until It's Over
Sweet Illusions
Bin Night
Beautiful and Weird
Something to Behold
A Little Bit of Class (extended mid-section with encouraged audience participation)
Not Going Anywhere
The Great Magnificence
In Person
Hollywood or Bust
Through the Cracks
All the Young Dudes / Dont Look Back in Anger (David Bowie cover) (with "Tomorrow and Tomorrow" monologue from Macbeth)
Encore:
Friday I'm in Love (The Cure cover)
No One in the World
Videos:
Through the Cracks
Friday I'm in Love
Photos:
Zoe Graham
Ticket Price: £30.00 + Service Fee: £3.90 + Handling Fee £2.95 = Total £36.85
Blurb:
Actor Peter Capaldi, better known as the electric guitar-playing incarnation of Dr Who and the ‘Thick Of It’ swearer-in-chief Malcolm Tucker, picks up where he left off some forty years ago when he was a new wave wannabe rock star in a Glasgow band. Next year, he hits the road for his first-ever live music tour.
The dark synths, fuzzy guitars and noirish romanticism of a young rocker trapped in the body of a beloved television veteran will be on show in select venues across the UK for two weeks only next year.
Peter said, “I was in a band at art school, fired up by the punk explosion, we went out into the world in search of rock stardom, and well… I became an actor. But I never lost my love for music. And in recent years have produced two albums of original songs, “St.Christopher “ (2021) and this year’s “Sweet Illusions.” Recording, with all the advantages of the digital age, is one thing; playing live is another, but I wanted to see if I could go out after all of these years and play live in front of an audience. Well, let’s see what happens. I’ve lucked out with my band, a group of wonderful young musicians who have bravely come on board for the ride. “
I love the Crows, as do some of my friends, so when they announced this tour, with one date in Scotland, we booked our tickets and prepared to travel to Edinburgh.
I drove us through midafternoon, electing to make a pitstop at the Frankie and Bennys at Fort Kinnaird for dinner (free parking, dining options and a short drive to the venue to snag on-street parking afterwards before the city got too busy). The weather was mostly dry on the way in, bar a couple of stretches on the M8 where the heavens opened and road spray reduced visibility drastically. It was uncomfortably wet, though, by the time we arrived at the Pleasance in Edinburgh's old town around the corner from the gig.
I headed straight to the venue while my mates detoured to Bannermans for a swift one and a toilet stop. At 6:25 p.m., the queue was already snaking down and back up the covered area outside the doors for the 7 p.m. open. Unfortunately, my spot in the queue was under the one section where there was an opening between the protective, sloped tarpaulin and the roof of the building. I caught a lot of drips as I waited, which was very annoying, as I'd decided not to wear my cap tonight.
At 6.45 p.m., they let us in. No sign of my mates, so I messaged them to alert them to the early opening. Inside, I made my way down to the front, finding a spot behind two smaller ladies. This gave me a perfect view of the singer's microphone stand. Of course, it didn't stay that way. It never does.
(Warning: the following section contains rude words. If you are likely to be offended, stop reading now)
Then before the support act has come on, a concert cunt landed beside me, trying to gain the forward advantage with his elbow. Shaven-headed with a goatee, this young, bespectacled lad had no concept of personal space, pressing his side against mine and standing so close to the person in front that the gentleman could feel his breath on his neck. Of course, the cunt was drinking, a pint tumbler in his hand, without the space to drink it properly.
Throughout the support act, the cunt kept trying to edge in front of me, but I wasn't having it. I stood my ground. I let the music move my body to keep pushing him away. The band were good, even though it looked like they were being led by a bare-chested schoolboy with a premature receding hairline. I enjoyed their music and their technical skill and even warmed to the frontman by the end of their set.
At the interval, the concert cunt fucked off, much to my relief. Unfortunately, so did the small woman in front of me. The height dynamic shifted as her tall friend shifted over to claim the space (and my view line). Then the cunt barged back again, this time wearing his massive jacket, announcing to no one who cared that he didn't think he'd make it back after going for a piss. I give him a cold stare. He justifies himself with a "What? I was standing here before." I replied, "I know. I felt you." The man in front of him nodded in agreement. The cunt didn't care. He took off his jacket and tied it around his waist, then checked his blood sugars on his phone. I began to think horrible thoughts about the youth's demise but remembered I needed to drive my mates home after the gig, which would be difficult from a police cell. Plus, I'd miss the show.
I buckled down, determined to stop the cunt from ruining my enjoyment.
The Crows put on a great performance. I managed to get a Hi Two from Shane (his other three fingers were holding the mic) during one song, and I lost him entirely on the one video I took when he jumped into the crowd and ended up singing from atop the bar at the back of the hall. There were no variations to the tour setlist for this show, but the energy from the band still made it special. The crowd sang so loudly it hurt my ears despite wearing ear protectors.
After the show, at the very end, the guitarist flicked his plectrum into the crowd near me. I didn't spot where it landed, so I shone my torch on the floor. Of course, the concert cunt got there first. He was crouched down straight away like Gollum after his Precious. By this time, I didn't care. He'd put in the effort. I just wished him an early death, either by something slow, pustulating and painful or a backstreet stabbing. Either would do. One less cunt in the world.
The ten o'clock finish meant an earlier, and much-welcomed, return home before midnight. Thanks to wet road conditions and poor lighting, I only nearly drove on the wrong side of the road once.
Setlist Let's Go Psycho! Man on Fire Find a Way Kingdom of Dust Blink of an Eye No Surrender Glass Heart Dreaming Who Did It Sin on Skin Go Get It This Time I'm Ready See You Again Rock 'n' Roll Ain't Dead!
Blink of an Eye
Ticket price: From Ticketmaster 3 Artist Presale Ticket £22.50 x3 = £67.50 Per Item Fees £2.85 (Service Charge Artist Presale Ticket) x3 = £8.55
Order Processing Fees Handling Fee (£1.50) £1.50 Delivery Charge £2.00 Total £79.55
Following on from the tremendous success of their co-headline tour with Ugly Kid Joe, rabble-rousing road dogs MASSIVE WAGONS have announced a new 10-date headline tour of the UK in April 2023, in support of their rifftastic new album ‘Triggered!‘ which crashed straight into the UK official album chart at #6 upon release, marking the second Top 10 album for the Lancaster band.
Frontman Barry “Baz” Mills declares, “Straight back at it, it’s what we do innit! If you came out to see us with Ugly Kid Joe and you enjoyed the experience then why not come and see us again on the ‘TRIGGERED’ headline tour! Loved playing tracks from the new album, gonna shake it up with some more new one's cos they have been really fun to play… hopefully, we are hitting up a town somewhere near you, grab a ticket and come join the fun!”
'Triggered' was one of my favourite albums of last year so when I heard the band were touring I looked up the dates and discovered their only Scottish gig was in Edinburgh. I hummed and hawed. Was it worth the journey through? The album is really good. What the hell, let's do this. It'll be a little adventure. I booked the time off work and bought the tickets.
I'd never been to La Belle Angele before. It's a small club down a back alley in the Cowgate. We migrated to a round, white, high table in the middle of the dancefloor happy to have a clear view of the stage.
The Virginmarys came on at 7.20 pm. The duo play loud rock akin to Royal Blood or Slaves. And they were loud. I could feel the bass drum vibrations through my pint tumbler and when the lead singer scream-growled out the lyrics, my ears hurt like the sound was trying to scour out my earwax. Not a pleasant feeling but I still enjoyed what they played. It had a raw rockiness that appealed.
Before the main act, two giants pushed into the space on the opposite side of our table between us and the stage, two pints each in hand. There was no politeness in the way they invaded the space. The couple who had been standing there were elbowed out of the way so the ogres could put down their pints.
The table proved a mixed blessing. Now the venue was packed, it attracted punters like the shipwrecked to a desert island, unaware the gap in the crowd was due to a table. Once they arrived, there was nowhere else for them to go so the surroundings became more and more cramped, bodies constantly bumping into one another. There wasn't even space to raise an arm to salute the band.
Massive Wagons came on at 8.30 pm and played for an hour and a half, missing out some of their bigger hits in favour of some oldies, plus a trio of cover songs that expressed the variety of their influences (see the setlist below).
The lead singer, Baz, is charismatic, like a Lancastrian Noddy Holder, complete with porkpie hat and massive sideburns, only with a long, dark mane that stretches down his back. I'd read that he recently had vocal problems but there was little evidence of it tonight. The stage wasn't that big but he still managed to twirl his mic stand and pace about the stage like a rapper. I couldn't see much of the rest of the band because of the ogres, especially when they leaned closer together to chat, which they did a lot.
I wouldn't have been so annoyed at them - they had to stand somewhere - except when the one in the Sticky T-shirt returned from the toilet, he manhandled a small chap who'd migrated into his space, physically grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him aside. The chap had to spend the rest of the gig with his view blocked. This spoiled the gig for me. The venue should really keep a separate area for thugs like this - Kunt Korner - somewhere near the bar and the toilet but away from the rest of us. Call the thugs VIPs but don't tell them the P stands for Prick.
With my view obscured, I just had to listen to the music. When they played Generation Prime, I found myself taken over by the track. My head and body started rockin, like I would have done in my youth. Then I felt the nudge of two folded arms in my back as the punter behind protected himself from my gyrations. A sombre reflection of a sad situation, having done that myself many times at previous gigs. I just wasn't allowed to enjoy myself.
Oh well, can't have everything. Where would you put it?
I would go back and see Massive Wagons again but only in a bigger venue. I'm getting too old for this cramped club shite.
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