Pigeon Detectives, Rock City

I've been stood up by my mate (again) who's decided to drive over to Birmingham to see the Foo Fighters for 2414th time rather than join me at the Pigeon Detectives. Since we got tickets they've suddenly become popular, which is a shame and the gig is now sold out, whereas a few months ago they couldn't give the tickets away. Daughter is keen to go and because my mate isn't now going I've manage to buy his ticket off him for her. So it's Daughter and me tonight, no L. She says she's not keen on them Pigeon Fanciers; she liked what she heard of them in the Ropewalk one night but not when she'd sobered up afterwards.



I ride home and then run to meet L from pilates. I persuade Doggo into doing a loop around Wollaton before heaving up to the Tennis Centre. Unfortunately we lose one of his flashing lights off his running jacket; well he loses it, too much pushing through bushes. We retrace our steps to look for it. This upsets Doggo who doesn't like it when we repeat a route, lazy creature.



L whips up some excellent sausage, mash, and onions and then we're off to the gig at Rock City. Daughter seems to have her pulling gear on or perhaps she just wants to look good in the mosh pit; although she's not shown any inclination to crowd surf before but she probably just didn’t want to in front of her mother. Hope she behaves herself or else I could be in trouble with L.



We miss the first support band, the much hyped One Night Only, who I'd like to have seen but we catch most of the set by The Wallbirds. The place is packed and we're in the Maximo Park position, stage right, so the view isn't brilliant. The Wallbirds are kind of country-rock that reminds me of Fratellis but with potential. One of their songs seemed to consist of just a guitar, a hi-hat cymbal and a pair of sticks, assisted by a lot of clapping from the crowd. They're certainly energetic and it rubs off on the crowd. Possibly one to watch out for.



In between bands we move to a better position on the steps, where Daughter has to battle the drunks and some over enthusiastic fans but we have a good view. The beer throwing isn't too bad tonight which is a good job as Daughter has opted to keep her white sweat-top on rather than wow a pigeon fancier with her décolletage.



"Hello Nottinum"



Winning no prizes for pronunciation here come tonight headliners. All dressed in leather jackets the Pigeons energetically take flight into their breakthrough single 'I Found Out' which grazed the lower reaches of the charts earlier this year and is now set for a re-release.



The band, lead by their lunatic of a front man, Matt Bowman, then proceed to work their way through their debut album 'Wait For Me' and assorted b-sides. Hammering out their high octane, pop songs as the crowd jump, surge and crowd surf in front of them. I had expected it to be an almost exclusively under 18's crowd but it isn't, it's mainly students and twenty something's with a few oldies like me thrown in. Because the band have only recently become popular the youngsters must have been out manoeuvred on the tickets.







Music aside all the entertainment comes from Mental Matt. He swings his microphone above his head on its cable; I hope they've got plenty of spares. For some reason his performance reminds me of Alvin Stardust. Two songs in he takes off his leather jacket, to reveal a black t-shirt and launches himself into the crowd. He emerges with the t-shirt in shreds, pre-arranged me thinks, pre-ripped. Some ego. Already I've discarded the Alvin comparisons and now I'm wondering whether he's taken lessons on stage presence from Justin of the Darkness but then suddenly he goes a bit bashful on us. He resists the temptation to go bare-chested, as Justin would have done, and puts his jacket back on. Thank God for that. Then for the next song he swaps it for another t-shirt. We're four songs in and there have already been more costumes changes than at a Madonna gig.



Matt The Mouth continues to leap around the stage and the crowd sing-along-a-Matt. His and the band's energy is reflected and magnified by the crowd, which in turn spurs him on even more. He has the crowd eating out of his hand and he loves it; oh how much does he love it. Then he surfs into the crowd and is tossed around by a sea of hands. When he returns to the stage he has lost his microphone. Some feat when it's on a bloody long cable.



For his next trick, he catches a beer can that is thrown from the back of hall, he looks stunned he's caught it but he remains cool and casually drinks from it, then spits it out over the crowd before hurling the can back from where it came. The man's a one-man cabaret act. He spends the rest of the gig trying to catch another one, plenty are thrown, but he cannot repeat the feat. He regularly encores the spitting though, he's frequently drinking beer, or water and regurgitating it straight back out, either up in the air or over the audience. Not very endearing. If this is how he drinks I'd hate to see him eat.







A shoe makes it one stage and as Bowman makes a joke about it, it becomes the cue for lots of other shoes and article of clothing are thrown on stage. This isn't a f****** jumble sale he protests but he likes the belt and says he'll keep it.



The band who hail from Rothwell, near Leeds, and have a certain edgy Northern charm about them, nearly cause a riot at one stage when they threatened to play 'Marching On Together', Leeds United's anthem, while the guitarist's effects pedal is fixed. Luckily for them not enough people are clued up or else they'd probably have got bottled off.



They close with 'I'm Always Right' followed by 'I'm Not Sorry', their first release, which only emerged in March this year. Which goes to show how far they've come in a mere eight months.



There's no encore, I think after an hour they simply ran out of material and energy. Their problem is that their simple formula can wear a little thin. You can get the feeling that you've heard some of the tracks before even when you haven't. Three chord riffs, a bass player who only plays one string and caveman lyrics about drink, girls, and rowdiness, there isn't anything particularly original about them but they do do it rather well. I heard someone describe them as McFly with balls, quite.



Three songs from the end they played a track called 'Emergency'. I thought this was a cover but it turns out to be a new track of theirs. It's one of the best tracks of the night and could be a sign of the diversity they'll need to develop in their repertoire if they are to kick on from here. We don't get anything profound or enduring from them tonight but you do get fun, plenty of fun. Pure trash. Excellent. The best place to be tonight was probably down the front with the pogoing students and had I not been restraining Daughter I might just have joined them. Now where's me shoes.



Show over, the appreciative crowd, and Daughter, go home happy and singing. How many lads will be smooth talking their girlfriends tonight with Matt's sweet nothings, 'You know I love you, take off your clothes, its alright'. Daughter is humming along too but she has mangled together a Killers/Pigeons remix in her head, for some reason.

Seth Lakeman, University of Lincoln

Tonight I find myself at Lincoln University to see the folk maestro, Seth Lakeman, in action.



Firstly the university confuses us because we head for The Shed and the gig is in The Engine Shed, to which we have to ask directions. It's very confusing them having places with such similar names. Secondly, and this a first, the gig seems to be running ahead of itself. We arrive in time to see the start of the second support band but end up catching only the end of them. Seth himself comes on twenty minutes early.



The place is also packed, obviously folk is in vogue at the moment. The audience is a mix of oldies and youngsters who have got old before their time, and us of course. This makes me feel very young. There's no proper beer available, which would have sold well given the clientèle, and I have to make do with Kronenbourg 1664, that famous French lager brewed in very Gallic Reading.



Now, as I've said before, I'm not really a great fan but I have done my research by listening to both 'Freedom Fields', and 'Kitty Jay'. It starts well because Seth opens with a string of tracks that I know and I am very impressed because for the first few tracks he plays the fiddle. Very good he is with it too. He is accompanied by quite a vivid stage show, plenty of flashing lights etc but this leaves the back of the stage a little too dark to see what the two percussionists are doing which is a shame. The band also consist of a double bass and I'm told his brother on guitar.







Seth himself doesn't stay on the fiddle for long and plays an assortment of bass guitars and the material isn't stuff I recall, consequently he loses me a bit after that. Personally, I think he is at his best on the fiddle.



My legs are knackered and I consider moving a little further back and leaning against the wall until someone steals my intended spot. Seth grabs my attention again towards the end when he plays the title track of 'Kitty Jay', which is clearly popular and possibly the stand track of the evening.



He returns for an encore of two tracks, one of which is an instrument, then he's gone and that's it. It's still very early, these folk people don't like to be out too late.

Brakes, University Of Warwick

In March I saw the Brakes live at the Rescue Rooms and L regretted not going with me. So I said the next time they played locally, I would take her. In fact they played Derby last Friday but we were up on the coast in our cottage. The next best option was tonight at Warwick University, which is confusingly near Coventry. So that is where we go off to tonight.



We drive the sixty odd miles to Coventry but we are too late to see anything of the support band, mainly due to problems finding the car park. A few signs would have been nice. As you can tell this is a venue I haven't been to before. It's a pretty good one too. A tight venue with a high stage and lots of vantage points. It reminds me of a smaller version of Leicester Poly, De Montfort Uni as it now is. The show is part of their Fresher's week. So I'm expecting lots of drongos and possibly a few babes but we don’t really get much of either.



Daughter is with us, complete with a headache, which isn't good news for going to a gig. Probably something to do with going to school this morning in the pouring rain in just a jumper. So she'll be next with the flu symptoms.



The band open with, as I assume they always do, 'Hi How Are You'. Daughter looks at me as the first of many F words are flung from the stage. Every so often she says something to me, which I can't hear properly because of the noise and I'm tempted to quote the band's line 'Won't you shut the f*** up, I'm just trying to watch the band' but I don't.



Apparently Daughter's been listening up on The Rakes by mistake. Easy mistake, Brakes/Rakes. I think L has made the same mis-association in the past. It's all probably a bit of a shock for Daughter, I mean, I can't really imagine the deadly serious Rakes imploring the audience to 'Do The Spring Chicken'.



Some of the audience take this offer literally. One particular audience member, who seems to have come as a member of the Hair Bear Bunch, does the Spring Chicken throughout.







The Brakes are one of my favourite bands. They are a refreshing alternative to most of what is around at the moment. Their songs are pleasantly random, an intriguing mixture of moods and styles. A bit like women but with lower maintenance. Between tracks it's often difficult to remember you’re listening to the same band.



They also have something to say and are not afraid to say it with their quirky lyrics. 'Here's a song about the death of God' cue 'Cease and Desist'.



You get the feeling that the band revel in being unconventional, their songs never seem to follow any set structure. They often stop without warning and often err on the well... brief side, stopping before they've even really started. 'Cheney' is a nine-second rant about the Vice President of the USA. The almost as short 'Pick Up The Phone' is about foreign policy.



The obligatory pineapple is brought out for the 60 odd seconds of the punky 'Porcupine or Pineapple', their anti-war song. Hair Bear is by now desperately trying to upstage the band but even one of the speakers almost falling on the drummer a few songs in can't upstage them. Admirably the drummer barely seems to notice, as he carries on playing. He could so easily have not been so lucky.







The support band the XCerts, who we missed, slow the crescendo of songs by bringing a cake on stage for the bass player's birthday.



Again the epic, lovelorn 'No Return' tugs at the heartstrings and steals the show, a song seemingly personal to vocalist Eamon Hamilton about love lost but painfully remembered. It complements the short, frenetic bursts of their other songs extremely well.







The set is over in around fifty minutes, having played most of their two albums. A chap near us has continually called for their seven second song about punctuation 'Comma Comma Comma Full Stop'. I keep expecting them to either finish or encore with it but it remains unplayed. Eamon returns alone to play a single solo encore, a song about European integration he calls it. Maybe be that should be disintegration, as he whinges about metrification among other things.



All bands are influenced by somebody who has gone before them but the great bands earn our respect by taking those influences, turning them on their head and then coming up with something distinctive and then crucially, ending up sounding like no one but themselves. That's the Brakes.



As the lights go up, it looks as if L's pulled, she's talking to Hair Bear. Thankfully I don't think frizzy afros do it for her.

Air Traffic, Rescue Rooms

I'm at the Rescue Rooms again tonight exercising my 'open mind theory'. That is, do not dismiss something you know little about. Even so, I have to keep reminding myself that it's not the dreaded Keane that I'm about to see but a band from Bournemouth called Air Traffic. My friend thinks that they're rather good. Based on the few tracks I've heard, I'm not totally convinced but of course they may be a totally different animal live.



I miss the first support band, who were on at a ridiculously early 7.15 but I catch the second half of the set by the second support band. They are from Dundee and are called The Law. Now I recall that in the early nineties Paul Rodgers of Free/Bad Company and Kenney Jones of Small Faces/The Who formed a super group called the Law and had loads of 'famous' guest musicians playing with them. I'm not sure the Scottish Law know this but their logo is stunningly similar.







New Law







Old Law



They sound like they want to sound like the View or perhaps they just want to sound more drunk than the View. Either way we'll move swiftly on.







My friend introduces me to a couple of his mates and one of them even buys me a Newcastle Brown. The conversation turns perversely from music to marathons, one of them did the Robin Hood Half at the weekend. Just as we're getting round to triathlons and I'm recommending bikes to him, the band come on and spoil it.



Hang on a second, this isn't Keane, this is an indie band, two guitars, bass and drums. Standard indie fodder but still not bad. Mrs Keane has obviously run off with the Gamekeeper and their affair has spawned a love child that is called Air Traffic (I really must stop these Lady Chatterley references).



Then after just one track front man Chris Wall spoils it by putting down his guitar and instead sitting at a side-facing keyboard. Oh my God, it's Coldplay.



After one keyboard driven anthem we get another and another and another, all with soaring choruses. Although at times the rest of the band seem to be playing a different tune. It's like Chris Martin backed by the Fratellis.



To be fair, Wall's vocals are strong and when the keyboard / indie guitar combo works, it works well, such as on 'Just Abuse Me' but after a while, the songs start to sound rather similar or like Travis or Snow Patrol or... well you get the gist. The other problem is that with him sitting down you can't see him. It might look good on Jools Holland but it doesn't work in a nightclub. You need to stand up mate. That is if you want to be a proper front man. Play your keyboard eighties tea tray style or get someone else to do the tinkly bits.



I start looking round at the crowd, a mix of couples who are probably my age but look a lot older, all nodding along in time, with a few twenty something's, drinking at the bar, thrown in to bring the average age down.



Thankfully every so often, Wall does stand up and when he does he picks up his guitar and lifts the pace with a indie dance floor filler such as the lurid and catchy 'Charlotte'. It shows a more daring side that seems to drag the attention of the twenty something's away from the bar, but just as the crowd gets going it's time for more keyboard. He is good with his keyboard and he's determined to make sure we know it but there really is far too much of it. Especially because a lot of the tracks really don't need it. They're simply trying to do too much, be too complex. There's a good tune in there fighting to get out but they're smothering it. At one stage the rest of the band start beating out the rhythm on three separate drums, that works, but it's a fleeting moment.







The crowd is also very quiet, the Rescue Rooms is about half full, and when he announces that they are recording a live version of their new single 'No More Running Away' at every tour date, he also has to appeal to the audience to make some noise. Which sums it up really.



It was a good evening because Air Traffic are pleasant, if a little annoying, a band looking for an identity but looking in the wrong place. Chris Wall will probably be huge when he goes solo and records an album of power ballads. Then his backing band can really get down to some serious Chelsea Daggering.

The Hold Steady, Rescue Rooms

For the last few weeks I've been grooving to the new The Hold Steady CD, which L has lent me. I don't know how I managed to let this band slip through my fingers; their new album is terrific. L's getting quite good with her music; they're just one of a few bands she's introduced me to recently.

We head off to the Rescue Rooms. It's packed. Which is a surprise; we didn’t expect this sort of turn out. The view isn’t brilliant and I’m not at all sure whether L can see anything. So far it's hardly her ideal gig. We have already missed the support band, which is a shame because I would like to have seen a bit of them, if only to see what a band called 'Cat The Dog' looked like.

At 9pm the band come on and launch into 'Hot Soft Light' from the new album. Like all their songs, it is full of power chords and fist-pumping choruses mangled together with lead singer Craig Finn's downbeat lyrics about drink, drugs, and girls.

‘It started recreational, it ended kind of medical’

They seem to be very keen on their drink, their drugs, and their girls in Minnesota.

The audience is quickly divided into those who know what the Hold Steady are about and those that don't. It seems that a lot of people have come along just because it's Friday night and it's only a tenner to get in. Quite quickly space appears as a lot of people nip out for a cigarette. Instantly the gig is more comfortable, perhaps even L can see. Why leave? Ok, so the Hold Steady may not exactly sound or look fashionable. For a start Craig Finn is 35 (still on life's up slope) and looks more like a schoolteacher than a rock star but the most important thing is the great sound that they make. Their songs may be almost pub songs but they are well-written, very catchy, and great fun.

Most of the set is culled from their latest album which is presumably what the audience came to hear but surprisingly the best-known tracks come early. Finn shows us what a well-read chap he is. ‘Stuck Between Stations’ is about the poet John Berryman. The line 'Boys and Girls in America have such a sad time together' is from Jack Kerouac's, 'On the Road'.

'This is another song about a boy and a girl, and a horse.' Finn says as he introduces the excellent ‘Chips Ahoy’, which is the other side of the creative coin. The song takes place at a horse race, about a couple who despite winning just can’t find the happiness they desire. Finn swings his arms around a lot as he sings, as if trying to expand on the words.



'This is a drinking song' he tells us but then he corrects himself, 'well they’re all drinking songs'.

Finn sings stories about characters to care about. I wonder if his own youth was misspent (or well spent) in the manner he describes, that is getting high or getting drunk or probably both.

Some older tracks come later. ‘Your Little Hoodrat Friend’ from their second album goes down well and for the encore after a couple of slowies in 'Citrus', for which out comes the accordion and the xylophone and 'First Night', they play 'Everyone's A Critic But Most People Are DJs' and 'Killer Parties' both from their debut. I think at one point the lead guitarist fell off the stage but I’m not sure.



Overall the band put in a gritty yet professional performance to a crowd of mixed ages. Some young, some as old as Finn, some even older than ancient old me. In the end the venue is about right, the band's sound is probably best suited to the smaller venues but I think their increasing fame may see them round the corner at Rock City next time.

He thanks the crowd and says what a joy it is to be here. He's clearly stoked to be up on stage, enjoying himself and enjoying the fact that the audience were loving it too. It's great to see a band that has as good a time on stage as the crowd are having off it. You can’t help being buoyed by the band's boundless enthusiasm and infectious personality but it's not the performances that make the band so good, it's the songs.

'We had a massive night, every song was right'

Voxtrot, The Social

I head to the Social to see a band called Voxtrot, who are a very British sounding Indie Band from Austin, Texas.



When I arrive just after 8pm, I appear to be the only one there. I have to double check that I'm in the right place. I check my ticket. It seems I am in the right place. More worrying my ticket is number 2. So at least one other person should be arriving. Then I notice, in the gloom, that there are other people here. There are three chaps sat drinking right at the back of the room. I suspect, though, that they might be the band. Oh well if no one else turns, at least I'll get a good view.



I check out the merchandising stall, unmanned at present. The CDs are cheap so I'll buy some later because they're very expensive normally as they're all US imports. Daughter wants me to get her a badge but there aren't any. Posters are free though, I'll get one later for her. It doesn't look as they'll run out. She'll be upset though when she sees I haven't been to see Foxtrot after all.



I feel compelled to get a drink, for something to do. I buy a Newcastle Brown, which is just the right temperature and I thoroughly enjoy it. It's been a long time since I last had one. I go downstairs to the other bar, where there are other people, to drink it.



Eventually I see some other people go upstairs, so I follow them. Soon some more people do start arriving. A group of five students go to the bar and share a pint of lager between them.



It's filling up now. In addition to me, the three 'band' members and the five students. There are a couple of couples, all older than me. Another chap who's even older and looks vaguely familiar. I'm sure he travels on the Red Arrow and reads the Daily Telegraph every day. I had him down as Rachmaninoff man, not into obscure US Indie Bands. There are two girls chatting away in American accents, so presumably jet-setting groupies. So in all, not counting the chap who is now on the merchandising stall and the barmaid there's 15 of us.



Action at last. A very strange support band takes the stage. They are called Sleeping States and are a bit like Lovers Electric, that odd couple who supported OMD, but without the girl. They are two guys with guitars and another of those weird synthesizers that they blow into. Very weird but not bad.



After they're finished, a few more people arrive and the crowd swells to around thirty people. Then Voxtrot take the stage and the 'audience' respond enthusiastically. The band are over here to promote their first album. They've been around for around four years, so they've taken their time releasing one, opting instead to release a string of singles and EPs. A bit like bands used to do in the good old early eighties. These singles though, a mix of catchy pop gems and disarming ballads, have made quite a name for them in the blogosphere, without probably selling anything. They offer a lot of their tracks as free downloads.



Fittingly enough, they open with 'Introduction', which is also the first track on the album. The band have tons of energy and show it. The opener is full of their bouncy sound and jangly guitars, the band bounce along with it. The drumming is impressive too, Matt Simon's pounding drums carrying the songs along.



The guitarist breaks a guitar string during the second song but they don't have any spare guitars and they have to borrow one off the support band. They ask if anyone in the audience could change the string for them. Life at the bottom, eh. Very Rock n roll. Someone takes it off him but I think it's the chap from the merchandising stall.



Three tracks in and they play their 'big' internet 'hit' - 'Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives'. Everyone in the audience knows it, cue a lot of singing and foot-tapping. A group of five are bouncing around at the back. The band say 'hi' to them and thank them for travelling four hours to be here. Is everybody here with the band? This troupe of groupies are four parts male, one part female. The girl keeps a safe distance from the lads, seemingly not wishing to be seen as if she's with any of them. I wonder which of the band members she's shagging.



Then they shift gear, lead vocalist Ramesh Srivastava putting aside his guitar, to take a turn at the keyboard for two piano-driven numbers.



In all, it's a short set and the band stick to their allotted 45 minutes. Earlier, on the track 'Kid Gloves', Srivastava asked us to 'Cheer me up, cheer me up, I'm a miserable fuck.' So obviously we failed because after playing another of their early 'hits' - 'The Start of Something', which has the groupies at the back jumping with excitement, they leave the stage.



'If I die clutching your photograph, don't call me boring' Srivastava sings.



Hmmmm. They don't encore, despite the histrionic cries of Daily Telegraph man. No, not boring, not miserable either, in fact a very good gig, just a bit too brief mate.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Rock City

One of the most striking things about Rock City tonight is the lack of smoke. I never thought they'd get the smoking ban to stick in places like this but there are no dissenters tonight.



Black Rebel are a no-frills three-piece rock band, and a bit of an acquired taste. As Daughter isn't really familiar with their music, I wouldn't say this was a good choice for her first time but then again do we ever get to really choose our first time? It is though a typical Rock City gig. Take the support band for instance - The Black Angels. Also from the US they claim to be inspired by The Velvet Underground which I can see but to me they remind me of some of the darker bands of the 1980's Goth era. They're quite good in a dark and brooding sort of way, jolly they're certainly not. There slogan is 'The Black Angels are marching forward into battle for your souls'. Quite.



Black Rebel themselves are late taking the stage which means it could be a short show, as Saturday is a club night and they're supposed to be off stage for 10.15.



Rock experience wise, it starts well, Robert Turner is in the crowd before the first song 'Took Out A Loan' is even half way through. When he isn't strutting around the stage or jumping into the crowd he often puts his hood up, like a sulky teenager. Before he goes down on his knees with his guitar and tries to stoke up the feedback, with seemingly little success. I think the sound engineer won that particular battle. Little did I know at the time but the gig nearly didn’t happen. Last nights show in Bristol was cancelled because Turner had a throat infection. So I suppose he deserves extra credit for the tracks he took vocals on.







A lot of the set is taken from their new album 'Baby 81', although the band regularly dip back into their earlier albums and even pull songs from their country detour 'Howl'.



As they mix their old and new, it occurs to me that they are even a bit like Daughter, or perhaps like any woman, in that they have a penchant for dramatic mood swings. E.g. here's a song to jump around to (e.g. 'What Ever Happened'), here's a folk song to make you cry (anything from 'Howl'), here's a moody one to have sex to (e.g. the long brooding 'American X').







Towards the end most of the band go off stage leaving lead guitarist and singer Peter Hayes on his own. With his guitar and his harmonica he delivers a couple more songs from 'Howl'. The rest of the band return to play two requests. The crowd shout, predictably, for 'Spread Your Love' and 'Six Barrel Shotgun'. Although not necessarily my choices, they go down well, particularly with the crowd surfers who seem to have turned up late. My favourite 'Stop' goes unplayed.







They play one more, 'All You Do Is Talk' from the current album. Then they are gone, although I think they would have happily played on if there hadn't been the club night induced curfew.



A good performance, although not as good as when I've seen them before. I thought it was all a bit disjointed, perhaps trying to hard to knit their differing material together.