Tubular Bells at 50

Tubular Bells, the first record released on Virgin Records own label, came out two days before I became eighteen. The music is on tour to celebrate its very significant birthday this year. Last night I saw the performance at Warwick Arts Centre, a fine venue on the university campus.

Virgin Records, Corporation Street, Birmingham was a very early branch of the chain. Hairy teenagers browsed racks of vinyl albums, occasionally being attracted by a sleeve and asking mates if anyone knew the music. There were four aircraft seats arranged back to back in the middle of the shop and thus four people could listen to music on headphones to sample it.

We once happened to find a set of headphones which had been deserted and enjoyed what was playing, so we enquired. It turned out to be Uriah Heap who were touring their latest album The Magician's Birthday. Coincidentally they were playing at Birmingham Town Hall that very night. We bought one copy of the record then went to the Town Hall and bought tickets. The gig was recorded and became part of a live album released later that year. I have a broken drumstick from the gig and me and my mates are part of the audience noise.

Walking back through the city centre with the distinctive black and white bag (and taking the same to school the following Monday) was a badge of honour. I love Shazam and Spotify but finding a copy of the unusual music you liked in those days had a much greater sense of hunting and killing.

Based on the audience last night I'd like to report that me and TCMT are in good nick for our age. For the most part bladders are weak, knees are knacked, hair is missing and weight has been added.

The gig, brilliantly written up from another venue on the tour by Peter Viney consisted of eight very talented musicians performing the album. Tubular Bells has indeed crossed over some line into the classical canon. As a largely instrumental work it can be performed and interpreted without the composer being present. I used to joke, to annoy classical snobs, that when they went to a performance they were going to see a Beethoven tribute band. I'll retire that now; its work is done. Anyway the unique difficulty of being a rock tribute act is that the vocal style of the lead singer is almost always distinctive in the best bands.

Part one of the show started with a segue of pieces of Oldfield's other works. Then two 'poppier' tunes for which he has writing credits. Moonlit Shadow, which we now associate with the Fast Show's Dave Angel and Family Man which I thought was a Hall and Oates song. Then a longer piece by keyboardist and musical director Robin Smith, which was delightful. Part two was Tubular Bells in full, the band demonstrating talent at more than one instrument and keyboard/samples filling in some gaps such as the introductions of the instruments to close what us oldies know as side 1.

I hadn't listened to the album in preparation and was amazed how I knew what was coming round every corner. Also, and this was unexpected, I found myself revisiting my life. This vinyl album, playing as I write, is now with me in its eighth home since I purchased it. It has raised kids, endured thirty seven years of ordained ministry and is now retired. It means something. A good night out.

Wave Pictures at The Fleece

Ever since Junior told me I'd enjoy this lot I've been mugging up. Seemed like perfectly acceptable country/rock/blues for a Monday evening out, but I had low expectations.

Wow! I had to search for the exclamation mark on the keyboard I use it so rarely.

Learning new music live is a wonderful business. And so support act 1 - Vinegar get filed under 'interesting; look out for more' and support act 2 Snails can crawl slowly away.

Interesting observation from Junior. 'The bassist is too good for Snails (she was very good). If they had a rubbish bassist at least we'd applaud them all for having a go.'

And so to Wave Pictures. Los Lobos meet Dire Straits at a blues fest in honour of The Modern Lovers.

I want to applaud an excellent gig-by-numbers. This is how to do it:

Open with a big song. Either the best new one or a strong back catalogue number.

Introduce any other new songs in the first half of the set. This is also the place for audience banter. Sample banter:

Front-man: I wrote this next song during Blue Planet. I hate it but if I watch it with my girlfriend then she will watch The Big Bang Theory. I don't understand why everyone likes David Attenborough.

Audience: (Murmur of disapproval)

Front-man: See. Everyone likes David Attenborough. Do you all like him?

Audience: (Cheers)

Front-man: The best place for an animal is on the end of my fork.

Audience: (Louder murmur of disapproval)

Front-man: Thing is, that was a quote from Quentin Crisp. So you're really booing me for being well read.

At about the half way stage leave shorter gaps between songs, stack up the well-known crowd favourites, tell everyone when the last one is about to happen and do two encore songs without going off between them and then go home.

Brief nod of respect to the sound crew who made the vocal mix for Wave Pictures clear enough for us to be able to sing along to tunes we had never heard before, by the time of the second chorus.

Singer/guitarist David Tattersall is quite a virtuoso - he channelled Mark Knoepfler and David Gilmour but his style is also very much his own. Franic Rozycki played a couple of lead lines on bass with some aplomb and drummer Jonny Helm was joined by a guest (and permanently grinning) percussionist who added much.

There's a gig on YouTube but it doesn't beat seeing them. Oxford tonight if you hurry.

1971

TYA 1971 Tour Front Cover

I very much enjoyed last night's gig by guitarist/singer/song-writer Keith Christmas at Nailsea's Ring of Bells pub. The slightly weird bit of the whole experience was this:

I went to a number of 'variety show' gigs with my parents in the 1960s and also saw some bands in the days when they were guests on pantomimes. I can tick off Herman's Hermits, The Bachelors. The Searchers, Freddie and the Dreamers, The Barron Knights and Gerry and the Pacemakers. But these were two or three song gigs with comedians as headline.

Exploring my own taste in music from about 1969/70 onwards I got over-interested in Ten Years After and in autumn 1971 they were my first solo gig, at Birmingham Town Hall. These days I do not buy concert programmes (I worked out they were a rip-off quite quickly), but to begin with I would buy a programme and place it, for safe-keeping, in the sleeve of the album being promoted on that tour. Another use of a vinyl album. So I still have it.

The 1971 line up

The opening act I saw at that first gig was a young solo artist of whom I had not heard. Yeah, Keith Christmas. He was able to command the stage, as I recall, and his acoustic guitar playing was a bit good (although some of you will know I am not a guitarist). A lot of the audience remained in the bar.

I spent a large part of last night pondering on where our journeys had taken us since then. Keith had played with Bowie, opened up for many major bands and recorded much fine music. He describes his career as coming to an end but also seems to have become a prolific song-writer later in life. Some of his new material was outstanding. He has also had two sons and now lives in Torquay. I guess that if, in 1971, you would have told him he would eventually wind down his career playing to 25 people in Nailsea he would have been a bit disappointed, although he genuinely seemed to love the appreciative audience (I knew most of them from the local music scene). Did I ever tell you I had turned down an invitation to play keys in a Wurzels tribute band? Fact.

The autograph

But not half as surprised as 16 year old me would have been to be told that he would end up here as a vicar. Our journeys have been different but it was great to say hello to part of my past.  He has signed my tour programme. Look what he wrote.

Guitarists might like to know that Keith uses a rare B tuning of his own making from time to time. Some of the guitarists in the room seemed to be weeping at the sheer variety of picking techniques Keith used. Lost on me but I pass it on.

I try to go to as many local music events as possible and get to know the people. I have even dared perform at the Folk Club from time to time. There aren't many opportunities for the vicar to walk into a room full of men outside church circles. I love it.

One guy (hi Rob) told me he always enjoyed hearing me on the radio and when I told him I had been on that morning he said he would go home and listen to it on iplayer. 'I'm that sad' he added, with a wink.

Keith Christmas April 2018 

From time to time I have an experience that screams at me. Look where I brought you from. Look where I put you. What you going to do about it?

Thanks Keith, for the memory jog, the great performance and the reminder of the journey.

Health warning. UKIP members probably wouldn't enjoy his politics. 'I'm a bit of a leftie even for a folk singer'.

He once had to break it to the members of Chicken Shack that Stan Webb had gone home from a tour of Germany during the night after a telephone row with his wife. He told the story as his encore.

Iconic Sanctity

Don't worry. The title isn't a belated attempt at a googlewhack.

There was a discussion on the radio yesterday morning (BBC Radio Bristol) about the Massive Attack gig on Clifton Downs last Saturday. I was phoned to offer an opinion.

During the course of the debate one contributor (who was clearly against it ever having happened) suggested that Clifton Downs is 'an iconic place' and its 'sanctity' should not be spoiled in this way.

I won't rehearse the for and against of the gig. I was there. It was wet. It was enjoyable. It was not my experience that it was badly organised but it was for some.

I want to discuss being iconic. For me the use of the word 'iconic' in this way suggests a thing that can be made to stand for something larger. When you see a picture of it you think of the bigger picture. The Clifton Suspension Bridge is iconic. An image of it across the gorge stands for Bristol. Maybe with balloons flying over it. I don't think the Downs pass this test. A picture of the Downs does not speak of Bristol. I could not pick our Downs out of a downs line-up.

Secondly 'sanctity'. This word has two uses. The first is 'holy' or 'sacred'. I don't think this is true of the Downs. Second is 'ultimate importance and inviolability'. I imagine this is what the speaker refers to.

How do places become ultimately important and inviolable? Shared memories? Repeat events? Unique use? And what places a gig for 20,000 people on the no list but Sunday football and dog-walking on the yes?

I don't think the caller is saying anything more than 'I don't like this kind of thing'. I do.

Cathedrals are iconic and places of sanctity. But if they didn't have event-memories soaked into the bricks they would be nothing.

The big wheel keeps on turning
On a simple line day by day
The earth spins on its axis
One man struggle while another relaxes.

(Hymn of the Big Wheel - Massive Attack)

Gig Openings

I was fortunate enough to see Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers touring their first album in Birmingham in the 1970s. Hyped up for an evening of exciting rockage we wondered which of their great up tempo tracks they would open with. Maybe American Girl or Anything That's Rock n Roll.

He chose Lunar.

Now this is a great song. Listen to it here. 

But as a show opener it was remarkable. It is filled with expectation and in the trembling vocal contains the idea that something big and loud is about to break out. It leads you to the rest of the album (which the band then played). But the song is all angst. It felt like the tune played over the PA as the lights dimmed rather than the first of the gig. Only after it had finished were the crowd addressed. Quite brilliant.

Thinking about it for no reason the other day I got to pondering the best openings to gigs I could recall. And they are all quite a while ago. Maybe beginning a gig isn't quite what it used to be. Too much ambling on, 'Hello Bristol' (or wherever) and then playing. So how about:

Genesis at Reading in 1973 began with Watcher of the Skies. A huge brooding organ-filled sound. Peter Gabriel, only his head visible, eyes painted with luminous make-up, was encased in a sort of box. As the song progressed it was raised hydraulically into the festival night sky until he sang the final verse twenty feet above the stage. It was outrageous theatre only slightly dampened by the failure of the hydraulic mechanism and it taking about ten minutes to get him down again. I used to get terrible stomach cramps in those days, a mysterious late teenage thing that disappeared as mysteriously as it came. I had one that night but I can only recall the opening of the gig not the pain I was in. I like that.

The following year I saw Jethro Tull at Birmingham Odeon. The lights dimmed and a single spotlight picked out a black and white clad guitarist riffing on a black and white guitar. He was soon joined by a similarly clad bass player (what happened to stage costumes?). This guitar and bass dance around the stage continued for a while until the rest of the band joined in and we were off. Can't remember the tune, or much of the rest of the gig, except the pictures still in my head forty two years later.

In 1987 I saw The Mission at Rock City. Midway through the first tune I realised I had experienced the perfect iconic rock moment. To a mighty drum beat three, wind-machine-assisted, long haired guitarists were standing with one foot on a monitor surveying the crowd. They each had a fag hanging out of their mouth as they played Beyond the Pale.

I would add one further gig which I have only seen on DVD. Deconstructing the gig idea totally David Byrne (who else?) chose the Stop making Sense tour. He walks onto a bare stage with a huge ghetto-blaster and says 'I've got a tune I want to play you.' He presses 'play' and the drum track to Psycho Killer is heard. This is Talking Heads' best known song and usually their encore. He plays it solo, on acoustic guitar. Over the next two hours the band turns up section by section, a back-drop is added and by the end (the beginning?) there is an orchestra, visuals and everything you need for a great opening.

Your turn.

Random Memory

I am in Virgin Records, Corporation St, Brum in about 1972/3. It was one of the early Virgin shops outside London. Racks of vinyl albums to explore and four aircraft seats on which to sit and listen to your choice of music.

I walk in with my friends Alan, Keith and Tony. One of the aircraft seats is vacant and this is odd. One of us grabs the headphones and there is indeed something playing. It is the instrumental break from a track on the new Uriah Heap album, The Magician's Birthday.

We ask at the counter to get this information. Coincidentally they are playing at Birmingham Town Hall that night. I think it was a January Saturday.

A moment's pause for the days when it was possible to do something that night on spec.

We bought the album and tickets for the gig. I imagine that we pooled our money to do this. Normally someone had money and someone was broke. It evened out.

And so it was that, it turned out, we went to the gig and it was recorded for a live album and the four of us let out a huge scream together at one point and you can hear it if you know when to listen on the recording. And the drummer broke a stick so he hurled it into the audience and, for the only time in my life, I got it and still have it. Two random, attractive girls started a conversation with me simply because I had such a souvenir. On the way out of the venue I had to hide it up my sleeve for fear of forfeiting it in a very one-sided fight.

Those weren't the days (see post a few days ago) but there were some moments.

Steve Mason

The old three chord trick. Nothing wrong with it. There is a beauty in simplicity. Steve Mason's back catalogue is packed with hauntingly lovely melodies and every one has a freshness.

And to be fair there are often more than three chords but the changes are so effortless they are virtually unnoticed.

He carries a certain anti-establishment anger but his songs are not full of political punditry. He responds to perceived injustice with love and compassion; a wounded yet never giving up approach to relationships. OK, so his is a wouldn't-it-be-good-if-we-were-nicer rant but there isn't much wrong with that.

At The Fleece last night he brought a tight band with wizened experience on bass and lead especially. Extended instrumentals were delightfully trippy even for those of us only drinking water. In these times Mason can end up dancing like Ian Brown a bit, although here the comparison ends as Mason can hold a tune.

Most of the material comes from 2010's Boys Outside and new album Monkey Minds in the Devils Time. It is very strong song-writing and delightfully performed with good audience engagement.

Try and experience him.

Robin Ince at The Arnolfini

Robin Ince seems like a nice chap. I say that because the aloofness of some modern comedians does leave you thinking that they don't want to engage with real people unless they are going to provide new material.

Ince is hanging around at the front of the auditorium as we get seated and stays around during the interval. He invites people to the bar for a chat afterwards. He is not unkind to a young MC who introduces him as 'the guy from Wordaholics on Radio 4' even though he has only guested on that show once and his audience is probably more familiar with him from The Infinite Monkey Cage or The Now Show. Kindness doesn't cost anything. I tweet my thanks for a good gig and get a quick acknowledgement. Impressive. Also, he is, as I described him the other day, 'famously down on faith communities.' But he is quick to point out that he enjoys Greenbelt and shares the frustration of faith communities that the media promote fruit loops (my word not his) to be spokespeople. He is gentle at a guy whose phone rings, using it to illustrate a point he is making about time.

The show is called The Importance of Being Interested and in a manic sweep of the scientific world we are entertained with insights and wit about evolution, parenting, particle physics, astrology and several pictures of the world's most bonkers-looking creatures. The image of a crab that puts a sponge on its head as a defence mechanism will stay with me. Maybe I won't laugh at elderly men in hats quite so much in future.

Ince's point about the great scientists is that they were interested in observing. A story about playing different types of musical instruments to earthworms to see if they had any range of hearing at all is hilarious in the picture it conjures but also, actually, good science. Darwin is famous for deducing the Origin of Species from finch observations but he also did a lot of worm-watching and barnacle scrubbing. His daughter once asked a friend where her father kept his barnacles.

(I lived, as a child, with my mother, father, sister and an aunt - I once asked a friend where his aunt slept and discovering not all people had an aunt live with them was a little bit of growing up.)

Ince describes this show as a four hour one which he has to get into 90 minutes tonight. It does feel a little rushed but, observing the man on stage describing the range of his reading and extent of his contact book, I wouldn't be surprised if the four hour one feels rushed too. Not a criticism. He rushes because his child-like fascination with everything and everyone fills him and inspires him.

He has to fit the show into an hour in Cheltenham today. Good luck with that.

But Ince is just the sort of person I need to hear at a festival of ideas. He reminds me to be fascinated. Frankly I don't need much reminding although my enthusiasm is for how people's emotional and spiritual lives work.

Every time I go to one of these events I tell myself to go to more. I will look out, I remind myself again, for things to attend that are slightly outside my current range of interest. In that will be learning and development.

Hayes and Cahill

Not sure how long ago, must be over ten years, that I heard Hayes and Cahill guest on Later with Jools Holland. Their haunting fiddle lament built into a jig, then a reel (not that I am sure I could define the difference between those two) with Dennis Hayes' acoustic guitar, often simply staying on one chord and providing more rhythm than tune, accompanying Martin Hayes virtuoso playing.
I went out and bought their album, The Lonesome Touch next day.

Holy Trinity Church Nailsea, re-ordered without clutter or anything that might soak up sound, provided the perfect setting for their music last night. As the audience settled down, that solitary fiddle sound, single string at a time, perfectly clean, cut through the ancient atmosphere and left us all spellbound.

The Hayes and Cahill methodology is to mash-up at least five or six different traditional Irish folk tunes, segueing seamlessly into each other and building in speed, rhythmic power and imagination. The second half of their set was built around just two substantial pieces of such music, the second launching off into a giant piece of improvisation, and their single encore was achieved by taking requests and linking them together.

But the moods are not all upbeat. I doubt if this ancient church has ever heard a more lovely piece than Lament for Limerick (I played it on Good Friday a few years back) and I felt an urge to specify it as my funeral music. There won't be a dry eye in the house, not because of my loss (it will stop the laughter and glee) but because of the tune.

In between these extended pieces of music Martin Hayes lists the songs, the composers, a bit of biography and, in a lovely dry way, amuses his audience whilst, presumably, recovering some energy to play again. That neither of them appear to break sweat in an immensely physical performance carried out sitting on chairs, is remarkable.

Absolutely brilliant night out and a real coup for David Francis of the Nailsea Folk club to have achieved it. He's got Martin Joseph coming in June. For the town that gave the world The Wurzels the quality is being stepped up.

Review of the Year

For many reasons it was a tough year for both me and Mrs A professionally, none of which need concern us now. It was a year that started for me with surgery and ended with many drives up the M5 to support my Mum through her hip replacement. It also included the first bad holiday we have had for years and ended with us both being ill at Christmas. 2012 is already being better in many ways.

January 31st is perhaps a little late for a review of 2011 but, in my defence, I'm really slow. I started it and forgot I hadn't finished.

These things made 2011 bearable.

Album of the year. Worthy mentions for Atlum Schema's four EPs, Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. All good and at least one belting track on each. The lad deserves fame and fortune soon. Loved the second Battles album, Gloss Drop, Metals by Feist, Glasvegas' Euphoric Heartbreak and 4Ererevolution by Roots Manuva.

But for sheer vocal virtuosity, a skill which the Apprentice rarely acknowledges, Claire Maguire's Light After Dark gets the prize. She can sing so you hear Florence Welch, Annie Lennox, Kate Bush, Stevie Nicks and Joan Armatrading; yet all melanged uniquely.

Harry Baker's slam poetry at Cafe Create, Nailsea was beathtaking. Find him, see him live.

Bonobo Live at Bristol 02 was a good evening out; not least because the family came and we have few areas of cross-over. Last time we tried it was Herbie Hancock and I don't think I've quite been forgiven.

Comedy gig award to a rambling, and not especially sober, Dylan Moran. I wish I could be as erudite and amusing without rudeness when pickled.

Source Code was my escapist film of the year. Didn't quite take me where I expected and left a few things open at the end. Let's just pray they have no plans for Source Code II.

The i Paper improved my life immensely. If  I didn't fancy reading in bed there was a choice of three puzzles to do.

The New Battle Axes at Wraxall offered fine services to mid-week evenings off with Mrs Apprentice. Slightly pricey (you pay for the refit) but their two local real ales Flatcappers and Battle Axe are to die for. As is their way with a fruit crumble. Alcoholic pick-me-ups at home provided by New Zealand sauvignon blancs. Hard to find a bad one.

Escapist book of the year was Robert Harris' The Fear Index. A day in the life of a risk-taking banker. A bad day.

Foals

Bit of a crush at an absolutely packed O2 Academy, Bristol for Foals last night. Haven't emerged from a gig so sweaty and beer-covered for yonks. Foals have been touring their mercury-nominated album Total Life Forever for a while now and although the music was played efficiently and effectively with bags of energy they seem in need of some new material.

I can't begin to imagine how dull it must get to play the same set for two years and, if suffering from this, they hid it reasonably well. I don't think most of the crowd realised that the frenzy they were getting in was not being induced by the music but a desire for frenzy whatever.

It's that strange combo of mid-tempo, rhythmically-pounding misery rock which had all the depressed students singing along (often in the wrong places), chatting and texting during the quieter instrumental breaks and photographing each other. Think of a Big Country/Editors/Talking Heads vibe and you'd be there.

Singer and guitarist Yannis Philippakis is a moody vocalist but a poor between-tune communicator. His nod in the direction of charisma was to go walkabout to the balconies towards the end of the show. Not spontaneous. He did it in Edinburgh too according to the Scotsman review.

Three stars.

Earlier Toro Y Moi had entertained us with some lovely soundscapes from his keyboard/bass/drums combo. Sounded interesting. Will investigate.

A lot of my reviewing these days seems to suggest, as I read it back, that I am too old for club gigs. Maybe true but given the demographic of the rock/pop audience they probably ought to want to keep us

Pet Shop Boys

Although I wouldn't put myself up there with the real fans I am aware that over the last twenty-five years the Pet Shop Boys have been the soundtrack, to some extent, of my life as a Dad. In the 80s, as West End Girls caught my attention (they played it last night in Cardiff as a second encore), they were the sort of band who were the guests on children's TV shows. I think their first album was the first album my oldest ever bought, or got as a present.

When the format of the band is a guy who sings (and if the truth be told, I find Neil Tennant's voice good for one or two tunes but begins to fade on me after half an hour) and Chris Lowe who plays simple keyboards and presses lots of buttons, a live show needs some work. Boy, do they work it.

Four outstandingly talented individuals, performing anonymously with coloured boxes on their heads for the first half of the show, dance, sing, mime, body-pop and re-arrange the set. The 'set' is a selection of white coloured boxes which are projected on, stood on and flung at each other. Stage hands in lab coats and hard hats add to the mix. Towards the end of the show a second wall of boxes, seemingly fixed up to that point, is animated by wires and the strobe-like projection onto a 3D wall creates an altogether remarkable effect.

They did have some new tunes to me but most of the time it was 'Oh I remember this one' time. Had some difficulty during 'Go West' deciding whether to sing 'Go West (Bromwich Albion)' or 'Stand up if you hate the Wolves.' Great tunes become football chants.

Earlier Sophie Ellis-Bextor had warmed us up. She is tall and elegant and chose the sort of black dress the lasses in River Dance wear. Not sure she quite had the moves or personality to fill an arena though. She trundled through a dance/pop set aided by a fantastic session band who didn't seem that excited. But it was perfectly acceptable support and it was good to re-encounter Murder on the Dance Floor and the old Spiller song Groovejet (If This ain't Love).

Krakatoa and the Alabama 3

A sign behind the bar at Bristol Academy warns that those looking under 21 will be required to produce identification. That's all the bar staff then, or is it that I'm getting real old now?

Anyway Krakatoa will have to find their i.d. for sure. Five lads from London with a swaggering, staggeringly confident attitude. Lead single modelled on Liam Gallagher, staring aggressively at the crowd during instrumental breaks. Guitarist playing chopped bar chords using his thumb as a bridge and walking erect like Wilko Johnson.

We tick off the influences - Beatles, Oasis, Stone Roses, Hard-Fi, The Coral, Dr Feelgood of course - and wonder if these guys are going to be big. They are certainly tight. The all-white male band, Fred Perry polo-shirt look, Remembrance Sunday dedication - we wonder if this is a band who have appeared on charges for racism. We can't make out enough of the lyrics to tell their views. But we know the Alabamas are famously anti-racist and wouldn't have Krakatoa on their bill if they meant trouble. So we are judging by appearances too. Suckers us.

Anyway the Alabama 3. If you haven't been keeping up here's a potted history. There's more than three of them and they're not from the States. They wrote the theme tune to the Sopranos 'Woke up this Morning' which, according to their web site 'earned someone a swimming pool but it wasn't us.' It appeared on their first album back in 1997. They are touring a new album which isn't ready yet. They are famously mashed and audiences regularly mellow. They don't sing their songs; they perform. Audiences will sweat.

Following a short DJ set from The Mountain of Love (the name given to their harp blower and onstage analog fascist and sequencer controller), along with a generous array of new tunes, they gave us several from that first album and one or two from all the others. Larry and D. Wayne have an onstage duel of witticisms a couple of which are coherent, there's lots of pointing at soloists and a bit of choreography during Hypo Full of Love (this may be a drugs reference ladies and gentlemen). Keyboard player The Spirit blond, waif-like and entering the stage in a fur coat and bowler hat tips up his organ from time to time but never really becomes Keith Emerson. Mrs T has accompanied me previously and sent a message, 'Tell me if he's still alive.'

They are a blend of country, acid-house, gospel, hip-hop and something I don't rightly recognise D. Wayne but I'll be on my knees repenting at the first Presleytarian Church of Elvis the divine as soon as I get it. I allow myself to laugh inwardly as we sing the anthem 'Let's Go Back to Church.' Then everyone else gets the chance (if only they knew) to laugh at me singing that the devil has the best tunes.

This band makes me laugh (at myself mainly), makes me dance and is not meant to be a serious spiritual proposition. It's an act. Fantastic evening.

Massive Attack - Swindon Oasis - 3/10/09

Since buying the vinyl seven-inch of Safe from Harm in 1991 Massive Attack have been a part of my personal soundtrack. Hugely influential yet somehow indefinable. Even the trip-hop label, invented to find a box into which to place them, failed to do them justice and they regularly rejected it. The early 1990s signalled that the creative heart of developing pop had driven down the M5/M6 from Manchester to Bristol.

But in all that time I have never seen them live.

A support set from long-time collaborator Martina Topley-Bird was wondrously creative. From the understated early-set tunes over subtle click-track and live drums alone, to the astounding virtuosity of a female beat-boxing double-bass player (honest) I was truly entertained. What a voice she has.

Massive Attack displayed their many vocalists, including the gorgeous tones of Horace Andy, some new material and a raid on the back catalogue including several from Blue Lines and Mezzanine. Most of the old tunes were remixed and reunderstood for 2009 which, for me, made it a show and not the equivalent of a band on stage pressing play on their own MP3s. You could sing along but there was so much more to enjoy too. Two hours of fine music which showed many sides to them and to some extent split the constituency. Some talked in the quieter moments of the beautiful Teardrop; others left for the bar during the more industrial heavy sections. For me, that they do both so competently is part of the attraction.

This band has brought the 50 something late 1980s audience along but welcomed the young too. Possibly Blue Lines has been the soundtrack to many bedroom fumblings. One couple near us certainly needed to get a room, lay-by or cleaning cupboard.

The other side of a Massive Attack gig is the politics. A back projector reminds us of the wealth of bankers, the carbon-footprint of aeroplanes and the cost of basic drugs. You aren't allowed merely to love the band; you have to listen to the cause.

A joy.

Atlum Schema

Treats for those of you who enjoyed Atlum Schema at Cafe Create, Nailsea in January with some amazing live performances, with full band:

Gunfight at the OK Coral

Closing the Doors

Ink Star

Cafe Create should be back in September. More on this later.

The Bourne Conundrum

I read a review this week of Matthew Bourne's latest live set. It begins with he and his fellow musicians banging the lids of some six ex-junk pianos, eventually in rhythm. Later he does a version of My Way as '...cacophony that makes Sid Vicious' version sound urbane.' You get the drift.

We went to a Matthew Bourne gig at Warwick Arts Centre a few years back. The trio wandered on stage. The percussionist picked up and dropped various sticks and brushes, as if he was having trouble deciding with which to begin. The bass player started knocking and turning his bass as if he had never seen such an instrument in his life. Bourne drank half a glass of water and then tapped out a rhythm on the tumbler. We noticed that all this shambolic nonsense was beginning to suggest a groove, at which point Bourne broke the glass with whatever he was hitting it with and covered himself with water. He removed his wet jumper (hardly stage clothing - it was old, holed and baggy) and threw it into the grand piano. He then tried a few notes using the pullover as a damper. This lasted several minutes.

For the rest of the set (which included the largest interval, audience walk-out I have ever experienced) occasional melodies appeared but were soon chased off stage by improvisation. We sat through the whole performance, more out of wonder at what else might be done.

So if you ever ponder whether to experience Matthew Bourne playing live please note. No-one has any idea what he will do at a gig and whether any of it is intended. The lad can play though and is surrounded by great musicians most of the time.

Elbow - Press Your Red Button Now

My ex colleague at CPAS John Fryer emailed me this tip:

If you have Freeview or the equivalent and can press the RED button on BBC1 then select ELBOW in concert. They are playing a Radio 2 concert of their album The Seldom Seen Kid with an orchestra and choir. It's a rolling loop so you can watch it round and see all the tracks till 7th Feb.

Gang, you therefore have two more days to enjoy one of the best bands of the day. Elbow deservedly won the Mercury Music Prize for this album, their fourth. They are a band who work hard, love touring and playing and in Guy Garvey have one of the strongest song-writers of a generation.

This sort of venue/event suits them well. In a place such as a Carling Academy or other arena all the audience idiots talk too loudly through the excellent quiet moments. Rock bands with shade to their music suffer in such places. Sorry that makes me sound old but there you go.

Herbie Hancock

I experienced an unbelievably high quality 45 minutes of music on Thursday evening at Birmingham Symphony Hall. Sadly this was in the context of a three hour gig. Herbie Hancock is a jazz great and a keyboard virtuoso. He was in Miles Davis' band once upon a time and that's as good as it gets.

He attracts great musicians to play with but, and there is a but, I reckon you've done all the interesting things you can do with a chromatic (think Stevie Wonder not Blues Brothers) harmonica in two minutes so why do we have 20 minute solos?

Terence Blanchard – trumpet
James Genus – bass
Lionel Loueke – guitar
Gregoire Maret – harmonica
Kendrick Scott – drums

All the bookends of his great pieces were there but there was a lot in between I just couldn't fathom. V was the outstanding track for me - a spine-tingling, layer-of-sound about '...the sort of visitor you may not want.' Put me in mind of the improvisation Dr John does with Walk on Gilded Splinters live.

Lionel Loueke's piece Seventeens was in 17/4 time. Need I say more?

Even Chameleon was bit spoiled as an encore by everyone having a part in a call-and-response solo. Good to see the old 'keyboard-round-the-neck-played-as-guitar' routine though. l thought the 1980s had seen that off.

So, over-elaborate, extravagent, self-indulgent, weird and a bit dull in parts but I'm glad I saw him. He's 68.

Andy McKee and Don Ross

Due to the gig being rescheduled we interrupted our recent holiday in Wales (all those postponed-postings of axioms were to distract you) to come back to the Thekla to see Andy McKee. Those who are unfamiliar should take a few minutes out and listen to this.

We hadn't heard of Don Ross before but, to give you an idea of how good a guitarist he is, we learned that he was one of the judges at a finger-picking competition at which Andy Mckee only came second. This was one of many fine stories told between numbers - something which brightens a live experience no end.

Hear Don Ross here. I have bought a live album called Live in Your Head which is on constant rotation (as they say on Facebook) right now.

Not being a guitarist myself it is usually difficult to assess how good the performance is. By linking the most extraordinary finger-picking - not to mention playing every inch of a more complex than usual baritone guitar - with some funky little melodies these guys make their virtuosity accessible. Nearby on YouTube is a tutorial to Don Ross's song which the teacher, Warren Gash, describes as 'easy.' So what do I know?

We reckon we saw and heard two of the best guitarists we have ever experienced in an intimate venue after a fine meal in good company (thanks Roger and Sandie). Worth driving back from hols for? I should say so

REM - Cardiff

'We're Americans. We love our country. We hate our government.' Thus Michael Stipe dedicated the whole of last night's set to the Democratic Convention he would normally have tried to be at.

And what a set. Most of the new album Accelerate and two or three dips into every decade of the back catalogue - Losing My Religion, Man on the Moon, Driver 8, The One I Love, Imitation of Life, Orange Crush, What's the Frequency Kenneth, Disturbance at the Heron House and Exuming McCarthy.

Two hours of brilliant entertainment. And Editors weren't half bad as a support.