Heroes Arrive in the Nick of Time; The Libertines at Glastonbury 2015

The effects of the famous leg break that was heard around the world have rippled on ever since Dave Grohl suffered his unfortunate injury in Sweden just over two weeks ago and, although the Foo Fighters’ frontman admirably continued that night to play an impressive two hours, his further commitments to tour dates and festival appearances were immediately placed in serious jeopardy and, unsurprisingly, cancelled shortly after.  Of course this included what was to be a monumental Friday night headlining slot on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury, and a fairly sensible decision was made – given the incredibly short notice of the matter – to bump Florence and The Machine up the bill into one of the most illustrious clubs in the world of music.  But as Team Foos and Team Florence waged a war of words across social media about who was the better choice for a Glasto headliner, few turned their attention to the slot now vacated by Ms Welch’s group (masterfully described by someone on twitter as sounding like “an owl locked inside a wind chime shop”), and those who did broach the subject likely didn’t do so with particularly high expectations.

I was most certainly one of these people, joking with friends in the lead up to the festival and attempting to outdo one another in the game of trying to name the shittest band that would end up playing the slot – wouldn’t want to offend anybody by naming any names on that one!  Even shortly after passing through the gates of Glastonbury I found I’d still not given it all that much thought, although I certainly wasn’t going to be surprised if I heard some of the usual names flying around for bands apparently spotted at the festival and/or confirmed by some soon-to-be unreliable source.  In the eight consecutive times I’ve now been to Glastonbury there has only been one band that I’ve been powerless to resist the relentless rumours for no matter how farfetched they might have seemed – The Libertines.  It feels like practically every year at some point I’ve found myself wandering to a different corner of the festival so as to catch that famous reunion, an intimate one time only Pete and Carl acoustic set, or some secret Babyshambles gig.  Even just the prospect of Pete Doherty playing a guitar off his barnet inside a tent somewhere would have had me walking miles at one time or another – and apart from the fact that he’s clean these days even now!

To be fair I have seen all manner of composites from the original Albion-formula over the years – the Shambles, Dirty Pretty Things, Yeti, and probably Pete with bloody Wolfman at some point as well.  I’ve seen Pete without The Libertines more times than I could remember, and even The Libertines without Pete at Leeds Festival shortly after he was thrown out of the band.  So when my best mate (and partner in crime for every one of those shambolic escapades) comes up to me on Wednesday afternoon once the tents have gone up and says “Lad, heard people saying The Libertines for the Pyramid on Friday there ya know”, I could be forgiven for returning a wry smile and not holding my breath.

Still there I was on Friday evening – after watching Motorhead play the ‘Ace of Spades’ about ten times – with everything crossed, in great company, and my hopes all ready to be dashed.  Next minute I’m looking at a picture of someone looking out of a helicopter on someone’s phone.  Are they supposed to be flying towards Worthy Farm?  Is it The Libertines?  Who’s the hell has let Pete Doherty fly a helicopter?  Too many questions swirling around my head and still no definite answers.  Suddenly the banner drops down on the stage.  It says The Libertines.  Limbs everywhere.  Screams.  Hugs.  Kisses.  Tears.  Pete and Carl appear on the stage with beer flying out of their bottles like champagne and backed up by John and Gary – it was really happening.

The Boys in the Band – back in the day

For me, many of my friends, and so many thousands of others in the audience this was nothing short of a dream come true.  The culmination of years waiting for such a moment to occur, a celebration of so many nights dancing tragically to these songs in places like the Barfly and Le Bateau, and the many, many times playing their albums into the early hours of the morning or until all the booze ran out and we’d fall asleep.  It was the salvation after the heartbreak of the band’s split in 2004, and the saddening sight of watching Pete Doherty walk the tightrope of death as a junky ever since, whilst all the while knowing we should have been in the midst of enjoying The Good Old Days with our favourite band.  But at the Pyramid stage on Friday evening the band finally made things right and set the good ship Albion back on course – hopefully – for a long time to come.

Whether it was riotous early stompers like “The Delaney” and “Horrorshow”, or more romantic dreamy numbers like “Music When The Lights Go Out” and “What Katie Did”, the boys in the band gave it their all both emotionally and musically.  Some people will want to criticise them for apparent sloppiness, or sounding a bit rough round the edges; It’s The Libertines – why would you want them to sound any other way?  This is a band whose following are as passionate and devoted as any I’ve ever known or been a part of in my lifetime, and I’d take being at their shittest gig than watching some boring, soulless and middle of the road performance all day long.  Once again the bands in question shall remain strictly anonymous.  For their part they actually sounded pretty tight – or as much as you’d want them to without it ruining their charm – and, having agreed to perform at very short notice, fittingly confessed to making their set up as they went.

Pete and Carl back together at Glastonbury

Classics like “Time For Heroes”, “Can’t Stand Me Now”, and “What a Waster” were all in there, and fan favourites such as “The Good Old Days”, “Death on the Stairs” and “I Get Along” made this makeshift set one to remember.  We were even treated to the live debut of a new song in “Anthem For Doomed Youth”, which more than did exactly what it said on the tin, and had the qualities of being fit for many future epic sing-alongs.  So many they did play and, as any self-respecting Libertines fan will know from being immersed in their numerous unfinished recordings and rough demos over the years, even more that they didn’t have time for.  A fitting finale in “Don’t Look Back into the Sun” was the perfect way to end this magical moment for all in attendance, and was accompanied by an en masse singing of everything from the song’s screams, bass and lead guitar parts and lyrics.

By the end Pete had collapsed on his back onstage with both physical and emotional exhaustion, and was quickly leapt upon by Carl for the two to share this years-in-the-making moment on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury they must have always dreamed of having – and at times likely thought had passed them by.  Sure, they reunited for a series of gigs in 2010, and again for their gigs last year, but this was the one that mattered – you could see it on their faces – and with a new album coming out the band now have a chance to make up for all that lost time.  They’ve managed to stir up that same, unparalleled, excitement in me that I first felt now over a decade ago and, seeing them up there like that, it almost felt like they’d never been away.  So here’s hoping they never go away again and, should the good ship Albion remain on course for many years to come, maybe one day we’ll get to see them headline that stage like it’s always felt like they were born to do.

Lying B*st*rds – Habitual Sabotage EP

One of Liverpool’s newest bands, Lying B*st*rds, are an amalgamation of members from Broken Men, 69 Watts, and Jimmy and Revolvers – and the results have proved both extremely exciting and intriguing. This wasn’t necessarily meant to happen; the band are not the end product of years – or even months – of hard work and careful planning and refinement, but simply a spontaneous coming together of four musicians. A couple of rehearsals later and it was straight into their first gig; sometimes the best ideas just come out of nowhere, and no amount of meticulous attention to detail can produce the same kind of results. Lying B*st*rds have the feel of a happy accident, and their Habitual Sabotage EP is a promising and mouthwatering appetizer from a band who sound like they could be capable of great things.

This is Lo-Fi pop at its purest, with all the demos recorded using a laptop mic, Garageband and an acoustic guitar, and the band’s vocalist and creative force Henry Pulp has managed to fashion these, undeniably rough, but brilliant little diamonds out of the pile of coal he had sat in front of him. “Head to Tokyo” immediately hits with you with its tin can-funk guitar riff leading the way into a mix of audio samples that are reminiscent of groups like Primal Scream and Big Audio Dynamite, and a lead guitar from John Dean that provides a sort of euphoric backdrop to the track. Pulp’s wailing vocals are coated in reverb, which results in them blending seamlessly into the mix with the other instruments, such as Fash Carter’s offbeat bass that keeps driving the track forward, and Ash Michael’s steady drums which hold all these wild elements together with dedicated conviction.

Equally the other tracks “Lifeboat” and “Freebase & Mainline” are further examples of this experimental formula proving its potency, and leave you – somewhat unreasonably at this juncture – wanting more from the band. We can only wait and see what comes from any future experiments from Lying B*st*rds, but a chance to see them improvising some of these ideas live at Constellations on 3^rd July is not to be missed. You just might get to hear that next little diamond.

WWE: Run Owens Run! The NXT champion gets handed the ball

In just 6 short months since signing for World Wrestling Entertainment, current NXT champion Kevin Owens has made the sort of impact most superstars would spend an entire career in vain just hoping to emulate. The vignettes shown to hype his debut at NXT Takeover R-Evolution saw him claim to be “the future” and warn the roster from top to bottom that he was here “to fight anyone and everyone”. Nothing could have been closer to the truth. That’s because when Kevin Owens says he’s going to do something, he delivers.

From the moment he walked through the curtain his reputation – and all the build up hype – preceded him; the NXT crowd was hot for his arrival and Kevin Owens just lapped it up. Within two minutes they were chanting “Holy shit”, “This is awesome”, “Owens is gonna kill you” as the powerhouse from Quebec astounded those unfamiliar with his work by performing a flying senton over the top rope to his opponent, CJ Parker, on the outside. Then, with a legit busted nose from the match, Owens wiped the blood from his face and performed his trademark pop-up powerbomb to gain a victory over Parker and his first in WWE.

Now Kevin Owens just isn’t the sort of guy to settle for putting in a great performance in the opening match of his first big event – not one bit – something Sami Zayn found out following his NXT title victory over Adrian Neville. At first appearing to celebrate with his best friend and former ROH sparring partner, Owens turned on Zayn as they were walking up the ramp, and then delivered an incredibly painful looking powerbomb to the new champion onto the ring apron. Kevin Owens had arrived, and this act has gone on to set the precedent for everything that has come since.

Owens stands tall over Sami Zayn

Adrian Neville suffered the same fate as Zayn the following week on NXT, after his match with Owens ended in a double count out, with his back crashing against the apron from another hideous powerbomb. From the destruction of – only a couple of weeks earlier – the two biggest stars in NXT, Owens has gone on to juggle more meaningful feuds at the same time in the last 6 months than I can remember a single wrestler doing since CM Punk. He’s now crossed paths with Zayn, Neville, William Regal, Finn Balor, Alex Riley, Samoa Joe, John Cena, and even Machine Gun Kelly – many of which remain as yet unresolved, or have been left open-ended for a potential revival somewhere down the line. This has been the beauty of Owens’ booking so far for me, like a giant spider in the middle of its massive web, that keeps moving between the various corners where his prey lie trapped. He effortlessly switches from one opponent to the next, and anyone new he happens to come into contact with instantly gets the rub of having worked with him, whether it be Solomon Crowe or Dolph Ziggler.

Kevin Owens has become the talking point, the abiding memory of any show he’s been a part of, and the main attraction people most look forward to seeing. His incredible feud with John Cena has been the catalyst for Owens to take his all round performance levels to even higher heights of late, and has looked every bit the equal and potential conqueror of the 15-time world champion. For a wrestler to powerbomb John Cena on his first appearance on RAW, and then score a clean victory over him at the subsequent PPV event is, not only an incredible privilege, but a sign of being handed the ball by the powers that be and told: “Run Owens Run”.

The matches with Cena themselves are already both comfortably match of the year contenders in a list that so far contains the triple threat title match at the Royal Rumble, and the main event of Wrestlemania between Brock Lesnar and Roman Reigns. They have been unpredictable, innovative, and exciting, and even brought out a fresh side of John Cena, whom he forced into stretching way beyond his trusted “five moves of doom” in order to score a hard fought victory over him. Still, it was Owens who had the final say, delivering yet another devastating pomerbomb to the apron and then backing up the ramp with both titles in the air, laughing maniacally at his handy work. The deciding chapter of this feud will either take place at Battleground or Summerslam, where I fully expect Owens to emerge the victor and, assuming Cena accepts the challenge, your new United States Champion. It is also fair to expect yet another instant classic between the pair and another bonafide contender for the match of the year.

Kevin Owens and John Cena

The latest actions of Kevin Owens saw him powerbombing rapper Machine Gun Kelly off the stage following his live performance on Monday Night Raw. More unpredictability, more intensity and more excitement. You just don’t know what the guy will do next, and it makes for incredible television. This has been followed by a somewhat weak apology for his actions on twitter, and then a dominant victory over Cesaro on Smackdown, who has been added to his ever-growing list of high profile casualties. He is the complete package; he can fight, he can fly, he can wrestle, and he can talk. He is a man that has grabbed his destiny with both hands and, after his feuds with Cena and Joe reach their conclusions, his star will be shining even brighter than it is now. The prospect of him feuding with any of the company’s top stars is literally mouth-watering; Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, Brock Lesnar, Bray Wyatt, Randy Orton, Daniel Bryan etc etc etc. Watch this space because Kevin Owens is the future, he will fight anyone and everyone and I for one can’t wait.

Published on PWMania 22/6/15

Welcome to the Winds of Winter – A Game of Thrones Season 5 review

Another season of Game of Thrones has reached its conclusion and, for the first time in the history of the show, viewers find their path has now lead them to the same crossroads readers of the book have been stood at since what seems like the beginning of time itself. Despite all the differences both great and small in the two versions of the story, we are all finally united in the torment that was the events of those final few minutes, and the anxious wait to discover the resolve for such an agonizing cliffhanger. I’m happy to say the alert siren can no longer be heard, fingers can be removed from ears, and you can rest assured there is no need to look away – you are now entering a spoiler free zone. Unless you’re not up to date with the series…or the books…so if that is the case then for God’s sake look away now.

There’s really only one place to start and its right at the end – but is this really the end for poor Jon Snow? Unfortunately, much like our fast-fading Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, we know absolutely nothing. I personally couldn’t wait for the TV audience to witness this cold and cruel turn of events – not in some sick perverted way of course – but simply to share the weight of this hideous burden, and then see them put their heads together with the rest of us and try to figure out a way he might have survived.

There appear to be two popular theories for this, with the first being that he is resurrected by Melisandre praying to R’hllor (the Red God) for his favour, something which Thoros of Myr did many times to revive Berric Dondarion. There was even a scene in season 3 (episode 6) where these two servants of the Lord of Light actually met, and the red priestess learned all about this unquestionably unnatural process of bringing back the dead. It is interesting to note that this scene does not exist in the book, and therefore its presence in the series was not simply to facilitate the transfer of Gendry into the clutches of Stannis, but to plant the seed for Melisandre to one day perform the same ritual on a dead or dying Jon Snow. There is also the impeccable timing of her return to Castle Black only moments before the Lord Commander was repeatedly stabbed by his brothers. Of course, the main problem I have with this theory is that Melisandre is the sort of woman who likes to burn people alive and give birth to murderous shadow babies. There would surely be an unholy price to pay for our hero if he avoids his fate in this manner, and we need to sit down and ask ourselves if we would really be all that happy to see him returned to life by her undoubtedly dark and maleficent methods. Would we? I think we probably would.

Hobbies are important

The second theory in mass circulation is that Jon will ‘warg’ into the body of his direwolf, Ghost, in the same way that his half brother Bran has done to skin-change on multiple occasions. Whilst viewers have yet to see Jon engage in such activities, readers are more familiar with him noticing and using this ability as the novels have progressed. A wildling who goes by the name of Varamyr Sixskins – a man who clearly doesn’t mind people knowing he is a warg – notes that Jon is capable of warging but lacked the awareness and training required to do it as and when he pleased. At some point in the story he even briefly wargs into the mind of Ghost whilst scouting for Wildlings with Qhorin Halfhand. As the books go on even further he has multiple recurring warg dreams as Ghost and even rebuffed offers of help from Melisandre in order to further understand this uncanny ability.

Of these two established plot devices that could save him, although both have an equal amount of groundwork laid down in which to play out, it is the latter which is by far the more wholesome and natural feeling; being one with his wolf seems somehow fitting and is arguably preferrable to him being resurrected by the Red God. The only problem now is what then happens to his body? What happens to Kit Harrington? Does Jon remain a wolf forever? Does he keep skin-changing into new bodies? It might yet be – in what would be something of an anti-climax – that he just survives the stab wounds after all. Simple as that. I mean Davos is around surely he’ll know what to do!

On to Daenerys Targaryen. Stormborn. The Unburnt. Mother of Dragons. What next for our bone idle would-be conqueror of Westeros? Having managed to briefly tame the rebellious Drogon, she now finds herself stranded in the middle of nowhere and, at the end of the episode, encircled by an unknown Dothraki khalasar. With her reputation as the Queen of Meereen, or the Khaleesi bride of the great Khal Drogo, she may well find herself in a decent bargaining position – and failing that Drogon can always descend from the skies and put the fear of God into them all. It is my opinion, however, that one or all of these things will happen in some way, with the end result being the acquisition of the Dothraki into her forces. Surely then, with the story approaching its concluding chapters, her attentions will turn to King’s Landing and the reclaiming of the Iron Throne. Surely. She has the dragons, the Unsullied, the Dothraki (maybe), her faithful servant Jorah back at her side (at least for now), Varys the spider, and a dwarf with all the knowledge and wisdom she’ll need to take down the Lannister monarchy.

“Tyrion my boy, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship”

Speaking of Tyrion, his meeting with Daenerys has actually yet to transpire in the pages of the books, although the manner of his reception is unlikely to differ greatly from the TV show, and it is abundantly clear that he’ll now end up fighting at her side. It’s been one of the high points of the series so far to see these two characters finally meet, and their union can only mean bad things for their many enemies across the narrow sea. I particularly enjoyed their conversation over a few glasses of wine, where Dany’s searching interrogation was so well met by Tyrion’s devil-may-care honesty, and resulted in the earning of her trust and the confiscation of his wine. Now he is last seen looking out over Meereen, where he is now entrusted to rule until her return, and with Varys back at his side the two acknowledge a deep respect for one another’s ability and appear to be relishing the opportunity of working together once more.

One character I was particularly looking forward to seeing develop this season was Arya, and they did a pretty good job of bringing it on to the screen. When last we saw her she was being taught a lesson by Jaqen H’ghar (if that is in fact your real name) for taking a life that was not hers to take in the eyes of the Many-Faced God. Why this multi-featured deity isn’t deeming the paedophilic Meryn Trant worthy of death I don’t know, but her punishment is nonetheless the ingestion of a vial which has now left her blind. Readers have a slightly further insight into this matter by way of a single chapter which explores Arya adjusting to her new vision-less state, but the bigger picture of Arya’s journey remains hidden for the time being. As much as it was strangely satisfying watching her butcher the despicable Meryn Trant in the way that she did, and finally exact a measure of revenge for her many personal losses, it is hard not to be heartbroken and deeply saddened at the person such a once spirited and loving child has now become. Arya is the ultimate underdog and for five seasons now we have rooted for her, watched her get the better of bullies and murderers, forge an unlikely bond with The Hound, and escape numerous perilous situations. All I’m rooting for now is that she doesn’t travel so far down this path she is now on that there is no coming back, and somehow, someway, can still be reunited with her remaining siblings across the narrow sea – even if it feels like a bit of a lost cause.

The cold, empty eyes of a killer

Then we have Cersei, whose walk of shame through the deprived slums of Kings Landing was brilliantly portrayed by Lena Headey, who was last seen in the arms of a Frankenstein’s monster version of The Mountain clad in Kingsguard armour. Whilst the High Septon maintains that her charges of regicide and incest are still to be settled in a trial by combat, Cersei will undoubtedly be plotting a warpath of revenge as she is carried like a babe wrapped in cloth through the halls of the Red Keep. Her champion in the books is almost certain to be the reanimated version of the Hound’s older brother, with her appeals to brother/lover Jaime falling on deaf ears after she confesses to framing Tyrion and sleeping with half the castle.

Jaime meanwhile enjoyed a strangely beautiful moment with daughter and niece Myrcella who, following the revelation that she knew the truth about her parentage, tragically succumbed to a poison administered by the Sand Snakes and died in his arms. The omission of a certain Lady Stoneheart has meant Jaime finding himself closing the season out in Dorne as opposed to a cave near Riverrun with Brienne and Pod, at the mercy of this mysterious woman and the brotherhood without banners. What the immediate future holds for the character in the show is difficult to predict, although the death of Myrcella is bound to feature as the catalyst for whatever that may be.

As for the rest, it appears the artist formerly known as Reek and Sansa have escaped Winterfell and the sadistic clutches of Ramsay Bolton for the time being, but whilst I’m certain they have survived their leap from the castle walls, I cannot be so for what lies ahead. In the books Sansa is just kicking back at the Eeyrie, far from Winterfell and far from rape, although Theon does in fact escape in this way but instead with Sansa’s handmaiden from Kings Landing whom Roose Bolton wanted to convince everybody was Arya Stark. Perhaps they’ll run into Theon’s sister Asha – I just outright refuse to call her Yara. Then there’s Bran who is currently up to god knows what with the children of the forest beyond the wall, and was sensibly left out of this series in order for him to accomplish whatever it is he’s actually doing up there. The least said about this the better I think – I have absolutely no idea – but I imagine he’s certain to be back next season in a much expanded and more interesting capacity.

You smug bastard

Finally we have the Others. The White Walkers. The undead army swarming across the frozen plains beyond the Wall, who took part in the absolutely epic screen battle at Hardhome in which Jon learned (perhaps now in vain) that Valyrian steel is a potent weapon for vanquishing them. Regardless of all the fighting that has been, and the families that have waged war on one another, the greatest threat to the kingdom of Westeros now lies behind that colossal icy structure, and is still currently a threat unbeknownst to most of its people. Whomever eventually comes out on top in the Game of Thrones will no doubt have a far more pressing matter at hand to deal with, and it may yet be that the only hope in stopping this ever-multiplying army of corpses is for the powers that be to put aside their petty feuds with one another and join together for the sake of the kingdom. There will be little point in any of them sitting on the Iron Throne if the kingdom they’re supposed to be ruling now belongs to the dead.

Fist City – Everything Is A Mess

Coming out of Southern Alberta, Canada, surf-punk quartet Fist City have released the follow up to their ferocious and frenetic debut It’s 1983, Grow Up!, and manage to build on those raw, yet harmonious foundations it so brilliantly laid down. Effortlessly purveying their legitimate punk credentials, but with that necessary degree of nonchalance, Everything Is A Mess is another collection of hard-hitting, body-bumping swift jabs which rarely exceed the 3 minute mark.

Following a brief, cold twenty second intro, it’s straight back to business for the band whose turbulent, all-encompassing noise sounds like its being played inside the barrel of a shotgun – one that is firmly pointed in the direction of their perceived foes and comes spinning out at them with maximum velocity.

Their first victims are the “racist pigs” of ‘Fuck Cops’, with the siren-like guitar of the chorus propelling the band straight up noses to snouts with their enemies, and then knocks them down with all the force of their riotous rhythm section. Having heard ‘Let’s Rip’ (along with ‘Losers Never Die’) as a bonus track on their previous album, it is a much-welcomed gift to hear it in the fold good and proper this time around. The song does exactly what it says on the tin and, with its infectious and hummable chorus exchange between the Griffiths twins (singer/guitarist Kier and bassist Brittany) serves as one of the album’s highlights.

Similarly, single ‘Hey Little Sister’ falls into this category as well delivering easily the band’s poppiest moment to date. Not for a minute suggesting the ditching of any ideals, but merely acknowledging the advancement in songcraft the track embodies, with its brilliantly catchy verses that conclusively declare “everything is a mess”, and its gratuitously chiming lead guitar. Perhaps the prime example of what the band do best – a combination of masterfully tamed wild noise, and those melodious, resonant interludes which bring their music to life and prevent it from ever being samey or one-dimensional.

In spite of all those undeniably gloomy song titles (‘Rats’, ‘The Smell’, ‘End of the Good Times’), Fist City don’t just draw attention to the dismal and depressing state of being society offers them, but through their music offer and indulge in the antidote. If anything, having these songs thrust down your ears in the manner that they are delivered is uplifting, pulsating and galvanising. Straying from the formula, and an epic by the band’s own standards at 6 minutes, closer “The Mess” brings proceedings to a climactic and chaotic conclusion – even sampling the disturbing “I’m gonna run you ragged” scene from Midnight Cowboy, which fits in perfectly with the themes of disorientation, dissatisfaction, and delusion that are present throughout the album.

All in all Everything Is a Mess is a superb follow up to It’s 1983, Grow Up!, elevating the band to new heights and refining their already combative craft and creativity to produce something even better.  At its best it is highly addictive – like a rush of adrenaline – and demands repeated listens to nourish the craving.  An album that achieves everything it set out to and then some.

Originally published on Whisperin’ & Hollerin’ 14/6/15

Paul McCartney at the ECHO Arena; Review

Every time Liverpool’s favourite son returns home it is a cause for celebration. For all those people buzzing as they approach the ECHO arena it’s about going to see the biggest and best gig in the world. It’s about seeing the ultimate local lad who made it big – bigger than any other city’s favourite son ever has done. It’s about generations of fans sharing their favourite songs with the man who wrote them in the town where he was born. It’s about grandparents, mothers and fathers, and sons and daughters all singing along together to the music their families have passed down religiously since the 1960s. For some, it’s a reminder of when they saw The Beatles playing the Cavern in the early years, for others it’s another chance to make up for not being old enough to have experienced that.

For Paul McCartney it’s about all these things as well. He’s a 72 year old man with the appetite and energy of a teenager when it comes to performing and entertaining. It’s about having a sing off between the genders at the end of ‘Hey Jude’, it’s about playing ‘Blackbird’ to a sea of fireflies, it’s about clenching his fist in the air for ‘Let Me Roll It’, and it’s about soloing off against Brian and Rusty for ‘The End’. It’s about playing songs he’s never played live in Liverpool before (‘Another Girl’), and it’s about telling stories that never get old no matter how many times he tells them – especially not to him.

Macca kicked off this incredible 40 song set with Lennon-penned ‘Eight Days A Week’, and later paid further tribute to his lost friend with a carnivalesque rendition of ‘Being For the Benefit of Mr Kite’, as well as the always poignant set list staple ‘Here Today’. For those unfamiliar with the latter, it is a song written by Paul which imagines a conversation he never got to have with John, and is finally able to say all the things he no longer has a chance to – even if Lennon just grins cheekily back at him. As for George, there’s the usual stirring performance of ‘Something’ which starts out on the Ukulele (because “George was a really great Ukulele player”) before the rest of the band eventually kicks in for what becomes a truly euphoric experience. I first heard this version of the song live at Anfield in 2008, and the kisses blown by Olivia Harrison towards her late husband’s former bandmate at the conclusion tell you exactly how fitting a tribute it really is.

The incredible energy that runs through each performance is contagious, and right from the start Paul had virtually every person able to stand on their feet and singing at the very top of their lungs – for three hours no less. He joked with the audience that each time he played one of his newer ones he no longer saw the many mobile phones in the air that he gets during a Beatles song, and instead people are in the aisles coming to and from the toilets. Whilst I was definitely guilty of this myself at times, the more recent material such as ‘Save Us’, ‘Queenie Eye’ and ‘Hope For The Future’ are still performed to the tightest of standards, and manage to sound special even when sandwiched in between all those Beatles and Wings classics.

There’s something for everyone during this this roller-coaster of a gig, and you continually find yourself dancing ridiculously to one song, and the next minute you’re throwing your arms around your loved ones and swaying from side to side. For every ‘Yesterday’ there’s a ‘Paperback Writer’. For every ‘The Long and Winding Road’ there’s a ‘Helter Skelter’. For every ‘Another Day’ there’s a ‘Live and Let Die’. And for every ‘Temporary Secretary’ there’s…well there’s…OK never mind! I loved it anyway.

For me, this time, I loved hearing ‘Listen to What the Man Said’ for the first time, “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five” with it being the year that I was born, and of course participating yet again in the greatest sing-a-long on planet Earth for ‘Hey Jude’. But everyone has their own favourites. Some songs will make people think of places they remember, or people and things that went before, and are given a priceless moment to just stop and think about them. That is what this night was all about, and though I know Liverpool will never lose its affection for Paul McCartney, it’s still abundantly clear that he won’t be losing any of his for us either. Here’s to next time, Macca.

Originally published on Liverpool Noise 10/6/15

Marcus Hamblett – Concrete

Having spent the last five years as a member of bands such as Eyes & No Eyes and Sons of Noel and Adrian, or working as a session musician on a wide variety of other projects, multi-instrumentalist Marcus Hamblett has now released his solo debut record in the form of Concrete. It’s very easy to concur with the idea that the album almost has the feel of a soundtrack to an imaginary film, and particularly in the vein of acknowledged influences Ennio Morricone and Bruno Nicolai. Primarily though it serves as the perfect creative vessel for Hamblett to take listeners on a journey this time entirely of his own choosing.

“Nocturne” sees the journey get underway with its soft jazzy drums gradually allowing a few beautiful, delicate guitar arrangements to float dreamily into the mix before it all suddenly gives way to an impressive piece of guitar improvisation which then, even more abruptly, takes you straight into “Skeleton Key”. This one offers something more in line with the first half of the opening track and successfully conjures up undeniable feelings of actually being somewhere and doing something. In my case I was travelling around a city at night, maybe in the back of a taxi or on a bus, seeing the sights, and visiting a few bars. On further listens I just as easily pictured myself up in space staring down at the Earth, or in a western riding around the country on horseback.

By comparison, the latter part of “Nocturne” and the brief “Be New” offer little towards the atmosphere Hamblett does so well to create throughout the rest of the album. Obviously there’s undoubted virtuosity on show here, but if that isn’t your cup of tea you might well find yourself, like me, awakening from a very pleasant dream during these moments.

Fortunately the rest of the album goes from strength to strength at this point onwards. “Three Four” very quickly lets you know that it plans to linger in your mind – like the shred of a memory for a brilliant idea now destined to remain forgotten. A stand out track on the album for sure, it moves through its mysterious and secretly sinister guitar arrangements, before allowing the final minutes to play out with beautiful, yet haunting, female vocals.

“Augmented” gives the album a much-welcomed new dimension as well when, at around the half way point, it descends into a surreal collage of sound which sees instruments begin to fade somewhat chaotically in and out of the mix, as well as expertly reintroducing a few familiar guitar arrangements from “Nocturne” along the way. Lastly, the ten minute “Stony Ground” is another epic musical daydream that unfolds with celestial guitars and angelic vocals, as Hamblett saves probably his best till last and provides the album with a fitting finale.

On the whole the album definitely grows on you with every listen and offers much in the way of escapism – if you enjoy sitting back and letting the music take your mind for a wander then this is definitely one for you.

Originally published on Whisperin’ & Hollerin’ 3/6/15