Music > Live Reviews

The Stereophonics

Thetford Forest Live

25/06/19

Thetford Forest gigs are always worth a look. The annual run of shows put on by Forestry England  prove themselves year after year to be the pinnacle of two things; an anthemic set against a luscious botanical backdrop, and absolute peak middle class picnic-ery. 
 
And so it is on this cloudy Sunday evening that I trek my cagoule and cool bag through the trees in search of a good old Welsh singalong. Stereophonics, you see, are the band providing the show tonight, with the stage still warm from the shows of Jess Glynne, Paul Weller and Foals in the three nights previous.
 
I last saw Stereophonics play at an intimate work awards ceremony (swanky, much?), so it felt a little different tonight sharing the venue with around 7999 other people. I’ve barely enough time to open my M&S olive and feta mix before the boys from Cwmaman enter the stage in front of an audience that spans probably 30+ years and both ends of the social spectrum. Tonight’s gig is sold out, which surprises me – not because they’re not good – but because I think they’ve often been underrated.
 
They launch into ‘C’est la Vie’, the Plastic Bertrand-style pogoing track from their 2015 album, ‘Keep the Village Alive’. It’s a great opener; not their best track by far, but it has real energy, which is not bad for a group enjoying the 22nd year of their musical career. I don’t have to start counting on my fingers to work that out, as just a couple of songs in, lead singer Kelly Jones announces that it’s been 20 years since their second album (and my favourite), ‘Performance and Cocktails’ came out. Legions of grey-flecked former revellers groan in front of me.

 
They treat us fans of the old stuff as they weave their history round some of their newer tracks, allowing us to relive the Britpop years with tracks like the grungy ‘Vegas Two Times’. I’d forgotten the song existed, but I belted it out, trying to match Kelly’s snarling vocal word for word, losing some of my zinfandel and serrano ham in the process.
 
It’s songs like that that remind you why they won the BRIT award for ‘Best Breakthrough Act’ when they first started; Kelly’s gravelly vocals and his insightful songwriting being paired with a genuine rock (not radio rock) composition. But they haven’t won one since, even when Jones’ songwriting hit its stride with brilliant songs like ‘Mr Writer’, ‘Step on My Old Size Nines’ and ‘Maybe Tomorrow’, as I’m reminded of tonight.
 
Kelly speaks sparingly, but when he does, he’s harking back to the time before the record deals with real warmth, to sharing the bathwater with his older brothers (less warmth) and you get the feeling that’s where he felt real comfort (not necessarily in the bath). There’s hints of this as the boys move away from their cavernous main stage to form a closer huddle, much nearer to the audience, as Jones professes that they wanted to play a few songs together like they used to do in the pubs. It works well; they’re tight knit and are playing with genuine feeling.
 
Finding their way back into the far points of their massive stage, they lose some of that intimacy and fall into a bit of radio rock territory. It’s where they’ve lost their edge at certain times, with certain albums, that they lose themselves into that murky water occupied by bands like Travis, Starsailor and other Coldplay-lite acts.
 
I’m just considering reclining into my camping chair for a quick munch through my salad when they pull out a triple-bill of very early hits, ‘A Thousand Trees’, ‘Local Boy in the Photograph’ and the main set closer, ‘The Bartender and the Thief’, my personal fave. I’m singing and jumping about, popping edamame beans like they’re party pills in the Haçienda. What a storming end to the set.
 
They leave briefly, only to return, of course, for their encore. There’s only one song left I want to hear, their only number one hit in 22 years, and of course, 22 years’ experience ensures they choose it for the finale. ‘Dakota’ works as brilliantly live as it did in the charts back in 2005. It’s brilliantly written, hugely emotive and packs a huge punch in the British rock stakes.
 
It’s funny y’know, as the film industry looks to highlight the careers of Freddie Mercury in ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and Elton John in ‘Rocketman’, I measure that no-one will ever be making a film about Kelly Jones. With 6 number one albums (only one fewer than Queen), a legacy of searingly honest songs in his catalogue, an accomplished guitar and piano player, I feel like we’ve witnessed one of the bastions of British music tonight. But Hollywood need not call – there’s 9000 of us in a forest in Suffolk that already know it.