The Buzzcocks
Whether it was the chunky price of admission or simply the fact that it was Sunday night, there was ample room at a gig billed as the Buzzcocks, but which was much more like a celebration of the last flowering of punk. With three full sets from three bands determined to prove they were servicing more than the heritage market I can only say a lot of people missed out on a great night out.
Arguably the best act of the evening – certainly the biggest surprise – were the Vapors, a band I was looking forward to seeing, though largely so I could hear the mini masterpiece Turning Japanese. If hearing it live meant grinning and bearing through their other stuff, I thought, then so be it, but the set was a revelation. Packed with sparkling, catchy songs that stood shoulder to shoulder with their best known number, David Venton looked like he’d being doing this, and doing it well, all his life. The reality - that he’s a lawyer who only regrouped with Edward Bazalgate and Steve Smith a couple of years ago stretches credulity. Quite apart from the excellent News at Ten and Jimmy Jones, two gems from the past I had forgotten (yet soon found myself singing along to) there were any number of superbly crafted pop/punk fusions. Looking around and about, all those Vapors T-shirts I had seen folk wearing suddenly made sense, leaving me feeling mildly embarrassed that I hadn’t been in on the secret. While Turning Japanese certainly ticked a box, by the time it was played it didn’t really stand out, because The Vapors were, start to finish, simply brilliant, and should, I now realise, have been huge.
The Professionals also finished up in the early eighties, where they also started as a vehicle for the restless talents of Paul Cook and Steve Jones after the messy dissolution of the Sex Pistols. After a hiatus even longer than that of the Vapors, Paul Cook recast the band as recently as 2015, installing Paul Myers on bass and Tom Spencer out front. As Paul Cook’s hugely powerful drumming pushed on a tight and, dare I say it, professional outfit through an impressive roster of tunes from the rockier end of punk, Spencer was quick to explain how things would go – one old song, one new one – but without a headline grabbing hit to their name, it all merged into a pleasing, but homogenous, whole. Mid-set the band lobbed in a pretty good version of the post Lyndon Silly Thing, which chippy Spencer suggested “even you Buzzcockians might like”, but otherwise Pistols songs were unapologetically notable by their absence. This didn’t please everyone - Spencer got particularly cross with a stony faced grump hanging grimly on to the crash barrier as if waiting for a bus – but I say hats off to them for wanting to play their music, their way.
The Buzzcocks have long vied with the Damned for the coveted placing of the UK’s third best punk band, and their appearance was obviously what many of the crowd had been waiting for - there was markedly less elbow room by the time Shelley and Giggle launched into a blistering rendition of Boredom. The first proper punk band of the night, they clearly felt it was time to turn the volume up to eleven, and mercilessly thrashed their way through the back catalogue with little respite. There was even the making of mosh pit, albeit one made up largely of Millennials presumably aping a traditional form of ancient dance last seen on youtube – frankly, they might just as well have been Morris dancing – but it was all very good natured and the band seemed in on the joke. When most of your tunes come in at three minutes or less, you’re going to have to dig deep to fill out an hour, and for every Orgasm Addict or Noise Annoys, there was inevitably some land fill bolstering up the set, but there could be no complaints about the last twenty minutes. A scorching run through of some of the best songs of the seventies included Love You More, Promises, What Do I Get?, and of course, to finish, the sublime Ever Fallen in Love.
So a fine time had by all, but as I wandered out, I wondered why some bands are now lauded, while others languish in obscurity. Ever Fallen in Love only got to number twelve, with Promises the only other song to make the top twenty. Although that was when the charts meant something, it’s no match for number three, which is where Turning Japanese peaked. Yet the Buzzcocks are bigger than ever, while The Vapors were all but written off as a one hit wonder, and that must sting. It’s such a curious accusation to level at a band, as if just the one isn’t good enough, particularly as the punk firmament is strewn with truly great songs from artists that never quite recaptured the moment. The Adverts, Department S and The Ruts and should be celebrated for giving us Gary Gilmour’s Eyes, Is Vic There or Babylon is Burning, not mocked. After all, I haven’t had any hits, and I’m guessing, dear reader, that neither have you.
