THE SKIDS & THE ALPHABETAMINES
Pavlis went with low expectation but enjoyed a damned fine night of poppy, punky, rock
Sometime I go to gigs expecting something amazing and get something, erm, less than amazing. Sometimes I go to gigs with low expectations and get something brilliant. Tonight, the set from The Skid ps was very much in the latter camp,
But first, THE ALPHABETAMINES, consisting of Ad Edwards on guitar and lead vox, Edwards’ fiancé Natasha Sparkes on co-lead vox, along with an absolutely cracking rhythm section who, try as hard as I can, I cannot find names. The music is decent. It is a bit Blur, a bit Fratellis and I picked up hints of X-Ray Spex. At their best, the vocal interplay between Ad and Natasha brought to mind Robert Lloyd and Fliss Kitson of Nightingales or Faye Fife and Eugene Reynolds of The Rezillos, albeit that Ad sounds like a Brit pop E of Eels and that Natasha comes on like Lily Allen meets a cockney Mike Skinner. Chemical Romance is a good slice of rock and Sober Party comes on like a sweary Terrorvision, which is a Good Thing. BUT, there is something about tonight’s set that just irritated me. And I can’t work out what. Given how shit the world is right now, knowing that the band were late arriving at Epic because of traffic snarl ups on the A11 and that Ad’s mum - a massive Skids fan - passed away three weeks ago, I try hard to be as positive as possible and not knock anyone that has the guts to get up on stage. Maybe it is nerves, this being just the band’s having fourth gig. I dunno. Whatever, I will have to check them out again.
And so to THE SKIDS. As I’ve said, I wasn’t expecting much, kinda having been talked into coming to this gig by a colleague (who actually didn’t turn up!?!. I was expecting another old(ish) punk(ish) band to be going through the motions. The Skids blew my - admittedly low - expectations outta the water. I’d be lying if I said that this was the best gig I have seen (or even the best gig I have seen in the last month) BUT The Skids deliver high energy set, chock full of damned good songs.
Frontman Richard Jobson is in strong voice. He be packing a little more weight than in The Skids’ heyday but he’s in better shape than me and has the moves and energy of a much younger man. Bassist Willian Simpson is another founding member and provides melodic counterpoint to the pounding of Mike Baillie, whose in his third stint on drums. Of course, the late great Stuart Adams is not here but his Big Country band mate Bruce Watson and Jamie (son of Bruce) Watson are pretty decent guitarists (he says in a massive understatement).
From opener Of One Skin through to encore Arena, this is a wholly entertaining set. Jobson talks a lot - and I mean a LOT - between songs but he is an entertaining raconteur and, in his own words, he needs to get his breath back. There are tales of Saville on Top of the Pops, Adamson, the success of Big Country versus the relative failure of The Armoury Show and the probably best forgotten book Rock Stars In Their Underpants to keep us amused. Add in some absolute classics in the set list - The Saints Are Coming, Hurry On Boys, Into The Valley and Albert Tatlock, for example - and this is a damned fine night.
