40 ODD OF ANOTHER KIND: Otway and Barret hit Cardiff

In 1977, Polydor released ’20 of Another Kind’, a sampler of the then new phenomenon of punk rock – or new wave at it was then sometimes acceptable to be called. Hidden amongst bands like 999, the Lurkers and Sham 69 were two tracks by a gangly misfit known as John Otway and his then sidekick Wild Willy Barret.

The two tracks were the A and B side of the single ‘Really Free’ and ‘Beware of the Flowers cos I’m Sure they’re Gonna Get You’. This single sky rocketed into the charts, back in the days when the charts meant something, to the giddy height of number 27.

Although this was a punk compilation, Otway and Barret were hardly from the classic punk mould – although the spirit of rebelliousness, originality and rule breaking seeped from every chord. The single had ‘novelty record’ or even ‘one hit wonder’ written all over it and it was clear this was not going to be a ‘band’ that would last – or was it?

Punk rock came and went. Then we had post punk, mod and ska revivals, rave, grunge, brit pop, jungle, big beat and all manner of music trends that came and went, scrubbing the decks of the good ship rock and roll clean before setting out on their own voyage. Yet through all of this the unlikely pop star that was Otway clung on to the mast and weathered all musical storms that were thrown his way. He has never given up and has been touring constantly – although the name of the bloke that stands next to him on stage has changed several times.

Never quite equalling that early chart promise he steadily built up a cult following that eventually decided to give him a second hit for his 50^th birthday by all appearing on one of his singles singing backing vocals and then getting their families to go out and buy it – thus hyping it into the charts.

Tonight, 34 years after that first hit and 40 years since his first gig, he is back with his old partner in crime, Wild Willy, and touring the nation once more.

As we enter Cardiff’s Globe, we find them both, not quite propping up the bar – but very close to it. After a quick introduction we head backstage for a chat bout the mad mad world that is Otway. We talk of crazy publicity stunts - like going around peoples houses to perform his single Frightened and Scared, getting his fans to vote his lyrics as the seventh best lyric of all time, and an attempt to tour the world taking his whole fan club with him in a chartered jumbo jet.

(Interview to be uploaded to Iguana website shortly).

After some more bar propping up and dealing with autograph hunters, he and Willy eventually take to the stage to entertain the gathered masses.

It is difficult to classify an Otway show. Part pop concert, part comedy show, part cabaret act – the whole thing just rips up the rule book and takes the audience on a death defying thrill ride.

The return of the prodigal Wily makes for a special vibe. He is the ying to Otway’s yang; his dry cynicism and lack of respect for Otway’s genius is matched only by Otway’s own self depreciation; his rack of many instruments, including balalaikas, banjos, guitars, fiddle, bagpipes and a wheelie bin, make up for Otway’s acoustic guitar and a Theremin; his nonchalant take everything in his stride attitude counters Otway’s undiminished child like enthusiasm and his mastery of any instrument he cares to pick up nicely compliments Otway’s – erm – enthusiasm.

The on stage rapport between them is pure comedy gold, Willy’s straight man bouncing off Otway’s court jester. It is such a good match it is difficult to comprehend how Otway has managed without him – although it has to be said he managed quite well – hence the cult following.

Tonight Barret manages to impress with fret board trickery, amaze with playing guitar and bagpipes at the same time and amuse with sawing a guitar in half and smashing it with a hammer – while still playing it (even Hendrix had to stop playing his guitar down when destroying it). Oh, and there was the wheelie bin thing – but I don’t want to spoil it for when you go to see them.

Of course Willy is only half the act. Despite the self depreciation and jolly japery, Otway is something of a lyrical genius - who else could come up with “Natasha you're a smasher but you're working for Russia" - and despite the comic approach to everything, what he does with the Theremin is actually very clever. You don’t get to fill the Albert Hall if you are crap as he makes himself out to be – which he aint.

There have been books, rock operas (Cheryl) and fan club trips to Dunkirk. What next? Otway the movie (we kid you not). Watch this space.

*Please note, no microphones were headbutted in the making of this blog

Martin Harley Band - Drum rolls and green rooms

Our first encounter with the Martin Harley Band was six or seven years ago, late at night, at a festival. The Larmer Tree was shutting down for the night, all the stages had closed down, the last of the revellers were off to bed and we were sat watching the food stalls closing up trying to squeeze what we could out of what was left of the night. Just as we were coming to the conclusion the night was over, three buskers turned up with a guitar, double bass and a cocktail drum kit. For the next hour we were served up a healthy portion of delta blues that made sure we went to bed happy.

Little did we know, this impromptu busking session would be the first of many gigs we would catch and that the Iguana CD collection would soon have to find a new section for the MHB.

Fast forward to 2011 and we are in very different circumstances – the plush and arty surroundings of The Courtyard in Hereford, where the latest incarnation of the Martin Harley Band are to entertain the local bohemians. We arrive early to interview the band are invited into the green room to chill with the warm and friendly Martin.

We talk of slide guitars, living in cars, surfing in Australia, touring by bicycle, playing the highest gig in the world, touring Mali, chilling in Barbados, stoner rock, independent record labels and playing the Rive Cottage for Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. He is down to earth and ego free. While we do the best to squeeze as much as possible out of a night, he is squeezing as much as possible out of life – and doing a pretty good job of it.

Then its time for the show. I use the word ‘show’ deliberately. The bar and the auditorium are separate – with no drinks allowed while watching the band - mobile phones must be switched off and the seating is ‘cinema’ or ‘theatre’ style. There is even a planned intermission. A ‘gig’, this is not.

This sort of set up is probably the most sterile way of seeing a band and in the past we have refused to put up with this sort of thing. It’s unnatural – like sitting down to watch football. However, it does tend to focus one’s attention on the stage and when you do that, the MHB reward you with a finely balanced serving of roots, blues, soul and jazz.

Sat down, often with his slide guitar on his lap, Martin and his band are able to create a relaxed and intimate atmosphere. Most of the songs are personal tales and the audience are invited into the world of carefree globe trotting with a surfboard in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Between numbers we get chat and an interaction between band and audience that adds to the intimacy of the event. I have to grudgingly admit that the fact that everyone is sat politely adds to this atmosphere.

We get a selection of numbers from throughout the bands back catalogue and as the show progresses some of the more rebellious audience members get up and shake their thang in the isles.

Whilst it is the Martin Harley Band, the rest of the band are not exactly extras. Pete Swatton occasionally ditches the drums to play the balalaika (yes, a drummer that is also a musician) and Jay Carter has a rest from propping up his double bass to play guitar. Both add backing vocals throughout and the chemistry between the three makes the band much more than the sum of its parts.

Finally we get a version of Voodoo Chile that is both a nod to Martin’s love of heavier sounds and a demonstration of what can be done with a slide guitar. Even tea loving buskers can be a power trio when they put their mind to it.

BUDGIE TURNS INTO TURKEY

I remember it like it was yesterday. I sat in my bedroom listening to The Damned and my brother walked into the room. We got into a debate about music and he walked over to the stereo, lifted ‘Dammed Damned Damned’ off the turntable and put on some hippy looking album with a bird on the cover. We were only a few bars into ‘Breadfan’ by Budgie and I was sold. This welsh outfit were to join the very short list of heavy metal bands that were going to be allowed to infect my record collection. That was over thirty years ago.

There was always something unique about Budgie. It was a mix of Tony Bourge’s unique guitar sound – I can’t put my finger on what was unique about it, it just was – Burke Shelley’s almost lead guitar like bass and his voice. I don’t normally like blokes that sing like girls, but with budgie it some how worked a dream, very similar to Geddy Lee from Rush.

Tracks with titles like ‘Nude Disintegrating Parachutist Woman’, ‘Napoleon Bonaparte one and Bonaparte two’ and ‘In the Grip of a Tyrefitter's Hand’ were soon starting to fill up my shelves – much to the disapproval of my punk mates.

With the exception of a drunken blurry night at the Reading Festival in 1982, I never really got to see them live properly before they split in 1988. Then in 1998 while booking a gig with Man, Man’s manager asked me if I would be interested in Six Ton Budgie as a support. Next thing I knew I was sat in the home studio of original Budgie drummer Ray Phillips in his home in Trefil. I was transported to my youth and sat there for hours listening to tales of life on the road with Budgie. Of course I wanted them as a support, I was never going to get the proper Budgie (as far as i knew they were disbanded with no intention of reforming), but Six Ton Budgie were, as Ray put it, Budgie - only heavier.

The Shelly incarnation of Budgie played sporadic one off gigs during 1995 and 96, then officially reformed in 1999 but left it till 2006 to release an album, the typically Budgie titled ‘You're All Living in Cuckooland’. They must have played near by at some time recently but tonight’s gig In Pontypridd’s Muni was the first I had heard about in advance and duly set about sorting myself with a ticket.

Appropriately tonight, as dinosaurs and prehistoric birds walked the earth once more, Europe was grounded due to a cloud of volcanic ash floating above us. As we arrived I felt unusually young, with many of those that had turned out probably going to see Budgie while I was still in junior school and still yet to go through my bedroom Budgie epiphany. We arrived shortly before the doors opened and there was already a queue. Not being one for queue’s, or watching covers bands (support was in the shape of Merthyr Tydfil’s metal cover band, Celtic Pride) we headed for the pub.

Once the text arrived notifying us that Celtic Pride had left the stage we walked the short distance from the Patriot Bar to the packed Muni and started to feel even younger. The room was full of people who think £16 to see a live band is cheap, Judas Priest t-shirts are cool, queueing to get a venue before it has opened is normal and it is acceptable to have a covers band on a bill for proper bands.

I put my snobbery in my back pocket and we set up camp to the right of the stage and waited for the arrival of the second best heavy metal band in the history of the world (Ozzy era Sabbath obviously being the first).

When they finally arrived I nearly had by eye poked out. Current guitarist, Craig Goldy of the Ronnie James Dio’s band, was wearing unfeasibly tight leggings not really appropriate for a man of 49; it looked like he had a cricket box down his pants.

Then they began.

Shelly had turned sixty this week. Well done Mr Shelley. Now I hate to be ageist, but sixty is most definitely too old to rock and roll, and sadly Burke Shelly is an example of this. Whilst he actually looked fitter than me, his voice is not what it used to be and given that voice was a vital ingredient that made the band so special, this was not good. His nifty bass work was also pivotal; I am not sure if it was the sound engineer not understanding the band or if again age was a factor, but the bass was barely audible.

As for the unique guitar sound? Well it was clearly unique to the original guitarist, which was not Mr Goldy. It is not that he is not a good guitarist, he is clearly a very good guitarist and threw in some pretty amazing finger wizardry. However, that was not what Budgie were about and trying to make Budgie sound clever makes Budgie sound like – not Budgie. They sounded like a heavy metal band; a very talented metal band, I’ll give you that, but as odd as this sounds, I don’t actually like metal. The Budgie I loved as a kid sounded special and different, the Budgie that I saw tonight did not. ‘In for the Kill’ hinted at the old Budgie, but the encore of that classic ‘Breadfan’ left me feeling very sad.

A bit of me wished I had not gone, that memory of Budgie all those years ago had been slightly defiled – and lets face it, thirty years later with only one original member, it was obvious there was a good chance that would be the case – but hey, I would have never forgiven myself if I had not gone. I am glad I went, but I won’t bother again.

TAKING DOWN THE BORDERS WITH A SPANNER

If you want to find a pissed off anarchist with a liking for ska-punk and black hoodies, you wont go far wrong by going to a No Borders benefit gig. For some time now the more active anarchists in Cardiff have been focusing their energy on No Borders Wales and tonight they have gathered for drinking of beer and grooving to loud shouty punk rock.

Prior to the event the Promised Land was described to me as “a hot new venue in the centre of Cardiff”. On arrival I realised I had been there before but it had not clicked because it is not new and not particularly hot. Come to that, I would hardly describe it as a venue, more – well – a pub! Enough of the semantics though, good gigs can happen anywhere and walking towards the ‘venue’ it soon became clear that at the very least we were in for a night out surrounded by old friends.

Now I like a bit of shouty punk as much as the next man, in fact probably more than the next man, but I am into moderation in a big way. A spoonful of shouty punk can add energy and sweeten proceedings; two spoonfuls of shouty punk can be harmful to your teeth and three spoonfuls can be undrinkable – which is a shame.

Each of the bands on the bill tonight are capable of putting on a good show and in different circumstances probably do, but for me I like a bit of variety. I don’t like bills that are single genre, whether it be a terabyte of techno, a bong full of reggae or a tankard full of diddly, but an overdose of hardcore punk is probably the hardest to swallow.

Now it could be argued that there is variety on the bill, the publicity says:

“Expect hard sounds and hard politics from these outspoken bands. There will be crust-punk from Jesus Bruiser, anarcho-punk from Filthy Habits, and hardcore-punk from The Shortcuts”.

I have been jumping about to punk rock since the heady days of 1977, but I am not entirely clear what the difference between hardcore punk and crust-punk is, judging by tonight, not a lot.

Okay, time to stop whinging, cos in fairness the bands don’t deserve it, they all manage to harness an energy and anger that is just a distant memory to this ageing punk – and perhaps more importantly they manage to turn the upstairs of a pub into a hot (if not new) venue. But to paraphrase the t-shirt, this old punk will never die; I just stand by the bar.

The event was a benefit for No Borders, an organisation I support, but it was not that support that dragged me into town tonight, it was an appearance by Bristle ska-punk outfit, Spanner. Yes, another punk band, but Spanner are an uplifting, double- caffeine and guarana cup of punk stirred with a brass spoon that will wake up the tiredest of old punks.

Spanner are not just punks that have latched onto the anarchist image, they are direct action veterans that happen to also play in a ska punk band. Having been around the block a few times these guys are tight and tonight they wake up all but the totally wrecked (and there are one or two of those around) and get them up and dancing. Well worth the wait.

As for the totally wrecked? ..... Not a good idea to fall asleep at a punk gig, as the guy in the picture below found out

DUBS, DOPES AND 24 HOUR CHEESE SHOPPING

The Powersteppers launch new dub night in Swansa

Pretty Shitty City. A harsh and possibly inaccurate description of Swansea, but one that it is going to have to live down for may years following the cult movie, Twin Town. It is only down the road from iguana HQ, but it is a place I have not really bothered much with. I have been to union meetings there, I have travelled through it on my way to the Gower and, of course, have had ‘interesting’ trips to watch Cardiff City playing at both the old Vetch and the Liberty Stadium. Oh.. and last year I went to see Ozric tentacles in Sin City, a gig memorable for the band taking a half an hour break to have a spliff in the middle of the set, which in fairness, seems like a pretty Swansea thing to do (there you go, I have fallen into the trap of stereotyping the place). Tonight though, we head for the Monkey Café, a venue that looks like it might smash my preconceptions of the city.

The Monkey Café aims to bring a touch of jazzy, funky coolness to this coastal town. Inspired by venues in Australia, Europe and Asia, in particular Schemes like the arts factory in Byron Bay Australia. It aspires to be a “meeting place for artists and musicians and a forum for their work, a progressive and ethical policy in terms of business practice, styles of food, waste management and a relaxed and bohemian atmosphere”.

Originally opening in 1998 as a restaurant with a difference, in 2004 it expanded and gained nightclub status. Since then they have played host to artists such as Hybrid, Freestylers, Scratch Perverts, Dreadzone, Mr C and LTJ Bukem. They host regular club nights, including salsa, Latino, funk and hip-hop nights. Tonight we are Monkey bound for the launch of a new monthly Dub night and who better to kick the night off than The Powersteppers with Molara on the mic.

Being a nightclub, things don’t really kick off till traditional pub closing time. My travelling companions tonight are veterans of the Monkey and often don’t leave Blackwood till midnight to get there. Tonight we have a few jugs in Cardiff then head west. We arrive about half eleven and the place is almost empty, so head for one of the two ‘smoking balconies’ to ‘acclimatise’ ourselves for what is to come. As we wait, the walls, doors and teeth rattle as Colin sound checks in the main room.

A quick scout around reveals a nice funky ground floor bar restaurant thing. Head up to the first floor and on the left you have the main room which will hold about 400 sardines with, what has to be said, a pretty fine sound system which handles the bass very nicely if you are stood in the room, but when in the toilet you think you are in the middle of an earthquake. On the right you have the smoking balcony, complete with its own bar and extremely friendly bar staff. Leg it up to the second floor and you have another smoking balcony, which security tend not to pay too much attention to, and a chill out room.

All the staff are friendly and laid back, even the security chick dressed all in black with bum length blonde dreads and looks like she an extra from Kill Bill.

The balcony slowly fills up with reprobates, rascals and rogues, with a few bohemians chucked in for good measure.

Eventually the main room opens. Colin twiddles and tweaks his knobs like a good ‘un and people drift in and out to check the vibrations. The dub connoisseurs set up camp in the corners and of the room and let the heavy weight bass lines wash over them, but the lure of the smoking balcony proves too much for those that have just dropped by for a late night. Eventually Molara picks up the Mic and soon the smoking balcony empties as the lure of the dance floor becomes too much. Those in the know nod, knowingly. For those that are new to this, smiles of discovery and skanking feet are the order of the day.

Then at lost track of the time O’clock, the Powersteppers give way to Manasseh in Session with Brother Culture on the mic, live and direct, straight outta Brixton SW9 for some rootical sound system stylee goings on to keep the bass lines coming and the feet moving.

In no time at all it is 4am and we have to head back to civilisation, with a quick stop at an all night superstore to buy some cheese!

Monkey Café? Yeah, not bad, certainly more bohemian than your average nightclub and whilst it may not have smashed my preconceptions of Swansea, it certainly dented them.

PS a big shout goes out to Mr Pat Pending (as seen on Dragons Den) for staying straight and driving home at dawn. A trooper once more.

CLUTCH ROCK

Tonight Clutch rocked. Official.

Halfway between Download and the French Hellfest the Clutch tour bus rolled up outside the legendary TJs and they served up a dose of the finest American Blues rock to a packed house.

I don’t often go to gigs where beards and plaid shirts are the order of the day. And I don’t think I have seen bouncers who have clearly had one to many steroids swinging from the PA determined to make sure no one got over excited and enjoy themselves. Not in TJs anyway. The plaid shirts were not going to be put off by the roiders and merrily got on with their crowd surfing.

I don’t think the band were too impressed though and stormed off without an encore. An anti-climax to an otherwise wicked gig.

For those of you that have never heard Electric Worry, and those of you that have....

FREAKED OUT AND FUNKED UP: Acid Mothers Temple live in Cardiff

I must have been to a freakier gig than this, MUST have, but I cant for the life of me think when. Tonight’s gig with the Acid Mothers Temple really would take some beating on the freaked out steaks.

For the uninitiated, The Acid Mothers Temple are a wigged out Japanese experimental psychedelic jazz rock crew that take on a myriad of forms and… well, just read about them here.

I have loved the concept of the band for a long time now but have found their albums very difficult to get into. A friend of mine tried to explain it to me once, he said, “Their music is so difficult you have to try really hard to appreciate it, so hard it hurts, it takes a while but when it clicks it is like a revelation, like suddenly understanding differential calculus”. Personally I like my rock ‘n roll simple.

Undeterred by the difficult albums I went to see them a while ago and discovered that live they really are something else, one of the most amazing live bands I have ever seen. Not catching them again was never really an option.

Zipadee doodah

I suppose it should not have come as any surprise that tonight was to be something completely different from that first gig. COMPLETELY different. They were supposed to be playing as a three piece but the bass player was taken ill so they just carried on regardless as a two-piece.

Things were weird from the off. They started with playing the zips on their jackets. Yes, that’s right, zips. I have no idea what was going on, I assume some sort of pick up was attached to the zip, then put through a distortion pedal and the volume turned right up. Jaw dropping weirdness.

Scissors... the cutting edge of avant guard

Water music, Handel would have been proud

Then they got a bit more serious and started playing scissors, followed by empty bottles of water and then cameras. You had to be there to appreciate it.

When a third of your band is missing, what is the obvious thing to do? well in the case of the Acid Mothers, the guitarist goes outside for a smoke for 30 minutes while the drummer plays solo. Obvious really. It was not quite a drum solo, there was some sort of backing track thing going on which in my book spoilt it a bit, I think I would have preferred something more traditional. Traditional is not what you get at an Acid mothers gig though, so I suppose I have no right to complain. It did remind me of that famous Tony Wilson quote “Jazz musicians enjoy themselves more than anyone listening to them does.”

Jimmy Page has a lot to answer for.. but somehow i think this lot would have thought of violin bows without him

When the guitarist came back on stage the drummer buggered off for half an hour. Somewhere along the way I actually recognised one of the numbers, their ‘signature’ tune, ‘Pink Lady Lemonade’. The crowd were mesmerised and stood watching in awe all night long.

A slightly more traditional end to the show.

Eventually we get the ‘full’ band back on stage and brains are fried for a spectacular climax.

CITIZEN FISH: live in a dive

With a little bit of help from Blind Destruction, Gagged (South Wales’ very own anarchist newsletter) put on yet another blinding benefit gig. Again, the Legendary TJs was again chosen as the venue.

We were pleasantly surprised to find that you did not need breathing apparatus to use the gents; obviously the venue is looking to upgrade its reputation. Then again, on exiting the bog we discovered a huge bin in the middle of the dance floor to catch the rain that was coming in from the ceiling (presumably travelling through the three floors above before getting to the nightclub), so the clever dumb balance was once again restored.

For someone who prefers to watch live music out doors, I am being very picky here… lets get on with the review…..

KILNABOY

Kilnaboy were on early, maybe it was their desire to keep away from the water on the dance floor, in case they had to either A) drink it neat or B) wash in it (sorry lads and lass, couldn’t resist it). Their sets definitely seem to be getting punkier every time we see them, now sounding like a punk band that play folk, rather than a folk band that play punk. They have been getting up and having a bash at just about every opportunity for quite some time now, turning up everywhere like some sort of anarchist stalker (are they really MI5 in disguise?). All that practice is starting to show, no matter how drunk they get they still somehow manage to put on a show that gets everyone moving, from the old heads staffing the bookstalls to the young guns looking for some fun. Tonight is no exception and the dance floor soon becomes a Temporary Autonomous Moshpit.

SPANNER

Spanner don’t get quite as much practice as Kilnaboy but they still manage to improve every time we see them, which is quite a feat considering how good they were the first time we saw them. Charging over the river Severn, eager to show solidarity with comrades in arms, they bombard the gathered clans with high-octane ska punk, diluting the rain on the floor with the sweat of the bodies thrashing about. When they hit the stage they start with a rallying call… “Get involved with South Wales Anarchists, they are doing some serious work and having a good time while they are at it”. Ditto Spanner. They know exactly what has to be done, they don’t shirk from doing it, but they also know that you can have a laugh while you are at it. Spanner… serious fun!

CITIZEN FISH

If you wanna talk about practice, hard working Citizen Fish put everyone else to shame. Averaging about 200 gigs a year for the last 18 years, not to mention the fact that half the band also tour as The Subhumans, you have a seriously polished ska punk machine. Ramming their songs with pretty astute social observations and anarchist critique, it is almost a shame to put them to music so intense and high energy, but as singer Dick puts it mid set “look, if you wanna know what this song is about, go over there, buy the CD and read the lyrics. Mean time, lets dance!” Like a whippet running rings around a police dog, Dick charges around the stage putting kids half his age in the crowd to shame. The music, although played at break neck speed, is precise and polished. Citizen fish, in a pond of their own.

BREAKING THE CHAINS: Inner Terrestrials @ TJs

Tonight we headed once more to the Legendary TJs for a benefit gig to raise funds for Cardiff Anarchist Prisoner Support Group. The bill was looking good, quite varied, and a shed full of old faces in the crowd was guaranteed.

As we walked in it looked like a scene from the Anarchist Bookfair, with stalls run by South Wales Anarchists, Cardiff Prisoner Support, Gwent Hunt Sabs and the Keble Cooperative in evidence.

TJs is famous throughout the world for being where many big American bands played their first UK gigs. The stars in the making don’t come around so much now, but the legend lives on. Like so many little clubs that have played their part in Rock ’n roll history, it is a bit of a dive; that is part of its charm though.

DIRTY REVOLUTION

First up were Ska-diff’s Dirty Revolution, a name we have been hearing for some time now but have not got around to catching. Very quickly we were kicking ourselves, why have we not caught them before? A wicked blend of ska/dub/punk and attitude, they were just what we needed to get us limbering up for what was to come. Lively, skankalicous and thought provoking. We will be watching out for these again.

THE REJECTIED

Then came The Rejected. Hardcore punk like only Newport can produce. Loud, shouty and angrier than a pit bull with his balls on fire. Unlike the three wise monkeys, they see evil, they hear evil and they speak about evil. The world is sleep walking into mindless compliance and these guys are here to wake us up with a baseball bat, sending out an alarm call at the top of their voices.

KILNABOY

Things calm down a bit after the rejected, but not much, with the ever-present black flag waving, welly stompin’, waistcoat wearin’, mandolin pluckin’, beer swillin’, G8 hatin’ Kilnaboy. Being in a band is not just an option of these boys, it is compulsory; they have to make music, they have to turn up wherever people are resisting they system and they have to make you all jig about and smile while filling them Molatovs. Maybe it was the surroundings, maybe it was the company they were keeping, but from where we were stood it felt like tonight’s set was a little punkier than usual. The moshers up the front weren’t complaining.

INNER TERRESTRIALS

Then it was the main attraction, Inner Terrestrials. These guys have been about a bit, and you can tell. They glide through a set of old classics and new numbers with an ease only old hands can pull off. While the dance floor becomes a frantic blurred pit of sweat and snot, IT stand there on stage smiling at each other like brothers that have done this so many times they can communicate with the nod of a head and a turn of the eye. They are well and truly at home on stage and despite their contempt for the system that controls our lives, they love the brother and sister hood of the resistance, they love being outsiders and most importantly they love making music.

They drift seamlessly from full on punk attack, through folky rebellion, to skanking dub and back without batting an eyelid. They deftly turn their hand to whatever style fits with a natural ease, displaying a talent and imagination that can so often be missing from the ‘angry brigade’ of the punk front line.

The gathered unwashed lap it all up, throwing themselves around in reckless abandon. But there is something different. Despite the intensity of it all, it is not an exclusively male environment, the revolution is not going to be patriarchal and the mosh is open to all.

Amongst the crowd is the son of Stig, the late singer with Icons Of Filth. I.T. drag him out of the crowd to sing the old Clash favourite ‘Guns Of Brixton’, a moment that is moving without being sentimental. That is I.T. all over, they know how to do things differently and with style, always unpredictable yet always reliable.

The old faces we had expected were more than satisfied with the performance and, perhaps more importantly, the new faces that had wandered in on the off chance were converts to the I.T. cause. That is another thing about them; they are also irresistible.

Expect a new interview with IT on the main PEPPERMINT IGUANA website soon

BLOWOUT: like an out door festival, only indoors

The bigger an event, the more there is to miss and with an event of the quality of this years Blowout, there were plenty of opportunities to miss things because of time table clashes. Arriving late does not help matters; we missed Captain Paranoid and the Delusions, The Physicists, Midasuno, Kilnaboy and The Dreadzone Soundsystem. A slightly messed up running order meant we managed to catch a few bands we did not want to see, but we did catch.....

Sick Note rocking da house,

Cosmoboy (Cosmo meets Kilnaboy) rocking the tent and

an on form Ozric Tentacles… although it would have been better if they had the lightshow that was being used in the techno area. The whole event was superb, and hats off to the Blowout posse for putting it together.

DUBBIN' UP A RIOT (AGAIN): AOS3 return after 13 years in the wilderness

Bands reform all the time, some times it is worthy of a yawn because the band were past their sell by date when they split, sometimes it stirs a grin because it brings back memories. Something very odd has been happening over the last few months though, several bands have got back together that we never expected to and they have made us sit up and think ‘Aye aye, this should be interesting, fasten your seatbelt’. This is mainly because bands that left us wanting more when the spilt are coming back to say hello. Omnia Opera, Tribe of Cro, R.D.F., Back To The Planet, Police Bastard, Crazy Pink Revolvers… now you can add to that list A.O.S.3.

As we get older the distances we travel to see a good band get less and less, but a 200 mile round trip to catch AOS3’s first gig for 13 years, hosted by skanking dub beats, was never in doubt though. The Bear Tavern in Birmingham is just how a venue should be, basic, no frills, frayed around the edges and with a staff that are pretty hands off and let everyone get on with having a good time.

Tonight’s crowd was a mixture of local people who had turned up to their local pub to see their favourite local hardcore band and a few old heads that had travelled to witness the rebirth of legend. The more energetic of the crowd were up early for the support, bouncing around like balls in a pin ball machine. When AOS3 hit the stage though the dance floor suddenly filled up as everyone jockeyed for position to get a good view of the AOS3 phoenix rising out of the ashes.

All those AOS3 classics that we have been listening to on CD only for the last 13 years suddenly came to life, only heavier and deeper, the dubby bits got more psychedelic and the punky bits got faster and harder.

We have another Bush in the Whitehouse, even madder than the first one, so ‘Bush Is On The Golf Course’ took on new relevance, as did ‘Warrior Nation’. We were also treated to a handful of cover versions, including ‘Unknown Soldier’ by RDF and everyone was caught off guard by the Jam’s ‘Down In The Tube Station At Midnight’. Given it is not strictly the original line up and there had only been a handful of rehearsals, after an hour they had exhausted their repertoire. They weren’t getting away with that though and an ecstatic crowd demanding an encore meant they had to rewind a bit and re-do some of the set, but nobody cared, they had been waiting too long for this and they were going to make the most of it.

Eventually they had to call time and bring an end to the night, with the general consensus that this is one reunion that will have people sitting up and taking notice this summer.

Check out Sam’s view of the night here

NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED: Arcadia and Nemhain Live

Duck! Incoming from Arcadia

Hardcore is a word often used to prefix music styles to make them sound… well.. hard we suppose! There is hardcore-techno, hardcore-punk, hardcore-handbag, industrial-hardcore, happy-hardcore, grindcore and many more ….. not to mention hardcore porn and the stuff you put down for a driveway. But it has to be said, few could argue with the right to use the term when talking about Italian Bastard Core outfit Arcadia. This lot really are HARDCORE with a capital H.

Tonight they have stopped off in the Meze bar in Newport on part of a tour that seems to have them invading half of Europe and America almost simultaneously. With a six string bass, a seven string lead guitar and a vocal style that sometimes resembles Napalm Death, they machine gun their way through a set that is like a sonic weapon of mass destruction. Yet despite the ferocity of the event, if you can find something to hold onto to stop yourself being blown off your feet, there are underlying rhythms that lift them above the run of the mill hardcore… like standing at the back of Download Festival in the middle of a hurricane but still being able to here Rage Against The Machine in the background.

The crowd tonight is somewhat lacklustre, but the band do not let this put them off. Plonk them in front of a packed house with a mosh pit in the front and they would make Bad Brains look like the Nolan Sisters.

After they went off we nearly fell over because we had been bracing ourselves against the uncompromising sonic attack and as the shockwaves subsided normality became weird... but it would not last long.

ARCADIA GET SICK

Morrigan and Cherry, goddesses of panic and frenzy

Next up came Nemhain, named after an Irish goddess of war, and yes the band was full of goddesses and they were about to wage war on us. Not quite as intense as Arcadia they knocked us dead with riff laden, high-octane rock and roll with a heavy dose of Jack Daniels and Harley Davidson’s. Adrian Erlandsson of Cradle Of Filth fame kept the back beat pounding like a life size Animal from the Muppets, ensuring the pace never slowed and even though they were not the nuclear deterrent of Arcadia, they were definitely axe wielding psychopaths. Scary, sexy and funky all at once, just how rock ‘n roll should be.

NEMHAIN GOT GIRLS

PS: Big up Craig from Pulse Promotions for the tip off and the list

RETURN OF THE TEN LEGGED DANCING SPIDER: Tarantism hit the banks of the river Taff

The day began with a surreal start, with a giant teddy bear on the A470 at 5am and that was just the first psychedelic moment of the day. Come 10pm I had just about given up on the idea of going out and I was crashed on the settee. Then somehow the autopilot kicked in and by 11pm I was sat in Tarantism’s new van outside the Riverside in Cardiff doing an interview for the Iguana Zine.

Tarantism and the Iguana go way back, well before they played a gig for us over 9 years ago (the week that Tara Iguana was born clue there somewhere as to where Tara got her name). We used to bump into each other quite a lot but we haven't met up for ages, it came as no surprise though that within minutes of meeting tonight was like we had met last week…. and that includes the new members that we have not met before!

Anyway, let’s get on to the gig.

First up was that twat Cosmo doing his Bob Dylan on magic mushrooms thing, making a right cult of himself. Nahh.. what can we say that we have not said before? This man is wasted (in more ways than one), poet, rapper, axe god, revolutionary, porn star, drunkard and the only man we have ever seen that can make a lycra top look baggy… one day this man will be discovered and put in a museum for music lovers to appreciate for generations to come.

Then came Kilnaboy, Pontypridd’s finest rebel rousing anarcho diddly punk jigabout mob. After Cosmo had warmed everyone’s hearts, these lads and lasses warmed up everyone’s dancing trousers, like a damp patch when you’re too slow getting to the toilet. Mixing trad numbers with their own compositions they have the assembled scruffs up and swinging around the floor making the basement venue look even fuller than it really was.

Then it was the turn of Tarantism, setting foot on stage in South Wales for the first time in 9 years; half the crowd would have still been in school the last time they came this way but they were no strangers to this festival posse. They dipped their sonic ladle into the melting pot of styles that bubble away in their back catalogue, spooning out doses of ska, folk, dance and jazz when necessary, plus the odd spiky lump of punk rock to get you dancing up and down as well as swinging back and fore.

Come 2am they wanted to get some sleep before the drive to Cornwall in the morning, but the crowd would have none of it, insisting on a high-octane encore to finish the night. Let’s hope it aint 9 years before the next visit.

I couldn’t find a proper Tarantism video, but this is a video of the Eastendvalley festival that has Tarantism singing over the top…

For the wikipedia definition of Tarantism, click here

MYSPACE>>>>>>

COSMO

KILNABOY

TARANTISM BAND

TARANTISM SOUNDSYSTEM

TARANTISM LIVE (looky here if you want to download exclusive live stuff)

TEMPLE IN A CHURCH: Acid Mothers Temple and the Melting Paradise UFO land in the Point.

I have been fascinated by the idea of the Acid Mothers Temple and the Melting Paradise UFO for a few years now, so when I noticed they were to play The Point in Cardiff it was a must see event. My socks were well and truly blown off.

This wigged out Japanese band have been around since 1996 and seem determined to confuse people on all levels. They have various other incarnations such as Acid Mothers Temple and the Cosmic Inferno and Acid Mothers Temple Soul Collective with band members floating in and out. Since 1996, they have released 40 odd albums of mind blowing psychedelic space rock. I have bought several albums because I was in love with the whole idea of the band but have found it extremely difficult to get into the freaked out free form feedback space jazz that they knock out. At times they rock like a cross between Hawkwind and Ozric Tentacles, but to get to the intense bits you have to put up with hours of bizarre psychedelia that sounds like a cross between Syd Barret era Pink Floyd and the Bonzo Dog Doodah Band.

I had to go and see them, partly because I was convinced that to survive as long as they have they must have an amazing live show, and partly because of a morbid curiosity to see if they were really as bad as I thought they might be… a bit like going to see a car crash.

Well, they were pretty f*ckin’ damned awesome. There were one or two bizarre vocal moments but on the whole they rocked big time, taking feedback to places jimmy Hendrix only dreamed of.

When I got home I had to chuck on ‘Pink Lady Lemonade’ to relive the amazing bits where the guitar was thrust into the speakers to get maximum feedback. I sat through the whole hour (yes, they are the sort of band that record hour long instrumental tracks) and it did not quite do it for me. I think that is the whole point, sitting on the sofa worrying about disturbing the neighbours cannot compare to being there when the magic is being done with the volume up to nose bleed level, the lights scarring the back of the eyeball and the smell of skunk wafting through the room. Knowing what the real thing is like now though, I think I will have another go at listening to a CD all the way through.

PS: Big shout to Colin Powerstepper and the Tangled Parrot for putting the gig on, keep on blowing minds dudes!