Wilkokoko

Was it really well over a year ago when I saw the magnificent Wilko Johnson Band at the main man's book launch at Rough Trade East. A lot of muddy water has flowed under the bridges of London town on it's way out to the Essex estuary since then and we've found out the awful news that Wilko has terminal cancer. True to form he seemed to take it in his stride and was philosophical saying that he won't have treatment and that it's given him a sense of euphoria and makes him feel intensely alive every day. I guess the greatest living guitar player who remains relatively unknown must have to put life into perspective on a daily basis. So he had his farewell tour in the spring this year and after falling very ill and cancelling dates I'd resigned myself to never seeing him again. I counted my blessings that I'd seen him so often and a couple of times in the last 2 years. But as they say you can't keep a good man down and he is certainly that, despite his Game of Thrones character which I haven't seen but apparently ain't exactly a saint. The ain't is like going out to the kids of Harris Academy of Upper Norwood yeah. But I digress. The illness seems to have faded and Wilko's off on another tour and I get tickets to see his second night at Koko nee the Camden Palace. Hence the title of the post and a nod to Vic and Bob's name for Ms Jonsson (no relation).

So, Debbie and I find ourselves walking briskly along the Embankment on a dirty wet Monday night huddling under a small umbrella making for Gordons where our romance first sparked. We get a table which is a rarity and possibly the result of a guy telling Debbie that she has a lucky face a few days ago. Following a lovely bottle of well chilled white Rioja we tube up to Euston and go for a very quick dosa and brinjal bhaji on Drummond Street. As the rain's stopped we wander on up to Mornington Crescent and after a couple of large snifters in the Hope and Anchor we head into Koko. The place looks like a Saga Rock Disco night and smells like a municipal bog. We spot 3 people under 40 the whole night, a brother and sister with parents and another very bored looking guy who I think was probably expecting Wilco. We grab a drink and go down to get a better look at the suited four piece who are Eights Rounds Rapid. They are a dodgy R&B karaoke as Debs observes with a very uncharismatic singer and a guitarist who thinks he has Wilko's legs. I guess at least they're up on stage and go down well so fair dues, but they're a little premature for a Wilko Johnson Tribute Band.

Next up are Ruts DC who are the remains of a brilliant punk band with the tragic loss of two of them (smack and cancer) and they now have a woman on vocals. After a dodgy start sounding like a Bob Marley tribute band (which to be honest is pretty impressive but not what is needed live) they go into some harder punkier tunes interspersed with the trademark heavy reggae dubby bass and drums overlaid with some great singing of political lyrics which is refreshing in these dark times. They get the crowd on side especially with the old favourites but it ain't a night for cutting edge music and by the end have both Debs and I bopping away. Possibly One of the highlights is It Was Cold which on hearing it now is a goth classic but I can't remember thinking that back in the day. They look far from goth in fact pretty dapper in their rude boy suits and hats. Punk rock indeed. The woman's not dressed so sharp in an old Ruts T shirt. They sign off by telling us that American punk wouldn't have happened without Wilko and British pub rock (not so sure about that) and by saying Goodbye and Thank You Music Machine (a previous punk and disco era incarnation of this beautiful old venue).

Ruts DC. Not sure why my camera is getting so poor...

And so the alleged father of the New York Dolls and The Stooges not to mention The Ramones takes the stage to rapturous applause. Ladies and Gentlemen, Punks and Rockers, will you put your hands together for the Wilko Johnson Band. We are treated to a typically brilliant set with Wilko gliding across the stage with his effortless guitar playing alternating between pre punk grubby pub choppy machine gun noise, choppy dubby off beats and 70s rock solo licks often merging all three so you're looking for the 2nd guitarist. Brilliant. And amply supported by Norman Watt-Roy on a massively throbbing bass pulsating through the venue's wooden dance floor all the while he's throwing agile shapes and with the younger Dylan Howe driving the beat on whilst the other two are playing with us and the rhythm. As I bop about to Dr Dupree I feel a bit maudlin wondering if I'll ever hear it live again but then I decide that I'm only feeling that cos that's the mood of the song and carry on skanking. Talking of which I think that Debbie and I were the only two actually dancing the whole night. Honest. A few were bopping their heads but most of the audience were stood stock still. Unbelievable. I even get told that I'm dancing too close to someone. The outstanding set comes to an end and the ageing crowd have obviously been saving themselves for applauding the band as they come back for two encores and we're treated to a bit of behind the head guitar soloing which we can forgive someone as brilliant and well loved as Wilko. As they leave the stage you can sense the crowd wondering if that's the last we'll see of him and a couple of strangers chat to me about how great a gig it's been. We concur that he looks pretty healthy, well no worse than he has looked for the last 20 years as he's always been gaunt, and we're pretty certain we'll see him again. I sincerely hope so. A true legend of British rock. Shine on you diamond geezer.

Balding stationary men - and I don't mean the band

As I finish writing this Stevie Gerrard scores and we like him for tonight. So we're on the way to Brasil. Lovely stuff. As me and Debs have Glasto tickets that'll be another afternoon missing a few good bands and instead watching Germany put us out in the quarter finals. Ah well, it's the anticipation that's the important thing. And as I don't think he's ever played I wonder if we'll see the Wilko Johnson Band at Glastonbury. And if it'll clash with the England game. If so then the legend that is the man in black will win out over the boys in white.