Middle Age Riot, or a week with Pete

Monday evening and all is good with the world. Failing badly in my works fantasy football league I've packed my team with The Arsenal and this evening's match against Swansea is a sure fire bonanza of points for me. I meet with Pete at Finsbury Park and wander down to Ashburton Grove past Highbury and take our seats up in the gods of the Clock End just in time for kick off. Given Pete's from Cardiff he's my lucky mascot for tonight to show up the Swansea fans just down to our right. I won't go into the gory details but despite a dozen shots on target every one is hit straight at our ex keeper and they get one ball rolling over the line with current keeper only able to scrape away but goal line technology shows it's just over. Lucky mascot my arsenal. If this was Highbury back in the day after a lacklustre performance like this there would have been a North Bank riot. Instead we sneak out grumbling. To avoid the queues at the tubes we drown my sorrows. Surely the week can only get better...

Wednesday sees me cycling south to pick up my unlucky mascot at Tower Bridge and on up to the right on Workers Beer Company (purveyors of find ales to Glastonbury and others) pub The Bread and Roses. Wednesday night is Carl's Open Mic night. There's not many here especially performers except for two young guys hanging out together. Nick and Simon also here, the latter cos he couldn't get in elsewhere, and as the performance is running very late we wile away the hours talking festivals (sore point) and bike rides (sore point). Eventually we hear a big hip hop beat coming from round the corner inside the pub and we go over to check it out. Not the usual open mic noise as it's usually a guitarist singing winsome love songs or left wing poets preaching to the converted. Not that there's anything wrong with either of those you understand. Anyways our young boys are singing a very competent rap with very suspect lyrics. First off we have one about touching oneself. Second up is about wanting to touch girls and some weird hanging around for the opportunity. Third and last is one all about what I assume are female canines. The misogynistic lyrics have stunned the old boys at the bar who usually nonchalantly ignore the acts but for this stare slack jawed or studiously ignore the boys. Even the regular who stands and shouts at you whilst you're having a quiet pint is silenced. For a bit. I like my mates are torn between wetting ourselves at the incongruity of the situation or bottling the boys off. We go for the former. Carl gets the next act, solo singer guitarist, up smartish before we have a left wing riot on our hands. As nothing will beat the young uns for entertainment, warranted or not, us cyclists depart after a lot of faffing about with the bikes so much so that the bar maid having a break outside asks us if we're all all right. I think she thought we were doddering too much. Surely my next meet with Pete will rescue the week...

Friday sees me rushing from Brixton to Hackney to catch an unreasonably early gig with a 10pm curfew. Pete texts me that I've missed a fabulous set by Hannah Lou Clark and her band. With minutes to spare I find Pete and we're up to the gig hall with time to buy a Red Stripe and bang on time Thurston Moore and band take the stage. Regular four piece two guitars. We start off with a twiddly free form jazzy sort of affair which is reminiscent of Gong's freer moments. Then we get into the core of the set. Thurston and band serve up very heavy grunge laden songs that gets a fair few of the audience, hardly in the flush of youth, nodding their heads and even a bit of shimmying. Now I can't take all the credit for the following descriptions as Pete contributed significantly. The sound is straight from the 70s running through the better side of prog rock, oh OK that's an oxymoron but you need to see it to believe it, through to post punk protogrunge. What I mean is that we are treated to big guitars sounds with lots of twiddly bits a pumping raging bass and bang on tight drums. Think Cream meets sub pop. We don't get a lot of chat from Thurston, the only one with a mic incidentally with music stand, but he does let us know that it's Brian Eno's birthday (ah, that's where the prog influence comes from) and to pay tribute to BB King who passed away today. "This is for the King" brings us a song that could've come from another tragically deceased singer Ian Curtis with a full on rocked out Joy Division channeling shouty song. It's great. A highlight is a number with loads of feedback which goes on for so long that the whole place is reverberating what with the great sound system and two guitars up against the amps it's so intense that it feels like there's a breeze blowing from behind me. Amazing. It's a great set overall and we're treated to a rare for London encore. At the end we decline to join the young throng at the bar and seeing as neither of us frequent Hackney Central much we wander up the wet Amhurst Road vainly trying to find a pub eventually finding the Pembury Tavern where we're given trial pale ales as tasters and then Pete thrashes me at bar billiards despite not knowing the rules. I'm sure there was a bit of Welsh wizardry at play and if I was that way inclined I'd have taken Thurston's advice of way back when and started a personal riot using the ageing bar stools but I guess me and Pete are too old to fight over a couple of suspect pool shots. Middle age riot in a public house.

Danger: slackers at work 

Another lobbing opportunity missed

Sorry I missed the other guitarist Jim

Yorkshire! Yorkshire!

Having been chastised by my chums about the amount of tedious drivel I write in my blogs about how I got to venues and the folk I meet on the way - rather than saying what the bands played - this one won't mention the late train from London to Leeds and how I just missed the Menston train and had to have a pint in the Scarborough Hotel. Or how on the Friday I'm chauffeured from Ramsay and Jo's and had a lovely day out in Harrogate with Sarah lunching at a barely vegan cafe and a pint in the most upmarket Weatherspoons on the planet. Evening finds Bruce here and we have a few bevvies in town finishing in the Old Cock with Sarah and Roy then all back to the house to chat and drink to a stupid hour given our next day's schedule.

We awake a few hours after turning in for the main event of the weekend which is Live at Leeds. Woken early by Jon who's travelled up from Bath I stumble down to let him in feeling groggy but a milk thistle tab for my liver and a shower wake me up and we're soon on the 10.30 bus to Leeds meeting Malcolm at the bus stop. A couple of free drinks in the VIP Press lounge (well, I am a blogger if not very professional) and we're well set up for the day. The lovely Nation of Shopkeepers is first stop where we watch an 80s throwback band called WHITE. The singer looks the part with bright pink polo neck jumper and a certain swagger. Backed by a very competent band including a going for it girl drummer who keeps the pace up so they are nearer post punk than the crap anthemic rock that a lot of decent 80s bands descended into. They sound a lot like early Simple Minds so I guess strictly a late 70s vibe than later. A great sound too with catchy uplifting tunes and just what we need to start the day off. The place was packed too and they went down well. The Nation never disappoints. Next up I wander up to GAZ COOMBES at the big arena I won't flatter with sponsorship naming with Bruce but after one song I'm in danger of being brought down into a depressive mood so I leave Bruce with Malcolm and wander around the Merrion Centre accosting likely looking strangers asking where the Key Club is. Eventually I find it just in time to catch the much anticipated BRAWLERS. The front man has more swagger than Billy Idol and throws lots of punky rock poses looking well ard. The guitarists also throw punk guitar hero (ain't that a oxymoron) shapes and the drummer's doing his best to best them. The music's fast and loud as you'd expect in a power punk sort of west coast way. To be honest I'm torn between their obvious passion and energy which is great and slightly suspect posturing which bleeds into pastiche. Disengaging brain and engaging heart I love them. For the last song the singer jumps down into the audience and strides up and down like Moses parting the seas then the guitarists jump down too and carry on rocking. A nice touch especially as we get a decent view of the drummer on the cramped stage so often left out of the limelight. All in all well worth seeing as puts us in the mood for punk (a few mates have arrived to join me) of which we'll hear more later and hey, if Live at Leeds ain't about the enthusiasm of music what is it? Go see and make your own minds up. I suspect that they are much better in the flesh than on telly. Staggering rather than swaggering out into the shopping centre trying to not bump into heavily laden shoppers Ramsay decides to hot foot or taxi way out west to see Crows so Malcolm me and Bruce sneak off to the Belgrave to see what's happening. Not a lot at the moment except for a tall gothlike woman wandering around the stage sorting out stuff. We climb up to the roof terrace to soak up the warm Yorkshire sun, sorry, cower from the rain and wind before descending to see CHLOE BLACK. Chloe's apparently Australian by French parents and seems to have an American accent. It's just her on the keyboards with her iPad as her backing group. She's very striking with her long black hair and white fringe and I suspect she's going to be quite severe and miserable. She's anything but. Lo-fi dropped beats make it almost danceable whilst the keys bring the songs along bringing us up and down with the lyrics which are witty and incredibly well sung. Seeing as everything has to be classed as some sort of alt folk these days I'd file between Folk and Grime if I still bought vinyl and bothered to file my albums by genre. Maybe G- rather than F+. Chloe also loves a bit of chat and with her whimsical and self deprecating style brings the audience on side. Very different to Mr Brawler but that's the beauty of festivals. Half way through she pulls out a bottle of Jamesons saying she needs a bit of whisky to get her through a gig and takes prodigious slugs after most songs. The Brawlers just made do with weak lager the wimps. She's obviously very pleased to be here and I think a bit taken aback that the place is pretty busy and we all like her. I could listen to the for a good hour or two but soon we're on the last song for which she thanks The Invisible Band and closes the cover on her iPad going solo. Malc and Bruce aren't quite as sorry it's over as I am but whatever the music the girl's an entertainer.

There's one band we all like the look of and we taxi up to the hinterland of the fantastic Brudenell Working Mens Club. We order pizzas from the pizza bus but soon the strains of the band come through and I have to tell them to put the cheeseless one on hold for a while. Hitting the dance floor I find the long lost revellers and we all dance to the the Russians that are PINKSHINYULTRASOUND. They're a 5 piece which look more French cool than Russian hard core and indeed serve a great set of full on shoegazing grungy mesmeric and musical fare. This is the stuff! Taking us back to the days of yore when a good night out was grabbing yer cardie before gazing into the beautiful eyelets of your DMs before closing yours as the grunginess overcame you and you lived in the moment of depressive rock and big guitars. Err, wasn't that your Friday night out in the 80s? Anyways this band give it in spades although they seem damn happy to be here entertaining us. Vocals are provided by a girl who's either lived in Hoxton or read the fashion pages forget Riot Girl we got our own Indie Girl. Ramsay's verdict is Cocteau Twins mixed with, hmmm, can't remember who but let's say the Go Team. That's not what he said but oddly the shoegazingly mesmeric guitars were interspersed with hands up soaring delights of the keyboard. The singing is unintelligible and I'm not sure if she's singing in Russian or English or most likely not actually singing at all but sort of making noises into the mic. The Brudenell is a great place for them and they go down well. Deservedly so. The highlight so far. Going back out I retreive my pizza and it's gone in a trice - I'm starving. Next we have a logistical nightmare involving running for buses and back again and uber taxi app shenanigans but after an age we all rock up to a fringe pub down town where the bar queue is crazy but we're treated to a hard core set of punk, proper punk I mean, not post or power, by a four piece in the corner fronted by a very enigmatic singer giving us some proper old school blatently political lyrics. I think they are KLEINE SCHWEINE. And I don't think they're Oi as advertised by my mates.

After this some of us wade up to the Leeds Met or whatever it's called now just in time to see Rat Boy. There's a massive queue to get in and a stream leaving so we saunter up to the front of the queue condescendingly smiling at a few friends we saw up at the Brudenell and flash our VIP Press wrist bands at the bouncer. We're full lad. But I've got a VIP wristband mate. Can't help that there's the end of the queue down there around the corner. But I'm press and got a blog to write about Rat Boy I'm too important to miss it mate. Can't help that safety first there's the queue lad. But can't we just stand here mate until you let people in. Queue's there lad. With our tails between our legs we take the walk of shame down the steps past our condescendingly smiling friends who are near the front of the queue. We argue about whether Rat Boy is worth this and by this time the queue's moving so we jump it willing to show our wristbands again but there's no need and we may as well have just barged in anyway. We get to the smaller of the two stages to see Rat Boy (the main man) wandering about the stage. We needn't have worried about seeing him as they take an age to tune up and get the sound right and I'm getting pissed off cos the sound for the filling in music is crap and too quiet. Luckily we are entertained by old Glastonbury friends arriving and after the embarrassment of not immediately remembering where I know them from my memory bank slowly drags up images of the Rabbit Hole. Prompted by Marie. My brain seems to be stuck in the 80s when you retrieved information from floppy disks rather than these young uns with their instantly available SSD memories. So faces and context conjoined and luckily so as we bump into Marie and friends a few times tonight. Oh god I've rambled just like I've been told not to if you want anyone including your best mates to read it. So let's start this paragraph again...  We make our way to Leeds Met where we see RAT BOY who are a dancy indie band with cutting lyrics and a very laid back style in the music department. If some bands are tight then these are slack. And I mean in a is the bass really following the drums and were the guitars meant to come in then sort of slackness. But they sound bloody good. I love a bit of slack one of my favourite gigs ever being a totally shambolic tuning up / jamming set by Egyptian Hip Hop at Glastonbury. Back to Rat Boy and they deliver three minute indie songs with great lyrics about modern life and being on the dole a lot in a rapping style. Sort of Blur covering the old 80s political rock rappers 25th of May. The kids love it and a few jump the stage just before the end. They dance around encouraging more and soon the stage is full to bursting with the youngsters many taking the scourge of modern life the selfie. The last song is played with the band hardly able to stay on the stage and the guitarist trying to stop people fiddling with his keyboard and the inevitable crowd chanting into the mic. The band leave the stage and give the mic to someone who can rap so I assume they know him then soon it's switched off and I vow to go see them again soon before some producer polishes them up. Cool. Next we wander to the big stage in the same building where most of us meet up again in a holy reunion to see Hawkwind channellers HOOKWORMS. They do what it says on the tin. Play psychedelic rock that could be off all number of Hawkwind albums including the singing. They are great. Despite my friends pleas to write what the band sounds like I won't bother. Just go listen to a 70s / 80s Hawkwind album (excepting the commercial Silver Machine) and anything that is rock, as opposed to their laid back jamming tracks, well that's Hookworms. As I said, they are great. To be fair to them they don't come over like a cover or pastiche band but relevant to today's music so I guess not quite like Hawkwind. They go down pretty well too and just so as a Leeds band. The hall then clears which surprises me as the darlings of Leeds are next up. As well as the audience leaving all our mates have too leaving Jon and I on our own. Soon everyone's back including Marie with my pint and I'm gasping by now the place starts filling and then the magnificent EAGULLS take the stage to rapturous homecoming applause. Eagulls serve up hard hitting punky tunes with panache and a cool singer with a disdainful demeanour. Except today they aren't punky but slower and not as exciting. Is it cos I'm flagging or seen too much music today or just getting old and tired of modern music and it all sounds the same. No, it's them. They seem to have gone grunge which defeats the exciting point of them. The set is still pretty good and I recognise a lot of the tunes but as they leave the stage I'm disappointed for the first time today. After faffing about chatting we look to see who's next and realise that in 5 minutes the hot tip of the day will take the stage at the Faversham, scene of my stag weekend, so a group of us hot foot it northwards getting lost in the university (Ramsay telling us that this always happens to him thereby self proclaiming his stupidity by it's very definition) but luckily the band are only just into their set. 

Ah yes the young boys who are PRETTY VICIOUS are fast and loud and enthusiastic and pretty good musicians but not vicously hung up about it and get us all very excited and hot under the collar. Out of all the bands today this lot could have come out of 77. Which is a good enough reason for Ramsay to push me into the mosh pit to be buffeted about on the tides of chance occaisionally bumping into bouncers who have crazily formed a line between the dancers and the line of punters leaning on the stage one of whom threatens to chuck me out if I bump into him again. I did and he didn't. Fast short songs that end all too soon but it's certainly got us warmed up for the finale. Yorkshire Yorkshire. Yorkshire Yorkshire. Yeah they still remember the War of the Roses round these parts. My riposte of Zummerzet gets lost in the background noise and probably just as well for me. Soon a tall cool figure takes the stage which is too low for him and we're all pumped up for REVEREND AND THE MAKERS. I make my way to the loo which is stage right and I foolishly take a short cut through the crowd coming back and yet again get caught up in the mosh for which there seems to be no escape as every time I inch sideways I'm either clouted back by a fellow mosher, or nudged by some bloke who don't want me pushing into his girl or simply grabbed around the shoulders by a loved up Yorkshireman and his mates. Sometimes you gotta just go with the flow man. Which is exactly what we do to the Revs who are blasting us with their particularly brilliant brand of post indie proto northern Arctics style rock and roll. Yeah! All the hits including one of my favourite songs about the guy on the one armed bandit who loses his winnings to a cockney git. Fantastic. All too soon they're off stage signalling the end of the live music for tonight. I go outside to cool down and hope my shirt dries out before we hit the night spots of Leeds. We plum for the Wardrobe after show where we meet Marie's friend outside and the rest inside. Bopping to soul funk and other classics upstairs we slowly descend downstairs for something a little edgier until flagging we negotiate with taxis for a ride home. I'm accosted by a youngster asking if I can help get her home. Somewhat taken aback but flattered that I've still got the looks I'm about to flash my ring finger at her and say that I'm spoken for when she says that her boyfriend's gone off without her cos she refused to dance on the stage with him and she needs to get home and she don't know what to do and and and... I realise I'm probably the least threatening person outside, male or female, and remind her of her dad or favourite uncle. Turns out she lives Headingly on our way back so we offer her a ride with us and she kindly gives us all her loose change in payment (£3.76). Poor girl left her purse in the car but came to collect it the next day arm in arm with the stage dancing scoundrel himself so I guess alls well that ends well. 

Sunday we're up in good time to watch the Otley music festival pop up the Côte de Chevin to encourage Le Tour de Yorkshire cyclists in the rain including Wiggo's last road race and then go drink some more unneeded pints and see more bands including the Great Otley Quentin Covers Band which gets us dancing especially to the ska and northern soul cuts with Sarah Roy and Roy's sun who cuts a few moves to the Bruce Springsteen encore. Another pizza from the bus who seems to charge £2 extra cos he's in Otley. Monday is sunny and we catch the JELLYMEN in the warm sun, I'm being serious this time, who serve up good rocking tunes before I catch the bus into Leeds and train back to home sweet home. Ahhh it's good to be back in the big smoke despite the wonders of Leeds and how wonderful it is to be in Otley. Cheers Yorkshire lads and lasses both close friends, partying friends and those I only met fleetingly this weekend cheers for the hospitality and good vibes. Yorkshire! Yorkshire!

Photos. To conserve my phone batteries my photos are few of LAL and mainly of the cycling and Otley festival. For others see my Facebook post and those who are my friends (and I haven't got many) may be to find others that Jo and Marie have put up.

Chloe Black and backing band

Eagulls go grunge

Otley festival cajun band

Juggling vs ice cream

Leaders in the rain

The pain of Cote de Chevin

Great place to puncture

Is that dirty look directed at me for shouting Allez Allez!

Out of towners dancing to rock music

Local boys play northern soul and get Otley dancing in the street