My plan for a romantic couples evening of me, Debbie, Pete and Wendy watching some ageing rockers play a nostalgic gig turns out somewhat differently. Debbie refuses to go along to watch a bunch of old men playing to a crowd of old men. So Simon takes her ticket. Pete claims Wendy was never going anyway so last minute offloads spare ticket to his mate Todds. I meet Pete in the Beehive having to blag my way in cos they don't want it packed with old men in Stranglers T shirts and I don't blame them and it's good for us as there's no queue at the bar. Pete points out my Harrington still bears the scars from my time on the floor at the FWF two days ago. We then go out to meet Todds who shambles over clutching a can of Scrumpy Jack in which folk have been dropping in fag ends. Sort of sets the tone for the night. We go in and find out we've missed the Alarm. Ah well. We work our way the front centre then me and Pete have to go back to the bar and pick up Simon on our way back so we're all together now. The place is packed and having to squeeze past grumpy old fuckers who want to piss you off is a major pain. Why do balding men with beer guts feel the need to be as obnoxious as possible. I just smile at them and pat their shoulders which seems to piss them off even more. No wonder Debbie didn't want to come along. Moving about takes time as the place is full of balding men with beer guts with a few sons dotted about.
I'm really excited about this as they're playing the whole of Black & White and it'll be the same songs as I heard when I first saw them way back in 78 at the Bath Pavillion. With Simon. Some things never change. Back then they had strippers on stage but I'm not expecting that tonight as times have changed. I've been working myself into a frenzy this afternoon listening to Black & White and Live X Certs. Soon enough the lights dim and Waltzinblack blares out and the mighty
The Stranglers take the stage. Well, half of them as Hugh was replaced a long time ago and Jet Black has I think now gracefully retired. The last time I saw him he was on the oxygen. They go straight into and straight through the whole of B&W in the right order. Fantastic to hear and gets a fair few dancing about. Due to crowd dynamics and strategically placed barriers in the sloping floor of the Brixton Academy the main bit of dancing action is just to the left of us. Excepting Todds creating his own personal mosh pit and dragging a poor woman into it. They seem to end up cuddling each other. Not wanting to be bear hugged by Todds I decide to take my chances with the burly blokes to the left. Whilst it's great to hear B&W it's a bit weird as you know what's coming next which isn't usually the case at gigs. Also I know every note and as I usually go see bands who I haven't heard their songs hundreds of times there's a certain amount of excitement as to what they're playing. I guess anyone reading this knows The Stranglers but for posterity they serve up a fast bass heavy punk rhythm rooting your feet firmly on the ground, or at least every second or so, with psychedelically swirling organ taking your mind higher pieced together by solid drumming and jacked up guitar. JJ still blows the socks of any other bass player. The sound is a fantastic growly fuzz boxed thumping and I gotta find out how he makes it. I guess having a massive F off PA and speaker stacks rather than my Fender 15W practice amp probably helps. The Academy's acoustics really come into their own for bands like this and with the sloped dance floor it's a great venue as big ones go. Anyways, once they've finished what's probably my favourite album the fun begins. They launch into Grip and then into Walk on By which must be the best cover ever. Completely Stranglerfied. This really gets the crowd going and looks like once again Simon and I are in the thick of the mosh. Slightly older average age than two days ago at FWF (by about 30 years) but hey it's fun. They trawl through an amazingly diverse back catalog treating us to early nuggets and some new ones that sound good but on first listen are more straight up rock than the early innovative sounds. They finish on Something Better Change. Gladly it doesn't. As they're old school they're not too cool for an encore and as Simon and I are discussing what's left to play they launch into Peaches. Hanging Around sees them disappear again and I'm slightly miffed they didn't play Go Buddy Go but I wasn't entirely expecting a bit of straight up rock n roll tonight. But they're back to play just that getting everyone jiving and bunny hopping like we're on lost last batteries and just to squeeze the last bit of energy out of the audiences ageing legs they close on No More Heroes. Wow they are good. Maybe I'm not quite as blown away as when I saw them 38 years ago but hey, you never forget your first time do you? At least my ears are used to it now (yeah, Deaf From (the PA) Above) and as I write this I can hear about as well as usual. Which ain't much as Debbie will tell you. Back way back when school was a write off for the week as my poor young rock virgin ears were ringing like I was in a church bell tower. We hang around waiting for the rush to be over and bump into Todds' dancing partner who I think is looking for him. And he her. Avid readers of this blog (i.e. myself) will remember me saying that the Phobophobes at the Brixton Windmill were the unholy union of FWF & The Stranglers. Pity I couldn't sandwich them in on Thursday night. You got a lot to live up to Phobos and I must come see you soon. Yes, I know that they are very unlikely to read that but you never know. Outside Todds' gone AWOL so Simon and I wander up to the Queens Head, appropriately as once the FWF base, which has been done up a bit and think the stage has gone but still a good boozer though. Maybe inappropriately as we're not in dire need of more alcohol but hey we're on a roll. Pete soon joins us having left Todds waiting for french woman and after a couple of swifties Simon gets the bus home and Pete and I wander to Stockwell station. A great night and good week for gigs. Two incredible ones in three days. It don't get much better if you're not at a festival. Two gigs a week ain't bad for a posse of old blokes.
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