Psicle: A Road Well Travelled

A rare moment of lucidity hits me as I lie on the floor on top of two youngsters. Should I be travelling this road at my age? My fleeting musings on life are rudely interrupted as another youngster falls into my outstretched arms quickly followed by another. Finding myself the hummus in a teenage sandwich lucidity briefly returns and I wonder whether in my mid 50s it wouldn’t be more dignified to be dining at captain’s table on a cruise liner, driving a sports car with the top down or playing whist in sheltered accommodation which apparently I qualify for being over 50? Thoughts of an alternative reality that ain’t gonna happen are dissipated as survival instinct kicks in and I twist my head to avoid a Doc Marten imprint on my forehead. I’ve been there before and it don’t look good at work.

Rewind.

I eagerly anticipate another weekend in Yorkshire as I speed northwards on familiar train rails and soon enough I’m clinking big headed pints with Ramsay outside the Scarborough Hotel. We have a coders disco lined up AKA Algorave. Basically computer coders writing live code generating music (no music sampling allowed) for an audience where the code scripts are projected onto a wall behind the coder. This one also had similar for a light show and bizarrely given the geeky nature of the beast a dry ice machine intermittently shrouding our neu music heroes in fog. I can’t tell you who played, or scripted, as they aren’t a particularly chatty bunch and jokes were very thin on the ground – unless you count the knowing smirks between entertainers and entertainees at certain points but that certainly went well over Ramsays head, and even mine despite being a demon Cobol programmer back in the day. Some of it was good when they got a big beat going and of course at times it sounded like Kraftwerk, who to be honest have an even more uninspiring stage act. At least one of these guys wore a furry angels halo before swapping for red devil horns. A combination of feeling out of our depth, no dancing going on and £4 for a small tin of pale ale Ramsay and I leave to be very conveniently picked up by Jon and Scottie who are driving through Leeds. We’re all soon back in the cosy bosom that is Otley and drinking into the witching hour with the marvellous Jo. I bail early possibly with the premonition of what is to come.

We're off into Leeds for Live at Leeds fairly early to claim our free VIP wristband drink, a very expensive can of cider as it turns out but hey, and first off it's up to Leeds Beckett nee Met nee Poly to see Fling who are playing pretty damn good punky rock and roll in a retro style to a packed room. It was a long day and I apologise if some of the descriptions are either short, vague or plain wrong as I may be either hazy about what the band sounded like or thinking of a different band altogether. By this time we catch up with John and Poppy and various other sorts who change throughout the day. Listen, I can only remember the band names cos I got a gig list so don't be offended I can't remember who I was with - I didn't get given a list of names. Not sure whether to include the next two bands as not sure if we saw Life at the Met, I have a vague memory of seeing someone there after Fling as we supped pints, and the next place at the other end of town was so crowded that I couldn't see the band so I didn't really take much notice of Husky Loops but they played a hip hop song from what I can remember. Ramsay can correct me. [Yep been corrected completely. I'd forgotten completely about seeing the Bay Rays who are predictable west coast styled rockers and obviously eminently forgettable but at least we see someone at the Key Club and also been reminded that we spent a bit of time on the lovely roof terrace of Headrow House which was very pleasant except for the smell of kippers.] Back up to the Met to see King Nun who were just "rocky" which means either my memory is shot or they were nothing special. Probably the former but it gets better dear reader so read on with confidence. We hang around for Plastic Mermaids on the very strong recommendation of Melvin and Linda and boy are they worth hanging around for. A quirky six piece serving our first big fat slice of funky rocky dance like a sort of post new wave Talking Heads meeting with the weirder side of Metronomy sometimes dropping into a psychedelic groove especially with the cello bowed guitar and synths. It certainly gets us all grooving and right up for the rest of the day. Unfortunately we venture back down town to see the Pigeon Detectives at the Doc Marten store and yeah we do see and hear them just about from outside. We're a little pissed off with how busy everywhere is so we time out for middle eastern eats and expensive pints before trooping off to see the one band we are all agreed on making an effort to see which is Idles. We can't get in even with VIP queue jumpers and have to make do with watching what turns out to be the next band posing outside. They and entourage look like a toned down version of the New York Dolls they aren't in drag but have heavy mascara and bright lips and an excellent variety of threads from off white zoot suits through to outright hippy faux furs. Not sure how they hot footed it up to the Met so quick and I guess their roadie gives them a bit of time by entertaining the crowd for what could have been half a set with his guitar and bass licks and the old one two one twos. Shows the crowd are impatient when they cheer the roadie sound bloke. Eventually after a couple of false starts HMLtd aka Happy Meal LTD take the stage and take it they certainly do. From the off we are drawn into their oddball world and are treated to a right proper glam rocking hamming it up theatrical set. With bags of style and swagger they are both captivating and slightly unnerving. Oh yeah, and the music is great. I guess this lot are going to be compared to FWF, and they are now my fallback lazy comparator replacing Hawkwind, but take the rock swagger of NYD the sleaze of the Fat Whites and add a sprinkling of psyche (the more accessible bits of Hawkwind) and serve. But it's not just one course as we have different song structures including use of quiet at times which is always nice for a band that looks like they may not take themselves seriously enough. If that makes sense. Anyway the set is great and by the end the band can't help themselves from the occasional smile at the audience culminating with the lead singer interacting with us rather than performing to us. They look well pleased as they troop off and well they should do after winning over the audience and for our band of merry pranksters it's the watershed moment of the day. From here on in it's all systems go and set the controls for the heart of the sun.

Sticking to our policy of only seeing bands we've not seen before, admittedly enforced as we're unlikely to get into any bands that are vaguely known, we eschew the delights of the brilliant Jagwar Ma, I'm sure we'll catch them at the Park in the rain at Glastonbury, we taxi off the the Brudenell Club which I now know well and where we are just in time to see Dream Wife who I was greatly anticipating as listening beforehand I was expecting a hard edged Raincoats who happen to be a favourite of mine. I wasn't exactly disappointed as they play a fun filled punky set with a bit of grunginess thrown in for free but they weren't as out there as I'd expected. Nevertheless an entertaining enough start to the latter part of the day and what's wrong with a trio of sassy women wielding guitars and drumsticks and creating a bit of power pop with a nod in that direction by chanting that's what I really really want. Yay! for poppy references. We get two for the price of one out here in the stix and we pop next door to the smaller room to see Trudy and the Romance who are a male trio playing steady drums, near funk driving bass overlaid by a floating guitar. Not Steve Hillage floating but more a bluesy Orange Juicy sort of whimsical feel. This with the enthusiastic singing and a happy go lucky cheery cheeky chappiness about the singer I love their take on RnR. A neat interlude before skipping next door again for something completely different. The Big Moon I had labelled as limp indie and I either mixed up me moons on a certain music streaming site or they are a lot lot better live than on record. Hard rocking proper grungy with big guitar hitting us over and over til we gaze at our shoes nodding our heads vigorously in submission. If Dream Wife are the Spice-ier side of the current crop of all girl indie grunge bands this lot are the Runaways with a nod to 70s power chords and straight up rawk and rollll rhythms. And by no means be put off by that. The charismatic singer holds the stage and everyone jostles for rocking position. Just great and something for everyone in that there music. Off next door as god forbid we spend time at the bar chatting, we've been chatting for too many years to interest each other, we catch a great set from Gurr. A duo who are rocking. Yep my memory is fading for any further elaboration as to style and influence. Let's just say would be good to see them again without being sandwiched between two class acts. Which brings me on to the climax of the evening. Beforehand I have a quick chat with one of the HMLTD the usual stuff, you were great, thanks with bored look, where you from, south London, must've played the Windmill, of course then a little more willing to chat about such a great venue, then Jo takes over ligging duties. Soon enough a couple of bearded behatted guys take the stage sharing bass and synth keys duties and then the rest of the band come on with one of the FWF singing. Continuing the lunar theme terribly named The Moonlandingz have landed. We go straight bang into a hard rocking psyche twinged set of manic tunes immediately turning half the dance floor into one big mosh. I was having too much primeval fun to analyse the intricacies of the set suffice to say it was energetic, sleazy, weird, punchy and right in yer face. Two songs in and sweat's dripping from the ceiling. I vaguely remember the singer from The Big Moon coming on for a duet but that was hardly John Travolta / Olivia Newton-John more Shane MacGowan / Kirsty McColl (RIP). Ramsay and me can't resist a bit of bopping with the kids and soon I find myself being pushed around by John and trying not to elbow Poppy who are both jumping about like demented sprites. The mosh is in full swing with some energetic young things leaping about and that's when two go down next to me and I get barged over and in between my moments of lucidity I find myself sandwiched between four folk young enough to be my kids. Young enough to be my grandkids to be mathematically honest. It's not as much fun as you might think being squashed between these kids as the ones underneath are hardly soft enough to provide a decent cushion as you crash to the floor and the ones on top are all boney elbows and knees with not a bit of decent padding to speak off. Soon enough the top two are pulled onto their feet and the courteous crowd next hoist me up finding I'm a three person job and not the usual two. Anyways all's well that ends well and the rest of the gig is relatively incident free and sure beats cruises to Norway, posing like a twat in a loud car and playing team card games. Not that I'll ever find out but I'm sure they don't come near for either adrenalin or satisfaction. All too soon they're off and as the sound system blows out some classic rap at low volume I retrieve my harrington and bemoan my dirty vegan docs. Downer is that John has lost his fit watch and we spend a while surveying the carnage on the floor trying to find it. Joined by a poor sod who's only got one shoe on. At least he finds his, weirdly outside, but no such luck for John. Outside the air is freezing and my drenched hair is tingling. After much fannying about we wait for a taxi then it's drinks at chez Palmer in Otley to dissect the night and muse on how life has treated us over the last year since we were last here. Pretty well all in all. And days like today make me happy that I've chosen a Peter Pan attitude to enjoying music even if my grey temples are fighting against me retaining my youth. Although not sure Peter Pan ever pogoed. And if I had any doubts about being my age and mixing it with the best of them a nice young woman complimenting me on my polka dot shirt swung the scales down on the side of keep on keeping on.

Next day we're out again by midday to catch le Tour de Yorkshire come past Bolton Abbey ruins before a walk up to the raging torrent that is the strid. On the way there are loads of cyclists two of whom nearly cycle into us on a narrow road by coming round a corner too fast. Them, not Ramsay. The first sort of stops in time, well after Ramsay has braked, and comes to a rest on the verge next to the dry stone wall. The second guy wobbles into the wall for some reason, possibly cos he can't control his bike, and shouts at Ramsay "what are you doing on a road like this?!" Whilst I usually take the side of the cyclist and I'm delighted that a car driver is being asked what they are doing on the road, which is something I'm asked on a weekly basis in London by dick head drivers, to be honest the guy wasn't in control and looked like he belongs to MLCC. No, not Mid Lothian Cycle Club but the Mid Life Crisis Cyclists. Middle aged, overweight, expensive bike, matching lycra. As Pete would say all the gear no idea. Nevertheless it amused me greatly only tempered by him not shouting "pay your effing road tax". Rest of the journey we shout what you doing on a road like this at bemused passing tractors. After farewells to John and Scottie that evening Rams Jo and I hit the infamous Korks in Otley mainly to meet up with local folk and also see three bands. I can't remember their names but the first is three young lads playing pretty decent funky stuff but really need a decent singer (Rafiki?), a singer songwriter with guitar who tells the packed pub to quieten down which I didn't like Roy Harper telling me to do at Stonehenge and certainly not from some whippersnapper straight outta open mic land and we finish with a bunch of guys our age playing original rock songs trying to sound like other songs which to be honest would be better of just playing covers. The singer is a bit of a joker but we leave when they go into a song which they introduce as like Elvis Costello (it certainly ain't either musically or lyrically) called Career Girls which is the biggest lot of sexist nonsense I've heard since The Monks Nice Legs ditty but this lot don't seem to be singing with the slightest hint of irony. And that was 40 years ago. As I sit in the trusty Junction nursing a pint of Landlord I muse that it's a strange end to the weekend. Starting with young innovative kids pushing the musical boundaries and ending with talented but dreary old blokes. The filling in the sandwich was pretty damn exciting though!

Long may I tread the righteous path of rock and roll punter, wannabe bassist and flaky blogger with a bit of music thrown in between details of bus journeys. Talking of which the X84 into Leeds on May Day collided with a Coop Food lorry and we all had to get off. A fiver for a 40 minute bus ride into Leeds. A bloody disgrace. At least the train ride back home was smooth and fast. Cheers guys - same road same time next year?