Parrington Jackson, Haight Ashbury, The Vaselines - The Thekla, Bristol
Posted in SHOFT on Tuesday 21st September 2010 at 11:09pm
Its almost four years since I was in The Thekla - that time it was for Arab Strap's farewell tour. Tonight was different. It was about something beginning afresh. A lot has changed in four years too, and after a perplexing day at the office and a comfortingly irreverent post-work conversation, I found myself daydreaming through the train ride to Bristol. After all it was something I used to do daily, and in the current work turmoil, I almost felt nostalgic for. Tonight was about looking back too - with The Vaselines together again after twenty years. A second album complete - and the novelty of being able to get it on iTunes almost instantly wasn't lost. After all, this is one of the most confusingly and oft-reissued bands, with their slim but near flawless canon of material being made available in various collected forms, seemingly at once. My own introduction to The Vaselines came in the form of the Seminal Twang 7" of "Dying for It". This amazing label managed to turn up fifteen gems of eclectic, weird pop music during 1991-92 and introduced me to such fantastic gems as Half Japanese howling through "Turn Your Life Around" and Velvet Crush with their soaring power pop on "Ash and Earth". The Vaselines contribution was a scorching, punky blast of blues with boy/girl sing-song vocals. I loved it instantly, and played it relentlessly, at least until the "All The Stuff and More" compilation finally arrived. Then of course, Kurt Cobain posthumously championed The Vaselines, and suddenly everyone knew their songs. They just didn't know that they were their songs.
So tonight, drifting across town without too much thought, I stumbled across a sign advertising a "Minge Fest". Half tempted to investigate, I pressed on and found a small but motley crowd developing outside the Thekla as the sun dipped behind the houses on Redcliff. I was much relieved not to be the oldest here, and there were some who could clearly have been veterans of the Vaseline's last performance in Bristol during November 1987. However, there was a surprisingly young bias to the crowd - too young to be accounted for by the Nirvana effect. Some of this contingent had clearly come to see the first support act Parrington Jackson - a professional enough bunch trying hard, and clearly with tons of support from family and friends. I'm not sure if it was because they were pitched against such mighty opposition, or because they squeezed a hurried set into a short slot, but their singer's elegant frontman act just failed to fly tonight. They had fun though, and for tonight at least had a sense of local heroes about their post-performance schmoozing. There were also a disproportionate amount of flat caps in evidence. Don't tell me we're heading down that road again?
Next up were Haight Ashbury from Glasgow, who are travelling with The Vaselines on this UK tour. I confess to a little pre-judgement of their set, and perhaps a disappointment that some other unsigned Glasgow acts hadn't made the cut. However, tonight showed that this curious three piece can make a racket live. The sound is hard to pin down - a guitar and bass make a swampy, bluesy racket while a single drum beats time, rather like the opening bars of "Be My Baby" by The Ronnettes. Over this, two sweetly harmonising Wilson Pickett style vocalists tell disturbing tales, sometimes veering into a controlled howl of rage - without breaking harmony. If it sounds strange it's because it is. The whole sixties dressing up thing and the name just get in the way of a really interesting band who are going to be worth following as they develop and change.
Barely time to replenish my drink, as the early curfew meant the stage was prepared for the main event. Right on cue, looking relaxed and genuinely pleased to be here, Eugene and Frances took the stage. Now this was quite a moment for me - quite apart from not ever imagining I'd see The Vaselines, here they were ripping into an opening "Oliver Twisted" which sounded like it had been written last week, not last century. Early in the set, it was revealed that the Bristol show in 1987 was in fact the very first the band had played, and to celebrate this twenty-year long circular journey, a little wine had been enjoyed. This seemed to have put the duo in a frisky mood, and good-natured but utterly filthy banter punctuated the set throughout. It was interesting to note too, how seamlessly the majority of the new material worked into the older stuff - and there was a certain irony in hearing "The Day I Was a Horse" crashing into "I Hate The 80s" - the very decade of it's birth of course. The simpler, perhaps less charitable view would be that The Vaselines write simple songs which haven't really changed much. However, I think it's more to do with how out-of-time they seemed then, with their frantic bluesy riffing and old-fashioned punk sensibilities. Nowadays, all of that stuff is entirely acceptable. So, the remarkably good "Mouth to Mouth" and "Whitechapel" earned their place alongside "Molly's Lips" and "Jesus Doesn't Want Me For A Sunbeam". During the latter, a young audience member confided in her friend that this was "a rip-off of a Nirvana song". Several old hacks and I exchanged glances, but I was the only one drunk enough to take issue. I made myself look foolish perhaps, but felt vindicated. For me, the high point of the night was the completion of my own circle - hearing "Dying For It" - as urgent, vital and raucous as on that now very warped 7" single - itself now near twenty years old.
The Vaselines left the stage bang on their curfew, and I was left to ponder the curious hole in the timetable which left me waiting until the 23:35 train to get home. It was a pleasant enough night to stroll and to watch the station closing down with much needed coffee in hand. On reflection, I'm a strange presence at these occasions, reserved as they are for the younger, hipper crowd - but then, as I realised tonight, I felt that way twenty years ago too! Age hasn't wearied The Vaselines, and just for a bit, it didn't bother me either.
I was surprised and impressed by Doncaster yesterday - once I'd negotiated the strange Frenchgate centre which now dominates one whole side of the town at least. The streets were laid out with an international market, and there was quite a buzz around. I realised later that this was St.Leger Festival week - a race meeting, cunningly turned into a bigger cultural event. Nonetheless, there were plenty of happy faces and well-turned out people wandering about which can't be bad for business. Doncaster at 04:30 however was a different proposition, and negotiating the same street was a complicated slalom around delivery vans and bored security guards who were determined to stop passage, with absolutely no authority at all. Not sorry to get to the station, which was still locked up on arrival. Watched the usual crowd of faces assemble, as ever feeling a little reassured that I'd ended up in the right place at the right time!
Once onto the station, it was only a matter of minutes before 47760 arrived with the stock. The plan had been to squash all the passengers travelling down to London into the first three coaches - but since plenty of stewards had turned up for the start, we were able to head straight for our allocated seats for the day. The concept of running the positioning move to London as a passenger train was an enlightened one - more miles for the money, and a chance to sample an uninterrupted dash down the East Coast Main Line early in the morning. There was a fair turn out too, meaning this otherwise empty train made a little money for Spitfire too! We set off almost exactly on time, and headed out of Doncaster via the complex alternative routes around the station. The exact route is hard to pin down as it was dark, but I'm fairly certain the flyover didn't figure, sadly. From here, it was a fairly sleepy run down to London, with the sun rising somewhere around Peterborough. Caught up with the usual bunch and wondered if we'd managed to respect the 10:30 beer curfew imposed by the loco owning group? After a storming run down, there was a chance to get a picture of the 47 on the blocks and a decent coffee before getting back on board for the main event.
Now this is where it began to get really interesting. After a storming start, and a thunderous passage of the tunnels outside Kings Cross, we were soon speeding through the suburbs. The Deltic was doing what it was designed for - sustained periods of high-speed running on a fast route. With the countryside flashing past and the Napier engines singing at the front of the train, settled in to enjoying the day. The weather was mostly fine as we dashed north - with just one or two showers. Plenty of beer and a chance to catch up with friends also made for an excellent trip. Once again the veterans of Coach K managed to alienate another passenger seated with us - although I'm not quite sure how as he only lasted about ten minutes this time...seems my record is getting steadily worse! After pick-ups at Potters Bar and Peterborough, it was a none stop run to York where we deposited some day trippers and picked up some cranks for the journey to Newcastle. Again, some fine running along the flat, fairly featureless line here. Arrival over the Tyne was as ever quite an event, and there were plenty of photographers out to see us. So many in fact, that the platform end turned into a bit of a scrum. Abandoned hope of a picture at this point and wandered into town.
Only a short break, and with Newcastle City Centre full of home fans, as ever on these trips it seems, this made getting provisions for the way home a challenge. A series of text messages ensured beer supplies were sorted, so back to the station to get a shot of the stock arriving in the now very bright and sunny afternoon. Back on board for a prompt departure, and a run via the coast. This line struck me as a far more interesting route than the ECML when I last covered it and it didn't disappoint today with coastal views, tall ships and plenty of people out to see us pass. Back to York for a pick-up, where some fairly inattentive station staff seemed oblivious to a number of 'normals' boarding. Some of them had a very interesting trip back today no doubt! Another fantastic ride south, with a few periods of one-engine running which were, we were informed, for driver familiarisation purposes. It didn't affect the trip for me, and we stayed just a little late from some slow running around the coast. There were some moments of very high speed too, for balance! With lunch served in Premier Class we also got to sample the roast lamb, which was excellent and soaked up some of the beer. Got thinking as we sped south, what a civilised way to travel this is!
Arrival at the 'Cross was a little late, which meant a tight turnaround. Soon we were off with 47760 back in charge, for the return positioning working to Doncaster. We were chasing a possession here, with the lines due to close around 20 minutes after our booked arrival, and us running about 20 late! This seemed to spur the driver on, and after a few slacks south of Peterborough it was a decent run at high speed for the rest of the way. Arrived only a few minutes down, and stumbled onto the platform about sixteen hours after I'd left, having done well over 850 miles on the ECML today! Today's trip was a textbook railtour - interesting traction, varied routes, something for normals and cranks alike - and this was reflected in an almost entirely full train. A grand day out, andjust as a fancy dress party spilled noisily and colourfully out of a bar and onto the street.
Since my efforts to regularly blog about the music which is capturing my imagination has run into real life - and found work, and unusually a number of other creative exploits blocking the way - I've decided to try to capture more sporadic thoughts. One that has cropped up recently is the thorny issue of learning about other's musical tastes - especially at the beginning of a relationship, when I often find music takes on a disproportionate importance. The extreme lack of commonality described in Kid Canaveral's "Smash Hits" is of course fairly unlikely - you wouldn't generally find yourself having much in common with someone with wildly opposing tastes, but there is always that risk - to the ego if nothing else - that your dearly held gems are not appreciated by your significant other. That the time and attention you've lavished on collecting, understanding and appreciating these significant pieces of music is seen as time wasted on a harmless, if geeky, hobby. The word itself conjures images of garden sheds with suburban housewives reassuring each other that "it's fine, he's out there playing his music".
Like all of the cultural preening and positioning which goes on in these formative early days of a relationship, there was, at least when I was younger, an etiquette of sorts - and the mix tape was the ultimate expression of your musical feelings. This carefully filled C90 cassette was sweated over, the selection designed to express everything which your inarticulate teenage tongue just couldn't seem to speak aloud and to do so in ways which just wouldn't have worked well in your clumsy inexperienced voice. Perhaps now, seeking the same effect I'd be moved to think about B.S Johnson's words on originality:
Certainly I feel it has all been said
The short fear is that even saying it
in my own way is equally pointless
I confess to spending serious amounts of spare time on sequencing these tapes - carefully ensuring they mixed the key point of my musical interest with sufficient hooks to ensure that the intended recipient couldn't help but be ensnared by my remarkable and eclectic taste. And the odd thing is, sometimes it worked! Naturally there were failures - there was a period during which I was roundly accused of "musical fascism" and I'd be lying if I denied the existence of a counter-compilation of 1990s 'baggy' music entitled "Fuck Off Mike Newman". Even then, back in far less certain times, I thought that one was a compliment. The mix tape doesn't always - indeed very rarely gets the girl.
Another leisurely start this morning, wandering across a bright and breezy Manchester and side-stepping the detritus of what looked like it had been a good night out. Time to get a decent coffee before boarding a local service out to Stockport where I was to pick up today's excursion. Ideally, I'd have boarded further back on it's journey from the East Lancs Railway - allowing a chance to traverse the connection at Castleton and the Brewery Curve, left out of a tour last summer due to stock clearance issues. However, the impossibility of finding anywhere reasonably priced to stay or fairly close to the railway, and the unreliability of an early tram to get me out to Bury meant I'd gone for the easy option. So, today presented a fairly gentle itinerary - a spin out to Cambridge with 40145, then some uncharted territory for the loco on a Stansted-bound minitour. Time for breakfast at Stockport as a few others gathered ready for the picture of the 40 crossing the viaduct and arriving in the station.
Settled in, finding myself sitting with a veteran from a previous tour. He proved equally as miserable as last time, so I resigned myself to a quiet day of travelling - wondering if it would be rude to don headphones and provide a soundtrack to the scenery as we entered the Hope Valley, with amazing views of Kinder Scout and Mam Tor or "The Shivering Mountain". As we headed into less dramatic scenery I began to zone out a little and for the first time in a few days, found myself feeling genuinely relaxed. Dozed my way along the Erewash Valley before realising we would pass Toton Depot. It was strange not to have any advance notice of the times or routing of the trip, but nonetheless a passing of the last major locomotive depot in the country is always welcome, especially as a few locos which are currently based in France were present for attention. From Toton we headed through Nottingham and pressed onwards towards the East Coast Mainline.
A little after leaving Gonerby Tunnel we slowed to a stand. Stopping here seemed fairly routine, given how busy the line is through Grantham. However a few minutes soon turned into a longer wait, with little evidence of activity in the deep cutting. A look back along the train confirmed the worst though - with the headlights of a following service evident in the tunnel, our assisting engine 67023 was being started. As we began the slow propelling movement into the Up and Down Goods Loop at Grantham, the situation became clearer. 40145 had suffered a flashover on the No.4 traction motor and couldn't continue. Considering the tricky location, the 67 was run around as soon as possible and we pressed on around 90 minutes late. The Stansted trip was now out of the question with just one engine, as the reversal at the airport and Bishops Stortford couldn't happen. So pressing on through Peterborough and across the Fens to Ely I consoled myself with a longer break in Cambridge and some mileage with 67023 which was, after all, a required engine.
Didn't stray far from the station at Cambridge, with the city a very long walk away. Rewarded with some interesting activity around the station, and rather surprisingly a flypast by a Lancaster Bomber - a plane I built endless models of as a child but never dreamed I see flying! Took some hurried pictures, hampered somewhat by the overhead lines here. Managed a spot of lunch too, before lining up for a shot of the strange and rather sad sight of 67023 hauling a dead 40145 into the station with the stock. The route back largely reversed the outward run, but in order to stay awake and to enjoy the tail end of the warm sunny day, I found myself near the window enjoying the views. In any case, my miserable seating companion was upset that he'd sustained a splinter by licking the wooden coffee stirrer he'd picked up in the buffet. I had to retreat to avoid laughing openly at what he obviously considered a grave misfortune. A pleasant, quick run back despite the change of traction.
At Stockport, a quick cross-platform connection into a late running Pendolino bound for Piccadilly. The evening was just beginning for the considerable crowd of pretty people waiting for the train into the city. For me though, sleep beckoned after a rather odd day out. I can only hope that the CFPS is able to get 40145 back on the mainline soon.
Lost::MikeGTN
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.
