GIG 0013 - The Damned / Third Light at Manchester International

 

There’s something special about seeing a band at the height of their powers in a venue that feels like it’s barely holding them in. Following the polished grandeur of the Apollo back in June, The Damned’s return to Manchester at the International 1 felt less like a tour stop and more like a victory lap with old friends. Although tbh, they were probably fulfilling contractual obligations having booked this gig in advance of their new found stardom!

The night was a masterclass in the band’s mid-80s evolution. As the opening chords of "Street of Dreams" filled the room, it was clear that the transition into a more atmospheric, gothic rock sound hadn't cost them any of their edge. Dave Vanian was every bit the spectral frontman, commanding the stage with a theatricality that felt perfectly suited to the intimate, smoky confines of the club.

But the true magic of the International has always been the lack of a barrier between the stage and the street. Once the feedback faded, the band didn't vanish into a dressing room. Instead, they did something few bands of their status would dream of: they walked right back out into the crowd. Well, all but the elusively shy Mr Vanian.

The scene at the bar reminded me of when I first saw them some four years ago in Colwyn Bay; Rat Scabies, was stood next to me with a "Come on, will someone get me a fucking pint!"

Nearby, the late, great Bryn Merrick was showing exactly why he was the heart of that lineup. Amidst a sea of fans asking for signatures, I decided to turn the tables, leaning in to autograph Bryn’s own arm instead of the other way around. It was a moment that could have gone sideways, but Bryn took it with a massive grin and a laugh—a testament to the genuine, ego-free person he was.

Third Light were from Chester I think and were just starting out - they played kind of post-punk melodic indie stuff. Didn't hear much of them since; or remember anymore from the gig.

Love & Rockets: Seventh Dream of Teenage Heaven

 

My introduction to Love & Rockets was completely unexpected, arriving via a budget-friendly Cherry Red Records sampler LP—a purchase necessitated by bedsit living and cheap price. On it was the track "Haunted When The Minutes Drag," which instantly grabbed hold of me. Even now, the song remains utterly captivating, and I still yearn for the track's sprawling, eight-minute duration to stretch out even longer.

Of course, I was aware that three-fourths of Love & Rockets were the remnants of the legendary Bauhaus (Daniel Ash, David J, and Kevin Haskins). While I had the requisite copy of "Bela Lugosi's Dead" and had seen their iconic Top of the Pops performance of "Ziggy Stardust," I consciously viewed this new group as a distinct entity—and they truly were.

Seventh Dream of Teenage Heaven is the definitive statement that this band was not just "Bauhaus minus Peter Murphy." It established their new direction, moving away from gothic rock and embracing a sound rooted in neo-psychedelia and expansive alternative rock.

The album, however, is not without its transitional quirks. It showcases the trio's interest in the electronic textures that Daniel Ash and Kevin Haskins had explored in Tones on Tail. This is evident in the liberal use of what sounds like Haskins' new electronic drum kit, giving the record a distinct mid-80s flavor and a slightly raw, experimental quality.

While this electronic-heavy production is a defining characteristic of the album, "Haunted When The Minutes Drag" still rises above the rest. It is the undeniable highlight, utilizing those electronic and psychedelic elements to create a genuinely hypnotic and timeless piece of music that continues to haunt and reward repeat listens.

GIG 0012 - The Damned / Fuzztones @ Northgate Arena, Chester

 

I saw that The Damned were playing at the Northgate Arena in Chester, I didn’t have any money so I took my beloved ghetto blaster to a pawn shop. The owner could see I really didn’t want to part with it so he gave me £35 and said he’d hold it back for a fortnight and I could buy it back at the same price. It’s July 6th 1985. I got on a train to Chester and met up with other punks who were milling around outside the venue on this sunny afternoon. I hooked up with a girl called Seraphina who I knew from Denbigh. She was like the rebel at the all-girl private school in the town, all dressed in black and fishnets and back-combed hair. We and others drank cider and discussed Rudimentary Peni lyrics on account of my ‘Stone the crows and fuck the pigs’ t-shirt. Seraphina then squirted hairspray down my ear ‘for a laugh’ - I didn’t see the funny side and lost her in the crowd.

The Fuzztones opened the show, they reminded me of The Cramps and I had heard their single Bad News Travels Fast on Peel’s show. My sister Jane tapped me on the shoulder, she was there with her mate Ali Craig, I’d not seen her for a while. The Damned were making a real go of the charts with their new gothic image and Shadow Of Love was in the Top 30 and the album Phantasmagoria was imminent, so it was surprising this venue was only about three quarters full. They opened with the epic Curtain Call and I made sure I was right down the front. It was a good gig, lots of new stuff and they encored with Lust For Life and did a second encore with Rat Scabies on guitar playing Pretty Vacant.

Link2wales gig review

GIG 11: Bad Manners / Meteors @ Scooter Rally, Castle Donington

There was a Scooter Rally being held in Castle Donington and Jon invited me, it was 8th June, 1985. Old school mate Andy was driving and I was hanging out with Psycho Sandra at the time and I asked her if she wanted to come along. She was called Psycho Sandra for very good reasons! This was a person who was high on life with a punk rock attitude and she lived up to her name. The four of us (including the driver) thought it would be a great idea to drop acid before heading on the three hour journey, and by the time we got there I began to be a bit edgy to say the least. Here I was, the only punk rocker in a huge field full of mods, and being off my box only added to my paranoia as people would mutter ‘Punk’s dead mate’ at me. So imagine my nerve endings, when we entered the main arena and the support band (some mod shite) The Gents were stopped mid-set and a panicky voice is announcing over the PA; he’s pleading with the crowd at the front of the stage to clear the way for an ambulance to get through as someone had just been glassed in the throat and was losing a lot of blood. Shiiit…

It was getting from bad to worse, I kind of fancied Sandra, even though she scared the shit out of me, and she kind of fancied me, but she disappeared for what seemed like hours only to return with a psychobilly lad she had copped off with. While she was away, we watched The Meteors, who were pretty good and I had last year been introduced to their fantastic debut album ‘In Heaven’ (still such a good record), so at least I had something positive to focus on while being surrounded by thousands of fishtail jackets and the smell of shit scooter engines.

By dark Bad Manners were on stage and it was raining. We were still in the throes of the Pink Panther or the Microdot tabs we had taken, so it felt like we were protected from the damp. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, the come-down was fucking awful, five of us crammed into this Vauxhall Cavalier; Andy, Jon and myself trying to sleep, dying to sleep but unable to, twitching uncontrollably in a lysergic loop as Sandra and her psychobilly boyfriend had noisy and violent sex next to us, well, virtually on top of us.

GIG 0010 - Edwin Starr at Poppies, Bodelwyddan

Out of town in Bodelwyddan was Poppies nightclub, which had two dance floors. On a Thursday it was happy hour and we would all descend there to bop to watered down alternative music like Baby I Love You (Ramones), Too Much Too Young (Specials), What Difference Does It Make (The Smiths), Love Cats (Cure) - that kind of stuff. It was quite a good night, Edwin Starr used to appear there on the other dancefloor and I remember watching one of his performances and feeling zero emotion. Normally we seldom strayed from our darkened area. I do remember there being this complete twat dressed like Michael Jackson (Thriller era), kitted out in a suit, trilby hat, hair-beads and one white glove. He had all the moves down to a tee and the DJ would play loads of Jacko-shit as this idiot danced on his own. I ended up some fifteen years later inadvertently employing him… Although not as a Michael Jackson impersonator!

My Thursday nights at Poppies became very regular, often with both my sisters in tow, and with the beer being so cheap (£1 a pint) and Thursday being payday, I soon began skipping work on Fridays due to a horrendous hangover. My boss quickly became wise to this and when I went to collect my wages she’d open my pay packet and take out a tenner and say, 

‘This for you to go out tonight, have a great time. You can have the rest when you come in tomorrow.’ Alcohol is ace though, you wake up the next day all fuzzed out with a banging head. Despite waking up with a face like a badly drawn cunt, a hangover was something I loved having as it was the result of a great night out. My Poppies days were numbered however after I began helping myself to the Guinness. The pump was right at the end of the busy bar and there’d only be one girl working, who was really stressed and stretched. I used to quickly reach over, stick my empty glass under the tap, leave it there until three quarters full and make off with my free drink. My nights became very cheap for a few weeks until I was caught and literally kicked and punched down the road by the bouncers.