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Make that Call!
According to the ITV commentator on Saturday, a headline in the pre-match Irish Times had read HERE BE DRAGONS. It’s a long-standing joke in our family that people from Cardiff think the rest of the map of Wales bears those terrifying words. I bet my rugby-mad cousin Katie was laughing her socks off at whichever Cardiff bar she was propping up at the time. My pens were in suitably patriotic mood as well; neither of my black pens wanted to work, so my handwritten notes are in red.
If last Saturday was marked by the earth moving, this weekend saw the furniture move for a less dramatic reason. So many people had piled into the music room by 1.45 that we were forced to borrow tables and chairs from the function room. I didn’t pop into the bar on the way in, but that was equally full. After we’d ended up watching the England match from the edge of the stage, I wanted to get a decent seat this time. I was glad I did. Ten minutes before kick-off, customers were still making their way in. There were plenty of new faces here too, which is a good sign.
After the unfortunate arrival times during the last two matches, Barrie had arranged for the band to start unloading their gear at 4.00. While we were chatting, he said, ‘If the game isn’t over by then, tough!’ It sounded like a good plan.
As everyone in Wales knows, a cheeky last-minute pinch gave Ireland the decisive try. I can’t complain, though – my father’s parents were from Ireland, so I got a result either way. (There’s a generation between me and Katie, which might explain why she’s Welsh through and through.)
And the Strip Lights came on. No, that isn’t a statement about the electrics. The Strip Lights are four youngish lads: a singer with an odd piece of hardware clipped to his mic stand; a very young-looking guitarist (I’d have asked him for his ID if he’d come to the bar); a bass player whom I swear I know from somewhere; and a drummer who plays from sheet music.
(When my old pal Stuart Cable was presenting his Radio Wales morning show, I used to text him silly jokes which he’d read out on the air. One linked pair went like this:
Q: How do you slow a drummer down when he’s playing?
A: Put a sheet of music in front of him.
Q: How do you stop a drummer from playing entirely?
A: Write some notes on the sheet of music.
The next time I bumped into him, he cursed me as only Stuart could, and then bought me a pint.)
During their soundcheck, I noted that the Strip Lights had a very modern pop/rock sound. I wasn’t sure if it was a cover or an original song. If it was a cover, nobody in the room seemed to know it, Maybe when you get to my age you fall into the John Stuart Mill trap of thinking that you really have heard it all before. There are only so many possible combinations in Western music that, sooner or later, you literally run out of tunes.
There were some younger people coming in, so I wondered if the band might be more their scene than mine. The diehard rugby fans – the amateur pundits and Pub Bores – should, by rights, have been in the bar watching the second match. The music fans should have been in the music room. Instead, the hearties had stayed where they were three hours earlier. It seems that as long as Wales aren’t playing, the rest of the tournament doesn’t exist. The guys on the next table were watching it on a phone, though, so I’m not sure that really counts.
The Strip Lights started their set with ‘More Life in a Tramp’s Vest’ and helpfully provided me with a new Rule.
Rule 27: When you play in Aberdare, always pay your respects to the only local band anyone’s ever heard of.
The second song was a Great Valleys Songbook staple, too. It’s what you need on an international day – nothing to frighten the horses. But (as you already know), to my mind only doing the ‘crowd pleasers’ is a soft option, I can see why young bands would start out like that, but sooner or later it’s time to take off the water wings and venture into the deep part. On one of their early LPs, the Fall are playing a live set when someone in the audience starts heckling them. The late great Mark E. Smith heckles back: ‘Are you doing what you did two years ago? Yeah? Well, don’t make a career out of it!’ Wise words from the irascible sage of Prestwich.
I didn’t recognise the third song either. The little gadget on the mic stand seemed to add some sort of treatment to the singer’s voice. If Buggles had gone down the rock route, they might have sounded like that. When the rebranded and relaunched Dapper FM sets up shop behind Jac’s in a few weeks’ time, maybe we can relaunch Bar Band Bingo. I think I’ll have to rope in one of my honorary nieces and nephews to help me draw up the new list, though. Alternatively, I’ll get a new phone and Shazam everything. (On that note: my friend Veronica once used Shazam during an extremely tuneless karaoke perfomance. App said no.)
There was definitely some ability on display, and I’m sure the lads could develop into a fine rock band if only they had the courage of their convictions. Four songs in, though, they weren’t holding the crowd. I’d only been able to identify one song out of five (including the soundcheck). I think the majority of the audience were in the same boat.
Things started to perk up when they played ‘Under the Bridge’. I’m obviously listening to the wrong radio stations (Radio 2, Radio 3, Radio 4 and 4Extra), because I honestly hadn’t heard most of the songs in the first half. Weirdly, people ten years my senior seemed to know them. Maybe they’ve got kids or grandkids who keep them turned on. Then again, Radio 2 has Stormzy on the daytime playlist. Maybe it’s just me.
A handful of people started dancing during ‘Valerie’ (the Zutons version) and stayed on their feet during ‘I’m a Believer’. Finally, the Strip Lights were playing music that people liked. And then, rather like Wales had done earlier in the afternoon, they threw away their advantage. ‘Message in a Bottle’ is a great song, but everyone was sitting down again.
Rule 28: Never write out your set list in advance.
Learn a whole shedload of songs instead, and tailor your material to suit the audience. If you’re playing to a bunch of students, go with the indie rock stuff. Post-match rugby crowds like to dance to music they know. The guys next to me were still glued to the England vs Scotland game.
The Strip Lights kicked off the second half with the inevitable ‘A Thousand Trees’. Even on home soil, most people are sick of hearing it. Nobody was dancing; a few were half-heartedly waving their arms in the air; the rest were talking among themselves.
I’ve no idea when ‘Superstition’ entered the Great Valleys Songbook, but it gets people on their feet. Mashed up with ‘Another One Bites the Dust’, it was an interesting departure. The crowd loved it. The singer said it was ‘totally spontaneous’ – as all the very best music is. And again they squandered their lead by playing something by the Arctic Monkeys. You can’t dance to it, it’s too chaotic. People wanted to dance to good tunes and let their hair down. The band just didn’t seem to get it.
I bumped into my friend Tracey by the bar. She asked me if I was in a better mood than I had been on Friday night. Apparently she’d seen me in a pub which I never go into. I told her we’d been somewhere else entirely.
Rule 29 : Never blow your alibi before the police start finding the dismembered bodies of the Broken Key Karaoke Society.
‘Killing in the Name’ is the best Xmas number one ever, but it wasn’t the right song for Saturday evening. Neither were the next two (one by the Arctic Monkeys, another unidentified). ‘Uptown Funk’ got everyone moving, and ‘Shut Up and Dance’ kept the momentum going. This is what makes the difference between a merely good DJ and a great DJ – the ability to gauge the mood of the crowd and play to it. A decent band should be able to do the same thing.
Does anyone really need to hear ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ again? There are people in Penderyn who have colour TV these days, and even they know it. It’s been done to death. But it’s Classic Rock, innit, and Aberdare is a Classic Rock town.
During ‘Mr Brightside’ I found myself wondering if anyone ever listens to anything but the Great Valleys Songbook. We could fill Jac’s every weekend with the ropey cover bands who make the White Lion their second home. But that’s missing the object of the exercise. However, I couldn’t think helping that we’d made a tactical error by booking a fairly modern rock band. I think Barrie’s singing set afterwards went down better with the auidence.
For away games, especially, the pubs and clubs are full of rugby widows out on the razz. I think that if we’d booked a really cheesy tribute band (Abba or Bee Gees, for instance) we could have got rid of the extra furniture, filled the dancefloor, and partied until closing time. Instead, by 9.45 people were drifting into town and we were starting to clear up. Are we flogging a dead horse here?
No! We absolutely aren’t! Easter is going to be incredible. John Otway is a total lunatic who hasn’t played anywhere north of Cardiff since my pal Jon the Hippy booked him at the student union in Treforest twenty-odd years ago. He’s here on Good Friday. (Make that Excellent Friday) On the back of that, we’re doing another Mod/Ska/Punk weekender over Easter itself. Before that extravaganza, the weekend before you can slip into your ruffled blouse and pencil skirt, get a poodle perm, do your make-up, and relive the tacky greatness of the 1980s. (Not doing the whole ruffled blouse and pencil skirt thing? No? Just me, then …)
And there’s more – which you already know about if you follow us on social media. Otherwise, I’ll just mention a date: 11 July 1984. It changed my life. Go and do your research.
The best thing about last night was the opportunity to ‘pay it forward’. I won’t go into detail, but a few years ago I came close to checking out early when my life hit the buffers. Friends of mine rallied round and got me the help I needed. Without their support, I wouldn’t be writing this now.
That might be why a rather pissed young lady approached me while we were clearing up. In the way that Time Lords and Mutants can recognise each other, I suspect she knew that we had something in common. We chatted briefly, and it was obvious that she was going through a bad time herself. I wrote down the second emergency phone number that everyone should know: 116 123. It’s the free number for the Samaritans. You’ll talk to a trained counsellor. You can swear and rant and rave to your heart’s content, and nobody will judge you. The important thing is: they will listen. And if you think nobody’s listening, you’re on the road that I found myself on a few years ago.
Make that call!
