Author: birminghamreview

Words by John Noblet

Tonight’s double hitter, Public Image Limited (PiL) and The Selecter, maybe one of the stranger tour packages in recent memory. Apart from both acts having their biggest success in the post Punk era of the early eighties, they have little in common.

We roll through the O2 Academy doors about an hour after they open, and The Selecter are already playing the hits. And at first glance it’s clear they’ve got a highly polished, shiny-as-hell version of the two tone experience on stage. Suits? Check. Eight piece band? Check. Complete with brass section? Check. An adorably enthusiastic keyboard player, all the trimmings, exuberance and smiles galore? You better believe it.

Pauline Black looks great in her tight blue suit and hat at a jaunty angle; rude girl attitude on show till the day she dies, with that distinctive voice on fine form. Although The Selecter‘s other vocalist, Arthur ‘Gaps’ Hendrickson, definitely deserves a mention – as a performer, he’s full of exactly the kind of confidence needed to front a band, the kind that makes you watch him without really questioning why.

Tonight’s incarnation of The Selecter sounds fuller, shinier, even sexier than the eighties version. Musically they seem unafraid of pulling in new influences to thicken the sound, like the funky drummer rhythm that backs their version of ‘Last Train to Skaville’. And rather than being a museum piece or nostalgia trip, they come across as a band that still have something to prove – which is admirable as they formed almost thirty five years ago.

Everyone loves a bit of showbiz and The Selecter are definitely that; however tonight’s headliners, Public Image Limited take very much the opposite approach. Entering in pitch black, when the lights do come up on the band it’s still considerably darker than for The Selecter‘s set.

PiL’s bassist and drummer lock into a moody, tense, groove, whilst their guitarist, with the kind of hair that would allow him to play a wizard in a children’s television programme, plays atonal lines over the top. Vocalist, John Lydon, wails and yells in a genuinely disturbing manner. There is no chorus in this opening song (hell, many people wouldn’t call it a song) and the overall effect is one of creeping dread, of profound cognitive dissonance.

The second song is just as uncompromising as the first, and cements the final, complete change in atmosphere from The Selecter’s sweaty Ska love fest. You can feel those around you sinking deeper into their own thoughts; the applause is controlled, respectful, there’s even a couple of seconds lag before the clapping starts – like the audience need a moment or two to come out of their collective trance. 

About the third song in we get treated to one of PiL‘s few hits, ‘This Is Not a Love Song’. But tonight it sounds bigger, scarier and more menacing than it ever did on record; thick with the low end you’d expect from acts such as Massive Attack.

PiL milk the verse riff for all it’s worth, building up the anticipation for the chorus to impossibly high levels. Somehow it segues into the beautiful riff from ‘Poptones’, it’s a fantastic touch, but unfortunately wasted when the song is all but stopped because Lydon can’t hear his vocals. I’m not having a go at the guy for needing to hear his own voice – in fact, he’s reasonably polite about the whole thing and the show continues with no hitches. It’s just a shame that the moment is broken, so deep is my reverie at that point.

My friend Craig turns to me and says, “…church of PiL”, hitting the nail square on the head – the band inspire the same level of reflection that huge cathedrals do, albeit from a thoroughly atheist perspective. And the other thing this experience has in common with a church is that, like a religious service, ignoring what’s going on is not an option. You either give in to what’s happening around you, or you leave.

Most of the set follows the same formula. The rhythm section proceed with the kind of military precision you’d expect from Sly & Robbie; sometimes thickening the sound with synths or an eerie white noise, providing a rock solid foundation for guitarist Lu Edmonds and Lydon to work their strange magic over – repetitive riffs pummeling you into submission whilst the vocals flirt with the idea of melody, Lydon revealing his voice to be a strange and versatile instrument.

It’s impressive how much mileage PiL can get out of this, and how many influences you catch flickers of. At various points in the set you get snatches of Dub, early Hip Hop and Kraut Rock – I even catch a hint of Hacienda era Acid House in a couple of tracks. And although PiL will often be thought of as “the band Johnny Rotten formed after The Sex Pistols”, it’s clear tonight they’re a band with each member making an important, essential contribution, rather than a faceless vehicle for an ageing rock star.

One of the few sing along moments of PiL’s set is during ‘One Drop’, from the bands’ most recent album, This Is PiL. In my opinion it benefits massively from being performed live, and from the punishing volume of the O2 Academy‘s huge sound system. Lydon’s proclamation that “we come from chaos” sounds more sinister than ever, and there’s a definite apocalyptic edge when he sings lines such as “we are the last chance”. By comparison the encore is a jolly walk in the park, with crowd pleasers such as ‘Rise’ and ‘Public Image’.

One of Lydon’s earliest and most notorious slogans was the phrase “no future!”, and PiL are an unflinching, methodical examination of exactly what that “no future” entails. Of lives without meaning, bashed back and forth by uncaring corporate forces, of a modern world that may be colourful and distracting, but is revealed to be shallow and meaningless. It is the music of tower blocks and dual carriageways at 3am, of the all those things we avoid thinking about.

There are other bands that make music that similar to PiL, but none as effective. Many set out to do something similar but just end up glamorising the darker side of life, or are simply so bleak that they forget to be compelling. Tonight we’ve been taken on a harrowing journey through the uncharted badlands of our own psyches, and I for one, feel so much better for it – like a psychic cleansing has occurred.

Plus I’ve made a point in this review not to mention some of the media circus surrounding Lydon; not just because there are thousands of words written about them elsewhere, nor because I was commissioned to write a review, but because Public Image Limited are worthy of discussion for what they do as a band, on stage. A fact that won’t change whatever ridiculous antics Mr Lydon may choose to sully his reputation with.

And if you like strange(r) music, and haven’t done so already, you owe it to yourself to check them out.

For more on Public Image Limited (PiL), visit http://www.pilofficial.com

For more on The Selecter, visit http://www.theselecter.net/

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For further gigs at the O2 Academy, visit http://www.o2academybirmingham.co.uk/

Words by John Noblet

The name on the ticket says “Babyshambles” but really what that means is “Pete Doherty and some other guys”, and no one’s particularly bothered who those other guys are.

It’s a long time since Doherty’s antics were regularly landing him in the tabloids – remember when he seemed more famous for the scandal circus revolving around him and Kate Moss than for his music? And it’s longer still since his first band The Libertines exploded out of nowhere to become what seemed like the biggest band in the country.

Despite this, there’s still a healthy (though not capacity) crowd here to see him and his band on a cold and damp Monday night at the O2 Academy. I just catch the last few songs from Babyshamble’s Birmingham support, Intensified.

They’re eight piece traditional ska/rocksteady band; who, whilst unlikely to change the world any time soon, do a lovely job of warming up the crowd – getting a few hips gently swinging, and not coming across as some pointless bunch of chancers who simply bought their way onto the tour, as is so often the case with these types of events (it’s common practice in the music industry for smaller bands to buy their way onto bigger bands’ tours – known as a “buy on”).

Babyshambles come on stage at about nine thirty, and on first glance Doherty seems fit for purpose as he strides onto the stage wearing a black & white stripy jumper and the same haircut he’s had since the dawn of time.

However, the actions that follow seem to suggest otherwise. He faffs around with various items on his guitar amp. He dons one of his trademark hats, which oddly warrants a cheer. He picks up a bunch of flowers and grins daftly at the crowd. Then he throws a few petals in the air, and then some more, takes off the hat, and just when I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll play any music at all, him and the band burst into the first song.

Babyshamles’ opener, “Delivery”, crashes along as it should; the band energetic and full, noisy and exuberant in all the right places. Doherty seems to hit all the right vocal cues and even plays a few notes of delightfully ham fisted-but-appropriate lead guitar. The second song rolls in without any fanfare or announcement, and again, sonically everything sounds more or less as it should, but I become aware that something isn’t quite right. And I realise that what’s not quite right is our good friend Pete.

He unfortunately has the air of a man who is too used to being applauded whatever he does, so isn’t trying that hard any more. He is quite possibly the most wasted man in the building, and seems to be at the point of intoxication where one thinks actions like wearing a traffic cone as a hat are witty and erudite.

Admittedly, this does lead to some amusing stage antics, such as throwing his guitar through the air to his roadie, playing the drums with his microphone and (OMG) smoking inside?!?

Although his attempt at playing the trombone is a bit too slapstick for my liking. And rather than Doherty leading his band, it seems like the band are holding him up like two mates walking a paralytic friend home after a particularly heavy session at the student disco. There’s lots of applause between songs, and a portion of the crowd look like they are having a great time; however, I think we all know in our hearts that the performance could be better, maybe a lot better.

That’s not to say there aren’t highlights, which seem to mostly come in the form of older songs such as “Killamangiro”, which sets the moshpit off marvelously, though I’m pretty sure Doherty mangles the end with an ill judged segue into a verse or two of “There She Goes”.

“Time for Heroes”, the only Libertines’ song in the set, also proves to be an evergreen classic sending huge chunks of the audience into instant euphoria. And about two thirds of the way through the set, Doherty seems to start singing with something like true conviction; which is a shame because, for me, it’s too late. There’s been too much mucking about between songs – the man spent so much time bent double over one of the amps at the back of the stage, with his arse to the crowd, that I can only assume that he was snorting lines back there. And I can’t be bothered to cheer the third or fourth time he downs some booze whilst the audience watches.

Many of the tracks just seem too similar to each other to tell apart, and the lack of song introductions meant that I’m now scrabbling about on the internet trying to work out which ones they played (the between song banter was also minimal, mostly consisting of Doherty pretending he was playing the Custard Factory and searching for a girl from Telford named Francesca). 

For a finale, Doherty decides it would be a good idea to positively crucify what was previously quite a good song, “Albion”. His voice sounds the worst it’s sounded all night, and the ‘hoedown’ section sounds terrible, despite the addition of a lovely looking lady playing violin in a floppy hat, which Doherty charmingly decides to wear in the manner of drunks throughout the known universe.

However, the encore does provide some genuine delight. The band leave the stage and the house lights come up after a couple of minutes, and for a few moments it looks like the band aren’t going to come back on, the crowd starting to get angry. Babyshambles eventually emerge for a blistering version of “Fuck Forever”.

The crowd go mad, Doherty seems to have a bit more wind in his sails; and to add to the amusement, some bright spark in the middle of the crowd sets off a flare.

Surrounded by smoke and confusion, bits of sound equipment flying off the stage, bodies bouncing around me – it seems like a fitting end to a Babyshambles gig, however unfortunately below par the rest of it was.

For more on Babyshambles, visit http://babyshambles.net/

For more gigs at the O2 Academy, visit http://www.o2academybirmingham.co.uk/

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Dear Doherty,

Pete, you’re a good man, but you’re out of shape. Your shambolic charisma and healthy, well known back catalogue mean you will always have a fanbase, though if you continue like this the crowds will be slightly smaller every time you tour. However, both you and I know that you’re capable of so much more.

I’m not saying you should knock the drink and drugs on the head completely (that would be cruel and unnecessary) just don’t do so much of that kind of thing before you play. I want to see you back here in a few years’ time with a set of songs that eclipses everything you’ve ever done and a live show so gobsmackingly good it actually wins you a few new fans.

Much love, Johnny x