w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

UB40

The Stranglers

Where did those 48 hours go?

On Saturday, we hosted a Christmas dinner for 6, with prawn cocktail/pate starter, full turkey/stuffing/roasts and pud/cheeseboard, to cater for the sweet and sapid equally.
Plus a drinks bill which saw Thresher’s share price rise by 2 points.

Post-prandial games included mouth-to-mouth grape-sharing which, involving as it did a tall blonde, redolent of the port which she’d brought to our table (and which we were surreptitiously swigging between courses) was most enjoyable. The game itself has no points or prizes, but is its own reward. Oh, Mrs D. was omnipresent, as ever. Hmmm.

So after a 3.30 a.m. tip-out and a desultory clean-up (following the mandatory BLT Sunday brunch), we headed for the howling South Coast to see the double-header at the Brighton Centre.

And the First Commandment reads:

All human flesh and blood is sacred.
Until there is no more food.

I last saw the Stranglers in ’77. I arrived home, in a green rat-logo’d t-shirt dripping with the exertions of pogoing, to find A Policeman investigating the theft of my mate’s bike from outside my house. Yes, on the very night it was reported. Mr Bliar, you couldn’t even spell “tough on crime”, let alone deliver it. Back to the gig.

The original Stranglers emitted a visceral malevolence with the original frontman, Hugh Cornwell, looking like a stalker who’d finally screwed up the courage to confront his victim. They Definitely Didn’t Dance. “Ugly” unveiled the barely-disguised contempt for wealth and beauty:
“I’d like to see a passionate film
Between the two ugliest people in the world
When I say ugly, I don’t mean rough-looking -
I mean hideous”

This time around was very different - by comparison, the new vocalist was positively camp. My brother had warned me of the sea-change and I was tempted to follow the program instructions for a Nigel Kennedy concert, which advised that if you didn’t like what you were seeing, close your eyes and listen. But I wanted to drink in this new line-up and as they were only on-stage for 30 minutes, was generally glad I did.

With the second song (of about ten) being a Kinks’ cover – “All day (and all of the night”) – I was disappointed that they missed out so many of their own classics – “Hanging around”, “Nice and sleazy” etc although they did do “Grip”. The new track from the up-coming album “Norfolk coast” (the first for seven years) got premiered – “Big Thing Coming” is blummin’ good. But the Jacksonesque crotch-grabbing was off-putting (especially on “Peaches”, which is sordid enough in its own right to not need the theatrics).

Jet Black is no longer – more a statesmanlike grey – and gravitas has certainly kicked in over the years, but he effortlessly drove the crew on with some very understated drumming. Dave Greenwood – one of the finest keyboard players still circuiting – performed a ventriloquist-type trick by necking a pint while playing a brilliant riff single-handed. And Jean-Jacques still eclipses the Simonon’s, Bruce’s and Entwhistle’s of the world, with his frenetic, sawing bassline totally undiminished by the passage of years.

"No more heross"? It's "No more heroes" ffs.
But for that vocalist, the billing would have been reversed…

Sunset through the pollution of Birmingham provided the backdrop to UB40’s set and they drifted on stage through the smoke like ring-wraiths. It was the first time I’d seen them live and they were truly mageffingnificent. The “One in Ten” are a ten-piece band with a horn section of four and rocked solidly for two hours. Any disappointment with the first band was totally washed away.

There were lots of tracks from the new album “Homegrown” plus all of the crowd-pleasers – “Rat in the kitchen”, “Red, red wine” and of course, “One in ten”.

The final encore concluded with innumerable choruses of “Swing low, sweet chariot”.

Spokesmen for their generation? Define "generation". They had us eating out of their hands. Almost as much fun as grape-sharing …