Alive She Cried (22/02/13)

And then, of course, there were the gigs.

I can't believe I've got this far without really talking about the gigs, all the moments that the albums pointed toward; the solitary listening tranplanted to the communal, the chance to share a room with your heroes (and some other people usually)

And the joy of being really old? You know those huge bands who only frequent enormodomes and fields on the age of town? Yeah, saw some of them in smaller venues.

All the little moments that you'd love to get back; love to relive once more.

So here goes;

U2. Twice on the War tour. Both occasions at The Royal court in Liverpool. The Royal Court is the greatest theatre venue that has ever existed; all those memories that nostalgia affords to the Hammersmith Odeon/Apollo? The Rainbow, Finsbury Park? They live for me in the Court. Wonderfully shoddy, permanently delapidated, a carpet that refused to let your feet go, soaked in some unknown sticky residue, a faint smell of mildew and god knows what else and an atmosphere like nowhere else on earth.

U2 then; just breaking to the point where they had to book the theatre twice on the tour not yet a stadium act, that would come soon enough but for now - Bono waving white flags at stage edge, still climbing speaker stacks ending in the 'Royal' boxes at stage edge. As the lights went down and the intro tape kicked in the entire downstairs commenced pogoing as one; an ex work mate swayed past me, hands cupped together "want any speed Ian?" "No Ta Chris" Last time I ever saw him. God knows where he is now.

And U2s support that night? The Alarm in their early ragged acoustic punk phase. We caught them again a year later in a small venue called (appropriately if unimaginatively) The Venue, as they toured in support of 68 Guns. It was the night that they filmed Top of The Pops for the first time; they drove back up from London and ran straight on stage about midnight. They were still going at 2am, sweat pouring down the walls. We walked home from town that night. as we did often. Two years later I played The Venue, supported a band called 'Here's Johnny' who were briefly signed to RCA. Their bassist played for Black and The Icicle Works and much later booked an altered version of our band to play at 'The World Downstairs' in the Royal Court's bar.

The Royal Court again (it's always the Royal Court again) a Big Country gig, our kid complaining that his foot was wet throughout the set. it was a summer of white socks as many were  in the 80s, we got outside, his sock was red. He'd been jumping up and down for an hour with a piece of broken glass in his foot. 

And again. The Court. Bowie. Bowie at the Court. The Earthling tour. Small venues. I must have queued for nearly 40 minutes for a ticket. In these days of advance sales and mega hype this was Bowie with an album that most were unsure of, a dalliance with the then fashionable drum'n'bass. He walked onstage with a 12 string acoustic, clad head to toe in dazzling white and sang 'Quicksand' from Hunky Dory'. I was close to tears.

Macca at the Cavern you know about but ten years earlier it was Macca at the Kings Dock. A homecoming. We were living in Hull. I was working in Leeds. I'd forgotten to hand over my safe keys. I had to drive to Leeds with them. Blow out in the fast lane of the M62 at 70mph. Sat on a hard shoulder. Got to Leeds late. Passed over keys. Drove back to Hull. Picked up J. Drove to Liverpool. Watched gig. Immense. That bloke playing 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand'? That's the bloke that wrote it. Drove back to Hull. By the end of the M62 I was hallucinating; there was a fox running alongside the car.  At 70mph. There was a caravan on a hill. It was at least a mile long; wow, how come I'd never noticed that before? We stopped and swapped places. J drove. I collapsed the second I got in the passenger seat. Entertaining thing exahaustion.

And then there was Simple Minds. Simple Minds in the early days were incredible. One of the best live bands ever. I'd spent ages banging on about them to our mate Peter, a man of impeccable musical taste. I convinced him to come and see them with us. It was the point where they had embraced fame and bombast and arena rock and they were awful. I spent the evening slumped against my seat back repeating the refrain "I'm really sorry man, I'm really, really sorry". Pete moved on in life, moved to Ireland, joined a theatre group. Those blokes with the big heads that appeared on stage before U2 on the Zoo TV tour? Yeah, one of those. And on the day that they played Leeds Roundhay Park he sent me and J and our Keith and Kev a message through his sister, our Auntie; "There's guest list tickets for the lads for tonight. Tell them that's for Simple Minds in 1984." 

And yet again, that's where we are; still attached to the people that we allowed ourselves to lose touch with through the little moments that we shared once upon a time.