Bangle Strangler Nicked

Skillfull skaters love Hyde Park. You're sure to see them there on any sunny London day, weaving and bobbing inbetween discarded screwball containers that have been laid out precisely in an orderly queue, waiting to be knocked over by the odd clumsy rollerblade manouvere. But on certain days you may find other types of bobbers and weavers making their way to the arena, an arena which is specially constructed just for the odd day or two. In this instance, the bobbing and weaving can loosely be described as dancing. Most of us are aware of the Hard Rock organisation, a chain of rock'n'roll themed restaurants that are scattered across the globe from London to Lebanon, Holland to Honolulu and Caracas to Cardiff (...Cardiff?!?). You may have consumed the odd burger or beverage in one, you may even own one of their tres-chic pin badges, the fact is there's usually one in every tourist invaded city. Therefore, because this chain is so internationally well known, it makes sense for the company to sponser a weekend of rawk music featuring none other than The Charlatans, Sheryl Crow and, er...Mr Eric Clapton. Thank fuck I'm not reviewing Saturday night's entertainment - I would've fallen asleep.

So, Sunday Sunday - looks good to me. Sixty five of your hard earned nuggets would've given you admission to a variety of acts ranging from unknown to mega-star city. We're talking primarily about the Gene Simmons' discovered Micki Free Electric Blues Experience (previously unknown to me, although not due to lack of musical mileage. Micki's CV is impressive - he was in Shalamar!). Micki is a self-confessed Hendrix nut, and there were a few of the great man's songs in the set. It reminded me of a Jimi-a-like band I used to see twenty years ago called Voodoo Child who performed their own material but they were heavily influenced style-wise by Hendrix. So, like them but not as good.

At this time, it's usually a good idea to explore what Hard Rock Calling offered by taking a walk around the site. The inevitable Cafe was there for drinks and meals, displaying the usual pop memorabillia of rock star's broken guitars and signed photos ("Oh looook, it's Todd Rundgren!"), all attempting to glamourise the walls of this prefab eaterie.

But if the sun is out, then so should you be. In the distance, The Bangles started playing a botched version of "Hazy Shade of Winter", but I'll forgive them because Susannah Hoffs is still as foxy as ever. They obliged us by playing their well known hits ("Manic Monday", "Going Down to Liverpool" and "Eternal Flame") and then they go and blow their credibility sky high by using a drum machine on "Walk Like an Egyptian", tsk, tsk. Cue to see what's going on over at the second stage. The last time I saw Mick Jones must've been around nineteen years ago when he was fronting Big Audio Dynamite, touring on the back of their killer album "Megatop Pheonix" at Notting Hill's Subterania. But here in Hyde Park, Mick teamed up with his old chum and co-punk legend Tony James who, along with ex-B.A.D bassist Leo Williams, performed as Carbon/Silicon. You can download their music free of charge from their website, it's not too challenging to listen to but I decided to give them a live test to see wether they were worth it. Good news is; they are! Mick and T.J looked very happy and comfortable on stage, and their enjoyment transferred effortlessly onto the audience which were sheltering from the sun's rays under a big top which started filling up very quickly. It's good to know that simple, catchy tunes still seem to win people over, even those hard-nosed Clash fans. I'll look forward to seeing these guys again very soon.

Earlier in the day, it was noted that The Stranglers (who were billed to headline the second stage) were due to perform at the same time as the main stage headliners. The website line-up times were different to what a poster was displaying on the day, which made me think that Hard Rock had seriously fucked up. That's why it seemed wise to tuck into a pleasantly cooked portion of fish'n'chips before barging our way into a good position in front of that behemoth of a stage for the mega-star countdown. Cod in crusty batter - hard to beat and better when it's soaked in Sarsons, but absolutely unbeatable when you start hearing the inimitable theme tune that is "Waltzinblack" playing from the second stage. This is a signal from the gods that The Stranglers are about to appear, and they had arrived a whole hour before their onstage time, meaning that they wouldn't be playing to an empty tent if people decided to watch the headliners instead. Cast those chips aside, we're storming the big top!

Fucking relentless they were, sucker punching us with potent versions of hit after hit. Opener "5 Minutes" is a song with a very dark subject matter lyrically speaking (it's all about breaking, entering and rape based on a true story) to menacingly start with that only proves which band have the biggest cojones. Jet Black, currently plagued with ill health, was notably absent from his rhythm duties that night but Stranglers' drum tech Ian Barnard got on with it and did a sound impression of Jet's style - close your eyes and it sounded like the man himself. We all know that Hugh Cornwell has long since parted company with the band, and even Hugh's vocal replacement Paul Roberts went onto pastures new, so singing duties were shared between JJ Burnel and guitarist Baz Warne. Ex-Toy Dolls / Smalltown Heroes member Baz doesn't do too bad a job, although it's strange hearing some of those lyrics repeated in a Sunderland accent. But Baz is no new-boy, he's been with the band for eight years and he got stuck in - with extra added chilli flavour gusto. Even with the lighter-igniting song inclusions of "Strange Little Girl", "Always The Sun" and "Golden Brown" the set never waivered. A Stranglerised version of "All Day & All Of The Night" was boldly belted out and they ended with "No More Heroes" (it would've been rude not to), and then they were gone. No time for a well deserved encore, it was time to take the pegs from the tent's guide ropes as a mass exodus made for the main stage. How do you follow a performance like that?

With great difficulty.

Here come The Police and now we're talking about a real circus. There's been a huge fuss made about them and their wonga-spinning world tour over these past 12+ months, so much so that anyone would think that these boys were really special. I remember watching their Rock Goes To College gig and found myself somehow wanting more. Brilliant songs, loads of brilliant songs and still their performances were a little on the dour side. I felt that I had to see The Police at least once but I was adamant not to see them in a stadium environment, a festival type set up being preferable as allocated seating is the pits. Shit sound at Glasto? Move among the crowd 'til it improves! You can't do that in a stadium unless you're lucky enough to have a V.I.P press pass (so I'm told).

They came on and started with the instantly recognisable "Message in a Bottle" followed by "Walking on the Moon". So far, so good. God knows what they played next, my problem being that I've failed to acknowledge any song of theirs that's not on the first three albums ("King of Pain" and "Invisible Sun" being the only two exceptions). I don't know what happened, but during one of their songs, Andy Summers went into a dreadful Jazz Oddessy guitar solo which would've made Nigel Tufnell cringe. Naturally, Stuart Copeland sped up the tempo during a few of the songs (it wouldn't have been a Police gig had he not done so) and then...more drum machine! At least Stu's not insecure about a machine taking his place.

Then it was Sting shouting "LONDON! SING; YEAH!!"

Bollix to that. I'm not the one getting paid mega fat wallets of notes to entertain you, it's supposed to be the other way around. We'll sing along when we want to, when it suits us. I must've been in the minority harbouring that thought on the night though as alcohol had taken control of the masses and they were more than willing to pander to Sting's every word. Oh well, if you can't beat 'em...

So this is why The Stranglers were the best band of the day. They came on and played their songs well without having to resort to the banal inter-song chit-chat and bad jazz improvisations and then they fucked off. As for The Police, they played an acceptable rendition of "So Lonely" as an encore and we all piled out of the park afterwards. On leaving the concert's compound, an idiot gig-goer (supposed 'fan') wearing a Spanish football shirt started singing "Campeones, Ole, Ole, Ole!". I was looking forward to watching that game when I got home. Tosser.

More pictures here.