I think I've just about calmed down now. I couldn't, in fact, I wouldn't have done a balanced review after seeing The Groundhogs last Friday at The 100 Club, not after such a poor performance was given by the main man himself.
But before I get down 'n' dirty about the gig, a couple of things;
Firstly, a belated big thank you to Stray Photon for taking part (and being an awfully good sport) in the most recent of Depcasts. You're a star.
Secondly, I was present at The 100 Club on the 18th April to see The Damned revisit the very first venue they ever played in. Romo was also there and she's done a cracking review of the gig in two parts. It's more eloquently written than I could ever have hoped to do if I was writing it myself, and above all it's a true account of what happened. Go here and here.
Back to The Groundhogs.
Jif and I arrived just in time to see the support band start up on stage. These were a troupe of well-rehearsed (are you listening Mr McPhee?) musicians calling themselves Never The Bride whom had brought along a sizeable crowd following to watch them strut their stuff. These guys (and two gals) are professional musicians, their chops were down (hark at me trying to sound hip) and the sound from the PA was very clear and transparent. It's a pity that their material was boring. But that's just me. Their brand of pompous plodding AOR bullshit didn't wash with yours truly, although their fans loved it - and they would, wouldn't they? Lead vocalist Nikki Lamborn from Bristol (but with a cod American accent - "Londooonnn, are you reeedy to raaawwwwkkkkk?") has a voice similar to Janis Joplin and she also tends to model her stage persona on the late cult figure. Nikki's a very competent vocalist, but God help your ears when she goes into screech mode. To make matters worse, the band ended their set with a version of Whole Lotta Love...
With extended drum solo.
Followed by the bass solo.
And then we got the obligatory guitar solo.
Then it was time for the keyboards to be twinkled on their own.
Fuck that for a game of soldiers.
We came to see The Groundhogs, and I for one was really looking forward to this gig. Jif and I positioned ourselves in front of centre stage (nice venue let down by that daft post in the middle propping up the ceiling), eagerly awaiting the arrival of Tony (TS) McPhee, the main Groundhog himself. He's written the majority of the stuff, he also plays lead and rhythm guitar and sings the tunes. When McPhee finally appeared, it was like seeing an old uncle who had been ravaged by the battles of the British blues boom which eventually mutated into the great war of prog. In other words, he looked rough. It's usual at his age, no one can expect to look young and glamourous forever, unless of course you demand a plastic surgeon on the rider. Tony's face is one that could tell a million stories and he has the lines on it to support plenty of paragraphs worth of tales, from glorious musical moments of triumph to stories of yet another band that have been financially ripped off in the past.
But that's no excuse to rip the audience off.
They played "Ship on the Ocean", "Garden" "Soldier" "Eccentric Man" from their most well known album "Thank Christ for the Bomb" as well as the title track. The studio recorded songs from this LP are marvels of musical composition, but hearing them being played back live was just so disappointing. Why?
Mr McPhee seems to have lost it on stage.
Was it due to a lack of rehearsal? Was it the onset of Alzheimer's or perhaps he's been resting on his laurels for the past 35+ years. The fact that Tony could not find his way around the fret board was downright embarrassing, as a plethora of bum notes wafted from out of the PA sounding as painful as the noise my cat makes when I accidentally tread on his tail. Our Tony even forgot the words to his own songs, but then by this time so did I.
Here I was, watching ol' TS butcher his own legacy.
Halfway through the set, during a painful rendition of "Split" (geddit?), I turned to Jif and suggested that we leave. Jif was more than willing to relieve his lugholes out into the fresh, night time London air. It seems that Jif and I were the only ones that would not be willing to put up with this rubbish. The rest of the audience were either greasy rockers age 55+, or affluent middle-class-pure-wool-jumper-wearing-tone-deaf-professionals-who-can't-dance-for-toffee, 55+. Both sets of fools loved it. Perhaps the audience were too inebriated to tell the difference or were too scared to vote with their feet. Perhaps they stuck it out as they saw this as the last chance they'll get to watching someone who actually worked with the late, great John Lee Hooker.
"What the fuck was he doing?" asked Jif.
"I don't think he knew himself" I replied.
We briefly talked about Tony's unusual guitar playing style (a mixture of strumming, slide and finger-picking) and wondered wether this was the cause of the poor performance.
"I didn't see him use a plectrum"
"He should've done"
It was at moments like that, I wish I could've travelled back in time by a couple of days to revisit The Damned's gig at the same venue. Anyone seen a Tardis?
GIG VERDICT: STILL SHIT. Sod The Groundhogs, go and see The Damned.
