Last of the Summer gigs: The Sex Pistols, The Sunshine Underground... and Rick Astley?

 

Our Summer of outdoor gigs continued in July and August with this diverse line-up of bands: 1970s punks, 2010s indie kids and 1980s pop icons. Three days after roasting in a field in Cardiff, watching The Cure, we found ourselves in another field - this time at the Westonbirt Arboretum near Tetbury, for a very different gig experience. From the Gothic soundscapes of Robert Smith and chums to the Soul-inflected pop of THE Rick Astley. He's never gonna give you up, let you down etc. etc. 

Sarah had been a fan of Mr. Astley back in the day ( waaay before "Rick rolling" ) but had never seen him play live so, when I saw he was appearing at the Pimms-on-the-lawn-tastic Westonbirt, I instantly snapped up some tickets. It was a lovely evening, as we were between heatwaves at the time, and the very relaxed journey up into T'Cotswolds ( compared to last Summer, anyway ) was welcome indeed. With no traffic chaos this year, we got into the site well on time to buy some drinks and food, and catch support band The Lottery Winners - no photos, unfortunately. They were a very positive, upbeat and bouncy pop combo - perfect for warming up the typically sedate Westonbirt audience. Frontman Thom Rylance hurled himself around the stage, like a pilled-up teddy bear, stopping frequently to take the piss out of the crowd, especially the deckchair-bound Radio 2 listeners near the front. Although he comes across as a potential CBBC presenter, Thom also has a couple of incisive songs about his struggles with mental health - Superpower and Letter To Myself - which add some depth to the poppier material on offer. Oh, and the rock chick bassist, Kate Lloyd, was simultaneously supercool and super hot. So, a fun experience, although maybe not a band I'd purposely seek out.

And then, who was that jogging out onto the stage? Why only Mr Rick bleedin' Astley himself!

Rick set out his stall straight away with the upbeat, handclapping pop/rock of Lights Out. This mid-paced, anthemic offering was just the ticket for the Westonbirt massive and could have easily slotted into the sets of The Script or Snow Patrol last year. He then whirled us back to the Stock, Aitken & Waterman days with the machine-tooled pop of Together Forever - a song *so* '80s that I could feel my T-shirt growing shoulder pads as the first notes rang out. With its seemingly inevitable melodies and lyrics, TF ( as nobody calls it ) is factory-produced pop at its finest and a reminder of just how unlikely a star this ginger-haired lad from Merseyside was. He looked ( at the time ) like the callow youth he was, with his pretty face and bouncy quiff, but sang with the deep, deep voice of a middle-aged Soul singer from the Deep South. He's now grown into that voice and left the fresh-faced kid behind but, bloody hell, he looks good for 60! I'm hoping I'll look that good in ( gulp! ) less than three months time. ( I won't. )

Rick was an affable, good-humoured presence, still slightly bemused that his career has had this late resurgence, happily trading banter with the crowd - and especially with a couple of female mega-fans down the front who were trying their best to get his attention throughout the set. And his voice was as strong and warm as ever, the deep baritone barely touched by the dread hand of time. Which was nice.

More '80s hits sashayed up to us in the form of She Wants To Dance With Me and Whenever You Need Somebody, while a slightly cringey cover of Roy "The Boy" Orbison's Oh, Pretty Woman prompted Rick to tell us a tall tale of not quite having a song appear in the Julia Roberts film of virtually the same name. Cry For Help was one of the highlights for me - a gospel ballad with real emotional heft and a perfect showcase for Rick's heart-on-sleeve, testifying vocals.

His band were excellent, especially the female horn section ( love a horn section! ) and his trio of backing singers. They came to the fore with a sassy cover of Raye's Where Is My Husband!, while Rick took a backseat and let their wonderful gospel harmonies and cool moves take over the stage. We were virtually in the front row, so had a great view of that stage, and could really appreciate just how talented this band were. And we were treated to some very closeup views of Mr. A himself, which certainly pleased Sarah ;-)

Near the end of the set Rick moved over to the drum kit ( he's always said he should really have been a drummer ) and the band kicked into a karaoke-krazy version of AC/DC's Highway To Hell. Really. And it was proper, head-banging fun with Rick drumming up a storm and the band all grabbing guitars to bust some Angus Young moves. He finished, of course, with the hit - Never Gonna Give You Up - and, clearly, his audience haven't: they loved every minute and sang along to every song. It was a fine performance from Mr A - cheeky, heartfelt, occasionally soul-baring - and hugely entertaining. He didn't, after all, let us down.

Spin on a month and we're at a very different gig in a new-to-us venue oop North...

This was the 25th of July and we'd travelled up to Leeds, a city I'd never visited before, and specifically to the lovely Kirkstall Abbey to see the long-awaited return of The Sunshine Underground. Sarah and I had seen them a couple of times before ( although she can't remember them ) and, when I heard last year that they'd be reforming for a one-off gig in their home town, I snapped up some tickets. I was really looking forward to this one, after not seeing the band for 10 years or so, but it didn't quite work out as I'd expected.

After cheekily parking in a residential area ( and ignoring the "residents only" signs lol ) we walked down to the imposing ruined Cistercian abbey and joined the throng of punters heading towards the bars and fast-food trucks. After a quick comfort and refreshment break, we caught the first band of the day... well, our first band of the day, as The Whip ( who? ), The Futureheads and The Twang had already played in the afternoon. ( I would have liked to have seen the last two, but we have caught them before. Hey ho. ) Anyway, the first band for us were actually Hard-Fi...

This bunch of urchins were a band I was vaguely aware of in the 2010s but never really engaged with. Their debut album, Stars of CCTV, is now a staple of charity shops, part of that Great Unloading when thousands of people binned their CD players in favour of low-fi ( ironic! ) streaming services. You've probably seen it: it's got a yellow cover and is usually adjacent to Music by Madonna, or any number of Take That or Coldplay albums, somewhere at the back of Oxfam or the PDSA. But I digress. Of course.

It turns out that Hard-Fi excel at bouncy, street level indie - some very strong songs, especially opening number and probably their best known song, Cash Machine. This tale of tough times on sink estates loped in on a reggae beat and instantly got the crowd dancing. "I scratch a living, it ain't easy, you know it's a drag" sang frontman Richard Archer, and you got the impression that this band actually knew what it was like living hand to mouth and day to day. Other working class indie bangers followed with the likes of Hard To Beat ( with its Clash City Rockers-like riff ) and Living For The Weekend, a lairy anthem for disaffected youth. Of course, Hard-Fi aren't exactly da yoof any more but they can certainly kick out a punchy, tight set of top tunes as if they were still lager-swigging teenage tearaways. A great way to start the evening and a band that I'd definitely like to see again.

By this time we'd positioned ourselves fairly near to the front, at the edge of the crowd, with some of the abbey ruins right behind us. We struck up a conversation with a couple from Blackpool and their teenage daughter - they were there mostly for the next act, White Lies, and were very excited for this section of the gig. I suspect this all-day lineup benefitted some of the bands, who would probably struggle to draw a crowd this large on their own, but not White Lies, who could easily have headlined and certainly drew a huge reaction from the crowd. Their combination of gloomy lyrics, intense vocals ( despite singer Harry McVeigh apologising for his sore-throat-stricken voice ) and pyrotechnic guitar sounds put me in mind of Muse or even The Twilight Sad who we'd recently seen supporting The Cure. Again, a band I'll have to check out again in the future... and Sarah liked them too, which is always a bonus. Speaking of which...

The next band on were the eagerly-awaited ( by some ) headliners. We'd first come across The Sunshine Underground near the end of their original incarnation, when they were creating a joyous mixture of indie and rave, a very danceable, positive, keyboard-orientated splurge of colour. This gig, however, was billed as a 20th anniversary celebration of their debut album, Raise The Alarm. I bought said album earlier this year, to do some homework, and discovered it was very different. TSU sounded back then like a scratchy, angular, often quite angry indie band, very guitar-based with barely a keyboard to be heard. So, almost like a completely different band. I was hoping their set would be a mixture of both styles. Oops.

We got down the front, only about 10 rows from the crowd barrier, and stood with some very enthusiastic fans. Then the band came on stage and it totally kicked off. The crowd went absolutely nuts, jumping around, shouting the lyrics and throwing beer around. Sarah instantly took umbrage to all this, especially the being showered by beer part, and legged it as best she could out of the crowd, with me in tow. I'm slightly more used to crowd reactions like this, after years of Punk gigs, but Sarah really isn't, and she was Not Happy. We then watched the majority of the set from our previous vantage point, with Sarah now in an extremely bad mood. The band continued playing their scratchy, angular stuff ( after I'd been bigging up their more ravey style ) and she emphatically didn't like it, saying it sounded like any other indie band...

To be honest, I did enjoy a lot of TSU's set, particularly the few songs I actually knew well, but it's always difficult to fully enjoy yourself if the person you're with isn't having a good time.  The band themselves, however, were clearly having a great time, and seemed overjoyed and slightly humbled that so many people had come to see them play this hometown gig. And their performance and sound was faultless. The one-two punch of the singalong, anthemic Borders and the glow-stick-friendly Start were fantastic and reminded me why I liked the band so much in the first place. I did leave Sarah for the last few songs ( she was fine with that ) and insinuated myself further into the crowd, where it had calmed down somewhat, and I actually managed a spot of dad-dancing. Which was nice ( again ). So, it had been a frustrating experience with more troughs than peaks but, as they say, you can't win 'em all. Luckily, Sarah and I spent the next day in Leeds and had a great time - what a cool city!

Aaanyway... on to the next one. And it was back to good ol' Cardiff. Always a pleasure. Specifically, Cardiff Castle ( as seen below ) on the 1st of August to see the renewed, reinvigorated Sex Pistols with "guest" ( actually, probably permanent ) vocalist, Frank Carter.

This was a long overdue catch-up for me and my old friend Glenn ( Borrowed Time superstar ) and the third time we'd seen the Pistols together. The first time was at the short-lived Phoenix Festival waaay back in 1996, when the band ( with Lydon of course ) were an absolute revelation, while the second time we saw them, at Crystal Palace a few years later ( Lydon still hanging on, but wasting his time ) they were shockingly poor. I hadn't bothered to see any of their subsequent reunions, but this new lineup - with former Gallows frontman Carter on vocals  - looked interesting and we thought we'd give 'em enough rope. Sorry, wrong band...

After the usual tortuous drive into a grid-locked Cardiff, we headed for the Castle and got ourselves amongst the throng of old punks, many gamely sporting some hilarious haircuts - honestly what do these people do with their mohicans the rest of the year? We'd missed the first ( and youngest by a mile ) band of the day - local tearaways Panic Shack - but got there in time for the first round of Punk Karaoke with The Undertones. ( All of the three 1970s-vintage groups were performing without their original lead singer. I'm still not sure if I was breaking my self-imposed "no tribute bands" rule. Okay, it's more of a guideline than a rule. Sue me. )

 The 'tones, as I'm sure nobody calls them, were actually great fun. Their "new" singer didn't sound remotely like Feargal Sharkey but had a perfectly fine voice and a very bubbly, camp stage presence. The band have, of course, many classic punk-pop songs, most of which got an airing: it was good to hear My Perfect Cousin, Here Comes The Summer and the inevitable, inimitable Teenage Kicks, although I was hoping they'd play Wednesday Week, which they sadly didn't. 

Next up were The Stranglers, a band I never really liked, even with Hugh Cornwell in the lineup, and this incarnation ( with JJ Burnell being the only original member ) mostly left me cold. My fave Stranglers song, Duchess, sounded great and No More Heroes was, of course, a highlight. But then, if The Stranglers couldn't make a decent fist of that song, who could?

And then it was Anarchy time! Well, middle-aged anarchy with a side order of Sanatogen. The resounding power chords of Holidays In The Sun rang out across Cardiff as The Sex Pistols & Frank Carter took the stage by storm. Carter introduced the rest of the band and told us how privileged he was to be performing with his childhood heroes - Jonesy, Cooky and Matlocky. ( Okay, that last one doesn't really work. But, you know, anarchy and all that... )

After the dull, lazy and uninspiring show the Lydon-fronted band had put on back in 2002, this was a vast improvement. Carter ( aged 42 but looking 10 years younger ) adds a youthful vitality to the band, and he certainly seemed to inspire the others to raise their game. Matlock, as suave as ever, played with all the determination of a seasoned boxer, Jones belted out *those* huge guitar riffs with sleight-of-hand dexterity, and Cook... well, he was just extraordinary, keeping the beat and powering the engine of the band like a man half his age. Carter himself prowled the stage, baited the crowd, and sang his lungs out to those iconic songs, obviously having a whale of a time.

They played a relatively short set for a headlining band ( I really would have liked to hear Satellite or Did You No Wrong ) and the Carter-showcasing My Way was too cheesy for me, but otherwise they were excellent. All the fan-favourite Never Mind The Bollocks tracks like Bodies, No Feelings and Seventeen sounded sharp and powerful, while the Stooges cover, No Fun, was an epic of self-loathing with some monolithic guitar work by Steve Jones. The iconic singles, Pretty Vacant and God Save The Queen, may have dated in their details, but the anger and energy ( anger *is* an energy, right Johnny? ) still shine through and Carter was totally convincing in his take on these classic Punk texts. He isn't trying to be or sound like Lydon: he's his own man and he puts his own stamp on the material. And it sounds fantastic. 

They finished, of course, with Anarchy In The UK ( well, what else? ) and made thousands of old punks ( and the rest of us ) very happy. What a gig!

Hot Hot Hot! The Cure in Cardiff 24/06/26

In retrospect, it may have seemed an insane idea - stand in a field of 35,000 black-clad Goths on the hottest day of the year for three hours plus - but sometimes insane ideas can be the best ones. And when that idea involves watching The Cure, legendary New Wave / Goth / gloompop overlords, play a 28-song set of absolute classics, after not seeing them for 30 years, you just have to go with it and try not to melt...

In a very similar vein to the A-ha gig in Cardiff back in July 2022, this was a case of me encouraging Sarah to reconnect with a band she loved. We'd seen The Cure a few times back in the late '80s / early '90s and had both been big fans of the band, but had lost track of them in recent years. I think recently re-watching their triumphant Glastonbury set from 2019 and hearing their comeback album, Songs Of A Lost World, rekindled our fascination ( street! ) with Robert Smith and pals. I somehow managed to get a couple of last-minute tickets from the Ticketmaster Hegemony and we were Cardiff-bound! ( Not knowing at that time that the UK would be in the grip of its second blistering heatwave of the year in June. I'm now typing this in July, during the third blistering etc etc. )

We rocked up in Cardiff city and joined the throng of already sweating punters heading to Blackweir Fields. The venue was about a 10-minute walk from Cardiff Castle itself and, after hearing horror stories about previous gigs, we found the whole process of bag searches / ticket scanning to be relatively hassle-free. Which was nice. We'd missed first band The Joy Formidable, who had been on at the ridiculously early time of 15:15 pm, but I was determined to catch The Twilight Sad, so we headed towards the stage and the small amount of shade it afforded. ( Those two bands' names sound interchangeable to me: The Sad Formidable? The Twilight Joy? )

The Twilight Sad came on stage with very little fanfare and started an intense, emotional set with Dead Flowers - a song which sounds like Mogwai covering The Cure and features the phrase "it's water off a duck's back" - so, perfect really. The pounding drums and glacial synths nodded to the likes of Joy Division, while the guitars were turned up to ear-lacerating volumes, and singer James Graham's Scottish burr spread a gloomily passionate, soul-baring force field of melancholy over the crowd. I mean, they're probably great fun at parties, but here in Cardiff, The Twilight Sad were definitely living up to their name, and it sounded glorious. They finished with the monumental Waiting For The Phone Call, a song apparently about "grief, love and mental illness" which was paradoxically uplifting as Graham dug deep into himself for some sky-scraping vocals. Yep, they were intense alright, but a spot-on fit for a Cure support band ( that wasn't always the case, if anyone can remember the fey likes of Shelleyan Orphan... ) and they certainly gave the crowd all they had. I think I'd like to see them again in a smaller venue, where the sound would, I imagine, be like an aural avalanche.

By this time, the heat had reached an official temperature of 33 degrees C, although my phone was insisting it was 35 degrees. Thanks phone. We were now so hot we were spontaneously creating new sweat glands and giving them an instant workout - even our teeth were sweating. You get the picture, it was bloody hot. There'd been concern for a few days that the gig wouldn't go ahead - in fact many people said it shouldn't go ahead - but we were here, and we were all in it together. And then some sadist by the name of R. Smith decreed that the sound of pouring water and crashing thunder would issue from the PA as torrents of rain were depicted on the video screens. Talk about adding insult to injury. At least we knew that heralded the arrival of the headliners and, sure enough, out they came...

As the beautiful, hymn-like synths of Plainsong washed over the crowd, Robert Smith wandered around the stage, looking out at the 35,000 Goths dissolving into a sea of eyeliner, seemingly overwhelmed by the love that was radiating towards the stage. Simon Gallup's unmistakeable bass guitar chimed in with the spine of the song and it was like those 30 years were dissolving too. For us, and for so many fans, whether long-term or recent, it was like coming home, even if that home was a baking hot field in Wales. We were there, we'd made it, and so had The Cure...

The swaying, surging waves of Plainsong buoyed up the vocals of Captain Bob which seemingly hadn't changed one iota in all those years. As he sang about being as cold as the dead, the beauty in his voice - in his phrasing and delivery - was as magical as it had ever been, the paradox ( again ) of the warmth of Robert's voice melting the cold of the lyrics. I'd say "same as it ever was", but that was some other band. A brief "Thank you!" ( well, it's Robert Smith! ) and then the band kicked up the pace ( slightly ) with the New Order-goes-Goth of Pictures Of You, Smith strapping on his guitar and going head to head with the lanky figure of Gallup. This impossibly romantic song must have caused an ache in every heart there on that field: "If only I'd thought of the right words / I could have held on to your heart / If only I'd thought of the right words / I wouldn't be breaking apart all my pictures of you" - it's just a thing of dark beauty.

This set leaned heavily on my two favourite Cure albums, Disintegration and The Head On The Door, which was obviously fine by me. The bruised romanticism of  A Night Like This and the pitch black balladry of Lovesong ( "Fly me to the Moon" ) took us back to our twenty-something days of seeing The Cure in the cavernous spaces of Wembley Arena or the Birmingham NEC. Although the atmosphere was like a furnace, I think I prefer Blackweir Fields. The Last Day Of Summer from the later Bloodflowers album isn't a song I'm too familiar with, but it sounded absolutely epic only a few days past mid-summer. And it really wasn't the last day of Summer.

Following an early song in the set, Robert thanked the crowd in Welsh - "Diolch!" - which got a huge cheer from the Cardiff audience. He said "If there's one language I should have learned, it's Welsh, as I married into a Welsh family. Although, to be honest, sometimes it's best if I don't know what they're saying." ( I paraphrase, of course, but that's the gist of it. ) It's lovely to see the humorous, cheeky side to Robert, which does occasionally come out, and dispels all the stereotypes - you know: gloomy, morbid, depressing - about the band and singer.

A few unfamiliar songs ( to me, anyway ) were sprinkled throughout the set, but The Cure also pulled out classic after classic - there was a three-song run of Push / In Between Days / Just Like Heaven which was worth the price of admission on its own - and, when Gallup's iconic bass notes heralded the obligatory A Forest, the audience were transported to Goth Heaven. ( Which is probably a nightclub in Newport. ) We used to always jokingly complain about The Cure stretching out that song to impossible lengths but, after all this time it was wonderful to hear one of their most defining songs again. It really wouldn't be a Cure gig without an invitation to go "into the trees"...

They played From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea ( one of Sarah's faves, so she was very happy to hear it ) and then finished the main set with Prayers For Rain ( stop rubbing it in, Robert! ) and an epic Disintegration.

Another defining thing about the band back in the day was the way they'd often bugger off stage before the encores for a crowd-antagonisingly long time, presumably to get some serious drinking in. Here in the burning atmosphere of Blackweir Fields they were barely off stage long enough to neck a couple of shots before coming back out to a seismic roar from the knackered-but-ready-for-more crowd. And it was Hits Hits Hits! all the way...

Robert invoked the spooky spectre of the spider-man ( not that one ) as Lullaby cast its spell and its web over the field. Barely had we escaped the arachnid's clutches than the band started up the highly appropriate, funktastic Hot Hot Hot! Yes, we were, and it was. Even after hours on our collective blistering feet, the crowd still found the energy to shake our black-clad booties to this dancefloor detonation. 

After a Wild Mood Swings-era Wrong Number ( not a favourite, it has to be said ) the clattering drums and squelchy synths of The Walk gave way to the slinky, stealthy pop classic The Lovecats aka The One They Play On The Radio. This is the song that divides the fans between those who are too self-conscious to appreciate such a commercial outing for the band, and those who get it. Luckily, most of us did. There was a mass outbreak of joy, dancing and cat-ear-wearing as seen below. Gone, man, solid gone...

And the hits kept coming as The Cure reminded us just how many solid gold pop nuggets they've produced over the years: Let's Go To Bed and Friday I'm In Love were fun, singalong Top 40 anthems, while my favourite Cure song ever ever ever - Close To Me - was as claustrophobic and boggle-eyed as ever.

After a free-wheeling, funky Why Can't I Be You? the band dug back into their early years for the final song: the one that launched a thousand T-shirts and posters, the iconic Boys Don't Cry - a fantastic finish to a wonderful performance. A visibly moved Robert Smith thanked us all for being there and the feeling was indeed mutual. Everything about this gig had been excellent - the song choices, Robert's vocals, Simon's stick-insect stage moves, the sound and visuals, the band themselves ( including the legendary Reeves Gabrels on extra guitar ) and the multi-generational, massively appreciative audience. I hope I can speak for all of the 35,000 people there when I say we had a hugely enjoyable, emotional time, watching one of the greatest bands to ever walk the Earth and bravely wear Panda-eyed makeup in 33 degrees heat.

Thanks Robert, you were simply elegant.

Overdue gig reviews: Manic Street Preachers, Suede, Sugababes

 
As I sit here in the gloomy, rain-sodden Autumn, it's hard to look back at that brief window of sunshine and blue skies we call the Great British Summer... but, look back I must, as I need to dredge my unreliable memory and recall a couple of outstanding summer gigs in two of my favourite cities.

Firstly, two bands that I've wanted to see for many years but have unaccountably never got round to catching before, the Manic Street Preachers and Suede. I know.. what have I been doing all this time? When I heard these two bands were doing a co-headline tour, and stopping at Cardiff Castle where we'd seen A-Ha a couple of years ago ( almost to the day ), it was a no-brainer to book tickets.

Of course, the next step was actually getting to the gig, which proved to be more difficult. Firstly, my sat-nav decided it didn't want me and Sarah to go to Wales and repeatedly tried to send us back to the Shire. ( There's lovely, as they might say in the land of the red dragon. ) Then, after finally getting the rebellious tech to play ball, we reached the lovely city of Cardiff, only to find that the roads around the castle were shut and we couldn't get to our hotel. I ditched the car in a random car park and we struggled with our luggage to our final destination... only to find the hotel had minutes before suffered a power cut, and we couldn't book in or access our room. Happy days! Eeeeeventually this was all sorted, we dumped our cases, and headed into Cardiff Castle itself.

Unsurprisingly, this being the Welsh capital, the Manics were headliners for this stop of the tour, and those London lads Suede were first on. And they came out fighting. Brett Anderson, who I'd always thought of as a too-cool-for-school kind of frontman, literally started bouncing around the stage like an indie Tigger with a rocket up his arse. He barely stopped for a second of the performance, calling out the crowd to "Come! On!", clapping his hands, waggling his backside ( of course ) and generally rabble-rousing the audience into a frenzy.

And the songs! The first half of the set was an almost Ramones-like canter through indie classic after indie classic: So Young, Trash, Animal Nitrate, The Drowners and Filmstar were fired out in quick succession, anthem after anthem, tune after tune. One of the most invigorating starts to a set I've ever seen. 

And it wasn't just the '90s bangers that hit home so hard: the songs from their wonderful 2022 album Autofiction ( album cover above ) were stunning when played live. The pounding Personality Disorder, the Goth-y Shadow Self and the surprisingly tough-but-emotional She Still Leads Me On were all as powerful and tuneful as any of their old favourites. 

And, for all the jumping around the stage, Brett was in fine voice, still managing to hit all the high and low notes that he's known for - if anything, I think his voice is even more commanding nowadays than in his fey heyday. And, after a victorious Metal Mickey, Brett asked us to sing for him too - just one word: "La!" Of course, it was the "la la la" singalong of Beautiful Ones and it was.... beautiful. In fact, the whole thing was beautiful ( man! ), an amazing performance from a band unbelievably still at the top of their game after over thirty years. I still can't understand why it's taken me so long to see them, but I'll have to do it again.

After all this excitement, we had a break and went in search of a hot drink, as it was now getting surprisingly chilly for a July evening. This took some time as there was literally only one stall selling the coffee that Sarah needed to defrost herself, and they'd just run out of water (!). While this was happening, there was a mighty roar as the Manic Street Preachers took to the stage. Sarah was still queuing for caffeine, so I had to watch the first three songs from a distance: they sounded great but I'd have preferred to have been a little ( a lot ) closer. And again, how's this for the start of a set: You Love Us, Everything Must Go and Motorcycle Emptiness? It doesn't get much better than that. Even at some remove from the action, that guitar riff in YLU was absolutely titanic and the melancholic epic that is EMG was as poignant as ever. Motorcycle Emptiness is probably my fave Manics song and I was so glad to finally hear it played live.

Coffee acquired, we headed back into the crowd to the strains of Suicide Is Painless ( Theme From MASH ), which Nicky Wire dedicated to the great Donald Sutherland ( the original "Hawkeye" Pierce ) who had recently sadly passed away. Then the band were in full indie pop mode with a glorious You Stole The Sun From My Heart ( just as the sun was actually going down ), with some gorgeous vocals from James Dean Bradfield. Honestly, just like with Brett Anderson, I think James's voice has only improved with age and, for my money, he's one of the best ( if underrated ) vocalists around today. Many "4Real" Manics fans put down their more poppier moments ( including current single Decline & Fall ), but I think these can be equally as strong as the Holy Bible-type gloom-punk...

To further reinforce the bands' more soulful, melodic side, they were joined on stage by The Anchoress ( aka Catherine Anne Davies ) for gorgeous versions of Little Baby Nothing and Your Love Alone Is Not Enough. The Manics have always been the least macho stadium rock band and have consistently featured a more feminine side to their music. The Anchoress brought a touch of female fire and fury to these songs and was captivating. I need to check out her solo stuff.

The old classics kept coming as the band kicked out cracking versions of A Design For Life and La Tristesse Durera ( Scream To A Sigh ) - great stuff! I was surprised however by how little the Manics communicated with the crowd, presumably letting the music do most of the talking. We'd had the long, long overdue news that the Tory "government" were on the way out only two days previously, but there was no mention of that. Nicky Wire did praise JDB at one point, saying how well he sung Wire's lyrics, and also mentioned the long-lost Richey Edwards ( of course ), who he called their "beautiful boy". It's always poignant to wonder how different things would have been if Edwards hadn't sadly disappeared back in 1995...

You know I mentioned "blue skies" earlier on? Well, as this was Wales, there was always the possibility of rain. And Wales didn't let us down. Fittingly, as the band launched into Tsunami, a slight drizzle began. And that drizzle soon turned into an absolute downpour, so we spent the last six songs of the gig getting drenched. As usual on these occasions, we were all in this together and had to put a brave face ( or thousands of faces ) on it. And, as the Manics concluded the set with a colossal If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next, James slipped in a few lines from Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head. They certainly did. It had been a fantastic gig with two iconic bands playing their hearts out for us, and the slow, shuffling, mud-splattered trudge of legions of sodden fans out of Cardiff Castle was a small price to pay for such an amazing night.

And now, we move on into August for another outstanding, but very different gig...

This was the triumphant return of the original lineup of Sugababes, as seen above in all their sassy glory. I'll have to try and limit my use of the words "sass" and "sassy" ( or variations thereof ) in this post, but that might prove nigh-impossible. Let's count how many times they pop up. ( I'll give you numbers 1 and 2 for free. )

When I first heard this tour was happening I instantly snapped up three tickets, because I knew this was a gig that Sarah, Sophie and myself wouldn't want to miss. ( Sophie, seen above, had already seen Sugababes at Glastonbury this Summer, but more of that later. ) The band had been a pop favourite of ours back in the day ( well, not *that* far back ) and it was another of those no-brainer decisions to see them in good old Bristol. 

The venue was the alternately-named Bristol Amphitheatre or Lloyd's Amphitheatre. If you're ever in Brizzle ( as it's known by everyone but Bristollians in the South West ), head to the Harbourside, keep going past the fountains and the over-priced eateries, until it seems you're about to fall into the harbour, and then you'll find this virtually hidden venue. Probably 2/3 of the size of Castlefield Bowl ( where we saw the mighty Pulp last year ) this open space is mostly home to skateboarders in the daytime, but is now hosting open air gigs. It's a cool space and has some commanding views of the harbourside and the M Shed museum on the opposite bank. In fact, many people were sitting in the August sunshine on another side of the harbour, getting a free soundtrack to their Thursday evening. 

Speaking of which, the first instalment of that soundtrack was provided by up-and-coming R&B singer Tyler Lewis who had the unenviable task of opening the show before thousands of fervent Sugababes fans. Tyler shuffled shyly onto the stage, a slight figure in fairly nondescript streetwear, and it wasn't clear at first if she was one of the acts or if she was just checking sound levels. But then she started her set, accompanied by one bloke on keyboards, and her honeyed but resonant voice belied her seemingly-delicate frame. Singing mostly her own compositions, Tyler certainly had the voice for the occasion, even if the songs lapsed too often for this listener into treacley balladry. Her last song was more of a funky R&B groove and showed how good she could be with a bit more confidence and, yes, sass (3). One to watch for sure.

Definitely not lacking in the sass (2) department was DJ Jaguar who spun some bangin' choons ( as I don't believe the young people say these days ) to get everyone in the party spirit. I heard some women behind me complaining that Jaguar's set was too samey, and it probably was, but it was good fun. And she certainly seemed to be enjoying herself massively on stage. Which was nice.

We even found time to do a selfie, while waiting for the 'babes, Sarah and I miraculously managing to actually stay in the frame for once. ( This was no doubt thanks to Sophie's iPhone skills, rather than our selfie abilities. )

Then, the ear-shattering screams from the crowd told us it was time for the main event as Sugababes took to the stage. Bursting out onto the boards with a tsunami of (t)sass (4) the three OG 'babes kicked off with the huge floor-filler Freak Like Me - you know, the one with that Gary Numan sample - and pretty much started as they meant to go on: havin' it large!

Unlike the Manics / Suede gig, we were there from minute one and had a prime spot front and centre, only a couple of rows from the crowd barrier. This meant we had brilliant views of Keisha, Mutya and Siobhan strutting their funky stuff, although it did mean we didn't get the full force of the actual music, as we were between and below the speakers, which pumped out the sound above our heads. ( Some people are never happy, are they? ) Anyway, that was a minor quibble ( which, to be fair, only bothered me and isn't unusual for open air gigs ) as the show was fantastic.

The three singers, and their smokin' backing band, gave it their all, as they treated us to hit after hit, from the slinky Red Dress to the poignant, autobiographical Ugly to the sass-tastic (5) Hole In The Head. In fact, this was a great reminder of just how many world-beating pop classics the Sugababes put out during their career - it's really an impressive body of work and easily overlooked because they were often dismissed as just another girl group by the intelligentsia. ( Who are those people? )

They all sang beautifully and occasionally stopped the stage-strutting to grab some stools and sit down to properly showcase their gorgeous vocal harmonies. Funnily enough, I always remembered Siobhan as being vocally the weakest from the original lineup, but that proved not to be the case, as her voice was earthy and surprisingly raw at times. ( I'm clearly an idiot. Yet again. ) Keisha, of course, remains the most powerful singer of the trio, but together they all sounded sublime.

The trio struck up an instant rapport with the audience and were very frank in their inbetween-song chats with their fans. They told us how happy they were to be performing again under the Sugababes name, after winning their court case for the right to use it. They had performed briefly under the name Mutya Keisha Siobhan but, as they'd formed the group way back when they were 11 (!) years old, it obviously felt good to reclaim the old moniker. Empowerment anthem Stronger said it all: "I had my ups and downs, trials and tribulations / I overcome it day by day" ( Let's just forget that that song originally featured vocals from former 'babe Heidi Range, who was on the other side of the law suit... )

After finishing the set with party anthem Today, the Sugababes came back for a final perfect pop storm of Push The Button, Round Round and the peerless About You Now. Possibly one of the finest encores I've seen for a long time: just fantastic, euphoric songs. We'll definitely have to see Sugababes again, although as said previously, Sophie had already see them at Glasto, when she'd danced with Shania Twain.

Wait... Shania Twain???

Yep, the actual Shania Twain. Sophie had passed an audition to be part of a flash mob during Shania's set on the Pyramid Stage and, after a couple of weeks of rehearsals, found herself dancing at the biggest musical event of the summer. Along with choreographer Lauren Filer and a couple of other dancers, Sophie danced along to That Don't Impress Me, and demonstrated the flash mob moves so the crowd could dance along with the queen of country pop. I don't think Sophie had really appreciated what a big deal Glastonbury was beforehand... but she certainly found out. It was an amazing experience for her ( one which has already gained her more connections in the dance world ) and she also got a free Glasto pass, so also got to see Coldplay, Sugababes, Paloma Faith and much, much more. Here she is below ( in the middle of the photo ) with Lauren and Candice, and a couple of BBC journalists prior to one of many interviews they did for the show.

Sophie, that did impress us much.