Jeff Hanneman 1964-2013

Jeff Hanneman – Headbanging In Heaven

On 10th November 1994 my friends and I crossed the border from Bristol into deepest, darkest Wales as we headed out to only our fourth or fifth ever gig.

Bristol at the time had no large music venues, so Newport Centre tended to be the nearest location for any of the bigger bands of the time. After booking our gig tickets and coach travel at Our Price in The Galleries shopping centre, we finished school that Thursday and got our parents to drop us into town.

The short trip to Wales was always exciting, like going on a Heavy Metal Holiday. Having seen Pantera at the same venue two months previously, we knew we’d be in for a treat. The gig we were heading to was Slayer on their Divine Intervention tour and the band were to be supported by some young up and comers called Machine Head, so the bill promised to be as heavy as hell.

As we arrived, we used various IDs and our deepest 15 year old voices to buy a pint (Foster’s) in the bar that bizarrely overlooked the swimming pool where OAPs would be engrossed in Thursday night aquarobics.

I’ve probably never seen as much leather, denim and hair as I did that night, and it seemed that half of the UK’s metal fans were in attendance.

The show we witnessed that night was nothing short of incredible. Despite Divine Intervention being much-maligned by the press and the hardcore fans, the band had seen fit to adapt their sound, a wise strategy, proven by a stunning rendition of Davidian that had threatened to blow the headliners off the stage before they even got there.

That 1994 setlist in full.

Of course, Slayer went on to play a shedload of classics too and it was enthralling to see such a technically accomplished band play with such speed and power. The pit was something else entirely and I don’t think it’s been matched in my 19 years of gig-going since.

Of course the man who was mostly responsible for those classics was Jeff Hanneman, an astounding guitarist and songwriter who defined a genre with his songs. His and Kerry King’s partnership will probably never be bettered and when I heard the news about Jeff’s passing I was utterly distraught.

Slayer have remained hugely relevant to this day as proven by the outpouring of condolences from musicians in all kinds of bands and as one of the ‘Big Four’, Slayer redefined modern heavy music. The destructive power of their sound never waned and fans new and old could always be guaranteed a clutch of mind-blowing songs with every new release.

So, as I sit here thinking back, I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without Jeff Hanneman. We all used to rib each other at school for the lighter music we were into, but one thing that united me and some of my best friends still to this day was a love and appreciation for all things heavy. Whether we’ve joined bands ourselves, jetted off to the other side of the world or started our own businesses, we’re all still head banging away to some happy, happy times.

Rest in peace Jeff, you gave so much to so many that you may never have realised the full impact of your work.

Army Of Two: The Devil’s Cartel (Spoiler-free Xbox 360 Review)

Back in 2008, the video game landscape was changing. No longer was a decent single player experience good enough for the gamer holding the purse strings, instead the demand was high for as good a multiplayer element as it was for any solo campaign, setting developers a tough task.

One idea many developers utilised was to make the campaign itself multiplayer by introducing co-op. Gears Of War was already setting the standard for such a social gameplay element, and Halo was soon to follow suit so Electronic Arts chose to jump on the bandwagon, the result of which was Army Of Two. Telling the tale of mercenaries Salem and Rios, the game saw you undertake objectives which relied entirely on your ability to co-operate, celebrating each boss take down with ridiculous amounts of air-guitaring and high-fiving. A wise-cracking macho load of old posturing nonsense with mildly flawed AI if playing solo, the game was, nevertheless, huge fun and sold enough to warrant a sequel.

The 40th Day built on the successful formula, making everything bigger and louder, adding morality moments to choose between and a greater sense of scenic destructibility. Moving away from the Afghanistan conflict, the game took in the sights and sounds of Shanghai but still kept with the terrorism theme. The cover system was improved (hiding behind a dead rhino in the zoo level being a particular highlight) and the game delivered a decent story which expanded the AOT universe, leading us nicely to today and the third game in the series, The Devil’s Cartel.

Perhaps concerned that doing the ‘global terror nutjob’ thing was stepping on Call Of Duty’s toes a little too much, this third game in the series is a far more localised effort. Taking place in Mexico, the game moves away from Salem and Rios and focuses on two Trans World Operations (see what they did there?) agents, Alpha and Bravo as they attempt to take down the deadly drug cartel La Guadana.

The original characters do still feature in the game, and the crazy masks are all present and correct, but there is a lot less of the over-the-top machismo, preferring to leave the banter to a few post-firefight wise-cracks. It seems a shame to have the original characters sidelined in this way, especially in the first three quarters of the game, and to not build up any sort of back story for the new playable heroes (other than one has ‘a girl’ back home, yawn) is a touch odd, but at the end of the day this is a game about destruction on an epic scale and that’s one way in which it truly delivers.

Despite the reliance on cover-based shooting, you never feel 100% safe behind your crumbling position and coupled with your enemy’s unerring accuracy with grenades, this adds a huge amount of tension to proceedings. You’re aided throughout by the returning Overkill system which turns you invincible and increases the power of your bullets for a short time, but with both yourself and your partner able to trigger this ability, it does make things a little too easy at times, even if it is fun to destroy reams of scenery in one ridiculously fiery 30 second burst.

The scoring system will also probably divide people, as the game splits itself into 50-odd sections, interspersed with brief ‘how many kills did you get’ calculations. Personally, I preferred these short interludes as an opportunity to reset my weaponry and buy new gear, and they do a good job of getting rid of chunky loading times completely, but it’s never abundantly clear how to get the big, big points or how you will be rewarded for obtaining them.

As for the setting, Mexico is really pretty in all its HD glory but it also seems to be a heck of a desolate place. You don’t come across any locals other than those who want to shoot your brains out (and even they all look pretty similar) and although the game looks very good graphically, it does all feel a bit done to death in the shooter genre, with the traditional quarries, mansions, churches and inner city slums all playing a part in the story.

The third game in the AOT series also feels a lot more stripped down than previous instalments. On my play through I didn’t control any vehicles, instead I only had the option to man helicopter machine guns or occasionally jump on the back of a truck to decimate small armies. These sections were still enjoyable, if mindless, but the lack of variety and linearity to the levels will challenge those used to choosing your own way through a game.

It’s probably in this mindlessness that The Devil’s Cartel lets itself down the most. I’m not a huge fan of strategy titles but the first two games in the series did at least make you use simple decisioning to get through most levels. This time out, it’s generally enough just to shoot everything in sight with little consideration for how to flank shielded foes or use your ally intelligently. The ability to team up behind a single shield is still there, but I only realised this right at the end in a set-piece that gave me no other choice.

There were also a couple of major glitches which required either a complete Xbox reboot or at least a trip back to the not-that-recent previous checkpoint, all of which should really have been patched a couple of months as it is after release. Moving from cover to cover is also frustrating on occasion, with the complete lack of ability for your character to roll or jump almost heresy in this day and age.

Yes, it is possible to rattle through The Devil’s Cartel in a day or two, but after the initial realisation that you’re just going to be shooting bandana man and cowboy hat man (oh, and the odd bulletproof vest man) for a few hours, the game is actually fun. The story is a little cliched but still takes the franchise further and there is more to it than just taking down a generic Mexican drug lord, but I’ll leave it spoiler-free for now. The shooting itself is solid, despite the customisable weaponry being a little soulless, and the explosions can be absolutely joyful to witness. Plus let’s face it, if you’re a fan of the franchise, you know exactly what you’re letting yourself in for.

Army Of Two: The Devil’s Cartel may set its own universe on fire frequently but it wont do the same to the real world. Nevertheless, this is still a solid enough addition to the franchise, staying just about fun and brash enough to stand toe-to-toe with its rivals. Next time out though, EA are going to have to come up with something a bit more special or it’ll be over and out from the masked marauders once and for all.

The Wildhearts + Eureka Machines + Baby Godzilla @ Manchester Academy

Greetings From Hitsville

In the past two years, I’ve seen Ginger Wildheart live six times. I’ve watched him perform everywhere, from a tiny acoustic show in Ashton-under-Lyne and a support slot with The Darkness all the way up to his celebratory London birthday show where he even supported himself (does that make it seven times?) and a raucous couple of nights in larger Manchester venues. But when it was announced that The Wildhearts would be hitting the road to perform the nailed-on classic Earth Vs The Wildhearts album in full to celebrate its 20th anniversary, I felt a) very, very old and b) so excited I could actually have a bit of a cry.

To make me even more giddy with joy, Ginger and co once again proved how in touch with the fans they were by delivering some amazing value for money, announcing that both Eureka Machines and Baby Godzilla would feature on the bill.

Cutting their Baby teeth in Manchester Academy

I’d seen Baby Godzilla playing with Ginger in the tiny Club Academy, on a night where they completely blew second support act The Guns off the stage. The Welsh crew didn’t stand a chance following the ‘Zillas, as both Matt and Jonny took the show into the crowd, literally, and threw themselves around like demented wildebeest. So, faced with the daunting prospect of the near 2,500 capacity Academy 1, what would the band do? Exactly what they do best. It takes about 15 seconds for the band to lob guitars and mic stands into the crowd and perform most of their punky hardcore psychoblues set WITH the people.

Many stand on, enthralled (if a little scared) as the band tear through a storming clutch of songs, and lets be honest here, these boys know how to write a tune. Tracks such as Powerboat Disaster and A Good Idea Realised are not just mental slabs of rock and roll, they’re quality tracks which can spur any size crowd into having a good time. One thing’s for sure, Baby Godzilla aren’t a gimmicky, comedy band, they’re a quality group laying down some awe-inspiring sounds and they’ve only got bigger and better things in their future. And to the 10 year old kid handed a ‘Zilla guitar mid-set; yes, this lot will be your favourite band for years to come.

A Eureka moment.

Following Baby Godzilla is never an easy task, but if anyone’s up to it, it’s Ginger-collaborator Chris Catalyst and his Eureka Machines. Another band who put on a great show no matter the venue, EM gurn and dance their way through catchy tune after catchy tune, their hardcore and loyal fan base loving every minute of their hugely enjoyable set. It might be an all too brief appearance for many (full tour coming soon, kids) but EM still pick out the best tracks from their three albums, so there’s something for everyone. Champion The Underdog is a great pop rock opener whilst Pop Star is brilliantly written, funny, and an absolute joy live. This Is The Story Of My Life and Affluenza get the crowd bopping like they’ve been close personal friends with the band for years, and None Of The Above and Zero Hero close things off magnificently, setting the scene perfectly for what is to follow. EM are another band at the peak of their powers, having as they do three albums worth of ridiculously good songs up their black sleeves, and it’s a shame they can’t play the whole ruddy lot.

After a short wait, the sense of anticipation is absolutely crazy. The crowd ranges from eight year olds to octogenarians, fans new and old all in attendance with one common goal; dancing like absolute lunatics to an album seen more as a life-changing moment in time than a simple shiny disc purchase. As Ginger, CJ, Random and Ritch take to the stage, you can’t spot a miserable British mug for miles; this isn’t a gig, this is a lock in with all your mates in the best sound-systemed pub in the world.

I probably don’t need to run through every song here, as you can guess what the band play (hint: check the Earth Vs… tracklisting for details), but if there is a better live opening salvo than Greetings From Shitsville, TV Tan and Everlone, I’ll eat my not inconsideable collection of headwear. My Baby Is A Headfuck rocks the crowd from front to back, and even though I’ve heard Suckerpunch so many times live over the years, the two decade-old song sounds even better once again, losing none of its whirling punkish attitude.

As for the encores, there had been talk pre-gig of the fans being able to pick the songs, and this does ring true as long-standing roadies Dunc and Stevie wield giant boards plastered with various songs from the entire Wildhearts back catalogue, with the louder cheer signifying which would be played.

Trickier than it sounds, the crowd seem genuinely pained to pick between Caffeine Bomb and Sick Of Drugs, but one thing this scheme does lend itself to is the opportunity to hear some songs that haven’t been played that much over the years. TV EP track Dangerlust beats Naivety Play to the punch, whilst a close call sees Geordie In Wonderland edge out Nothing Ever Changes But The Shoes and a similarly tight decision ensures 29 x The Pain gets heard over usual show-closer I Wanna Go Where The People Go.

As the band exit the stage for the final time, the shared joy in the venue is truly palpable. The Wildhearts seem just as proud as the audience in being part of such an astoundingly happy night, where songs that have meant so much to so many for so many years get the airing they deserve. Some might see anniversary tours as a faddy, cynical cash-in, but if anyone would begrudge us of this amazing night, they need to grow a new soul. Magical stuff.

Ghost + Gojira + The Defiled + Revoker @ Bristol Academy

Papa does preach

Jägermeister have a lot to answer for. From bad heads and sticky fingers to gaping holes in bank balances, one thing the liquor legends can’t be accused of is not giving us value for money. Following hot on the heels of last year’s incredible Skndred, Therapy?, Black Spiders and Turbowolf show at the Bristol Academy, the shot-bombers have done it again, pulling together another fascinating bill for the measly sum of one solitary fiver. And this time it’s going dark…

Kicking off the four-band show, Revoker have some great riffs, some decent songs and a pleasing to see kick-ass attitude when it comes to giving the crowd a good time. Their debut record, Revenge For The Ruthless has thrashy riffs and huge choruses in abundance and it’s pleasing to see a decent size crowd in attendance for an early start from the South Wales crew.

Next up, The Defiled put on a professional enough show but something is definitely lost in translation with their metalcore electronica. Despite throwing themselves around the stage, the band seem to take an age to chug through overlong songs, many of which you’ll probably hear done far better by other groups. The decent audience reaction implies the band are doing something right for the younger folk in attendance, but The Defiled surely have to break the mould if they’re truly going to stand out.

Gojira on the other hand seem to have destroyed the mould with Semtex before gathering up the pieces and firing them out of a nuclear sub, aiming squarely for Mosh City. The band are brutally tight, and bodies go thrashing around like shallow water sharks as the French mob slay the Academy. Their records, especially the recent L’enfant Sauvage, can leave you battered and bruised so its no surprise that in a live setting they grab you by the throat and toss you around like a rag doll until they’re done.

And then came the Ghouls. Creeping from the woodwork, Ghost‘s musicians take to the stage first, assuming their imposing positions as the ominous rumble of Jocelyn Pook’s Masked Ball reverberated throughout the venue. As the Ghouls struck up into Infestissumam, it was only a matter of time before his Unholy Cardinalship, Papa Emeritus emerged. Robe-clad and crook-wielding, Papa wastes no time in encouraging a roar from his black sheep as the band launch into a hypnotically pounding Per Aspera ad Inferi. Although the two openers are new songs from an as-yet unreleased album, both are still well received by the horde.

Up next, Con Clavi Con Dio from the band’s debut, Opus Eponymous, begins to make things a little more familiar, with the unmistakeable groove thrusting itself out over the throng. Wasting no time, Prime Mover hits next, beginning to stir the crowd into more than just a nod, whilst the already-a-classic Elizabeth gets the congregation singing along like a malevolent choir.

Another new track, albeit the one with the most pre-gig airplay thanks to its brilliant retro-fitted video, Secular Haze brings a carnival air to proceedings, with the Hammond-esque organ drilling thoughts of evil clowns and the darkest of magiks into your skull as Papa puts in a morose and terrifying performance.

The triumvirate of Stand By Him, Death Knell and Satan Prayer all sound incredible live, mixing pulsating riffs and smoky, hazy rhythm with hypnotic stage presence. The band combine brilliantly to provide amazingly accurae translations of the band’s 70s-influenced recorded output.

Closing couplet Year Zero and Ritual are equally enthralling, before a single encore of Monstrance Clock completes the unholy blessing, but you can’t help but think that something is missing…and it appears to be a crowd reaction.

The sinister sermon in full flow.

Presumably a combination of Gojira tearing the place apart mere minutes before, as well as the welcomingly cheap ticket price encouraging new, curious fans, the general mood appears to be one of wonder rather than windmilling. On the plus side, the lack of crowd energy does at times lend an additional sense of wonder to the occasion as many simply stand open mouthed at Papa and his Ghouls as they groove through an incredible set, but you can’t help but think the band deserve more.

There are a hell of a lot of people in the Academy, and numerous Ghost tees are dotted about the place, but something just doesn’t seem to click with the majority of fans. Initially encouraged by the sheer spectacle, quite a few in attendance do seem to drift off mid-set in mind if not in body.

Maybe this is the reaction that Ghost expect. After all, what they provide is a show in the purest sense, encouraging people to pay attention and admire the theatrics as well as the musicianship. You may also argue that the tunes they play could adequately be described as the Devil’s Disco; this is dancing music to all extents and purposes, being too groove-laden at times to be balls-out mosh material.

Either way, there seems to be some nervousness from Ghost about playing their own full headline tour on these shores, and that would be understandable if you took tonight in isolation; but this night was a showcase with no real main-eventer. With a decent supporting bill and carefully selected venues, Ghost are more than capable of laying down a papal pulverising to cities across the land, I just hope they realise there are enough of us worshipers out there to justify it.

BioShock Infinite: Sky High Delight Or Underwater Menace? SPOILER-FREE

Columbia: There’s a better home a-waiting.

I don’t usually review video games for a variety of reasons, the main one being that I never have the time these days to really plough through a game straight after release and then cobble together something that is both timely and reflective of the full experience.

There is, however, one exception to this rule. Back in 2007, 2K Games released an intriguing little shooter called BioShock. A spiritual successor to the System Shock games, the sinister underwater setting and core production values instantly installed the game as one of my all-time favourites, and I would go to bed at night with the Circus of Values chimes running over and over in my head. Finally a game had harnessed modern console power to produce a stunningly immersive experience and a storyline in which you actually gave two hoots about the main characters.

Six years on and after the not-quite-as-good BioShock 2, we finally get the game we’ve been waiting for; BioShock Infinite. Early trailers and screens had given away the theme, with 2K taking the setting from fathoms below the Earth to miles above it in the floating city of Columbia, its gleaming spires hiding something sinister within.

The story is pretty simple in theory, even going so far as to mirror the earliest of Donkey Kong games; rescue the girl. But that is where the simplicities end. As lead protagonist Booker DeWitt, you are charged with not only finding the girl in question, Elizabeth, but also uncovering exactly what debts you will be repaying by doing so, and exploring the majestic flying city as you do.

To cover off the full plot would take another 2000 words, and as the game really needs to be experienced I’m not going to go into too much detail here. It doesn’t give too much away to say that Columbia is governed by Father Zachary Comstock, leader of a group called the Founders who strive to keep Columbia orderly against the rising discontent of revolutionaries the Vox Populi. A self-proclaimed ‘Prophet’, Comstock spends his time warning his people against the coming of the False Shepherd who is said to be responsible for bringing about Columbia’s downfall.

The city is a brilliant dystopia, rivalling Rapture as a morally ambiguous haven for saints and sinners. Throughout the game, you’ll come across various other characters from businessmen and scientists to shopkeepers and slaves who you can choose to treat either with respect or disdain, depending on your reading of the game’s society and of your character’s motivation.

Weaponry comes in the form of the usual line-up of pistols, shotguns, machine guns, sniper rifles and RPGs, all of which can be upgraded to the hilt, whilst kit parcels hidden amongst Columbia’s buildings give you special abilities which can be swapped in and out depending on the enemy you’re fighting at the time.

Of course, you can’t have a BioShock game without some supernatural special powers and just as the original had plasmids, here we have vigors which provide you with magical, mystical abilities. Powered by salts, the vigors feature amongst their number the ability to unleash a quite literal murder of ravens upon your foes, the power to shoot Sith-like crackles of electricity at all and sundry, or a talent for possessing machines and humans to do your bidding. All of the vigors have a secondary ability too in the form of traps which can be laid in the path of on-rushing foes, adding a nice tactical element to proceedings.

The combination of weaponry (right trigger) and vigors (left) works exceptionally well, and you’ll quickly be raining bullets down on enemies before finishing them off with an electrical burst or bull in a china shop charge.

The other part of your arsenal is the Sky-Hook. Created for attaching yourself to the monorail system that coils around Columbia, the wrist-based hook can not only be used for speeding around the city, but also as a melee weapon with which to batter your opponents.

An integral part of the game is Elizabeth herself and again it isn’t really a spoiler to say that you will travel with her for some of your journey. Elizabeth serves a few purposes and most importantly, she looks after herself. The game would have been severely hampered if 2K had focused on you having to constantly watch her back, so it’s pleasing to see the young lady intelligently taking cover and even going so far as to search the surroundings, lobbing you salts, ammo or money when required. She can also pick locks and open tears in space and time, allowing you to ask her to bring through assistance such as turrets, drones or cover during some of the trickier battles.

Graphically, there is little that surpasses this game on modern consoles. The environments are varied enough without ever being jarring and seeing the city both sparkling in sunlight and shrouded in darkness are equally satisfying. Enemies are insanely designed enough for you to know that you’re in a BioShock game and despite Infinite being set a fair few years before the first two in the franchise, similar stylistic themes prevail.

A special mention should also go to the soundtrack. Not only are the voice actors involved all on top form (including veteran Troy Baker as Booker) the music throughout is everything from haunting to jolly to maniacal, topped off by a brilliant cover of Tears For Fears ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’.

So, is this game better than the first Bioshock? Possibly. It does look even better than its forebear, whilst the mechanics have been tweaked just enough so that it is familiar but also as tight as a gnat’s chuff.

There are a couple of minor quibbles, however. Medium difficulty generally gives you plenty of opportunity and cash to restock with ammo, but a random section suddenly provided me with zero ammunition for an extended length of time. Fortunately, this only served to make me more resourceful with my vigors and Sky-Hook. There are also a couple of ‘stuck in the scenery’ moments when the area you’re in becomes particularly dark (warning kids – don’t knock your brightness right down at the start) and the game also glitched once, refusing to let me past without a reboot, but presumably that will get fixed with a patch.

All in all, BioShock Infinite is a stunning game. As soon as I completed it I had to sit in awe, watching the credits and taking some deep breaths, trying to digest all that had been presented to me over a pretty mammoth 15+ hour journey through Columbia and beyond. 2K Games have delivered an astonishing, thinking person’s shooter that sucks you so far into its world, you’ll wonder if you or Booker will ever escape.

The Ten Commuting Commandments

Brought to you in association with Charlton Heston.

It’s no use pretending that commuting is easy. Considering we do it at the busiest times of day, surrounded by hundreds of people all with their own agenda, it was never going to be the most fun part of the working week. Fortunately, there are some simple rules to follow which I picked up on a recent commute to Mount Sinai…

1) Thou shalt always move down the carriage

Possibly the golden rule of commuting on all forms of transport, there is very little point in simply boarding a vehicle and then just standing there at the nearest available area. The herd behind you still need to board and so you’re delaying your own journey. It’s a relatively simple equation and one that makes even more sense when the aisle spec actually gives you MORE room than being pig-penned in when the train fills up further at the next stop. Expect me to shout if you don’t do this. As Bobby Brown quite rightly once commented, that’s my prerogative.

2) Thou shalt not pay for purchases under £5 with thy Switch card

Whether I’m in a hurry or killing time waiting for a delayed train, there isn’t anything more frustrating than being behind someone in Starbucks who is using a card to make a regulation loose change payment. We don’t live in a cashless society, and the use of cards simply causes a myriad of mis-read chips, declined transactions and machine failures that could be avoided via the use of old fashioned pound notes. This one is intrinsically linked to the unwritten eleventh commandment about sensible cashpoint usage; you can usually guarantee that there are other ATMs available other than those directly next to the station platforms, so stop queuing in a triple snake of 400 people and getting in my way.

3) Thou shalt not conduct banal conversation

There are a few occasions when it is acceptable to speak to someone on a train:

a) When asking the conductor for a ticket.

b) When apologising for accidentally bumping into someone due to a sudden train sway.

c) Asking someone to move themselves and their increasingly offensive family of mouthbreathers out of your way so you can either move down the aisle (see Commandment 1) or somehow extricate yourself from the rickety deathtrap.

Every other reason for opening your stupid trap on public transport is entirely unacceptable. Do I care that Margaret is back in the ‘hospikal’? No. Am I bothered about how you got to the station and how much traffic there was? No. Do I need to know what you had for tea last night (bearing in mind I can probably still smell it)? No. Keep all thoughts to yourself.

How to make friends on the train.

4) Thou shalt not make friends on public transport

Sometimes this can go hand in hand with the above, leading to dangerously repetitive conversations spilling over from the previous day. Presumably, if I have overheard that same joke before (accompanied by that same forced laugh) then you’re a pretty boring dullard and your accomplice is only speaking to you out of sympathy and because you historically assumed the same spec on the platform. This practice is very risky, and can lead to going for coffee or even an alcoholic beverage together. Be warned.

5) Thou shalt not bring thine own wheels onto public transport

Ah, the bicycle. A wonderful invention for a weekend jaunt into the countryside or a quick trip to the shops in the daytime in order to save the ozone layer. But let’s face it, it isn’t for carrying around with you like some sort of wheeled handbag. If you’re so serious about being a helmeted lycra-clad warrior, then maybe consider sitting on your little saddle and moving your legs in a circular motion? The trend of taking bikes on trains (without having to pay extra for the additional space taken, natch) is getting worse with the now-mandatory Brompton hate machines turning up in each carriage. Handy tip – in the time it’s taken you to transform your Decepticon, I’ve walked to work.

6) Thou shalt have thine ticket ready for inspection

Picture the scene; you get the same train to the same station every single day. You’re in a rush. So why is the last thing you bother to think of to prepare your annual gazillion quid pass for inspection once disembarked? It isn’t hard to keep it in the same pocket, or maybe even in a special pouch on your utility belt, so please don’t make me walk straight into you as if I’m performing a particularly violent piece of early-morning anal savagery whilst you fumble about. It’ll only end in tears. Oh, and you’ve just missed that connecting train.

7) Thou shalt not read large newspapers in enclosed spaces

Common sense once again, if we’re all cramped up like a jar of particularly over-friendly anchovy fillets, there probably isn’t room for you to whip out your daily rag. Even more importantly, if you decided instead to pull out your mobile telecommunication device and boot up the icon labelled “Internet”, you’d probably find news that is less than a week old anyway. I can probably reveal today what will be in next week’s editions of the litterer’s favourite “Metro” anyway:

• Man makes pair of shoes out of lobsters.
• Leathery celebrity mistaken for antique bedside table.
• Being alive makes you dead one day.

Newspapers on trains – it’s what Kindles were invented for.

8) Thou shalt not buy leaky headphones

Let’s face it, very few people have exactly the same taste in music, so it’s pretty frustrating when even your own headphones can’t drown out the wailing of the latest R&B chart-botherer or the jungle bass crunk of a dance floor anthem. The only positive spin on this is my invention of the soon-to-be-turned-into-a-TV-show-hosted-by-Ant-’N'-Dec game, Leaky Headphone ShazamTM. Not only does being able to use your own mobile device to identify the track in question highlight the biggest offenders, it also tells you which are the latest, most hateful ‘artists’ in the hit parade. Two wins for the price of one.

9) Thou shalt not bring an entourage of children and shopping bags onto commuter trains.

The scourge of many a commuter, the last minute dash for a soon to be departing train is acceptable when unavoidably delayed, but not when you’re too self-important to avoid busier times and laden with 739 bags of tat from your once a year trip to town. Let’s face it, all you’ve spent the past five hours doing is trying to squeeze your fifty stone frame into a £4.99 Primark bikini for ‘yours holidays’. No excuse for being late. And leave your caterwauling lifestyle choice on the OUTSIDE of the train next time would you?

Ecco – Texting away on his very own TransPennine Express.

10) Thou shalt set ALL mobile device tones to ‘off’.

The fact that I can no longer count on both of my hands AND feet the number of times I have assumed Ecco the Dolphin is aboard the same train as me, clicking away, is deeply, deeply disturbing. I really have no idea what people get from having keypad tones set to tap-tap mode, other than it being some form of reminder that their hearing still works, or that they are still alive despite their obvious lack of mental capability. Also on this list are those still chuckling to themselves at their ‘hilarious’ “Help! I’m in your pocket!” ringtones, along with the clown car horn honk and the radar text alert. For clarity, no, you’re not a ship’s captain or a kidnapper. Well actually, you might be. And you’re definitely a clown…

Bars, Booze and Burgers – The Manchester Drinking Scene

Apotheca – Where it all began.

If there’s one thing I love about Manchester, it’s the plethora of friendly, intelligent, witty folk who write about the city’s food and drink scene. If you’re ever struggling for inspiration on where to take a new hot date (or to break up with an ugly, older model) a quick search through the Twitter machine will give you all manner of fantastic ideas.

It was after reading one such foodie blog recently that I came to a realisation; other than my two eating competition articles and my general missive on alcohol, I’ve never actually written a food or drink piece on this blog myself.

I gave a bit of an overview of my pub habits back in the aforementioned booze blog, but as I trotted around the Northern Quarter the other Friday, I began to realise just how much the city and its social scene had changed. At first, I thought I was getting a bit old and neurotic (well, older and more neurotic) but having sounded out other people, times definitely seem to be changing; and to try to figure out why I thought I’d recount how it all began.

The Early Years 2001-2005

I moved to Manchester in late 2001, but my first proper experience of city centre pubs came at the back-end of 2003. Before this time, my weekend shopping trips to town usually just involved the standard luncheon fayre of The Printworks (an easy option when unaware of everything else that the city had to offer) with Norwegian Blue, Old Orleans and Henry J Beans taking my hard earned cash from me in exchange for a pile of horse burgers and nachos.

The Peveril Of The Peak – What’s not to like about a place that looks like this?

As i got to know the crew where i worked down Oxford Road in 2003, Friday lunchtime trips to the pub became de rigeur, and tended to be to more ‘traditional’ boozers. The local for the guys at work had long been The Peveril of the Peak, a bizarrely named pub with traditional opening hours, tucked away from prying eyes down Great Bridgewater Street. The Pev is a great old place full of snugs, local nutters and that comforting smell of wet dog. Yes, it can get a bit claustrophobic in there on a moist Friday night, but for a bit of banter of a lunchtime, it was ideal.

On occasion, we’d mix it up with Rain Bar (good for outdoor drinking on Manchester’s two sunny days of the year), The Paramount (big Wetherspoons, cheap decent ale, but it’s still Wetherspoons for crying out loud) or the now defunct Kro2. Eventually we settled on a new local as we were looking for something that catered for us on a night out, and the lucky recipient of our custom was The Thirsty Scholar. Renowned at the time for its sticky floor, and, er, having Bud on tap, the Scholar was actually a top notch meeting spot, eventually getting retro table-top video games and an outdoor decking area.

I still pop into the Scholar on occasion, usually when en route to a gig at the Academy, and it never fails to impress with its great ales, admirable vegan ethics and friendly staff. It’s amazing to have such good boozers relatively far from the centre itself, and between the Scholar and the amazing Big Hands, I’m forever spoilt for choice before a show.

We tried to keep things fresh between 2003 and 2005 by going to The Lass O’Gowrie a fair bit. The Lass is still a great, award winning pub, and Manchester’s retro gaming and Doctor Who Mecca, featuring regular meetings  and themed nights to this day. Another slice of old Manc, The Lass prides itself on snugs and traditional values and it’s also one of the few pubs in Manchester to show rugby on its big screens. The crowd you get in there is a great mix of old hands and young students, all there for the same purpose; to have a good time.

The other pub we frequented in those days was the Temple. An odd concept, this former public convenience is a tiny little bar with great continental bottled beers and Krombacher on tap. I’ve been there when its been both empty and really busy, but on either occasion it’s a great pub to hit up for a cosy drink or two, with its amazing, locally-themed jukebox and comedy scrawls in the toilets.

Strangely, other than the odd leaving do in Revolution, I don’t really recall visiting bars such as Odder or Joshua Brooks when i worked down that end of town, whilst The Briton’s Protection and Sandbar were probably just that little bit too far away for those who just wanted a quick half in their lunch hour or before their train home. We did hit up Space and Font on occasion, the now-defunct former being a good bet for some decent food, whilst the latter served (and still does) some of the cheapest cocktails in Manchester.

Looking at the area now, it’s great to see that the majority of the old stagers are happily co-existing with the new wave of Gorilla, Black Dog Ballroom NWS and Whim Wham Cafe, giving some great, varied options for a decent night out in the south of the city.

Sam’s Chop House – A Proper Pub For Proper People.

It was around this time too that I first sampled the Chop Houses that Manchester offers. Both Sam’s and Thomas’s have amazing food, great ale, and a more mature vibe than a lot of the pubs in town, with Sam’s in particular being the closest you’re going to get to a ‘local’ in such a major city centre, and it now serves us dutifully for all our rugby-watching needs. That mid-area of Manchester is definitely the place for ‘proper’ pubs from the Town Hall Tavern near Albert Square all the way down to The Old Nag’s Head and the Sawyer’s Arms on Deansgate. If anyone ever tries to tell you that the city is just full of trendy bars and 1980s dives, then you can point them there and tell them to get a grip of their lives with a large slice of self-confidence that they’ll find somewhere to suit.

Manchester truly does cater for all sorts, and if it’s after a ‘Diversity’ badge to sew onto its Cub Scout uniform, it certainly has that, and the city is showing few signs of slowing down either. As much as new bars are springing up, there are still a fair few golden oldies going strong and even a new Chop House (Albert’s) has opened up in recent years.

Up to the here and now 2005-2013

When moving jobs, you get an insight into a whole different culture, and this also went for the drinking habits of my new workplace as I switched from the south of the city to the north in late 2005. Initially, the culture was again one of lunchtime drinking, with a lot of the team nipping for a half at least every Friday, if not the rest of the week, and it usually took a leaving do, Birthday drink or agency party to get a big crowd out and about for a full evening of drunken debauchery.

The main lunchtime drinking holes this time were places like the Ducie Bridge or Sinclair’s Oyster Bar (still probably the cheapest pub in town, albeit now overrun by the local whack jobs and psychopaths).

Centro – Shabby until the end.

In the evenings, this was the point at which a few of us ended up in Northern Quarter bars for the first time, usually the more established ones such as Cord, Fringe (beer garden! Well, beer car park!) Centro and, God help us, Bluu. Largely, the NQ of the time was a quieter part of town full of thoughtful important haircuts and those after a little slice of Bohemia. It still got a bit busier on Fridays but the friendly, community vibe kept idiots away and ensured the regulars were well catered for,

Even I wasn’t that much of a frequent flyer on the NQ hipstercopter at this time, but then in late 2008, something happened. Apotheca opened. Practically on our work doorstep, the place had Asahi on the pumps, excellent, friendly staff tweaking the nozzles, tables freely available at one minute past five on a Friday and lovely pizza only next door in its sister restaurant Dough. The opening of this pub happily coincided with a time when many of us like-minded early-to-mid-20s guys and dolls were starting to really focus on our careers and as the ‘work hard, play hard’ vibe began to ring true, it was guaranteed that everyone was in a shared mindset come Friday afternoon. Beer o’clock.

Often taking over most of the back bar, the Friday Drinking Crew as it would be known had many, many regulars and also picked up numerous new recruits along the way through friends of friends. It didn’t matter if you were only out for one or two or 20, it was time to shoot the shit at 5.01pm and let off some steam in the company of many like-minded individuals. In fact, it became so standard, the pre-pub email conversation at 4.30pm would be:
“?”
“Y”
And that was enough to know the time and place for Friday drinking each and every week.

We did mix it up a bit, mainly during the summer when we’d always fruitlessly try and search out a beer garden (always to no avail), but on the whole, we’d be propping up the Apotheca bar every Friday from five until 11 for months on end. Eventually we experimented with late night trips to Illusions (or Magic Bar as we always called it) in The Printworks, usually when only a few of us remained, but after it closed we ended up sticking to our NQ guns more and more.

The Almost Famous Christmas Burger – epic doesn’t even cover it.

Since Apotheca opened, we’ve seen an explosion in the NQ. The Blue Pig, Bakerie, Hula, Noho, Barcelona, Marble, Port Street Beer House, Black Dog Ballroom, The Northern, Almost Famous, Solita, Terrace, Home Sweet Home, The Whiskey Jar, Kosmonaut, Walrus (later Hunky Dory), Tusk and the bizarrely named R-House have all opened, whilst Centro became Tib Street Tavern, Rodeo became Keko Moku and most recently, the legendary Socio Rehab converted itself into the SuperCaliMexiFragilistic Lust Luck Liquor & Burn.

Nestling in alongside the old guard, all of these pubs offered something a bit different. Pool in Black Dog, craft ale in Port Street, the best burgers known to man in Almost Famous, football in Tib Street or hardcore zombie annihilation in Keko Moku. The Northern Quarter certainly changed massively, but why?

Because it had to. As much as everyone likes a good niche or a best kept secret, businesses in this day and age simply cannot survive without masses of custom. Take Centro. I was in there on Michael Jackson Death Night TM, and we were pretty much the only people in there. Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to get straight to the bar and to get a seat, but I’m not naive enough to think that a pub can survive on Friday and Saturday trade alone. In fact, in Centro’s case, it tended not to be hugely busy at weekends either and the increasingly shabby interior suggested it was almost relying solely on its status as an NQ pioneer to keep its doors open.

The Great Northern Warehouse area of town has always been relatively isolated. Okay it’s near enough to the more mainstream Deansgate Locks, and the hugely enjoyable Knott Bar, but over time the Warehouse seems to have had a higher turnover of bars than Guns N’ Roses have had guitarists. Recently though, the area seems to have become more stable, with Epernay offering great champagne cocktails and Taps’ quirky ‘pour your own’ schtick bringing customers in from far and wide. The impact of Spinningfields’ redevelopment to this wider area can’t be ignored either. Initially just a couple of office blocks with a Gourmet Burger Kitchen and a Natwest, the place has now exploded into life with Alchemist, The Oast House, Neighbourhood, The Liquor Store, Southern 11, Yacht Club (then Ski Club), and Revolucion de Cuba all in the vicinity, attracting suits and students alike.

So what’s happened to the old school city centre drinker? Largely, and this is solely through my sometimes inebriated eyes, people are flitting about between areas more and more. The NQ used to be the best place for a crawl, but with a large number of bars in close proximity in Spinningfields and in the Whitworth Street West vicinity, people have so much choice that a relatively small city centre has expanded massively. You can dabble in ale, cocktails, and regulation lager, or maybe you fancy partaking in a tiki tipple, traditional pub grub or underground speakeasies. Either way, you’re going to find something in Manchester to cater for every occasion, and that is why I love it as much as I do.

You may think from this blog that I’ve experienced pretty much everything Manchester has to offer, but that really isn’t the case at all. I’ve never really spent much time in Dry Bar or Night & Day and I’ve only had the briefest of trips to Mother Mac’s, The Wheatsheaf, The Castle Hotel and Gulliver’s. I also still have yet to sample Band On The Wall or Matt & Phred’s or The Frog & Bucket comedy club despite their famous status, whilst the majority of The Printworks is still pretty alien to me, and will hopefully remain that way.

I’ve dabbled in the Piccadilly area’s least salubrious boozers, taking in The Waldorf for the footy, The Sevenoaks for late night quiz machine fun and the Garden’s own Wetherspoons for a rogue shot of Apple Sourz. Kro has become a standard watering hole for a quick stop off on the way to the train as well as being our traditional Christmas Eve drinking spot, whilst Fab Cafe is a late night temptation for sci-fi stomping.

Brewdog Manchester – A Little Slice Of Northern In A Very Different Quarter.

Across the rest of the centre there are still parts of student-ville further down Oxford Road that I have yet to take in, having only been to Sandbar, The Footage and The Deaf Institute a couple of times each, whilst Deansgate and Spinningfields still both have a couple of establishments left to try. The promise of further regeneration of the Peter Street area is also interesting. Kickstarted by Brewdog’s NQ snub, Trof and others are soon to move into premises that were for so long renowned for violence and general drunken idiocy.

So, that’s where we are. Choice has massively increased. Bandwagons have been clambered upon, and we’ve all become a little older and more cynical. Will my drinking habits change as the Printworks overspill claim even more of the Northern Quarter? Probably. As I said at the start of this ramble, the Friday night crowd is becoming more and more like the one I went so out of my way all those years ago to avoid. The one saving grace seems to be that bar owners are feeling the same way and are already ahead of the game, coming up with new ideas and venues to keep us interested even in our advancing years. One thing is for sure, I’m certainly not going to be short of a watering hole for many years to come.

The Commuter Scoring System

Regular subscribers here and to my Twitter feed will be more than aware that I have lots of fun each and every day dealing with transport, the general public; pretty much life in general. To sum up how my mind works on a day to day basis, I’ve decided to reveal the factors that determine just how miserable I’m likely to be on any given morning.

I begin each day with 100 Morning Points, but a selection of events can make this rise or fall, and here are just a few examples of how:
(Note – these are in no way copyrighted by me, so feel free to play along at home. And when you hear this noise *ting*, please turn the page).

Minus 456 points.

-10 points for having to get up at 5.30am.
-10 points for the bus being late.
Additional -5 points if it’s so late you miss your train.
-5 points for every banal conversation overheard before having a chance to insert headphones.
+10 points for seeing someone run for the train only to have the doors shut in their face.
-20 points if it is you.
-10 points if the train is so busy you are massively interfered with.
+5 points refunded if it’s by a fitty.
+10 points for beating Running Man out of the station.
+15 points for your preferred Starbucks staff being on duty and having your coffee ready before you’ve even ordered it.
+5 points for Mentalist Man making beheading gestures.
+10 points for seeing someone trip up the stairs in Piccadilly Station.
Additional +5 points if they were carrying coffee.
+5 points for getting your favourite spec on the tram.
-10 points for the tram breaking down or being insufferably slow.
+5 points per fare-dodging scumbag getting hoisted off the tram and publicly ridiculed at Pomona.
-5 points for every copy of the Metro left on a public transport seat.
-5 points for each person getting the work lift to anything lower than the Third Floor.

Generally I am left with so few points each morning that my life force ebbs away like the skeleton graphic on Knightmare, leaving me a withered old bag of bones by the time I hit work. Nevertheless I get on with it, and look forward to out-scoring myself the very next day.

You can of course extend this into a fully-fledged game of Commuter Bingo, and to give you an example of a potential scoring system, see the gallery below. Enjoy.

Purple Rain – 10 points

Fatty Fat Fat – Minus 10 points

Where’s Wally + Brompton = Minus 15 points.

Harry Potter crew! Plus 10 points

Little Lunch Bag – Minus 10

Gigantor Woman – Plus 10.

Cross-legged like a Turk – minus 10

Local idiots – minus 15 points

Brompton – Lose all daily points

Stupid Trouser Man – minus 10

Goblin Brompton – Plus five points for comedy value

Safari Suit – 10 points

The Affs Awards 2012 – Album Of The Year

Following the difficult job of picking my live highlights of the past 12 months, choosing my top long players of 2012 was even more tricky. Nevertheless, I’ve struggled on like the brave soldier that I am, and here, for your delectation, are the top four (who said three or five were the best way to do these things?) including the winner of The Affs Award 2012 for Album Of The Year.

4) Therapy? ‘A Brief Crack Of Light’

Therapy? Have been my favourite band for a hell of a long time, going all the way back to ’91/’92′s one-two punch of the seminal Babyteeth and Pleasure Death mini albums. But being someone’s favourite band arguably makes a band’s job harder with each new release. Therapy? have never really been a band to churn out the same old shtick time and time again, refusing to bow to current trends or producing obvious sequels to previous output, so buying a new T? record is always an exciting time.

Returning after a three-year touring spree off the back of the brilliant ‘Crooked Timber’, Therapy? posted a video for the track ‘Living In The Shadow of A Terrible Thing’ online in early 2012. Their trademark sound cut through the song with the underlying groove of bassist Michael McKeegan setting up an urgent, almost mechanical chorus. Definitely a good sign of what was to come, and when ‘A Brief Crack of Light’ was released in full the next month it completely lived up to expectations.

I still remember way back in 1995 when picking up my copy of ‘Infernal Love’ what a shock it was as the band moved into more epic, morose territory after the instant pop-punk hooks of their breakthrough ‘Troublegum’ CD. With ‘A Brief Crack of Light’, Therapy?’s sound is even more rounded and mature, but this isn’t a boring album by any stretch of the imagination. There are some really jarring, challenging tracks among the 10 on offer, with ‘Plague Bell’ and ‘The Buzzing’ offering staccato nails to the back of the neck whilst ‘Get Your Dead Hand Off My Shoulder’ mixes a bleak soundscape with forward-thinking lyrics about the need to break free from the norm. Something which Therapy? have consistently delivered upon over an impressive two decades.

‘A Brief Crack of Light’ is a hugely diverse album, mixing themes of bleak desolation and mental illness with the positivity of revolution to incredible effect. This isn’t a concept album by any stretch of the imagination, but the angular songs feel like brothers, birthed by a twin-headed mother of creation and death. Brilliant stuff from a band that show no signs of letting up from their trademark fiery spirit.

3) Fighting With Wire ‘Colonel Blood’

The mid-90s saw numerous brilliant bands emerge from nowhere, get decent record deals and then promptly become lost in the shuffle due to the insta-hit nature of the MTV generation’s musical swing-o-meter.

Bands such as Kerbdog and Baby Chaos struggled on for a couple of albums despite the flavour of the month attitudes of the record industry at the time, and luckily they left us with some classic songs and incendiary gigs to remember them by.

Fast forward nearly 20 years and we’re seeing another boom. Fan power has taken over and any band can get such a push through social media that they could see themselves playing to thousands within a few short months as word spreads across the country. Twin Atlantic have done just this, jumping from 500 capacity venues to nigh on 3000 person sell-outs in just over a year. But we’re not here to talk about Twin Atlantic, as good as they are. No, we’re here to talk about the next band who threaten to hit it big, Fighting With Wire.

If you’d asked me who the band were at the start of 2012, I probably would have responded with “who? Writing With Fire?” and laughed in your insistent face. But on one night, as I waited for the headliners at Sound Control in Manchester, I realised what the fuss was about.

Fighting With Wire have been around for ten years now, but despite getting decent slots at Download and Sonisphere and the backing of Zane Lowe, the band had been fighting for two years to get their second album, ‘Colonel Blood’ released. Finally, in 2012 they were ready, and to promote it, they toured the UK with hardcore godfathers Helmet. A decent enough crowd had assembled that night in Manchester by the time FWW took to the stage and as they kicked off with ‘Into The Ground’ I was taken straight back to the days of surprise package support acts.

The three piece are raw, energetic, passionate and catchy as hell, so I had no hesitation in getting my hands on said sophomore album after that one gig.

Tracks such as ‘Waiting On a Way To Believe’ show an instant pop rock hook, comparable to the much-missed Joyrider, whilst the title track pilfers the Kerbdog crown by doing what the Kilkenny three-piece did so well; writing crunchy, melodic hits, full of sing-along live potential.

Fighting With Wire aren’t content with just paying homage to such great acts though, and as ‘Erase You’, ‘Dead Memory’ and ‘Didn’t Wanna Come Back Home’ get your foot tapping with their soaring melodies you soon discover the band’s own sound.

The album contains brilliantly crafted, modern rock anthems throughout, and you can bet that with a few more high-profile live support slots, these guys are going to be huge.

2) Black Moth ‘The Killing Jar’

The beauty of the modern-day musical landscape is that you can stumble upon bands like Fighting With Wire by pure accident and suddenly they become your band of the year. But 2012 didn’t just throw up one surprise package, oh no. Another bunch of young upstarts threw me a bunch of dirty riffs and I was only too happy to respond with a trip to the merch stand to get that music into my ears permanently, and that band were Black Moth.

Before my trip to Nottingham to see Turbowolf, a friend had mentioned the ‘Moth were worth checking out after hearing them on 6 Music, so I made sure I got down there early to see what the fuss was about.

Black Moth are a multi-limbed beast of a groove machine and this is brilliantly personified in live opener ‘Blackbirds Fall’. The opening riff strikes you square in the mouth, embedding itself there like a fuzzy facehugger before Harriet Bevan’s vocals arrive to kiss you better with their seductive tone.

This is a band once again not taking themselves too seriously but playing for the fun of it. Yes, they’re a serious band but they get up on stages of all shapes and sizes to throw down some riffs and make sure everyone has a damn good time, an ethic that is reflected throughout the whole of ‘The Killing Jar’.

The doomy, stoner tone of the album references so many varied influences from QOTSA to Kyuss, mixing in the rock and roll swagger of Black Spiders, the hypnotic sludge of Sabbath, an almost occult 60s/70s tone akin to Blood Ceremony and plenty more all the way through to the modern metal of recent tourmates Turbowolf.

The Leeds five-piece show some serious songwriting chops too, particularly with ‘Land of the Sky”s buzzy, head-thumping groove, ‘Chicken Shit’ throwing its bile all over the carpet and ‘Spit Out Your Teeth”s runaway locomotive crescendo.

What you have here is a band who sound just as good in your bedroom as they do live, and by throwing in five decades worth of inspiration, Black Moth have emerged from their chrysalis with wings full of doomy glory.

1) Ginger Wildheart ’555%’

There can be only one.

Over the past couple of years one man has gently been reminding us that he never really went away and that for over 20 years he’s been working his backside off for the love of music with true empathy for the people who make it all happen, the fans. That man is Ginger.

Yes I’ve been a fan of the guy’s various musical output since the early 90s, but these are not the views of a sycophantic fanboy, what Ginger is doing these days is entirely on another level.

Back in August 2011, Ginger announced that he was to make a fan-funded 30 track album based on years of unfinished, unrecorded work. Going via the route of Pledge Music, a fledgling concept in independent music production, the project hit 100% of its target within six hours and it was from there that the album took on a whole new meaning.

With a range of vinyl and CD versions available to pledgers, Ginger eventually announced that once the campaign hit ’555%’ the physical copies of the album would be withdrawn from sale. Achieving this feat within the next three days, an expectant 5,000 or so pledgers sat with bated breath and when the downloadable versions of the tracks were released, those who had already paid up were awarded the privilege of being able to choose which 12 tracks should make up ’100%’, the commercially available version of the record.

But what about the music itself? One worry could have been that these off-cuts were unreleased for a reason. Others may have been concerned that without the focus of nailing a lower number of tracks, Ginger’s usually spot-on quality control might waver and that standards may suffer.

All I can say is, don’t be so bloody silly. My beautifully packaged physical copy of ’555%’ landed on my doormat one Saturday morning in May 2012, and I have not stopped listening to it since.

’555%’ truly has something for everyone ensconced within its poppy/rocky/punky/trashy/groovy/ballady (note: some of these may not be real words) interior. Kicking off with the trademark, swaggering ‘Forget About It’ which wouldn’t be out-of-place on the greatest of Wildhearts records, the record throws instant classics at you like a particularly angry Donkey Kong. ‘I-N-T-E-R-N-A-L Radio’ is a catchy little oik, fusing together some soaring pop-rock melodies, whilst ‘Incidental Noises’ takes a little more of a psychedelic route into your inner ear.

‘Deep In The Arms Of Morpheus’ has been knocking around in unrecorded form for years, with Ginger previously mentioning he wrote it when he was only 19, and on ’555%’ the track becomes an absolutely epic slab of modern rock balladry. The similarly monumental ‘Time’ rounds off the first CD with a perfect seven and a half minutes of clock chimes, Beatles-tinged melody and furious riffy idiosyncrasy.

The second disc begins with possibly the finest moment of the whole package, ‘Another Spinning Fucking Rainbow’. This megaphone screeching, bleep-a-thon of a funker throws in some truly bonkers noise before veering towards country and western territory. Not to be outdone, following track ‘Westward Ho! (A New Reputation)’ does little to quell the nerves of traditionalists with its calypso metal mash-up.

The challengingly-titled ‘Do The Lonely Suffer More, Or Less, Or Just The Same At The Point Of Death?’ brings an 80s New Order/Depeche Mode feel to begin with, before dropping some Beach Boys crooning and trad-Ginger riffs along a rollercoaster four minutes. ‘The Other Side’ is a beautiful little number showing just why Ginger decided to do a whole album featuring just himself and vocalist Victoria Liedtke (on the upcoming Hey! Hello! Pledge Music album), whilst ‘Lover, It’ll All Work Out’ is a brilliantly catchy love song, possibly even one of Ginger’s all-time best.

‘Taste Aversion’, already a live favourite, is pure, twisted musical genius. No doubt thanks to some Random Jon Poole-influenced eccentricity, the song’s seemingly drug-referencing lyrics spiral into a mellow false sense of security before a furious dive into a death metal blast followed by a calming lift muzak escape.

The third CD is no way the lesser of the whole package as the electronic stomper ‘Confusion’ and the riffy ‘Beautifully, Blissfully Unsettled’ attest. Oddball track ‘Very, Very Slow’ proves that all the punk ferocity is still alive and well in Ginger’s merry band of hugely talented musical allies, whilst ‘Just Another Song About Someone’ is a swaying piece of beautiful melody, composed perfectly for some brilliant future acoustic performances.

Campfire singalong “We’ve Been Expecting You My Dear’ coupled with the no-brainer album closer ‘The End’ keep the sky-high levels of quality going right up until the lead-out groove, and despite the whole package being so massive an undertaking, your first urge is to go right back to the start immediately for round two. There’s no question whatsoever that this is an absolutely enthralling, phenomenal, must-buy musical journey that blows pretty much every other release of the past year, possibly the decade, so clean out of the water there’s not even a skidmark remaining.

It isn’t too bold a statement to suggest that what Ginger has done with ’555%’ is game-changing. It’s a whole new musical model fit just as much for old school values as it is for modern buying habits. He may not have invented the concept, but by packing the album with so much value and incredible music, Ginger has put a marker down for others to either follow or find themselves coming up very short indeed.

The Affs Awards 2012 – Gig of the Year

Therapy?’s Andy Cairns – Going nowhere.

Regular readers may remember that last year saw the inaugural Affs Awards for services to music in the shape of Gig and Album of the Year, won by Terrorvision and Black Spiders respectively.

After the pretty mammoth write up of the year in live music that’s just gone up on this very blog, it’s time for the real big hitters to battle it out for a second set of prestigious gongs as I take a look at who shone from the stage in 2012.

This time round, I’ve picked seven gigs which really stood out to talk about in a bit more detail. This in itself was a tough task as I don’t think I saw a poor performance from anyone at any of the 28 shows I attended in 2012 so I’m certainly not going to try and pick between too many of the runners up as they’re all worthy of a special mention.

Bush have long been a band who I could listen to whatever mood I’m in. Their debut album, Sixteen Stone is still one of my favourite ever CDs, and although I lost touch with their output at around four albums in, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to go and see them for the first time in nearly two decades. I wrote up my experiences of that night immediately after and reading it back now, I think that the only bad thing about the show was the lack of initial excitement from a disappointing crowd. Gavin Rossdale and co should be congratulated for overcoming this and laying down a marker for younger bands as to how to stay relevant and energised over the years.

Another show I wrote up earlier in the year was Chris Cornell’s astonishing solo gig at the Lowry Theatre. Not being a fan of festivals or massive arena gigs, I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see Cornell live, and to finally be able to do so, seeing him enjoy an intimate time with the audience made for one of those occasions that was an honour to be a part of. It also once again proved just what a talented songwriter the guy is, combing Soundgarden, Temple Of The Dog, Audioslave and solo work with a selection of covers that beautifully complemented his unmistakeable style. During a mesmerising Hunger Strike I even felt a tear or two in my usually cold, calculating peepers; stunning stuff indeed.

Chris Cornell – Show me the power child.

Saying that the Cornell gig was the peak of grunge hero worship for 2012 would do disservice to another legend of that era. Eddie Vedder produced a remarkable, standout show at the Manchester Apollo enjoying banter with the crowd which brought some light into what is a pretty melancholic audio output. The only thing this show may have benefitted from was a change of venue as the setup of the place did little to discourage what can only be classed as ‘knobheads’ from chattering and disrupting the flow of the acoustic set. Tickets weren’t cheap so it was a surprise to see so many people not paying full attention. Nevertheless, Vedder and a courageous Glen Hansard supporting (who at one point unplugged his guitar to FORCE everyone to shut up and pay attention) were on top form.

Terrorvision – Always welcome in my house.

Last year’s Gig of the Year award winners, Terrorvision toured again in 2012, and this was a show I was itching to get involved in. Last time round I hadn’t heard their brilliant new album Super Delux, but now fully prepped with all the lyrics ensconced in my music mind, I was all set to holler along for 90 minutes of pure pop rock fun. As with last year, T’vision put on the bounciest of shows, plastering grins on the faces of the most long in the tooth fans in attendance, with a 24-song annihilation of rainy Manchester misery.

Time for the big three, and it’s here where I start to feel really spoilt for choice. The last four years of me returning to regular gig-going has coincided with some of my all time favourite bands playing live, arguably at the peak of their powers, and it was one such band, Therapy? Who got me back into the world of gigs that short while ago.

Throughout my youth, Therapy? were the one band that myself and most of my friends all adored. We saw them in the most bizarre of settings, supporting Metallica at Donington in 1995 as well as at various shows in Bristol, Newport, Sheffield, and now in Manchester and following the release of the excellent A Brief Crack Of Light, Therapy? finally tore up stages across the country towards the end of 2012.

The beauty of seeing bands that have been knocking around for 20-odd years is that you’re guaranteed a fair few of your favourites from the greatest hits. Admittedly, this must be a nightmare for the bands themselves to try and balance alongside promoting their latest material, but nevertheless, you’re going to please most of the people most of the time, and it was incredible to witness Therapy? kick off their set with their cover of ‘Isolation’ by Manchester’s most miserable monkeys, Joy Division.

As they worked their way through pretty much every classic you’d want to hear as well as stunning renditions of their latest tracks, the show was another great example of bands seeming more relaxed these days with less pressure from record labels and industry idiots forcing them to work against their will. That’s not to say that the set wasn’t challenging and provocative, with a stark ‘The Buzzing’ providing a real stand-and-watch moment, the likes of which we hadn’t seen since the band first played ‘Diane’ live. But when Therapy? have raucous tunes like ‘Knives’ and the still box-fresh ‘Screamager’, you know you’re going to have a damn good night.

Therapy? – Unbeliever-ble

Another not dissimilar night makes my number two selection; the Jagermeister Tour at Bristol Academy. With tickets only £5, the show sold out with only headliners Skindred and support (yes, them again) Therapy? announced for the bill. Fortunately, I had locked in my tickets despite not even liking the ragga-metal headliners, and so when Black Spiders and Turbowolf were named as the other supports I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat chomping on a particularly tasty piece of cheese.

The ‘Wolf on this night, playing their hometown, really threw down the gauntlet for all that followed with a mesmerising show of eccentricity and musical genius. It’s still astonishing to think where these guys have got to in a relatively short period of time, and it’s a credit to them that their single album (and couple of EPs) are still so listen-able after a few hundred spins.

Black Spiders hadn’t let me down in 2011, and as this tour was a bit of a one off for them in 2012 other than a handful of festival appearances, they really seemed to turn it up to 11, if that’s even possible after some incredible shows the previous year. Slaying the crowd with as much guitar-aloft fun as anyone could really handle, the Spiders got the place jumping at a pretty early hour, proving that the crowd didn’t need copious shots of the sponsor’s finest beverage to get themselves moving.

It’s tricky to choose between Therapy?’s two shows I saw this year but as this one was the first time I’d seen them in about three years, plus the fact the previous two bands were so strong, this one nicks it. Right down the front with many like-minded long-term fans, the new material on display was perfectly played and appreciated. ‘Teethgrinder’ and ‘Die Laughing’ are utterly timeless tracks, whilst ‘Get Your Dead Hand Off My Shoulder’ felt like it was an old buddy of ‘Exiles’ with the two intertwining brilliantly mid-set.

The Radio Nasties – Wireless wonders.

It’s testament to Turbowolf, Black Spiders and Therapy? that this show can make number two in my list when I didn’t even stick around to see the headliners. As mentioned before, I’ve never really been a fan of Skindred so I decided to go on a double date with local rock urchins The Radio Nasties who were also playing that night. Supported by the great Calimocho Club, the second gig of the night was almost as good as the first, making that single time in Bristol one of the best nights of my life.

And so, onto number one. And it’s a late entry, albeit a completely warranted one.

Each year, Ginger, lead singer of The Wildhearts (along with numerous other side projects and experimental fuck arounds), plays a late-December Birthday show. Always in London, every year I can be found umm-ing and ah-ing about going, but the proximity to the festive season and the distance to travel usually prove prohibitive. Until this year. This year, Ginger was reforming The Wildhearts. No longer willing to miss out, I scarpered from work and headed down to the Big Smoke.

Getting to London and hot footing it across to Hampstead to check in to my hotel, the excitement was incredible. I probably hadn’t seen The Wildhearts since my Bristol years, when the band were working through the ‘phuq’ album with a certain amount of pop-punk swagger which saw them make numerous appearances on Top Of The Pops whilst bothering the midriff of the Top 40. Legging it across to the Kentish Town Forum, it hit me just how much of a draw Ginger and the band still were. The queue snaked for an eternity, and the prospect of waiting in it on a chilly London night wasn’t that enticing, but then something magical happened which summed up the whole night: A random guy further forward in the queue piped up with “do you want a beer mate, it’s a long queue.”

Taken aback, (this was in our faceless capital after all), I accepted the Red Stripe of Generosity and thought for a second it must have been some trick. Had he taken a shine to my tail and decided to break open the rohypnol early doors? No, the guy had spare beers and he was willing to dish them out knowing that at this particular gig, they were going to go to a good home.

Ginger Wildheart – Man of the Year?

It’s a massive credit to Ginger that despite us all living in a world of crusading keyboard warriors with a selfish blame culture, the guy can still create an on- and off-line community who exist solely for the pleasure of true, independent music. The Forum was completely sold out. People were actually joking in the queue rather than moaning about the weather, and during the gig, various strangers were going to the bar to get water for all and sundry, not just themselves. I don’t think I have ever experienced such a positive vibe from a scene that can on frequent occasions disappear up its own backside due to willy-waving bravado and drunken idiocy.

And then there was the music. As it was his birthday, Ginger saw fit to pull double duty and support himself. With a set culled from his brilliant solo output as well as the latest Hey, Hello! record, it was the perfect pre-celebration set up and the crowd were already getting well lubricated with the excitement of hearing ‘How I Survived The Punk Wars’ and ‘Swimwear’ live alongside the already-anthemic ‘Forget About It’ and a joyous cover of Cheap Trick’s ‘Surrender’.

And then onto the main event: The Wildhearts. It seems odd saying that the band were reforming, as CJ, Random Jon Poole and Ritch Battersby have all been playing with Ginger on his various electric and acoustic shows over the past couple of years. Nevertheless, this was still the first time the band had played under the moniker for a good three years and it seemed like they’d never been away as they hit an adoring crowd with ‘Nothing Ever Changes But The Shoes’,'TV Tan’, ‘Sick of Drugs’ and ‘Red Light Green Light’ without pausing for breath.

The blistering one-two of ‘Caffeine Bomb’ and ‘Suckerpunch’ still sound incredible live and guarantee a hell of a bouncy pit, whilst newer songs like Mazel Tov Cocktail are treated with just as much respect, proving just how consistent the band’s quality has been over the years.

An encore beginning with Nita Nitro can never be a bad thing, and after a break so that Ginger’s son Jake could present his old man with a cake and we could sing our best wishes to the frontman, it was time for a singalong-a-Vanilla Radio with the aforementioned Wildheart Jr strapping on a six string and playing along.

Continuing with the friends and family theme, a cover of The Cardiac’s ‘Is This The Life’ saw Ginger dabble behind the drums before resuming his rightful place front and centre for the closing salvo of Jason and the Scorchers’ ‘White Lies’, the timeless ‘My Baby Is A Headfuck’ and ideal finisher ‘I Wanna Go Where The People Go’.

As the confetti cannons exploded around us, we all knew we’d been a part of something pretty special. Ginger claims that 2012 was his year of recording and that 2013 will be his true year of touring but considering how much time I spent in the company of his recorded output as well as bopping around like a smacked up budgie at his shows in 2012, I’m going to be spoilt rotten this year, that’s for sure.

A fitting end to an incredible year of live music, and one that proved how much truly astounding new and live music there is out there if you just get off your backside and look for it.