Review: Stiff Little Fingers, O2 Academy

Whoever booked Ricky Warwick and the Fighting Hearts as special guests made a smart choice. Warwick’s first ever gig was SLF, he bought a guitar directly after the show and has made damn fine music ever since – clearly showing his inspiration in terms of its passion and sincerity. Warwick has spent a few years doing a fine job fronting a rejuvenated Thin Lizzy and been a crucial part of the Black Star Riders but he’s also found time to release a slew of recordings via Pledgemusic. The band are touring When Patsy Cline Was Crazy (and Guy Mitchell Sang the Blues) and delivered a knock ‘em dead take no prisoners opening slot. They’re a loud, fast, aggressive rock band but Warwick’s too canny a writer to forget the hooks & choruses. The solo material easily matches any of his work elsewhere and whilst it would be rotten to single out any one tune The Arms of Belfast Town in particular shone out – the Pogues on crystal meth. The closing trio of covers (Finest Hour – Black Star Rider, Tommy Gun – really? & Jonestown Mind – the Almighty) proved what a fine band the Fighting Hearts are, all three delivered with a pummelling swagger. Let’s hope there’s a headlining tour soon, a full set from these lads is gonna be well worth the price of admission.

George Orwell once said “What have you in common with the child of five whose photograph your mother keeps on the mantelpiece? Nothing, except that you happen to be the same person.” Now far be it from me to argue with one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century, but he’s wrong actually. What I have in common with my childhood are my records, and it takes but a few bars of a favourite tune and I’m transported instantly back to a particular age with a visceral sense of being there once again. Thus when Stiff Little Fingers opened their set with Wasted Life I had an extraordinarily vivid recollection of hearing Inflammable Material for the first time. As did a capacity crowd too given the number of people going mental: pogoing as if it was the last night on earth and singing themselves raw in a shower of gleefully flung alcoholic beverages.

SLF gigs really are communal, a tremendous vibe from the crowd and real rapport with the band; every tune treated as the greatest song ever released and the audience determined to ring every last ounce of pleasure from one of the best (if not the best) extant first wave punk bands. The set was jam packed with crowd pleasers: Roots, Radicals, Rockers and Reggae got the crowd skanking with surely the most uplifting riff ever written; singalong of the night went to Barbed Wire Love (natch) and, well, every song was a banger. The strength of the band’s material has always been their willingness to stretch their style – like all of the first generation bands, they don’t just deliver mindless three chords thrashing nonsense but rather hit you with hefty pop tunes dressed up in punk riffs with reggae and ska mixed in, resulting in a set that warrants dancing as much as it does pogoing.

Jake Burns was his usual entertaining self with between song banter and the band were on fierce form, blistering on the faster numbers but showing off their chops on the slower tunes. Alas their lyrics continue to remain relevant Silver Lining (from 1981) sadly applicable in these “all in it together” austerity days; Fly the Flag (1980) now skewering the beliefs held by the anti-immigrant demographic. Even more ironic that the band who wrote Wasted Life et al should have been the first band to play Paris after the murderous attacks on the city. Encoring with Gotta Getaway (played “properly” – unlike the tribute band versions on YouTube) and Alternative Ulster ensured the crowd left sweaty, sated and hoarse. Never mind putting your clocks forward in March, the annual SLF gig is always gonna be the highlight of the month.