Review: The Skids, Bristol Bierkeller

Thursday 8th June was a portentous night: the atmosphere was electric after a day when the nation faced the stark choice between an inclusive, fairer future or a narrow minded, selfish, bigoted future and that coupled with a massive sense of anticipation for an unexpected and most welcome reunion gig made for a show that will be a dead cert as a contender for event of the year.

Whilst Charlie Harper still fulfils all the obligations of his day job leading the UK Subs he’s also prone to solo shows, reinventing the band’s catalogue and performing songs from his seemingly never ending career. Sat at his mic, guitar in hand and sporting a tie-die Ramones t-shirt Harper was almost a vulnerable figure without his full throttle band and yet there was a strength to his performance particularly when taking his band’s most potent material and stripping it to the bone. Opening with Guthrie’s Hobo’s Lullaby was a sharp move linking the seminal protest singer to his unlikely descendants in the late seventies, as well as giving Harper a chance to reminisce about his origins as a busking folkie.

With the exception of a cracking cover of Move It On Over (Hank Williams, another proto-punk – cue angry indignation from genre purists and the fashion police) Harper delivered a half dozen Subs tunes with minimal yet effective accompaniment and with a cracked yet strong voice not a million miles from Dylan or Lou Reed in execution. The tunes selected were a heady reminder that ye olde punke rock truly was a golden age for the mighty 7” single – Stranglehold, Tomorrow’s Girls and Warhead were all top thirty tunes and by the close of the night we’d enjoyed a further seven top forty songs. Warhead was an unplanned delight – requested by the crowd who then provided roof raising backing vocals to Harper’s delight, whilst CID resonated strongly. The Subs may not be lauded by punk tourists and the self-consciously hip members of the press, but they’ve a devoted following and Harper is the genuine thing, a lifer who harvested a raucous response for a life affirming set of stripped down three minute classics.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NoceBCnVVsE

TV Smith eschewed the peer referencing t-shirt for a tank top that even Frank Spencer might have baulked at wearing and certainly wasn’t sitting down for his breakneck thirteen tune set, in fact he couldn’t keep still, constantly bouncing, swiping around with his guitar and dancing on the spot. Whip thin and seemingly made entirely of sinew, Smith has a storied career so far: those following said career will know that The Adverts were just the launch pad, the Explorers the second stage and that since those bands he’s released a mass of songs, toured with a wide array of fellow travellers and found the time to write five volumes of tour diaries.

His set was peppered with angry indignation about how little real change has occurred since his first band, expressed in three and four minute uptempo vignettes with sharp lyrics. Expensive Being Poor sadly reflecting the ongoing fall out from the austerity measures that prop up the establishment villains and punish their victims and Tomahawk Cruise unfortunately still just as relevant given the ridiculous cock waving competition being waged by Trump, Putin and Kim Jong-un. All of the material was well received bur naturally the biggest roar and the biggest singalongs came during the hits, particularly the end of set hat trick of Gary Gilmore’s Eyes, Bored Teenagers and One Chord Wonders.

There was a palpable wave of adulation and affection as The Skids took to the stage, the packed out crowd bellowing their appreciation and pleasure as the band gathered, and in response you could feel the delight from band, mile wide grins on their faces that remained intact for the duration. Launching into Animation it was clear they were gonna own the gig and exceed all expectations. Of One Skin sealed the deal, the band pounding away the main riff and negotiating the time changes with finesse and ease. The crowd were ecstatic – the invited and uninvited vocal participation continuously euphoric and the dancing nonstop throughout the show.

The current line-up features Richard Jobson (vox), William Simpson (bass) and Mike Baillie (drums) from the early incarnations accompanied by Bruce Watson and his son Jamie Watson, who have the unenviable task of filling Stuart Adamson’s shoes, and oh boy, did they do him justice… The two guitars enabled the tunes to be fleshed out and both had the Skids sound nailed. It’s easy to surrender to the punk rock cliché of three chord thrash but in truth many of the first & second wave bands were way more than a dumb stripped down distillation of Dr Feelgood, the Skids exemplifying the challenging reinvention of rock music that was happening amongst the filth and the fury. The Saints Are Coming and Scared to Dance were dedicated to Adamson, a moving moment for all and the faultless renditions a fitting tribute to his talent.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iv0FAGk7Hyg

The set spanned the band’s oeuvre, each tune played with relish and passion (Watson Senior clearly on a yards travelled incentive scheme as he could not keep still, practically jogging his way through each riff and solo). Jobson was on magnificent form, full of bonhomie, passionately linking the tunes to current events and still pulling off his signature moves (danicng with the grace of a prize fighter from the waist down but wind-milling like Wily E Coyote as he weaved around the band). Album cuts were mixed with the hits – all received with equal pleasure and sung back at the band with word perfect exactitude, the whole show a rush of synergy between musicians and fans. Sixteen or so songs seemed to flash by and then of course they closed with Into the Valley, leaving the crowd drained and hoarse but howling for more.

Returning to the stage The Skids pulled Charade out of the bag, but there was one absolute classic still missing. Third song in to the main set Jobson had informed the crowd that if they “…kept shouting for that fuckin’ song, they wouldn’t get it…” and clearly this words had been heeded as the band launched into TV Stars, originally a lark but now the cherished runt of the litter. In keeping with the day’s events, a verse was changed to list prominent members of a well-established reactionary political party whom Jobson invited to “…get tae fuck” to uproarious approval from the crowd. The band then finished the set boldly – they’ve a new LP on the way and they picked a tune from it to close the set. Given the impact of the older material this was a bravura move as the tune followed a faultless set, but bugger me it stood on its own merits. If the rest of the material is as good as this one, then the Skids are back as a vital, relevant band and the world is a better place.

The Skids: Bristol Bierkeller, 8th June 2017