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Review: The Skids, Fiddlers
The Skids made a triumphant return to Bristol last June, with new recording Burning Cities ready to go and a new lease of life. Said LP made it all the way to number two in the charts (more on this later) and the band have been burning down stages since. Richard Jobson (vocal and pugnacious aerobic dancing) promised the band would “Take the roof off this place”, and they did; he requested the crowd go “Absolutely fuckin’ bananas”, and we did. He also had the crowd in stitches but your reviewer must tread lightly when reporting the stage banter for fear of libelling Boris Johnson, Leo Sayer, the people of Lydney and the entire Principality of Wales. Oh, and bass player Bill Simpson. On second thoughts, is it even libellous to agree Boris Johnson is a wanker?
The line-up remains the same as in 2017, with (fairly) original drummer Mike Baillie joined by new boys Bruce Watson and Jamie Watson on guitars and the addition of Rory Cowieson on occasional keys. The rhythm section powered the band through the set, block-busting yet groovesome drumming and nimble, funky bass from “WW1 veteran” Simpson, who allegedly formed the band on his return from Flanders. Watson and Watson once again weaved around each other, with evident joy during the spiralling solos and crunchy yet never cumbersome riffs. Cowieson’s keys were deployed delightfully on a handful of tunes (especially Animation), allowing the band to cleave closely to the originals and giving the songs extra colour and lift.
Jobson was full of bonhomie and banter whilst his voice remains as distinctive and strong as ever; orchestrating the crowd (hardly necessary, every song was an opportunity for the crowd to virtually drown out his vocals) and, as mentioned, slandering at will. Thus, we heard how Burning Cities was denied the top spot by Leo Sayer: cue slanderous descriptions of the, er, (expletive deleted) vertically challenged, curly haired illegitimate ex-pat followed by a chorus or two of When I Need You. Yer actual hardcore punk crowd, clearly Sayer fans, were word perfect. Tales of Jobson’s brother in law’s life in Lydney were shared (delivered in an accent that suggested Rab C Nesbitt auditioning for the Wurzels) resulting in dodgy comments about incest, wild boars and suspiciously large families in remote areas of the Forest. As for the Welsh: simultaneously praised and slyly slated in a hilarious manner.
is needed now More than ever
The setlist was well paced with judicious selections. Five top forty singles delivered with verve and passion, and the album cuts and less commercially successful singles proving the hits were no flukes. The double-whammy of The Saints Are Coming and Working for the Yankee Dollar was killer; band favourite Masquerade soared during both choruses and verses and Circus Games was pure joy.
Kings Of The New World Order was the only new tune of the main set, and slotted in seamlessly – it’s lyrics perfectly pertinent (as were the words to Working for the Yankee Dollar: a sad indictment of how little things have changed in the 51st state of the USA these past 38 years). Jobson had promised deeper cuts and Sweet Suburbia was a short, sharp opportunity for old school pogoing before seguing in to the evergreen TV Stars, repurposed to justifiably slate May, Johnson et al. Alas it presaged the band’s only misstep, a lumpen rendition of Pretty Vacant. Sure the crowd loved it and the band had fun, but the cold light of hindsight insists it took the place of an original, and an opportunity to slot in another new cut. But screw it, hardly the crime of the century and arguably a minority view. Minority of one probably.
After a frankly stunning In to the Valley (the crowd far beyond “fuckin’ bananas”; the band wired as fuck; and the whole thing introduced with what science has determined is the second most memorable bass intro after Dancing in the Moonlight) Jobson informed the crowd that the band would simply ignore the encore ritual and power on, intent on giving us our money’s worth. Out of Town was raucous, and the crowd rambunctious, before the set ended with an exultant, crowd led Olympian: the battering tribal drums propelling the band to new heights and wringing every drop of sweat from the singing, dancing throng.
There was no way the audience would accept Olympian as the final tune and sure enough the band were swiftly back on stage, managing to look triumphant and grateful. “Thanks for a great night, but tonight is all about Pete Shelley, c’mon…” Jobson leading the crowd in a bittersweet yet celebratory chorus or three of Ever Fallen in Love with Someone…followed by a robust, full band What Do I Get to universal delight. Stuart Adamson was saluted again as the band belted out Charles and then it really was the last song: new tune One Last Chance neatly bookending their first single. Ever Fallen in Love with Someone…echoed around the room again as band and crowd united for a final singalong. Band knackered, crowd sated and Fiddlers management anxiously Googling roofers.
The Skids: Fiddlers: Sunday, 09 December 2018
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