Review: The Stranglers, O2 Academy

If you were surprised to hear that The Stranglers had once again sold out the O2 Academy then clearly you haven’t noticed that over the past couple of decades the band have continued to record and release vibrant new music that’s gone down well with older fans and drawn in new admirers. That sold out crowd was delighted to be subjected to the full on ebullient fury of Therapy? an ostensibly unexpected yet welcome choice of support.

Therapy? are a bit of a difficult band to describe, even by resorting to the lazy comparison shortcut. We’ve all done it haven’t we? Introduced a new band to a pal by saying “…they sound like so-and-so crossed with thingy and with a bit of thingamajig thrown in…” (Note to zeitgeist sensitive readers, these aren’t obscure hyper-hip bands you need to be searching out on Bandcamp).

You can’t do this with Therapy? because they genuinely have, and always have had, something of a unique sound. They are full of punk attack; they’ve pared raw metal down to lean riffing aggression with none of the bludgeoning stodge; they take a post punk approach to twisting tunes around and have a cliché free approach to adroit, skewed (sometimes) nihilistic but always ardent lyrics.

Andy Cairns’ vocals are raw and passionate; his pugnacious riffs taut and toned whilst his leads are short, sharp shards: the antithesis of grandstanding shredding. Michael McKeegan’s bass vies with Cairns’ guitar for mastery of every riff, forceful and melodic. The songs are driven by the clattering, battering drums of Neil Cooper, a man permanently in the red but totally in control of the beat.

Isolation opened proceedings and the band absolutely own this tune now, it kills every time – delivered with venom and heaviosity, an unequivocal statement of intent. Die Laughing was ferocious and its dedication to Ken Dodd and Jim Bowen superbly illustrating the band’s ethos – an outfit that takes their musical seriously but doesn’t necessarily take themselves seriously.

Thereafter Cairns led the band through a dozen tunes that amply demonstrated the breadth of the band’s oeuvre: the twisted disco of Teethgrinder; the cheery “fuck you” to the status quo of Stories; a triumphant, towering Tides dedicated to SLF and a mighty rendition of Screamager, a tune that improves every time its heard. Its chorus joyfully hollered back at the band over the killer riff and a massive grin on Cairns’ face as he pealed of the glorious lead.

The final tune came all too soon, acknowledging the proximity of St Patrick’s Day Cairns offered the crowd a “traditional Irish folk song…to be sure…to be sure….” Potato Junkie certainly ticks the folk box for commenting on history and the human condition, but its chorus is hardly typical of the fare at the Cropredy or Cambridge festivals. But then again, a sold-out Academy lustily singing “James Joyce is fucking my sister” is a marvellous thing to behold (and indeed be part of).

Therapy? took their allotted slot and thrilled with a well-judged breakneck rush their enviable catalogue that left many of us hoping for a headline tour soon or at least impatient for their appearance at Ramblin’ Man.

During the heyday of punk The Stranglers were hardly lauded by the music press, in fact they were arguably the whipping boys of the whole scene, and  all the revisionist histories of the era have continued to ignore them or damn them with faint praise. Outside of the metropolitan press though the band were rightly lauded as an exciting live proposition and talented recording act. That wasn’t just the cognoscenti mind, between ’77 and ’79 The Clash landed 8 singles in the top forty and The Jam manged 9. The terminally unhip Stranglers’ tally? 10 top forty singles, so they were clearly resonating with the public at large.

Jean-Jacques Burnel and Dave Greenfield remain from the original line up, whilst Jet Black is still a member but no longer tours. The former still purveyor of the most seismic bass and still maintaining much of his original menace (notable on a mean opening rendition of Curfew), but in truth there was also a lot of grinning from the maninblack – clearly enjoying the show and the company of his bandmates. The latter still supplies the USP of the Stranglers, the swathes of keys and synths that caused so much opprobrium amongst the gatekeepers of punk back in the seventies. A fella also clearly enjoying himself, many a solo delivered one-handed whilst swigging on a stream of beers.

Baz Warne – sixteen years served, so hardly a new kid – took the majority of the lead vocals, and took them very well. Whilst faithful to the older material he avoided the easy trap of simply aping his predecessor and likewise stamped his own authority on the guitar parts. He’s a compelling front man too, with the demeanour of Wilko but the appearance of Wilko on steroids and merrily slapping down anyone cheeky enough to provoke from the safety of the crowd.

Whilst Jet Black was arguably the saturnine heart of the band on stage Jim MacAulay more than filled his boots. He’s got the primitive power needed to propel the fast and aggressive tunes, but also the finesse to handle the more contemplative material – and also displayed much of the sophistication that Black brought to the rhythmic foundation of the material.

Of course the majority of the expected hits & fan favourites were played, and played when the band wanted despite continuous requests from the crowd (“Have you not seen this fuckin’ band before? You know we won’t play that until the end”). But the “new” material was received with as much rapture, the selections slotted in with alacrity and all of the tunes supported by an (at times) retina scorching set of lights and video projections.

Golden Brown is still the prettiest paean to heroin to top the pop charts and was amusingly coupled with Don’t Bring Harry for a junk double whammy. Always the Sun was a crowd led tune of incredible joy and euphoria, offsetting the darkness of some of the early tunes and easily the standout singalong moment. Apart from Duchess. And Walk on By. Well, it was that kind of night.

The Stranglers have never been strangers to controversy and playing I Feel Like a Wog could certainly be misinterpreted, but only by the hard of thinking. The song wasn’t racist when written and sadly reflected the rise of the NF, the institutionalised racism prevalent then and the shocking violence on the streets. It still isn’t racist now and sadly remains apposite in Brexit Britain – simply replace “wog” with the latest racial slur from Britain First or the Daily Mail. Equally the #MeToo generation may not be impressed by the lyrics of Peaches or London Lady, but there were plenty of ladies singing along with gusto.

Tank closed the set – martial and celebratory – another tune still resonating, a powerful ending to a finely judged and superbly executed set. The inevitable encore opened with a demand from the crowd to “get on with it…” so naturally Warne retorted with “…I’ll get on with it whenever I’m fucking ready” and enjoyed a convivial couple of slugs of beer with Burnel before a joyous Go Buddy Go followed by a triumphant No More Heroes to close a satiating set.

The Stranglers once again proved their worth as a live act, and the newer material scattered seamlessly through the set proved there’s a few tunes in the old dogs yet. Let’s hope they’re back soon for more opportunities to dance all night to their crazy sound.

The Stranglers: O2 Academy: Thursday, 15 March 2018

All pix by Shona Cutt.