So, it’s a cold Wednesday evening and I am back in Tufnell Park for the first time in an age! Me and Mrs JO’B are at The Dome to see Personal Trainer. It’s our 7th time seeing them in two years; they are a Dutch Pavement (as in the slacker indie band, with a slight Fall-fetish) but, you know, funky.
They are touring their second album, Still Willing, which consolidates the sound of their debut, Big Love Blanket, a mix of the aforementioned Pavement, the occasional Pixies’ Black Francis yelp, some cool dance moves and multi-layered vocals. We love them.
As they have progressed their career, the live shows have become less chaotic, a little more measured. Their first shows saw them hanging off the ceiling, the percussionist perched precariously on the singer’s shoulders while banging a drum. The singer would tear his t-shirt into something resembling an off-the shoulder number or ripped straight-jacket.
Now though, he’s a bit calmer, less semi-nudity and more focus on his vocals - still throwing a few moves and getting down with his bad self. They are a great live band and I would thoroughly recommend them.
New tracks like Round have that big horn keyboards sound and repetitive chorus that suck you in from the outset. And Rug Busters from their debut is a stone cold killer hit that should have been. They didn’t play Cyan though, my favourite of the new tracks.
So, it’s clear from the above that we love Personal Trainer, right? So why is this review called “cowboys are my weakness”???
Well…
It’s been a while since I have been blown away by a support band. My memory is not what it was and I am struggling to think of one right now, though I know there are plenty.
We have got here early tonight as my friend has advised me that one of his ex-pupils, who also went to school with his lovely son Alex, is in the support band. It’s always awkward when people you know say “you must check out xxx, I know the drummer”. There is an expectation you will somehow love them because of their tenuous affiliation. And now I write a blog, it's occasionally expected I will write something about them. Awkward...
But my friend Nick is discerning and has excellent taste so when he says check them out, we do…
I am knackered when I get there, over excited from my first ever music public speaking gig - part of the first ever fan panel at the International Live Music Organisers Conference. It was great fun, getting to share 38 years’ worth of views on the good, the bad and the ugly of going to live music gigs. And putting the boot in to Peter Gabriel for charging £195 for a ticket when he is worth £78million - what a sanctimonious, capitalist arse he has turned out to be.
Anyway, I digress, the speaking gig that day was a joy and my fellow panellists were cool (one, Lee, is at this gig and we have a quick hug later!). But the excitement has left me a tad knackered.
Despite this, we are here early to check out the first support band, Modern Woman, and are quickly relieved they are not the band we have been sent to check out. They are ok. They can definitely play and sing, but it’s like they have all the right Lego parts but didn’t bother to read the instructions. And the guitarist has a backward baseball cap on which is unacceptable unless you are in Public Enemy. They need a stern word with themselves.
The band we HAVE been dispatched early to check out are called Westside Cowboy They are the middle act this evening and the venue is pleasingly full when they meander, unassumingly on.
Initially there are a few technical hiccups and one of the guitarist’s mic is playing up. But then they get going and…oh my…
I can’t really describe the songs, it was the first time hearing anything by them, but it felt to me like Throwing Muses meets Pixies meets skiffle and folk music.
The two chaps on guitars share the main vocals and give their guitars an admirable thrashing, while Aoife plays bass in the most peculiar and stylish way I have seen (I am sure musicians would know, I am an idiot) - she looks cool, sandwiched between the guys, adding her own vocals along the way.
The sets speeds by and I am enthusiastically shouting in poor Mrs JO’B’s ear how amazing they are. They finish, the four of them crowded around a mic, harmonising like an old folk band, the antithesis of everything that has gone before and it’s magical.
As they finish I hurtle to the merch stand to be first to buy the sole 7 inch single they have - the fab, snappily titled I've Never Met Anyone I Thought I Could Really Love (Until I Met You) - plus a t-shirt from which all money goes to Palestinians displaced by the current Gaza conflict (a band with no money doing more than rich b*****ds like Oasis).
I hope to say hello to Aoife but it’s just the drummer and one of the guitarists on the stall. I fear I am a little over-gushing, but it’s heartfelt and I really do think they are fabulous. The drummer is the marvellously named Paddy Murphy and we swap our second generation Irishisms. They are enthusiastic and appreciative – I see a future where I will never get to talk to them like this again. Gosh.
I am already looking for the next show I can make. We leave before the end of Personal Trainer, not because their show isn’t great (it is), just a combination of knackeredness, over excitement from a big day and that terribly satisfying feeling of one’s socks being blown off by a great new band.
Check out Westside Cowboy and Personal Trainer, both fabuoo
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