A Night Out with the Stranglers

Venue:

O2 Academy, B’ham

Date: 19/02/2022

It’s been a long time…… Yes, I’m one of those lightweights who ditched the band at about the same sort of time as did Mr Cornwell, despite having earlier held them dear to my heart, from the Roundhouse in ’77, thru’ Battersea Park a year later and on to dimly remembered days at Birmingham’s Odeon in the early 80s. I sort of never saw the point, but did check out Hugh in the early noughties. But, such was the buzz around latest album, Dark Forces, let alone the poignancy of Dave Greenfield’s passing that it would have been rude not to investigate. I have already given considered opinion around the excellence of that album, and it looks like me and the 3 and 3/4 thousand squeezed into the venue weren’t there under false circumstances.
Arriving strategically late to try and avoid the inevitable queue to get in, and failing, it was in the next queue, the bar, that the support band played their hit. And, I have to admit, it was quite a blast to hear the ragged charm of Babylon’s Burning being sung, full pelt, by the capacity crowd, to the clear pleasure of Ruts DC, resplendent in their shabby demob style suits. By the time I got served they had bade their farewells, leaving me to find a gap near a pillar, from where I could peer between heads and catch a glimpse of the stage.
Waltzinblack, aka Keith Floyd’s theme tune, blared out the PA at 9 on the dot, and we were go go. With the familiar trebly subterranean bass of JJ Burnel immediately to the fore, Toiler hit the ground running. Perhaps an odd choice of song, but actually very logical, as it hits all the tropes this band have at their command: the bass, the flourish of arpeggiating keyboards, spiky guitar and shouty vocals. With a commendation from Baz Warnes, the oldest new boy in the group, a veteran of a mere 18 years, to be kind to Toby, Toby Hounsham, for his balls in even considering to step into Greenfield’s sizeable shoes. In terms of stage banter, that was about it, as the band threw out song after song, mixing back catalogue and new. Concentrating on the ‘hits’, possibly understandably: the tour was booked as a Farewell, even before Greenfield died, it having originally been scheduled both for last year and the year before it. So, arguably concentrating on the earliest punkiest period, we got Something Better Change, Sometimes and Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, all pumped out professionally and competently. Hounsham was note perfect, Warnes a way more than competent Cornwell-a-like, part for his vocals but, strikingly more so, for his reproduction of the famously spidery guitar style of his predecessor. Half an hour or so in came a surprising change of direction, as Don’t Bring Harry ushered in a run of the later more melodic style, Strange Little Girl and Always the Sun. But, should that seems all too sensitive, der der der, derderder dum dum, Peaches reminded as to why they were the bad guys on the block of 75. With Golden Brown then reminding us the other side of their coin. I have to comment here as to the slightly muddy sound, there seeming a counterpoint between the balance of keys and vocals, the one blurring the other in turn. With Hounsham also electing against facsimile of sound, it seemed synth rather than harpsichord, it worked, and well, but only on that reliance of memory to fill-in the difference. A few more new songs, Last Men on the Moon and White Stallion proving this pony had new tricks, a transcendent Grip and an elongated stretch on Walk On By, and this was all turning out grand. Duchess succumbed to the same keyboard/vocal competition as Golden Brown, ahead a sublime Hanging Around, always my favourite, to close.
The first encore saw only Burnell and Warnes return to the stage, each with, shock horror, acoustic guitars. Burnel, who had been prowling the stage earlier, a passive aggressive mismatch of menace and smiles, sat on his stool, impossibly well-preserved, looking for all the world like a slightly roadworn Martin Freeman. Warnes, alongside him? Well, he looked a cross behind those be-apronned mannikins that stand outside butchers shops and Al Murray. But the two songs they did together, The Lines and, the paean to their deceased colleague, And If You Should See Dave, were astonishing, empathic and sensitive. When Burnel said the lines “And his solo would go here”, applause broke and continued the entire eight or so bars. Not a dry eye etc.
Off again, with a sense of will they/won’t they making for a delay ahead of further cheering. Which duly came, a triumphant Go Buddy Go and No More Heroes sending us all home to our beds.
Wonderful show.

The audience:

I think grizzled is the word. Cleaner cut than perhaps of yore, with a smattering of hardcore relics, and a surprisingly large female percentage, perhaps 15 – 20%, especially considering the undoubted misogyny evident in their early stuff. A few youngsters in their forties and a few teens, possibly (grand?)children tagging along. Good humoured and friendlier than the old reputation.

It made me think..

There’s life here yet. Certainly not ready for the heritage circuit, I thingk there are legs beyond the end of the tour. (Indeed, I notice they are popping up on the odd festival line-up as the year extends, suggesting they too are revising any decision to put a stop to it. Yes, JJ may be the last man standing, but Warnes is a good and capable side-kick, with Hounsham, once of the band Rialto, for those with a long recall, for every bit as much he is a faithful facsimile, so too would it be good to see and hear him stretch beyond the role of copycat. The drummer, Jim McCauley, may have had little hitherto mention, but if that is the case, it is only on the basis of his thunderous additions being all present and correct.

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