All photographs courtesy of Chris Hogge Photography.
My gig going has been somewhat curtailed recently, with tickets going to waste for several events due to, what’s that diplomatic phrase again…circumstances beyond my control… let’s leave it at that. I suppose there is a certain irony in that. Life has been really stressful recently and one of the things that relieves the stresses of life is the first thing that seemed to fall through the cracks.
I’m not gonna lie, but for several reasons, I hasten to add, none of them to do with music, gigs or The Wildhearts, I wasn’t particularly relishing going out after an infernally early start, a long day and a drive home that also meant missing both of the nights support bands.
The Garage was rammed when we arrived not long before the latest incarnation of The Wildhearts line-up took to the stage. A line-up change which has caused consternation amongst a swathe of the bands “fans” on social media, trolling Ginger and accusing him of pretty much everything under the sun. I’m sure it’s not for any of us to judge decisions made regarding the band line up, which many seem to have forgotten has already existed in numerous iterations over the 30 odd years since the first incarnation of the band.
Whatever accusations may have been thrown Ginger’s way, and without taking anything away from all the awesome nights I’ve spent in the musical company of Ginger, CJ, Danny and Ritch, it has to be said Ginger was in fine fettle and fantastic form as he, Ben Marsden on guitar, “Random” Jon Poole on bass and Pontus Snibb on drums took to the stage (with Carol Hodge on Bavking vocals/keys and samples behind the screens…). From the first note played it felt like a huge “fuck you” to the naysayers as the band rattled though an utterly absorbing Wildhearts set, the frontman displaying a relentless enthusiasm and delightful relish that only Ginger can, and which he seems to reserve especially for his much loved and revered Glasgow Wildhearts crowd. The banter was free flowing as he genuinely seemed to be having a ball, drumming up sales for the latest record, hinting about wanting to play Barrowland next time around, and introducing Dunc on “sax”…
The career spanning set was bookended with fan favourites from the now classic debut Earth Versus album, the high impact set kicking off with the breath-taking blow to the solar plexus that is Suckerpunch and ending on an expletive filled high with the explosive energy chant-a-long anthem My Baby Is A Headfuck. In between times the band played a perfect set of crowd-pleasing Wildhearts anthems from nearly every one of their back catalogue of albums, as well as a smattering of new songs from the latest release, The Satanic Rites of The Wildhearts.
I don’t always Wanna Go Where the People Go, often preferring to stay away from human contact, but tonight, with the raw passion and energy radiating from the stage it was most definitely the only place I wanted to be, I wouldn’t have wished to be anywhere else, especially when the band unleashed their early set highlights of Chutzpah’s Jackson Whites and one of my personal all time favourite Wildhearts songs in the entirely relatable Diagnosis from the excellent Renaissance Men album which felt like a singalong anthem for those sidelined and stigmatised.
The new songs played by the quartet, Eventually, Troubadour Moon, Failure is the Mother of Success and I’ll Be Your Monster all sat seamlessly alongside Wildhearts classics like the aforementioned I Wanna Go… , Vanilla Radio and Mazel Tov Cocktail.
Before finishing with a flourish with Headfuck, the band played three of their epic tracks (almost) back to back – those three songs starting with the magnificence of the enduring and endearing Everlone followed by Chutzpah’s epic title track and closing the trio of songs of gargantuan bombast, split only by a short encore break, was the multi-faceted behemoth that is Inglorious.
If there were any doubters present at the start of this gig, surely by the time they left, their fears had been allayed and they left with their hearts filled and their chests pumped after being subjected to the pummelling aural onslaught of attitude fuelled good time punk n roll.
