Dave Woodhall sees new wave night at Warwick Sessions start badly and get better.
Now that the nostalgia circuit has become big enough to accommodate outdoor gigs and festivals so the debate about whether or not a band is ‘real’ has intensified. Wars wage on social media about which is the real UB40, or whether the Sex Pistols should still exist. Funnily enough, this sort of argument never seems to occur where the Stranglers are involved. Their fanbase, as loyal as you’ll find anywhere, have accepted the departures and tragedy that have seen them reduced to one member of their classic line-up, to the extent that they’re playing bigger venues than in their Top of the Pops heyday, such as Friday night’s headliner at the Warwick Sessions.
In support were another couple of bands who’ve seen their original dwindle to a single member, so it promised to be an interesting evening, and one which got off to an inauspicious start. Misleading information and a lengthy distance from the car park meant that first band the Skids began while we were still walking through St Nicholas’ Park, which seemed very nice in an old-fashioned paddling pool & tearoom type of way but no worry, we’ll soon be in and enjoying the music.
Wrong. Several people are standing around talking to stewards. There’s a group of people standing outside, not looking happy. The rules of admission have been changed during the week – what was allowed in a couple of nights ago isn’t allowed now.
This affects people with bags, a couple with a child in a cart and my companion, who has medical supplies in a small rucksack they’d earlier been assured wouldn’t be a problem. A supervisor arrives, tells a couple of the disappointed punters that they should have read the terms when they booked, he wasn’t going to keep having this argument and walked away, refusing to identify himself. I would say that at least four groups arriving in no more than five minutes were affected in this way, which means that there was a major communication problem somewhere.
Thankfully common sense arrives in the shape of another steward in some managerial capacity and the truly lovely Chloe, presumably from the promoters, who allowed people who’ve suffered this inconvenience into the arena. Sadly, by then we’d missed all of what sounded a mighty good set from the Skids, with Richard Jobson in his usual fine form.
It appeared that the promoters had insisted that no bags at all were to be allowed into the arena; the excuse is safety, the real reason is probably closer to money. No food, drink or anything likely to impinge on their profit margin is allowed near the audience. That’s why ordinary punters aren’t allowed near the front of the stage – it’s reserved for those who want to pay even more than the hefty admission fee. It’s why a few hours parking in a field is £11, why £3.50 for a Coke and £6 for a can of lager is being charged and why almost 20% is added onto the price of the tickets in booking and service charges. Every last penny has got to be screwed out of the punters; welcome to rock’n’roll, 2025-style.
The Buzzcocks come on to the strains of Also Sprach Zarathustra (the 2001 theme to you), a staple taped intro from their heyday, and for a while that was as good as it gets. The songs are as wonderful as they ever were but the sound’s muddy and Steve Diggle just isn’t suited to what he’s singing. Ironically, the best-sounding songs are the newer ones. Destination Zero is good enough to have been on the Singles Going Steady compilation from the band’s glory days and Manchester Rain is appropriate as the first of the evening’s showers begin to fall.
It’s worth remembering that they were more than one of the first punks; every transatlantic pop-punk band now packing out stadiums and headlining mega-festivals owes the Buzzcocks a debt, so perhaps best to remember those times and draw a veil over the current incarnation.
Which brought us to the headliners. Their particular intro was Edith Piaff’s Non, je ne regrette rien plus their own instrumental Waltzinblack, as the band enter and they’re off with Toiler On the Sea, followed by Duchess and the even earlier Grip.
There’s not really much point in reviewing a Stranglers set because in the best possible way if you’ve seen them once you’ve seen the lot. The songs are great, now the uncertainty about their future seems to have ended (their ‘final’ tour was three years ago) and the newer members have replaced the old with no loss in either ability nor delivery.
Baz Warne handles his singing with aplomb, Jean Jaques Burnel is still getting better all the time. The songs are all the hits and crowd favourites and if you’re looking for onstage banter, look somewhere else. This is a band who know what their audience want and an audience who know the band will always deliver.
The familiarity of having a few years in the set have given newer songs such as White Stallion a familiarity that leads to as good a reception as anything else. The gilded triumvirate of Hanging Around, Something Better Change and Tank end the set proper, there’s an encore of Go Buddy Go then No More Heroes and an ovation from those devoted fans as the rain begins to come down again.
The music was (mostly) great, the people at the sharp end were (mostly) going out of their way to help. The overall package, though, left a nasty taste.
