If ever a musician
deserved to be a millionaire household name it's Ginger Wildheart. A
man preternaturally gifted with a skill for writing a hook, a melody,
a chorus. Had he toned down the guitars, ditched the riffs and focused on churning out easy pop songs he could have easily rode the wave
of Britpop in the 1990s and been chilling in his mansion. Instead, he's playing Trillians on what must have been the hottest night since the
records office melted. Hell, he would have started the wave
of Britpop, such is his knack for a catchy song. Well the good news
for everyone here is that Ginger has rock and roll in the blood and
while Blur, Oasis et al set
about being boring, Ginger released record with names like Riff
After Riff After Motherfucking Riff.
The bad news for Ginger is that the mansion will have to wait
because he has Trillians to contend with.
On
what was sure to be a special hometown show, Ginger was determined to
give value for money. Doors were pushed forward to accommodate local
punks Crashed Out. Veterans of the circuit, I'd never seen them
before and to be honest their brand of by-the-numbers oi-punk was not
my cup of chai. They were energetic and earnest, full of pride and
passion but I felt like I'd heard it before, somewhere in between
Sick Of It All and Dropkick Murphys in their local price and
nostalgic lyrics. They deservedly have an audience, I'm just not
really part of it.
The
Main Grains are up next. I'd never heard of them or knew anything
about them so I was probably the most surprised person there when
former Wildheart Danny McCormack stood front and centre as their
singer. Sounding not unlike his former band The Yo-Yos, they were
loads of fun with driving rock n roll riffs and mental guitar solos,
punctuated by a cover of 'Teenage Kicks' which was decent but a bit
obvious. A cult hero among Wildhearts fans, it's good to see him
back and his craic about drinking water onstage (“What does this do
to you? First time for everything...”) was priceless.
Another
unknown quantity (to pig-ignorant me anyway), Ryan Hamilton and The
Traitors are up next and they seduce the room with their gentler,
piano-and-guitar-led Americana. Probably softer and less surly than
The Hold Steady, their closest fit is probably Tom Petty, and it's no
bad thing. Hamilton has great banter and his songs are fun, one
particular highlight being where he inadvertently leads the audience
into a chant of “C-U...NT” to the chorus of his latest single,
which you should probably seek out and buy.
Ginger
has a wealth of material to choose from; even ignoring The Wildhearts
he has 7 solo albums (more if you joined his crowd funding
initiative), Silver Ginger 5, Supershit 666, the bizarre Clam Abuse,
pop-rock geniuses Hey! Hello!, and that's not even counting the
outright mental Mutation albums or his country alter ego Howlin'
Willie Cunt. The set focuses on his brilliant new album Year
Of The Fan Club and Silver
Ginger 5, making for a riffy, rock and roll set. It doesn't take
long for the smiling, enthusiastic Ginger to have the crowd eating
out of his hand, the intense heat failing to dissuade anyone from
dancing. 'Anyway But Maybe', 'Mother City' and 'This Is Only A
Problem' al boast monster choruses but when the one-two combo of
Wildhearts tunes 'Mazel Tov Cocktail' and 'Top Of The World' is
delivered, it's game over. Peerless, brilliant and that's without
even playing his best songs.
But
the night was to deliver a further emotional moment when the band
re-emerge (from the seats to the right of the stage) and are joined
by former Wildhearts drummer Stidi and a grinning Danny McCormack on
bass. A chaotic, shambolic 'My Baby Is A Headfuck', probably the
tune that best defines their chaotic years as kings of Britrock, is
followed by a nutty 'Suckerpunch' and the local glory that is
'Geordie In Wonderland' which sees McCormack in tears. Back on stage
with his old band at a hometown show in Trillians of all places, who
could blame him?
They
end with '29x The Pain', a B-side which is better than the entire
output of most bands and leave an entire room smiling from ear to
ear. It's nights like that that makes Ginger and The Wildhearts so
special; songs that feel like old friends and stick in your head all
the way home. So all apologies to Ginger Wildheart, but I'm pleased
that he isn't the millionaire he could so easily have been (that
said, he's releasing at least 3 albums this year so give him
time...). Too self destructive, too volatile, to committed to rock
and we wouldn't have him any other way. Welcome home, bonny lad.
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