Musical Memories of Nate Dogg and Smiley Culture

March was a sad time for music, with both Nate Dogg and Smiley Culture passing away. While - at the start of a month which sees the music world a poorer place in their absence - we probably should write nice eulogies about them, we're actually just saluting them by lazily embedding some YouTube clips. That's what you do in the 21st Century, right?

All this has served to remind us what a brilliant song Regulate is. It's just a shame we are revisiting it in such sad circumstances.

Musical Memories, number 3 - On stage with The Cribs

The Cribs are an unbelievably good live band. However, while they are still a joy to watch four albums into their career, if you didn't see them during the days when they played teeny tiny venues then you really, really missed out. You know the kind of place: a pub backroom where the only reason you know where the stage starts is because it is ever so slightly raised. Well, this band from Leeds used to rip the roof off places like that. I saw them plenty of times in these days, but the one occasion that stands out was in London's Soho, just before the release of their second album.

Often, when bands play new songs it can be something of a trial, as these unknown tunes simply serve to get in the way of the hits. However, such amazing songwriters are the Jarman brothers and so infectious are their songs that, by the second chorus of these previously unheard gems, the Soho crowd were singing along as if they'd heard them a thousand times before, rather than for the first time through a dodgy sound system in a Soho side-street.

Back in these days The Cribs used to be advocates of the stage invasion. Keen to break down the barriers between band and audience, they would positively encourage people to come and cause a bit of anarchy as they closed their set. So, that's how, as The Wrong Way To Be belted out, I found myself jumping around onstage behind singer/bassist Gary as one of the best live bands in the world sent the uber cool Soho crowd nuts (see above picture). You could say I was, momentarily, in The Cribs. You'd be lying, of course, as in reality I was just a loser prancing around the stage and making a bit of an arse of himself, but it was still quite the feeling.

Now, see if you can find me in the below picture, taken at the same gig. It's like an indie version of Where's Wally? Clue, just look for the most ridiculously excited person in the room. Yep, there I am.

Words by Rob Townsend

Musical memories - No 1. Antony finally opens his mouth

I’ve been to a lot of gigs in my time and have seen more bands than I can recall. Some were mind-blowing, some terrible, most have landed somewhere between being slightly below average and quite good. I have experienced, though, a few occasions that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I think of them. Not necessarily entire gigs, but just something - a moment, a song - that endures where other memories fade. I thought I would share a few of these via occasional posts here. First up, a moment that took my breath away.

It all started at 9pm on a balmy summer night in Sydney in 2007. The Sydney Festival was in full swing and, as always, there was a booth in the city centre that sold a limited number of tickets for every show for just $25. The catch was that you could only get these tickets on the morning of the performance. With Lou Reed set to play his Berlin album in its entirety at The State Theatre, I decided to queue all night in order to secure a ticket. The 12 hours that I lined up for were amazing fun and transformed the gig into an awesome two-day experience. Friendships were born that exist to this day as members of Sydney bands Bridezilla, Whipped Cream Chargers and Chicks Who Love Guns hung out, played cards and gently strummed guitars while we all waited for the sun to appear from behind the high-rises and signal the opening of the box office. By just after 9am, the queue snaked for blocks. Some people were cosily tucked up in sleeping bags, some were dozing away the effects of the previous night’s alcohol, others were dressed in suits, ready for a day at work. Many would miss out on tickets. I, however, pasty-faced and bleary-eyed, would soon be making my way home, ticket in hand, for a few hours’ sleep before the big night ahead.

After all that, the Berlin show didn't turn out to be as remarkable as I’d hoped. Maybe I was simply too tired to fully appreciate it. The night before had left me feeling jetlagged, and my vantage point - standing at the back of a seated theatre - didn’t fully immerse me in what was happening onstage. Also, I found myself growing increasingly frustrated that, to the left of the stage, Reed had two backing singers that he was barely utilising. They were Sharon Jones and the unmistakable figure of Antony (and the Johnsons) Hegarty. I really wanted them to open their lungs but, at best, they were bit players.

The gig came and went, Reed shuffled off the stage and I presumed that was the end of a good, if not great, evening. However, after a few minutes of applause, Reed and co came back for an encore. Having already played Berlin in full, it dawned on my sleepy brain that there was every chance he would bust out some hits. Excited, my newfound buddies and I sprinted down the aisle towards the front of the venue, avoiding rugby tackles from security guards on the way to join a crowd of about 100 of people who had left their seats to create an impromptu standing area before the stage (from where I took the picture of Reed at the top of this post). From feeling as though I was barely at the gig at all, I was now almost within touching distance of the great, grumpy man.

The encore was fantastic. Spurred on by a crowd who were by now all on their feet, Reed belted out three tracks, including Sweet Jane, in which Jones got to let loose. It was during Candy Says that, at long, long last, Antony got his moment in the spotlight.

Of course, the harsh glow of the spotlight is not something that the singer especially likes and he awkwardly hid his hands inside his sleeves and shuffled uncomfortably, but, holy smoke, when he opened his mouth unaccompanied, some 90 minutes into the gig, it was one of the most beautiful moments I have ever experienced. His voice was truly otherworldly, like the saddest of angels singing, and it transcended everything that came before and after it in the State Theatre that evening. I was transfixed, mesmerised and awe-struck. I lost my breath. Not in a metaphorical sense, I remember literally struggling to breathe as the air seemed to disappear from my lungs. Amid an otherwise fairly raucous encore, I recall a gasp from the audience as the first note left Hegarty's mouth and then complete silence and serenity filled the room until his turn ended to a crowd reaction that bordered on pandemonium. As I walked out into the warm Sydney night, it was in the knowledge that this moment - along with the camaraderie of the previous night - would live with me forever.