Issue 35 / July 2013

distorted on palms) provided by Howard Be
Thy Name, add to the spectacular setting,
altogether doing justice to an institution like
Viper. Jay Gatsby would approve.
THE COMPUTERS
The Dead Formats - The Midnight
Ramble – Midnight Playground
Sam Turner
Bam!Bam!Bam! @ MelloMello
The agreeable confines of MelloMello seem
rather at odds tonight with the turbulent rock
and soul communion so eagerly anticipated
by the savant flock beginning to gather. This is
going to be a treat.
MIDNIGHT PLAYGROUND get things started
and their indie guitar musings are politely well
received. Stepping up a gear, genre-spanning
soul and blues rockers THE MIDNIGHT RAMBLE
squeeze onto the stage. They’ve chosen tonight
as the launch event for their new release High
Time/Live and you could be forgiven for thinking
that this was the act everyone has come to see.
Frontman Paul Dunbar guides us through the
set with an assurance justified by the rich and
pleasing textures his talented band produce.
In keeping with the heterogeneous music
mix of the evening, mod rockers THE DEAD
FORMATS dash through a truncated set
of energetic tunes from their At Sixes And
Sevens album. Unfortunately, in an ill-judged
manoeuvre on a slippery stage, guitarist Glenn
Wizik takes the type of tumble that may prevent
the band completing the tour in Aldershot
tomorrow night.
As the rebooted and burgundy-suited THE
COMPUTERS plug in and scroll through their
current setlist, we recognise cuts from the new
record Love Triangles Hate Squares. It’s a new
direction which they’ve honed to perfection,
playing and preaching round the UK and Europe
pretty much all spring. The relentless blasts
of screeching hardcore have been usurped by
soulful “whoa whoa” swing-a-longs: this is no
longer niche moshing music, it’s a radio-friendly,
good time dancehall revival.
This particular revival features the (friendly) fire
and (rolling) brimstone preacher formerly known
as Screamin’ Al Kershaw, who spends most of
his time in amongst the congregation. No pulpit
preaching, but this sermon is delivered from the
windowsill, the speaker stack, several chairs and
a couple of tables. He is evangelising to converts
of course and, as the band launch into the first
three tracks in order from the album, the pattern
is set: we will hang on his every word, our gaze
will follow his ups and downs, and we will
remember the name of the band.
Kershaw is in full flow; snatching up a crowd
member’s phone, he explains that a conversation
“isn’t really possible right now, I’m in the middle
of a show!” Next, he’s partnering up strangers for
community dancing to Call On You, then dividing
the room for the coordinated bedlam of closer
Music Is Dead, all the while trailing his mic and
its long-suffering stand.
There’s hardly a breath before the
contemporary nostalgia of the encore kicks off
more soul, more reverence and more chaos. This
is memory-making music: tomorrow is June, and
it’s all sunshine and joy from here.
SUNSTACK JONES
Bold Street Coffee
Gary Caldwell
An English summer has arrived, typically late
and unapologetic, and there is a buzz in the air,
but it’s not that of angry bees. Emanating from
the rarefied airwaves of Marc Riley’s show on
6Music and Tom Robinson’s BBC Introducing
Mixtape is the fact that the rest of the country
has caught up with what Liverpool has known
for ages: that SUNSTACK JONES are great and on
the verge of something big.
The cause of all this buzzing is single You Can
Help Me Out - a flimsy, tricksy little thing which
has just been released as a limited edition 7”
on Eighties Vinyl Records, and the reason we’re
all here tonight. On first hearing, their music
is an identikit of what stereotypical Liverpool
music sounds like: jangly pop for a ferry ride
on a summer’s day. But that wouldn’t get near
to describing the depths present here: the true
sound of Sunstack Jones seems to be created
out of the pure quintessence of warm melodic
English pop, West Coast California influences,
and East Coast of Scotland vocals – singer
Chris Jones has the nasal, yet plaintive tone
of a young Roddy Frame. Their music has true
heart and soul, and yet some huge indefinable
sadness. Sunday Comedown is the sound of an
angel’s hangover, full of love and regret.
This is not to say they are all about acoustic
bliss. The band, constantly in flux (on this
occasion a four-piece), is tight enough to up the
pace when necessary and play with the formula.
When they go psychedelic, dipping their toes into
the warm waters of fuzzy guitar, it is a pleasant
change of scenery, showing that sometimes the
beaten track is more fun than the smooth path.
If Sunstack Jones need to work on anything,
though, it is their stagecraft. Gigs at Bold Street
Coffee have an intimate air, where it’s always
nice to see random strangers walking past the
windows and looking in. Jones has a quiet yet
friendly word with passers-by and those leaving
early, and the songs seem casually tossed at
the audience like cardboard boxes, when they
should be handed reverently on, like a bunch
of flowers.
Still, these are minor quibbles. Behind the
plate glass windows of Bold Street Coffee, the
Saturday night world is looking in. Sunstack
Jones have just made our lazy English summer
a little warmer.
Kev McCready