Based on a True North Story

It seems bands have stopped playing on the east side of The Pennines altogether and I should buy a rail season ticket to Manchester. Two concerts in a week and half and there will doubtlessly be more in the near future.

The first was Bad Religion, who for whatever reason decided to play only two UK dates this year. And it was on a school night!

Manchester City had also decided to play Newcastle United on the same day, so there were a fair few plastic Mancs on the train there and every pub in the city centre was full of blue-shirted pre-match drunkards. The regulation number of fat, shirtless Geordies were also spotted.

The gig was at The Ritz, which was formerly The HMV Ritz. Can’t see why that sponsorship deal came to a halt. Ahem.

Opening for them were Arcane Roots, who were frankly terrible. Not many people were too impressed with them and there was only the smallest smattering of applause given to them and it was probably a sympathy smattering at that.

The music played in between bands at concerts usually reflects the sort of music the headline band play, but this wasn’t the case here as we were treated to the greatest hits of Lynyrd Skynyrd. Odd. During this time I chatted with a couple of people: a guy from Perth who told me he was in an oi band I should check out (I’ve forgotten the name and he was very hard to understand anyway) and a guy from Nottingham who was probably on drugs as he told me Derby was a nice place to go to (have you ever been there?).

When Bad Religion took to the stage at 9pm there was something different about them. No Greg Hetson or Brett Gurewitz, but instead a guy who looked like Elvis Costello and chewed gum the whole through was present as a guitarist. I’ve since found out that he was The Cult’s Mike Dimkich and he did a very good job.

90 minutes of a decent selection from their entire 33 year catalogue was belted out and there was the usual “it’s good to be in England” kind of banter and use of British English words that Americans find so funny (geezer and wanker were both mentioned) in between songs. Punk rock doesn’t get any better than this though and I managed to resist the urge to buy a Fuck You t-shirt that I’d never dare wear in public!

The evening ended especially well when I managed to catch a train an hour earlier than planned despite not having a valid ticket. The guard said it was ok, so no actual crime was committed. I think.

Only 9 days later I returned for Sick Of It All. This time I was prepared and had the week off work and booked a hotel for the night. That’s a room in a hotel rather than the entire hotel. That would just be ridiculous.

The venue this time was Sound Control which wasn’t easy to find, but there it was down a little street behind Oxford Road station. The oddest thing this night was the guy outside who was excited to see them despite never having heard anything by them. Even odder than that, he was in his early seventies!

The ticket for four bands was only £15, but water was £2.10 a bottle in a venue that was about as warm as the centre of the Sun, so they certainly made plenty of money out of the 300 or so who were in attendance.

The three support bands only mumbled their names, so I had to look them up on the venue’s website. There was Stuck In A Rut (Scouse and shouty), The River Card (possible poker enthusiasts from Stoke) and Voorhees (Geordie, incredibly shouty and fans of massive amounts of screeching feedback). Nothing much that stood out.

Sick Of It All didn’t take to the stage until after 10, but they gave a good 75 minutes, which equates to about 35 songs in the world of hardcore. It’s hard to believe they’ve been doing what they do for 27 years and still enjoy it. There was more stagediving than I’ve ever seen (about 80% of which was done by a guy who looked like Rasputin), tons of shout-along songs, a wall of death (this might shed some light on it if you don’t know: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QN_EYj_cXqw) and a great spirit of unity that you only ever get at gigs like this. The cover of Sham 69’s Borstal Breakout was an absolute master stroke.

Two great nights, but please, bands: play closer to my house in future!