Friday night sees The Humble Reviewer and Editor Girl getting a bit of a sprint on as we hurtle through horrific traffic caused by what we can only assume to be hordes of folk heading into that there Manchester for the delight(!) of the Christmas markets. However, we’re not in search of a foot long sausage (oo-er) tonight, rather the first night of The Chameleons’ “Home Is Where the Heart Is” annual shindig at the sprung-floor delight that is The Ritz.
In addition to Middleton’s finest, the bill is made up by The Membranes and The Battery Farm, the latter of whom have building up to tonight with so much anticipation, that it’s a wonder that at least one or possibly more band members haven’t exploded, but more of that later.
Unhappily, there is some confusion as to the whereabouts of my photo pass and as The Battery Farm take to the stage at the ungodly hour of ten to seven, I plead with the security man on the barrier, “But I want to photograph THEM too”.
He stares me squarely in the eye and sends me in the direction of the box office with the sound advice of, “Well, you’d better hurry up, then, hadn’t you?” I cannot argue with his logic, as I expect he hears pleas like mine all the time, but thankfully, the golden (well, more puce, really) wristband is located (thank you Billie Jean and The Chameleons) and I thrust myself into the pit in a most ungainly manner to begin recording the evening’s proceedings.
Tonight is indeed a Big Thing for The Battery farm, whose progress both Editor Girl and myself have followed with great interest since our first meeting at The Adelphi in Hull back in the Summer of 22 (Bryan Adams, eat your heart out).
We’ve followed them through the birthing of debut and horror-filled album Flies (cue Vietnam-style flashbacks of the latex fly mask – see previous reviews) through to the beginnings of its successor, the recording of which is due to commence early next year. In the audience, we have been met by Stuart Corry, head honcho of Golden Believers Records, but more importantly, dad of frontman Ben and guitarist Dom.
It’s fair to say that if ANYONE is going to explode tonight, then it’s him, but this time with pride, rather than anticipation. That must be some feeling, seeing your boys up there on the Ritz stage, sharing it with the likes of The Membranes and The Chameleons and he’s shining like a miniature spotlight right now.
However, The Battery Farm are much more than those lovable Corry boys, the noisy and visceral lineup is completed by the ferociously manic drumming of Sam Parkinson and the tenacious slap/pluck (spell check that one – Ed.) shenanigans of bassman Paul Worral, bedecked in his trademark yellow trackie. It’s hard to tell what Dom has selected as his apparel of choice tonight (it looks like some form of demonic fishing apparel, to be fair), though as always, it looks way too hot in which to perform.
The boys take us on a tour through their Flies (as it were) in addition to the wonderfully-named “A Full Pigeon Skeleton Lying at the Side of the Road”, “Roy Keane Isn’t Real” and “I’ve Never Been to Gorton”, never letting their awe of the occasion undermine the sharpness of their playing, nor the venom which with their lyrics are delivered.
It’s only a pity that more of the audience haven’t turned up earlier to witness the spectacle, but it’s also nice to see more than a smattering of Battery Farm tees on those who HAVE bothered to turn up early. The word is spreading and it’s never too late to climb on board the Battery Cart.
The set opens with “Flies” followed by the anguished howl of “Working Class Lad” and my personal favourite, “Crude Oil Water”, the pedal settings for which Dom has saved umpteen times, so scared is he of losing them, and when you listening to him play, you can understand his panic – it’s a thing of rare beauty. Sam pounds away furiously stage right underpinning the performance while stage left, the manic custard entity that is Paul Worral engages in frequent bouts of gurning with Ben, whilst thrashing his bass to within an inch of its life.
However, whilst it’s partly about volume and fun, there’s no denying the level of professionalism and hard work that is part of any Battery Farm performance, and tonight is no exception. Ben jumps down into the photo pit to greet his adoring public, although he admits later that his toes have paid the price as he’s performing barefoot, something for which the height of the Ritz stage was clearly never intended.
Dom takes no part in this nonsense, preferring to boil to death within his outfit whilst teasing the most awesome of sounds out of his guitar. It’s an energy-packed performance given by a group of friends who have given their all over the last few years and tonight are very much reaping their just rewards.
And then we are done. There are congratulatory hugs shared between this band of brothers and thanks go out to the crowd who have witnessed something pretty special and still have 2024 to look forward to in the form of a gig at The Globe Glossop and a slot with Chemtrails and The Strangerz at Night and Day, both in February. Oh, and there’s that second album too… – as Ben remarks, “It’s gonna be Yuge”, and of this I have absolutely no doubt. Prepare to witness their Yugeness.
The Battery Farm played: FLIES, A Working Class Lad , Crude Oil Water, Hail Mary, Wooden Spoon Number, Poet Boy, House of Pain, I’ve Never Been to Gorton, A Time of Peace, Roy Keane Isn’t Real , When the Whip Goes Crack, A Full Pigeon Skeleton Lying at the Side of the Road, In the Belly of the Beast, We’re at the Top and While the Black Smoke Rise.
The Membranes and I have never crossed paths, which, given that they’ve been on the go in some form or another since 1979 is still something of a mystery to me, so after my three songs in the pit, I settle back to experience something new, and, Dear Reader, I’m rather glad I did. Frontman, author John Robb, (with whom I was delighted to cross paths at Rockaway Beach down in Bognor Regis at the beginning of the year, and who was happy to share some well-received words of encouragement around verbal meanderings such as these).
Commands the stage bedecked in his trademark waistcoat and Mohican, stomping urgently back and forth and incredibly pausing at one point to give me the finger right down my lens. I am truly blessed. Considering there is much crossover between The Membranes’ sound and that of Joy Division, Killing Joke, Bauhaus and their ilk, I decide that I need to investigate them further the second I leave the gig, albeit only 45 years too late.
The current chapter of The Membranes’ long existence starts in 2009 when they reformed to participate in My Bloody Valentine’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival, reconvening three years later to record a Record Store Day release for Louder Than War Records. 2015 saw the release of the critically-acclaimed “Dark Matter/Dark Energy” album which debuted at the top of Blackpool Tower, most fitting, given that that’s the town from which the band originated. June 2019 saw its follow up, “What Nature Gives… Nature Takes Away” and tonight’s set features a generous selection of tracks from both, in addition to a smattering of reworked versions of earlier works too.
It’s fair to say that the demographic of most of tonight’s audience fits neatly alongside two bands who have been on the go in some shape or form for over forty years, but both the old and the new receive roars of approval from all ends of the age spectrum, (my good self included)
It’s nice to put the camera away for half an hour and listen to four ably talented musicians who trigger more of my musical synapses than they really have a right to. Stage left, guitarist Peter Byrchmore holds court, stroking sounds from his instrument with all the lofty disdain of the recently departed and much missed Geordie Walker.
Mike Simkins is on duty on the drum kit and the bizarrely-attired Amelia Chain adds an air of mystery and uplifting backing vocals, in addition to keyboard and tambourine duties. The fact that you can’t actually see her face is a little disconcerting, but it all adds to the mystery.
Mr Robb rests his much-overworked and doom-laden bass to provide us with the by now obligatory explanation to “Snow Monkey” whilst interacting with the crowd in a most endearing, if slightly sinister manner. It’s not a straightforward ask to describe The Membranes, but I’m enjoying tonight’s set immensely, considering that this is the first time I’ve seen them.
If you have a penchant for 80s gothy gloom rock (or even if you don’t), I’d strongly advise you to witness them, should the opportunity present itself.
The Membranes played: The Ghosts of Winter Stalk This Land, Nocturnal, Black Is the Colour, In the Graveyard, What Nature Gives… Nature Takes Away, Ice Age, Snow Monkey, Deep in the Forest Where the Memories Linger and Myths and Legends.
What can I possibly say about the Chameleons that hasn’t been said previously? Perhaps a personal recollection will help. Many, MANY years ago, at the tender age of 17 or so, I had a friend who had an older brother with a job (remember those?), and was able to BUY albums by such exotically-named folk as Joy Division, The Scars, the Comsat Angels, The Teardrop Explodes, Wah, Ultravox and some Middleton band or other called The Chameleons.
My mate’s brother taped them for my friend and my friend copied the tapes for ME (sorry, Mark, but I think I made up for it by buying every rarities/live CD you brought to sell in the Corn Exchange in the mid-90s). When I left Manchester at the back end of 1988 to spend a year in that there London (no, me neither) I passed a big box of TDK-90s to my younger brother with the throwaway comment,
“Here, you might find something in here that you like” And thus, dear reader began a lifelong love affair between the pair of us and Mr Burgess and Co, which has continued to this day. Editor Girl and I saw The Chameleons at the Picturedrome in Holmfirth back in the summer. I wept then (though in a good way) at la recherche du temps perdu and I confidently expect to do the same tonight. Let’s see how that works out.
I manoeuvre my way around the half a dozen other photographers in the pit for our allocated first three songs, as guitarist and other original Chameleon Reg Smithies, guitarist Stephen Rice, drummer Todd Demma and keyboard warrior Danny Ashberry (and NOT Danny “Phwoar” Asquith, as I mistakenly referred to him in my Holmfirth review, much to his good-natured disgust at the time) take up their positions.
Although the majority of tonight’s set comprises tracks from debit album “Script of The Bridge and its follow up “What Does Anything Mean… Basically?”, we’re first of all treated to a couple of early numbers in the form of “Things I Wish I’d Said” and “The Fan and the Bellows”, both of which feature on the John Peel session CD, should you wish to hunt them down.
We pay our first visit of the evening to Script of The Bridge in the form of “Here Today”, before another swift trip down memory lane with “Everyday I’m Crucified”. Whilst all fans are familiar with the holy trinity of albums that’s completed by “Strange Times” (which will be covered in tomorrow night’s gig), there are many hidden earlier gems waiting to be discovered if you dig just a little more forcefully. Hunt down the “Fan and the Bellows” album too.
Fan favourite “In Shreds” is met with a mighty roar of approval as we join in with, “It seems to me. to be so contradictory, it seems to me, you count your blessings while they’re there” – as the years pass, nothing could be further from the truth, but tonight, we’ll take the blessing of hearing these songs out chime out again with the same energy with which they did forty years ago. Age definitely has not diminished Mark and Reg, nor their music.
“I must have cried a thousand times”, announces Mark and the rest of us as we drift effortlessly into, “Less Than Human” with the braver souls pre-empting the “Oooh-oh ooh oh” refrain almost as soon as the song has got under way. I’m not crying yet, but there’s still plenty of time yet, Dear Reader. At the ripe old age of 61, the lyrics “Time he’s on my side, she said, he may be on your side I said, but it makes no difference in the end, he’s coming after you my friend” are more poignant than most, but there’s still life in the old dog yet.
I realise again that I’d like one of those whirly noise tubes we used to have as kids (well, I did anyway) more than is really healthy, as Danny’s keyboards whisk us off with the opening refrains of “Monkeyland” and if the audience reaction is anything to go by, that’s where we’re ALL marooned at the moment, although nobody seems to be complaining.
Fists punch the air, occasionally accompanied by Alex Staszko’s famous stick, seasonally festooned with Christmas lights. “Is there anyone there?” queries Mark. Mate, we’re ALL here, and it really ISN’T just a trick of the light. The trip across The Bridge (and its Script) continues with “Pleasure and Pain” to the continued delight of the crowd. We know the lyrics – we’ve lived, loved and lost through them and those of us who are lucky enough to still be here drink in every moment like a glass of the finest vintage of Bobby Moore’s Wine.
“Nathan’s Phase” is another early track that can be found on the “Fan and the Bellows” album and is beautiful in its simplistic keyboard motif. “As High as You Can Go” is, according to Mark, “”A song about selling your soul for fame and fortune, compromising oneself for the sake of your dreams. It came in the wake of CBS. They’d dangled a dream in front of us and when we wouldn’t be what they wanted they dropped us.
We weren’t bothered though, we had each other.” Given what came afterwards, we should perhaps Count Our Blessings that CBS never happened, otherwise, things might have ended up VERY differently. Before you can take a breath, we’re Looking Inwardly. One thing you’re never short of at a Chameleons gig is unabashed joy, whether it’s on the stage or in the crowd, the boys are playing our songs and we love them for it unconditionally.
Whether it’s a keyboard drone, a guitar riff, a drum pattern or Mark’s pounding bass, all dredge up memories of where we were, what we were doing, who we were with, who we SHOULDN’T have been with and who we WANTED to be with. As I have no hairs on my head these days, I have to rely on the ones on my arms to stand up, and they’re doing that to GREAT effect right now. I LOVE this band.
Next up (or possibly down) is Up the Down Escalator – “If I could freeze time at the flick of a switch, I wouldn’t hesitate, no, there must be something wrong boys” yells Mark triumphantly, but there’s nothing wrong tonight, at least for these 90 minutes, and it’s clear that everyone would be happy to be frozen within them for a VERY long time. We’re an hour in and whilst Mark hasn’t stopped to draw breath, he manages to slip “This music was made in Manchester, England” into the intro to “Singing Rule Britannia (While the Walls Close In)”
“Working class heroes mean nothing to me, I’m a working class zero chained to the tree… of life”. We are all our own working-class heroes tonight as “Counting out the time” explodes into “Tick, tick BOOM!” followed by some clever interweaving of The Clash’s “White Riot” and Joy Division’s “Transmission”. As if things couldn’t get any better!
Mark finally stops to thank us all, and to stress the importance of experiences in comparison with the material things with which we sometimes burden ourselves a little too much. “I don’t want to bring you down or anything, he deadpans, “But we’re all gonna die”, which is met with a worrying degree of enthusiasm from the crowd – it seems even death holds no fears for us tonight.
“Just make sure that when we DO, that we’ve had as many experiences as possible”, he pleads and you can’t really argue with that. Mark dedicates “Second Skin” to those who can’t be with us tonight and at this point, I can feel myself going. I’m actually going again as I’m typing and listening to my playback – that’s how much these songs get to me.
The crowd join in joyously, loudly as we realise that the evening is drawing to a close, and we need to suck out every last minute of pleasure (and probably a degree of pain too, if you’re in the bouncing mosh pit, not that it will matter in the slightest to those in there) “I realize a miracle, is due, I dedicate this melody, to you… if this is the stuff dreams are made of, no wonder I feel like I’m floating on air” – along with everyone else.
The bloke behind me sings every word and he may well only be walking on air because he’s hanging onto my shoulders, much to Editor Girl’s obvious concern, but nothing matters at all tonight. “Last night I said these words to my love”, cries Mark, channeling his inner Beatle before thanking us again with a shout of, “We are all Chameleons” as they leave the stage to rapturous applause from all corners of The Ritz.
We echo the refrain of Second Skin in the hopes that it will magically bring the boys back to the stage, and, thankfully (though not unpredictably) it does. Mark introduces the rest of the band, pretending to stumble as he tries to recall Reg’s name before we launch into “Nostalgia” with its haunting refrain of, “Tomorrow, remember yesterday” – oh Mark, we do, only too well – stop making me cry again, mate.
The silence roars as always in “Don’t Fall”, as we prepare for the end, and when it does come, it’s something of a surprise, as Simon Hinkler of The Mission (with whom The Chameleons toured the US a few months back) joins them on stage and Danny takes on bass duties for a wonderfully observed rendition of T. Rex’s “20th Century Boy” – there can’t be ANYONE in the audience young or old who doesn’t recognize it, as Danny channels his inner Burgess, rocking out at the rear whilst Mr Hinkler adds another layer of guitar to the mayhem.
What a gig, what a night (late December, back in ’23), what a menu – a starter of Battery Farm delivering their own particular brand of mayhem, followed by a main in the form of The Membranes and a Millionaire’s Shortbread of Chameleons to complete the banquet.
We trail off into the darkness of a Manchester night, thankful for what we’ve witnessed tonight, and just a little envious of those who will be doing it all over again tomorrow night in the company of Evil Blizzard, Ruts D.C. and, of course, the evergreen Chameleons… or was it red, or maybe some other colour – or perhaps it was just their second skin? I’m a Chameleon, you’re a Chameleon, we’re ALL Chameleons. Dear Reader, there are far worse ways to be.
The Chameleons played: Things I Wish I’d Said, The Fan and the Bellows, Here Today, Everyday I’m Crucified, In Shreds, Less Than Human, Monkeyland, Pleasure and Pain, Nathan’s Phase, As High as You Can Go, Looking Inwardly, Up the Down Escalator, Singing Rule Britannia (While the Walls Close In) and Second Skin (Encore), Nostalgia, Don’t Fall and 20th Century Boy (T. Rex cover – with Simon Hinkler of The Mission)
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