The Band are on, grab the FT! Bon Jovi, Hammersmith Odeon - 1990

The concept of Born with Bass was the idea of documenting my life through music. You can document a life in many ways I suppose. Nights out, trips to Tesco, holidays...but I wanted to share the bands I have seen and more importantly, the experiences I have had at the gigs I have been to. The people I met along the way provide stimulus for character and the two hours traffic of the stage supply entertainment enough surely? But I doubted myself and thought, 'Who really cares about the gigs I have been to?' and put the idea aside for a number of years. Until recently that is and a wise old owl said to me, 'But who are you writing it for?' That is a good question and one I am still not sure I know the answer to. Either way, I hope you enjoy reading Born with Bass- dedicated to my long time love affair with music.

My father took me to my first rock concert when I was nine years old. January 10th 1990 was the date and the band was Bon Jovi. Half way through the New Jersey Syndicate Tour (a lengthy affair which led to the band's hiatus in 1991), this was a charity gig in aid of the Nordoff Robbin's Foundation. Of course all of this went over my head; I was nine years old. But I did own all of the Bon Jovi VHS and my battered tennis racket is testament to the fact, I wanted to play guitar in a rock n' roll band.  

I knew the words and the air guitar chords off by heart. I was mesmerised by the shaggy mops of hair and the different faces in the crowds. It was a completely new world to me, one far away from north-west Kent and what it had to offer. I mean, in one of the videos (Livin' on a Prayer), Jon Bon Jovi flies. Actually flies. At the precise moment in time that the song kicks in (wooaaahhh were half way there..!) and the black and white video turns spectacularly to glorious technicolor, Jon Bon Jovi takes to the air and flies across the audience. This was the life and I wanted in.

I remember little of the train journey to London but I do remember we took a black cab from wherever we arrived to the destination, Hammersmith Odeon. I had never been in a black cab before and it was again a world of excitement and allure (why was there so much space? It's nothing like the Ford Escort...) We arrived, my Dad exchanged some notes with the driver and there it was in front of me, the rock n' roll venue. Now, I don't know how many people remember the Hammersmith Odeon, but it wasn't very rock n' roll at all. I was hoping for the stadium and arenas the Mr. Jovi had shown me in those videos. After all, he had seen a million faces and rocked them all, where were they all now? 

Hammersmith Odeon was an old sixties style cinema, more in need of a facelift than a night of unadulterated rock n' roll. Put it this way, the smaller, 'intimate gig' was lost on me at my tender age. I wanted pyrotechnics and strobe lighting. Still, there were BBC trucks surrounding the venue - there must be something worth filming right? I still to this day do not know why they were there, my Dad scoured the TV pages for months after the show to no avail. He even made me write a letter to them to find out if it was going on telly; I never received a reply. But it didn't matter, we were about to see the boys live.

So we got in and I was very concerned that this wasn't just going to be a recording of my heroes, as the Hammersmith Odeon seemed more suited to popcorn-throwing than rock star posturing. But what did I know? I was only nine. We found our seats, a stone's throw from the stage and sat down waiting patiently for the band to arrive.

When they finally did, it was to rapturous applause and noise I had never heard before. Girls were screaming, men were screaming, I was crying and couldn't quite believe Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora, were literally a few feet away from me. They started off with an acoustic set but ripped through some 23 songs on the night, a number of them covers of old classics.  

Sadly at my tender age, cover songs of The Supremes and Dylan were a little lost on me, but it made the Jovi songs all the more special. It was around forty-five minutes in that the full band were introduced and went electric. Cue again, mad screaming with this time, a vivid fear rising through my body.

Now I was an oddly-shaped youth. Come to think of it, I am an oddly-shaped adult, but it was more accentuated then. A big lad, all arms and legs. I had massive hands and feet and my parents used to affectionately call me a Labrador puppy as I grew up. As the rabble rose, how I wish I had the reflexes of said puppy to sprint out of the seats and into the relative safety of somewhere quiet.

People at this juncture often say to me, 'Oh yeah, it must have been really loud at your age?' And yes, yes, it was really loud, like uncomfortably loud. However, it was the feeling that really affected me. Like Godzilla and King Kong were backstage having a tear-up, a feeling buzzed through the room, through my seat and through my soul. That ladies and gentleman, was bass.

I turned to my father, like a child frightened. What am I saying? I was a child frightened! It suddenly dawned on me, my mother was right. I was too young to go to a rock concert. My Dad looked at me and smiled and assured me all was fine. I wasn't reassured, I was scared. I felt surrounded by danger. And I guess this was it for me. Because the seed was planted and I had seen a life I had never witnessed before. I looked around at the joyous faces and I started to believe that everything would be all right. 'No Trevor! You are too young, your eardrums might BURST!' Oh my god, fear again. Will this night ever bloody end?

I looked again at my father. He was now reading a paper and smoking cigarettes, (this is no joke he actually sat there and read a paper). Then I felt a warming hand on my shoulder and turned around quick as a flash, to see a long-haired chap smiling down at me. 'It's ok, relax, enjoy yourself!' He had a look that suggested he had been exactly where I was before, he knew my pain. He too wondered once, why the music was so bloody loud! He calmly turned his attention back to the music and the gesticulating lead singer on stage.

I slowly began to remove my hands from my ears. It was an epiphany, a cacophony of noise and sounds that all somehow were beginning to make sense. Every fibre of my being was telling me to run, that this was not...sensible. But I was beginning to feel the warm, comforting hands of live rock n' roll and was in the process of being converted.

The rest of the gig was a bit of a blur. I am pretty sure the bassist at the time, Alec Jon Such, looked at me and smiled but apart from that it was just a beautiful din and I left the venue a sweaty, over-excited mess.

God only knows who that guy was. Maybe it was the human incarnation of the devil securing my move to the dark side, ensuring I chose eternal damnation instead of turning back to the comfort and safety of everything I knew. Whoever he was, I thank him. 

I learnt a few things from the show. The main thing was that I liked rock n' roll. I was terrified and attracted by the music in equal measure. It was like Stockholm Syndrome; I was intrigued and needed to learn more.

I have got to thank my Dad for taking me and getting me involved, God rest his soul. Most people thought he was mad to take his child to a rock n' roll concert, but he planted a seed (and yes it was only Bon Jovi, thankfully my music tastes have changed) and it was a start. As for the newspaper...I suppose I can forgive him. I am not many years from being dragged to some derivative, drivelly, pop pin-up myself. However, another thing I have learnt, is no matter how 'above' the music I am or how much of a cool Dad I want to be; I will be sure to leave the paper at home.

Sequel To The Prequel - Babyshambles

"In the half light, you're looking all right," croons a reinvigorated Peter Doherty on the Babyshambles third and most recent offering. They are looking all right too; this is a mature and accomplished piece of work from a band renowned for sporadic genius and woeful failure. 

It's been five years since the band have produced any new material and it is largely thanks to bassist, Drew McConnell, for getting the group back into gear. A motorcycle accident spurred an epiphany for the young man, who wrote a number of the tracks for the record, the first time since the Libertines era that Doherty has shared song writing credits. 

The album blasts into life with the frantic 'Fireman,' a song that has been around for a little while and clocks in at under two minutes. If proof was needed that the 'Shambles had not gone soft, this is it. A Pistol-esque punk offering where Doherty spits, "it's breakfast time, drink a pot of wine, sucking on a bone, chewing on a microphone," suggestions here that the frontman is still deeply engrained in the rock n' roll lifestyle which has stolen a number of the headlines in recent years.

Saying this, Doherty does leads a slightly less madcap lifestyle and spends a lot of his private time with his new girlfriend painting and playing solo gigs. This is not to mean his troubles are over. At the band's recent show in Manchester, they only played for one hour (a bit of a cheek given the £25 ticket cost), and members of the group had to coerce the singer to return to the stage numerous times.

Despite this, the rest of the tour has been well received by fans and on the whole the band have been in fine fettle. It is reported Mick Whitnall is now clean, quite an achievement for the guitarist who has been Doherty's creative right-hand man for a number of years. The album itself is a melange of different contributions; this is not Doherty's work, it is a quite the collaboration and the band lose little for it.

The lead single, 'Nothing comes to Nothing' is a sugary pop-tastic slice of fun. Doherty's harmonies and major chords lead the way but ultimately I would argue this is a safe number in the same vein as 'Kilimanjaro,' designed primarily for the radio but lacking the punch of a 'Can't Stand Me Now' or 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun.'

That being said, there is nothing wrong with the maturation of a band. I mean we can't be 21 forever and a lot is made of bands 'selling out' and going soft. The truth is, there is a great deal of quality on this record. The band do have a pop producer in Stephen Street who manages to hone the 'Shambles sound, whilst still retaining a lot of the authentic quality.

'Picture me in a Hospital' is a glorious homage to Drew McConnell's post-accident blues and borrows a little stylistically from the poignant single 'Beg, Steal or Borrow.' 'Farmer's Daughter' is as close to a stadium rock anthem as you are going to get on the album with the singer belting out 'he knows where his daughter goes' an allusion to a life less ordinary and one Doherty certainly has the expertise to sing about.

However, it is the middle of the album that truly excels. Previous album 'Shotter's Nation' was oozing filler ('Deft Left Hand' and 'Crumb Begging Baghead' spring immediately to mind), but 'Sequel...' surpasses its predecessor by having a core of powerful, standout tracks throughout.'Maybelline' is an upbeat footstomper (not a make up jingle), while 'Fall from Grace' ebbs and flows, telling a story of our protagonist and his inevitable pitfalls. 

'Penguins' is a quirky love song, where Doherty muses about zoo animals "we could see penguins, yeah penguins are great" before bursting into a rock no roll chorus with the immortal line, "I really don't like your boyfriend's face and I think I am going to try and take his place." 

Stand out track and live favourite is 'Seven Shades' which is again an upbeat, powerhouse of a tune, this time our singer waxing lyrical about the haters who condemn his debauched lifestyle. "What’s it like on the moral high ground?" He asks, before deciding, "judging by your face I'm glad I never asked, step outside the bar and kick seven shades of shit out of you." Powerful stuff, if a little tongue in cheek, yet on the contrary it's the late night boozy feel of this album that makes it such a roaring success. The title track is a tribute to Doherty's (and indeed The Libertines) jazz/swing roots and is another highlight of the album. Piano-led and laced with whisky and melancholy, this is a wonderful nod to the Legs 11 era and shows the band's immense diversity and ability to write poignantly in a variety of styles. 

The album closes with 'Minefield,' a slow builder which moves away stylistically from anything the band have previously released.  From pin drop quiet to screeching guitars, the song is a fitting end to what is a triumph of a third record. Doherty pines, "my mind is on the run" in the outro and don't we know it. Yet the unifying force of Drew's will with Peter's undeniable talent has given fans a renewed sense of hope.

And yes, perhaps in the back of all our minds there is a utopian future where Carl and Pete forget the numerous tragedies and fallouts of the past and get to work on a third Libertines offering, but this is the real world and in it we have tangible testimony that Potty Pete has not lost all of his marbles just yet. 

You can catch Babyshambles on the second leg of their UK and European tour throughout October and November. 

8/10