Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
Pronounced “Zee Zee Top”, an incredible 55 years in the making, ‘That Little Ol’ Band From Texas’ roll their particular roadworn bandwagon into ‘The Old Smoke’. Londinium to the Romans, acerbically known as ‘The Great Wen’ by writer William Cobbett in the 19th century, and nowadays more plainly, amongst many others, as ‘The Capital’.
Regarded as the cultural, economic, and political epicentre of all things UK London has been selected, once more, as the sole UK date upon this evening’s headliner’s first European tour since 2019. In fact, this evening’s gig is just a day short of the fifth anniversary of that solitary date at this venue, then known as the SSE Arena.
Constructed for the 1934 British Empire Games the Grade II listed OVO Wembley Arena nestles, under the shadow of the new Wembley Stadium, amongst the encircling, and seemingly ever-growing, regeneration new builds. The lengthy list of artists and bands, including the likes of Queen, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Eagles, reads like an who’s who of the upper echelons of rock n’ roll royalty. In every corner history seeps through, and from, the comprisal concrete.
Opening this evening’s shenanigans ascendant Bridgend quintet Those Damn Crows are getting a real appetite for the big occasion. Touring with the likes of Hollywood Vampires and The Goo Goo Dolls as well as fiercely assaulting a rain-soaked Apex Stage at this year’s Download stands them well to take Wembley by the scruff of the neck and give several thousand folks a right royal Welsh rocking.
As hard as steel and equally as uncompromising The Crows set off in determined mood and, with seeming ease, maintain a high pace throughout a barnstorming half an hour. Which at the end of the rapidly filling arena is on its collective feet championing a moment of rock long to be remembered. Ahead of accompanying Böhse Onkelz on the German rockers completely sold-out stadium tour it’s plainly evident that this Welsh five-piece are more than ready for the bigger stage.
From the initial introductory moments of scene-setting with the cackle of crows orbiting bells tolling of leaden doom to the dying notes of rumbustious set-closer ‘Rock N’ Roll Ain’t Dead’ (please take note Mr. Simmons) there’s an indisputable composed confidence evident.
Bursting forth onstage with the powerhouse despatch of ‘Who Did It’, resonating of aspects of Welsh valley-life, the mission statement hits hard and swift. Alongside the ever-ready frontman Shane Greenhall guitarists Ian ‘Shiner’ Thomas and David Winchurch lay down stoical riffing that is driven hard by impactful drummer Ronnie Huxford and hyper livewire bassist, and recent father, Lloyd Wood.
Blowing kisses to the arena at the conclusion of the impactful ‘Man On Fire’ Greenhall pauses to absorb the occurrence. “Two words …. Hello Wembley!” emotes the beaming frontman who has undoubtedly dreamt of making that greeting. Winchurch’s guitar soars within the darker tonage of ‘Find a Way’.
“Holy fuck put your hands down! That’s a lot!” jokes Greenhall upon assessing the response to his enquiry as to how many hadn’t seen them. Was it just six years ago that we saw Those Damn Crows in a tiny upstairs venue across the city in Camden?
The charm offensive continues apace with an emotional pairing of ‘Blink of an Eye’ and ‘This Time I’m Ready’, the ‘duelling’ twin lead of Winchurch and Thomas in the former a noteworthy segment. There’s sufficient time for Greenhall to go ‘walkabout’ in ‘Rock N’ Roll Ain’t Dead’ reaching the raised seated area stage right to the delight of the mainly unsuspecting masses.
Every inch the heirs apparent Those Damn Crows take the deserved Wembley applause. It’s a moment reminiscent of Thunder stealing the (well!) thunder opening for Aerosmith at Birmingham’s NEC back in ’89. “Goodbye Wembley until the next time” enthuses Greenhall with an air of expectancy of further appearances here in London; the greeting roar agrees with his subtle confidence.
Based on what’s just transpired there’s a whole truckload more to come from The Crows’ camp. December’s headlining show at Cardiff’s Utilita Arena, their largest to date by far and a litmus test if there ever was one in rock circles, is going to be one heck of a night!
Formed in 2009 in California’s Long Beach, with eight studio albums already in their blues-rock drenched locker, Rival Sons havebeen on my radar for quite some time now. However, respective paths have never quite crossed until this evening, with this the very first opportunity we get to catch the twice Grammy-nominated outfit in the in actual flesh.
To compress a representative selection into a meaningful 40 minutes is by no means a straightforward task but one that Rival Sons appear to relish throughout. Centring upon those aforementioned nominations with a set nucleus of the title track of ‘Feral Roots’ and its album companions ‘Too Bad’ and ‘Do Your Worst’ it’s a compelling selection of enthralments.
In the moments of inception ‘Mirrors’ descends from the heavens showering raw, bleeding blues-infused rock upon the ranks gathered within. With striking flamboyance the barefooted vocalist Jay Buchanan, neatly attired in an all-salmon suit, scales the ramparts with a rarely witnessed dynamism. “I lost my sight so slowly I didn’t know that I was going blind” he notes with much depth.
Roaring off the scenery of the arenaceous levels of the dustbowl ‘Open My Eyes’ sears leaving a carbonised trail in its incendiary wake. Switching tracks to a warped-up geological melding of Cream and Led Zeppelin ‘Pressure and Time’ strikes forcibly with subtle twists and turns challenging the very integrity of the fabric. I fully concur with Ellis Boyd ‘Red’ Redding in the fact that’s all it takes really. That and, of course, a big goddamn poster.
That triple-serving from ‘Feral Roots’ steals the show commencing with the howling blues of ‘Too Bad’ – with guitarist Scott Holiday scorching a conflagrant solo – attaining opulence of the rarest diamond form. The acoustic backwoods sentiments of ‘Feral Roots’ follows. Buchanan lamenting his formative years growing up “really deep in the woods” and the desires of getting out. “Even in the city the trees are different, some woods can’t be tamed” he adds sagely.
From the atmospheric southern magnificence of the trails of the badlands and backwater creeks we are firmly dunked into the seething convulsions of the hooky ‘Do Your Worst’. The now jacketless Buchanan thanks tonight’s headliners “They’re the gold standard” before turning his gratitude to the crowd for giving live music their combined attention in a world that demands and craves attention in every quarter.
Their closing statement ‘Electric Man’ is, most aptly, surging high voltage that no circuit protection can contain. Wembley, by now pretty much full, absorbs every moment meticulously. Rival Sons are that sort of a band, whereby like the finest of wines, that should be consumed with punctiliously scrutiny. They are that good!
“We’ve been coming around for yas for five decades!” states Billy Gibbons one of the three focal points that constitute ZZ Top. With a career stretching back to 1969 the Stateside road warriors’ years spent rocking and a-rolling is easily double that of the combined total of both their guests this evening. In fact, up until the sad passing of bassist Dusty Hill, in 2021, our headliners this evening held the acclaimed ‘title’ of the longest-running group with an unchanged line-up!
Splitting their extensive US ‘The Sharp Dressed Simple Man’ tour, with co-headliners Lynyrd Skynyrd and special guests Black Stone Cherry, into two parts ZZ Top have dashed across the Atlantic for a baker’s dozen whistlestop European set of dates. Before a single note is cast the stage set up gives an indication that this is going to be rock n’ roll stripped back to its deepest core. Bare-boned with no thrills, no finery, and no fuss. None is required. Purely a bank of amps and heads flanking Frank Beard’s impressive array of percussive elements. No backdrop or gimmicks other than two light-changing mic stands with the timeless ZZ’s of the band’s logo on them.
Just after the stroke of nine an intro tape booms “Ladies and gentlemen are you ready for start time?” Wembley erupts volcanically as Gibbons and bassist Elwood Francis purposefully advance stagewards joining the already assembled Beard, who’s hunkered down amidst his kit.
The fact that the set-opener ‘Got Me Under Pressure’, an album track from 1983’s ‘Eliminator’, gets Wembley jumping bears testament to how much of a game-changer this long-player was for the band. Shifting not only their sound but their status as ‘That Little Ol’ Band From Texas’ to household names. Francis defies the known laws of low-end rhythms with an incredulous 16-string bass whilst Gibbons’ smoking six strings sizzle like sausages on an inferno.
The triumvirate of successful singles from ‘Eliminator’ are given prime position within the set. Whilst ‘TV Dinners’, which barely troubled the UK chart statisticians is eschewed, the riotous coupling of ‘Sharp Dressed Man’ and ‘Legs’ brings the main body of the set to a climax and ‘Gimme All Your Lovin’’, the jewel in the crown, gets the arena on their feet in timely fashion a few tracks in.
There is, however, much more to ZZ Top than ‘Eliminator’ and its counterparts ‘Afterburner’ and ‘Recycler’ – curiously though only the svelte hypnosis of ‘My Head’s in Mississippi’, from the latter, makes the cut for this tour from this pair of releases. This is a band deep rooted in the blues of the southern regions; a style which they gradually returned to following the commercial successes of the 80’s into the early 90s.
A raunchy slowed down bluesy version of Sam & Dave’s ‘I Thank You’, that originally saw the light of day on 1979’s ‘Degüello’, leads the way for early ZZ Top and is extremely warmly received, much in the manner a long-lost friend is greeted. It’s quite literally a sparkling production both audibly and visually with Hill’s tech Francis continuing the part in complementing Gibbons’ outfits.
A ‘Tres Hombres’ brace in the tantalising formation of the seamless heartfelt blues of ‘Waitin’ For The Bus’ and ‘Jesus Just Left Chicago’. The latter, right out of the deltalands, rammed full of gritty blues that AC/DC would later embrace and trademark their own.
‘Pearl Necklace’ jabs and prods in the manner of an explorative pugilist leading into the coarse granular composition of ‘I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide’. Wembley is in raucous form savouring every dish served up in the ZZ Top buffet being Nationwide to the band’s Bad in an earnest singalong.
Raw and rootsy the delta blues of ‘I Gotsta Get Paid’ leads us down the Mississippi appropriately leading into the aforementioned sole offering from ‘Recycler’. Dedicated to Jeff Beck the Merle Travis coal-mining country classic ‘Sixteen Tons’ is rocked up in typical freight training ZZ Top fashion. “Jeff Beck said ZZ Top play a lot of rock n’ roll, he said play a country song” informs Gibbons.
The ever-so slick slide guitar of ‘Just Got Paid’, quaking swampland blues rock of the finest haul, leads to the ‘Eliminator’ pairing examining well-attired gentlemen and lower limbs. Wembley knows it and loudly informs “Every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp-dressed man’ right on cue before the trademark sheepskin covered bass and guitar get their nightly outing in ‘Legs’. The flourishes are somehow understated yet despatched with laser-guided precision.
A quick break and it’s all go once more with a swift outfit change with Gibbons and Francis kitted out in sparkling jackets and boots as well as green and black instruments that appear in competition with the attire in those glitter stakes. The ‘ranchero’ blues of ‘Brown Sugar’ leads the way into the rattlesnake slither of ‘Tube Snake Boogie’ with the assembled ranks getting in on the act chanting “But her sister will” at Gibbons’ request. The growling simplicity of ‘La Grange’ brings down the house as ZZ Top launch one last skywards rocket across the London night skies.
It’s been short, clocking in at 75 minutes, but boy it’s been oh so sweet. ZZ Top have presented Wembley Arena with a masterclass of blues rock accuracy jamming more into those 75 precious minutes than many fail to do in much longer sets. Stripped back rocking just what the doctor prescribed!
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM