Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
“I’m gonna be singing Stiff Little Fingers for the next week!” says the man, as we file out into the Bristol night air, next to me out of nowhere. His name may or may not be Bill, Billy or Mac or Buddy, but this brief welcome moment not only perfectly summarises my post-gig feelings but also reminds me somewhat of Sheryl Crow’s breezy breakthrough ‘All I Wanna Do’.
It’s been hot and most definitely sweaty but Stiff Little Fingers have bustled through a cracking 80 or so minutes.
A XXL sea bedecked in the finest Lonsdale and Fred Perry have jostled and moshed their night away in party mood. The best night of the year? Damn right! We’ve signed up for a punk masterclass in the heart of Bristol on the Fingers’ annual March outing and this is precisely what is delivered by Antrim’s finest export. As ever the quadrumvirate, as industrious as several lodges of beavers, are extremely immense value for money.
Also great VFM are Ricky Warwick & The Fighting Hearts, very special guests for the tour they’re the perfect opening foil for SLF. Newtownards-born Warwick seemingly lives to play music and tonight, with his Fighting Hearts, is in a determined mood but is equally grateful expressing gratitude to the crowd for taking his latest album ‘Blood Ties’ into the top 30 of the UK albums charts this week.
With no opening fanfare they’re straight into initial track ‘Angels of Desolation’ craned in from ‘Blood Ties’. It’s a number that motors along like a steely-hard freight-train and one of several examples of why this latest album has proven so popular. The basslines of Richard Vernon, formerly of The Mission and The One amongst many, gallop along in strong-arm fashion coupled up with percussive kinetics delivered by Bristol’s Jack Taylor (Tax The Heat). To Warwick’s left another Bristol lad, Ben Christo guitarist with Sisters of Mercy and Diamond Black, slams a particularly searing solo from his Gibson SG.
The Celtic resonance of the Black Star Rider’s classic ‘Another State Of Grace’ goes down a storm as it howls from atop the mountainous pinnacles. The filling O2 begins to bounce and sway along. With gravelly vocals and fine low-slung six-string action Warwick, and his trio of hard rocking cohorts, emphatically belt out the track in trademark muscular fashion.
The bristling chops of ‘Fighting Heart’ follows its gunslinger anthemic r n’ r bringing a thunderous opening triplet to a rip-roaring crescendo. Warwick and Christo’s duelling guitars lead into the sweltering ‘The Crickets Stayed in Clovis’, every ounce of passion and energy is expended in this sumptuous outpouring.
The well-honed quartet roll into the veritable head-nodding ‘Crocodile Tears’ before attentions turn to the back catalogue with the reminiscing of ‘When Patsy Cline Was Crazy (And Guy Mitchell Sang The Blues)’ that ploughs a similar furrow kind of in the manner of Deacon Blue’s ‘Real Gone Kid. Tearing at the soul’s fabric ‘Rise and Grind’ with Vernon’s leviathan bass notes taking the lead prior to Christo’s solo taking the inner banshee right out of his fret.
A storming rendition of ‘Born To Lose’ from spearheading punk outfit The Heatbreakers solitary album ‘L.A.M.F.’ is well received. Warwick gets down and dirty in this barroom brawler with a neat bit of 12 bar boogie that the late Rick Parfitt would no doubt approve of. Rammed full of ironic ‘Celebrating Sinking’ packs an almighty punch with, at track end, Warwick wiping away sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.
Thankfully, there’s further in the metaphorical tank as we roll headlong into the riotous stampede of ‘The Arms of Belfast Town’. Rumbustious to the core, much like Dropkick Murphys, if you’re in any doubt of Warwick’s lineage then his passionate mid-track additive “Take me home!” should provide sufficient answer. The pounding folky punk rock rebel-rousing of ‘Schwaben Redoubt’, with the stage most aptly bathed in green light, rounds off an infectious 45 minutes with the SLF crowd right onside.
From their 1977 inception, at the height of the political and nationalistic struggles of The Troubles, Stiff Little Fingers have through the good old-fashioned medium of sheer hard work rightfully earned the right to dine at punk’s very top table. Witnessing The Fingers storm the battlements at Crystal Palace Park’s Dog Day Afternoon Festival and in the process invoking the spirit of 1996’s slot supporting the Sex Pistols at Finsbury Park provided any necessary reaffirmation.
Renown for their considered curation of pre-set tracks SLF don’t disappoint this evening with the theme being none other than Bond, James Bond. Through Matt Monro, Shirley Bassey (twice), Tom Jones, and Nancy Sinatra we’re led by the hand to the ultra-iconic theme tune itself. Probably one the most famous pieces of movie music of all time.
Seamlessly transitioning into the intro of ‘Go For It’ the reverential partying begins with much gusto. Bristol squares up upping the fervour and levels of expectation. As the O2 crowd “do-do-do” along so the four vital components of SLF nonchalantly file on-stage from the stage left shadows.
A repeated chant of “Fingers” emanates from the packed venue before we tumble head on into the almighty skanking ‘Roots, Radicals, Rockers and Reggae’. The call for harmony in Bunny Wailer’s track rally as resonant in these troubled times as the day he penned them.
The teenage anguish of top 20 single ‘At The Edge’, instantly recognisable, is lobbed right into the mix at this early juncture with the wild scenes afront the stage continuing unrelenting. Cranking it right up SLF pulverise all in a several mile radius with this goosebumping punk anthem. It’s still a relevant call to the youth.
Frontman, and ever-present member, Jake Burns brings in the snarling ‘Wasted Life’ as cart-wheeling bassist, and co-founder, Ali McMordie leans upon his amp whilst, on the opposite side of the stage guitarist Ian McCallum takes a close inspection of his backline equipment. McMordie ‘shoots’ off his low-end incursions singing along with Burns’ venomous barking.
The gentle intro strains of ‘Won’t Be Told’ (not played before this tour) swiftly detonate, The Fingers are on fire, no frills required or, indeed, requested, just pure punk fury and dynamics in this snappy despatch. There’s much poignance in the emotional ‘Strummerville’ with its slight bluesy underpinning that props up the punked energies. Very much like the song’s subject Joe Strummer it’s a safe to note that Jake Burns has always worn his heart proudly upon his sleeve.
A pointed Burns’ monologue, through a damn good yarn, pokes fun at the current ‘governor’ of USA’s half century of states and receives an almighty cheer and introduces the newly written snakebite of ‘Mary’s Boy Child’. “Apologies to Harry Belafonte for stealing the title of one of his biggest hits” quips Burns. The mightily pugilistic ‘Straw Dogs’ accelerates driving the energies in the ever-moshing pit.
The urban punk of ‘Piccadilly Circus’, the first of a pairing from 1981’s ‘Go For It’, is untethered with the punk melodics of ‘Just Fade Away’ braced together. The long-serving McCallum seems lost in the moment as the hurricane whirls out front. “The next two are written about the experiences of being Irish in the wider world” introduces Burns as the electro-acoustic wielded by McCallum features strongly in the rollickingly good ‘Each Dollar A Bullet’ and poignant stomp of ‘Harp’. Their pounding Celtic nature surely inspirational fodder for the likes of Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly.
Introducing ‘My Dark Places’ is the perfect conduit for Burns to express the serious topic of mental health of men over 50. “Please talk to someone about it, seriously” the effervescent frontman urges to loud, loud cheers. The adrenalized ‘Nobody’s Hero’ is, exactly like the 1980 top 40 double A-side 7”, coupled with the boiling over of ‘Tin Soldiers’. The snapping machine-gun delivery of the latter segues into the instant detonation of the earthquake inducing buzzsawing of ‘Suspect Device’.
There’s no going back now, we’re on a one-way ticket to punk n’ oblivion. ‘Gotta Gettaway’ builds up an imperious head of steam. The O2 ranks sing raucously as if it’s 1980 once again. Steve Grantley’s drumming entwines with McMordie’s rhythms as the pogoing onslaught continues to smack directly in the face.
Feet pound in unison and the assembled chant “Fingers” baying for further, a brief respite afore the encore. “We don’t write many love songs” notes McMordie furthering “But here’s one for ya!” before the quadrumvirate rip into the echinate and spiky ‘Barbed Wire Love’. The crowd sway from side to side in the faux-60s segment before the track ratchets tighter one last time with Burns chuckling in the outro burst.
It’s been a behemothic evening with a blend of old and not so old with crowd favourites aplenty and a couple of deeper cuts, plenty enough to keep one and all most happily satiated. The never-to-be-mistaken intro riffs of the timeless anthem ‘Alternative Ulster’ ensures one last eruption. The ultimate inflammatory crescendo brings down the roof and we leave the O2’s interior with enough music in our heads for at least a 24/7 playlist.
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
