Review by Alan Steenson for MPM
There are certain bands that provide the soundtrack to your youth, and then there are those responsible for your teenage hormones going completely off the rails. For me, Transvision Vamp managed both rather spectacularly.
I still remember buying Revolution Baby when it first appeared in 1987, a gloriously bratty slice of punk-infused pop that immediately caught my attention. This was something different. Loud, infectious, dripping with attitude and fronted by a peroxide blonde by the name of Wendy James, who looked as though she could start a riot simply by raising an eyebrow.
By the time I Want Your Love arrived in 1988 and propelled them into the big league, I was already a fully paid-up member of the Transvision Vamp appreciation society. Not that there was an actual membership card, although given the amount of attention I paid to Wendy James, I probably deserved honorary lifetime membership.
Like many teenage boys of that era, my bedroom walls were plastered with posters of musical heroes. But there was one particular blonde bombshell who seemed to stare down rather seductively from above, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil she was causing the young Belfast lad lying underneath.
We’ll not dwell too much on that particular obsession. This is a music review after all, not an investigation into the questionable activities of a hormonally challenged teenager.
Fast-forward to November 1989, and at 19 going on 20, I finally got to see Transvision Vamp in all their glory at Belfast’s Ulster Hall on the 13th of that month. They were touring their magnificent second album, Velveteen, which had topped the UK charts and cemented their place among the most exciting pop-rock acts of the late eighties.
And there she was. Wendy James. In the flesh. The woman from my bedroom wall suddenly transformed into a living, breathing rock star just a few yards away.
I can’t remember whether I was more impressed by the music or the fact that I’d finally occupied the same room as the object of my teenage affection. Probably a bit of both, although I’m reasonably certain the music was excellent.
Of course, Transvision Vamp weren’t merely about their striking frontwoman. Behind the attitude, outrageous image and tabloid fascination was a band with a genuinely impressive collection of songs. Baby I Don’t Care, Landslide of Love, The Only One, Tell That Girl to Shut Up and Born to Be Soldwere cracking pop-rock records, marrying punk sensibilities with enormous hooks and just enough sneering rebellion to upset the establishment.
But like so many bands that burned brightly, the flame eventually flickered out. Following their third album, Little Magnets Versus the Bubble of Babble, the band went their separate ways in the early nineties.
Wendy subsequently embarked on a solo career, initially enlisting the songwriting talents of none other than Elvis Costello and Cait O’Riordan for her 1993 albumNow Ain’t the Time for Your Tears. Despite the impressive pedigree, the commercial success of the Transvision Vamp years proved elusive. That isn’t to suggest she disappeared altogether. Far from it. Wendy continued recording, writing and performing, building a substantial body of solo work, albeit without troubling the upper reaches of the charts quite as dramatically as she once had.
And now, some 37 years after I last witnessed them in Belfast, Transvision Vamp are back….Well, sort of.
This isn’t quite the original gang getting back together. Crucially, guitarist and principal songwriter Nick Christian Sayer, the man responsible for so much of that infectious early material, is absent from the reunion. However, original bassist Dave Parsons is back alongside Wendy, joined by a seriously impressive collection of musicians, including Alex Ward from the Thurston Moore Group, guitarist Pip Stakem, keyboard player Matt Millership and drummer Jim Sclavunos of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds fame.
While purists might question whether a reunion without the band’s principal songwriter is really the genuine article, there’s no denying that Wendy James was always the unmistakable face, voice and attitude of Transvision Vamp.
And let’s face it, there’s something rather wonderful about this current wave of bands from our youth dusting themselves down, plugging the guitars back in and giving us ageing music lovers another opportunity to relive our glory days.
The nostalgia circuit has become big business, and not every reunion is necessarily worth the admission price. But when the songs are this good and there’s genuine enthusiasm from those performing them, who am I to complain?
Besides, my waistline might have expanded considerably since 1989, but thankfully my taste in music has survived relatively unscathed.
Susi Pagel – A Perfect Match
Before the return of my teenage obsession, there was the small matter of the evening’s support, and what an inspired choice that turned out to be.
Northern Ireland’s own Susi Pagel was, I must confess, a complete unknown to me before tonight. Billed as a solo artist, she arrived accompanied by guitarist Jack McGarry and the rather formidable Alex Williams behind the drum kit, and between the three of them delivered a thoroughly entertaining blast of energetic power pop and rock that fitted this particular bill like a glove.
From the opening R U IN LUV?, it was immediately apparent that Pagel wasn’t here merely to make up the numbers. There was an infectious enthusiasm about her performance, matched by a genuine excitement at having been asked to open for Wendy James and Transvision Vamp. And refreshingly, she wasn’t remotely shy about telling us how much the opportunity meant to her.
That enthusiasm proved rather infectious.
Headspace, Truth and Lies and Scream followed, the latter delivered with enough angst and conviction to suggest that the song’s title was considerably more than a casual suggestion. Worry Dolls, Stay This Way and Drive kept the momentum rolling, each propelled along with tremendous gusto by McGarry’s punchy guitar work and Williams’ powerful drumming.
Although Pagel was billed as a solo performer, this was very much a tight, cohesive outfit, the three musicians bouncing off one another with the confidence and chemistry of a proper band.
Musically, there were shades of The Primitives, The Go-Go’s and even the more contemporary punch of Paramore. That’s not to suggest Pagel was simply borrowing from her influences. Far from it. There was enough individuality in both her songwriting and delivery to suggest an artist developing her own identity, and any comparisons with those established acts should be taken entirely as compliments.
Perhaps what impressed me most, however, was the sheer joy radiating from the stage. Pagel was absolutely buzzing at the opportunity to share a bill with Wendy James, and her determination to make the most of it was impossible to miss.
She wanted to impress. We wanted her to impress us. And, rather wonderfully, she did.
Support slots can be a thankless business, particularly when the audience is predominantly there to relive the music of its youth. But Pagel didn’t merely warm the crowd up; she made a convincing case for why we should be paying attention to the next generation rather than spending our entire evening looking backwards.
Hopefully this opportunity proves to be another significant stepping-stone towards something much bigger. She certainly has the enthusiasm, the songs and the musicianship to deserve it.
Remember the name Susi Pagel. On this evidence, I suspect we’ll be hearing plenty more from her.
And with the audience suitably warmed up, it was time to return to the unfinished business of 1989.
The familiar computer-generated voices of Trash City began to fill the Limelight, accompanied by the sort of thundering, football-terrace anthem that demanded attention.
“Rules? There are no rules! Success is credibility, credibility is success!”
Pip Stakem delivered the declaration with considerable gusto, the band powering away behind him, and then, to rapturous applause, Wendy James appeared.
Thirty-seven years had passed since I’d last seen her on a Belfast stage, but at that particular moment they might just as well have been thirty-seven minutes.
Straight into Tell That Girl to Shut Up, the band immediately demonstrated that this wasn’t going to be some half-hearted trip down memory lane. The sound was enormous, the energy infectious, and within moments the Limelight crowd was bouncing and singing along.
And then something wonderful happened.
As the cheers continued, a huge smile began to spread across Wendy’s face. Not the carefully manufactured sneer of a pop star playing to the cameras, but a genuine, beaming smile that seemed to light up the entire room.
She stood taking it all in, waiting for the applause to subside before addressing the audience.
“Belfast… I want your love!”
And BANG!
Straight into I Want Your Love, the song that had first propelled the band into the big league in 1988.
For a brief moment I closed my eyes and was transported straight back to that glorious music video, the peroxide hair, the attitude, the teenage infatuation and the excitement of discovering a band that seemed to have arrived specifically to annoy your parents.
Some things never leave you.
And thankfully, the music hadn’t lost any of its bite either.
This wasn’t a band simply accompanying its famous frontwoman. These were accomplished musicians powering through the material with a conviction that gave the old songs fresh life.
Behind the drum kit, Jim Sclavunos was an absolute powerhouse. A seasoned campaigner whose musical CV includes Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, and who will shortly be appearing with The Pogues, he kept the whole operation driving forward with almost military precision.
Wendy took time to introduce her musical accomplices, including the only other surviving original member of the band, “Dreamy” Dave Parsons. Her words, not mine, although I suppose after all these years she is entitled to call him whatever she likes.
Matt Millership apparently shares the dubious distinction of being one of the badly behaved members of the tour van alongside Wendy herself, while guitarist Alex Ward was introduced with the promise that he would blow our minds before the evening was finished.
Given the volume coming from the stage, he was already making a decent attempt at it.
The band then launched into Speedball, a Wendy James solo track concerning the recreational excesses of the drug-taking fraternity. It was an absolute sonic assault, propelled by an infectious beat and a pounding, seventies-style glam-rock swagger that sounded magnificent through the Limelight’s PA.
Judging by the enthusiastic reception, it mattered little that much of the audience may not have been familiar with it beforehand.
Wendy was clearly enjoying herself, frequently engaging with the crowd, although she admitted she couldn’t understand half of what was being shouted in her direction.
If they were requests, she suggested, she was fairly certain everyone would know the next one.
And with that came Sister Moon.
They certainly did know it.
For me, this was one of the evening’s early highlights. Wendy powered through the song with tremendous confidence while the audience responded with the sort of affection that only comes from having lived with these records for the best part of four decades.
Between songs she reflected on the extraordinary response the reunited band had received, from Australia and New Zealand through to the UK and Ireland. Venue after venue had apparently left her astonished at the warmth of the welcome.
As she put it, they had left things back in 1991, and suddenly, just like that, they were back.
It was almost as though someone had pressed pause for 35 years and then decided to see what would happen if they pressed play again.
Next came Pressure Times, from their less celebrated third album,Little Magnets Versus the Bubble of Babble, a track that owed more than a passing nod to the baggy musical landscape of the early nineties.
It was followed by You’re a Dirtbomb, Lester, another selection from Wendy’s solo catalogue, demonstrating that this new incarnation of Transvision Vamp was quite happy to incorporate material from the intervening years rather than simply become its own tribute act.
Then Wendy asked when the band had last played Belfast.
Ulster Hall, November 1989, on the Velveteen tour, came the answer.
I could have told her that myself. In fact, I still have the original ticket stub to prove it.
And when The Only One came roaring out of the speakers, it sounded every bit as wonderful as it had on that November night all those years ago.
If Looks Could Kill and Born to Be Sold followed, the latter perhaps not one of the band’s biggest chart successes, but live it absolutely hit the mark. Down on You maintained the momentum, with Pip Stakem delivering a particularly impressive guitar solo towards the end.
By now there was no question about the musicianship on display. These guys weren’t simply reproducing the records; they were adding plenty of their own firepower.
And then came the moment I’d personally been waiting for….Revolution Baby.
The song that started my whole Transvision Vamp adventure back in 1987.
Wendy recalled how the single had made little impression on the charts first time around, but for this particular reviewer it remains one of the most important records in my collection.
I still have that original seven-inch single, bought after hearing it on the radio.
Yes, kids, that’s what we did back then.
When we heard something we liked, we didn’t simply press a button on a phone and add it to a playlist containing another six thousand songs we’d probably never listen to again.
We got on our bikes, caught a bus, or walked into town and actually BOUGHT the bloody record.
We took it home, played it to death, examined the sleeve, read the credits and, if the band was good enough, followed them faithfully for years.
There was something wonderfully personal about discovering music that way.
I sometimes wonder whether that connection has been lost in today’s disposable, streaming-driven musical landscape, where the next big thing can become yesterday’s news before the poor bugger has even finished tuning a guitar.
And it’s one of the reasons young artists like Susi Pagel deserve every bit of support they can get. Making good music is one thing; getting people to notice it and, more importantly, stick around for the journey is quite another.
Anyway, rant over, Back to the matter in hand.
Hearing Revolution Baby performed live again after all these years was an absolute joy. The song still possesses that gloriously infectious mixture of punk attitude and pop sensibility, and the current band attacked it with enough energy to suggest they were enjoying themselves every bit as much as the audience.
For a few glorious minutes, that seventeen-year-old lad from 1989 was back.
Although thankfully nobody was asking him to fit into his old jeans.
What followed was a quite magnificent run of songs that had the Limelight crowd singing, jumping and generally behaving in a manner that would probably require a couple of ibuprofen the following morning.
Wendy shared an anecdote about Tim Burgess of The Charlatans having singled out Velveteen as a favourite album, prompting her to revisit its contents and realise just how good some of those songs really were.
Her conclusion was considerably less restrained than mine, but entirely justified, and with that, the band launched into Pay the Ghosts….What a song!
Punky, urgent and brimming with attitude, it sounded absolutely magnificent live, the guitars cutting through with a ferocity that demonstrated just how well this material has aged.
But if Pay the Ghosts provided the aggression, Landslide of Love supplied the emotion.
Wendy’s voice was simply beautiful.
Pitch perfect, controlled and full of feeling, it was one of those rare moments at a concert when the years seem to melt away and you find yourself completely immersed in the music.
I closed my eyes and simply allowed myself to get lost in it.
It was delirious.
I was delirious.
The whole bloody room seemed delirious.
And standing there in a packed Belfast venue, listening to songs that had meant so much to me as a teenager, I couldn’t help thinking how fortunate we were to be experiencing them all over again.
Then came an announcement that nobody, myself included, had been expecting.
Wendy reminded us that 3 October 2028 would mark the 40th anniversary of the release of Pop Art, the band’s debut album….and to celebrate? A fourth Transvision Vamp studio album.Yes, you read that correctly.
According to Wendy, a brand-new Transvision Vamp album will be released on that very date, accompanied by another tour……But she wasn’t finished.
Having explained that Belfast was the final stop on this particular tour, she suddenly suggested that perhaps it would be rather fitting to START the next one right here in Belfast.
Cue absolute pandemonium.
Judging by the reaction, she’d have absolutely no difficulty filling the Limelight again.
Whether this was a carefully considered touring plan or simply an inspired thought that popped into her head in the heat of the moment remains to be seen.
Either way, Wendy, we’ll hold you to it.
And then, with a screech of Pip Stakem’s guitar and that unmistakable opening scream, the band launched into the monster that is Baby I Don’t Care.
The place went absolutely ballistic.
Arguably their most recognisable song, it remains a magnificent slice of pop-rock perfection, and hearing it delivered with such force by this band was a reminder of just how many genuinely brilliant singles Transvision Vamp produced.
The audience sang along with every word, the band gave it everything, and Wendy appeared to be loving every second.
A triumphant conclusion to the main set.
But there was still unfinished business.
Having left the stage to thunderous applause, the band returned for a three-song encore.
Wendy took the opportunity to introduce the wider touring entourage, including the tour manager and various members of the crew, before rather hilariously telling them all to fuck off the stage.
It was delivered with such affection and impeccable comic timing that the entire room erupted in laughter.
That cheeky, rebellious streak clearly hasn’t disappeared with age.
The encore began with The Impression of Normalcy, from Wendy’s solo catalogue, followed by the excellent Bad Valentine. Neither might have been the obvious choice for an audience largely raised on the big singles, but both proved worthy additions to an evening that had already delivered considerably more than a straightforward greatest-hits package.
And then Wendy announced that they had approximately nine minutes left.
Now, for anyone familiar with Velveteen, that could mean only one thing.
The extraordinary title track of their magnificent second album.
And what a way to finish.
Beginning slowly and melodically, Velveteen gradually unfolds into something altogether more ambitious, building layer upon layer until it erupts into a glorious, bombastic wall of sound.
Live, it was nothing short of breathtaking.
The musicianship was exceptional, the arrangement immense, and the sheer power coming from the stage was enough to leave me and the roughly 950 other souls packed into the Limelight completely spellbound.
It was the perfect conclusion for what had been a glorious evening.
As the final notes rang out, the band gathered together, took their bows and accepted the applause of an audience that quite clearly wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
And then, just like that, it was over.
Walking out of the Limelight, I couldn’t help reflecting on the extraordinary passage of time between that first Transvision Vamp concert at the Ulster Hall in November 1989 and this latest encounter.
Back then I was a seventeen-year-old, hopelessly infatuated with Wendy James and completely captivated by a band whose music seemed to encapsulate everything exciting about being young.
Thirty-seven years later, the hair is greyer, the waistline considerably more substantial and the knees perhaps not quite as enthusiastic about jumping around for ninety minutes.
But the music?….The music still matters.
And so does the emotional connection to those records, the memories they hold and the people we were when we first discovered them.
There are those who dismiss reunion tours as little more than cynical exercises in nostalgia, but Sunday night demonstrated that when the songs are strong enough, the musicians committed enough and the audience sufficiently invested, something rather magical can happen.
This wasn’t simply a group of ageing music fans reliving their teenage years. It was a genuinely exciting rock concert delivered by an exceptionally talented band, fronted by a woman who remains every bit as charismatic and engaging as I remember.
Wendy James clearly appreciated the affection Belfast showed her, and the warmth flowing in both directions was a wonderful thing to witness.
Perhaps the greatest compliment I can pay this reunion is that, by the end of the evening, I wasn’t thinking about what Transvision Vamp had been in 1989.
I was thinking about how bloody good they were in 2026.
And with the promise of a fourth album and another tour in 2028, perhaps this isn’t the final chapter after all.
As for that teenage lad who once gazed adoringly at Wendy James from his bedroom floor?
Well, he’s still in there somewhere.
And judging by Sunday night’s performance, he’s still completely smitten.
Baby I Don’t Care?
Bollocks to that.
Baby, WE DO CARE!
Photography by Darren McVeigh for MPM
