Muse - The Den, Teignmouth, 04/09/09

It says a lot about Teignmouth that there literally are road signs pointing to 'out of town'. There's not a lot to do there, bar leave. It's a seaside town of 15,000, and is basically notable for nothing apart from being Muse's hometown. You see, Muse are Teignmouth's equivalent to The Beatles, in a sense; almost everyone has some kind of anecdote relating to them, some connection or other, mainly incredibly tenuous by nature.

This duo of gigs is, over the space of a weekend, pretty much doubling Teignmouth's population. They may not be much of a surprise to locals (my friends and I have been speculating and hearing vague rumours of something along these lines for years, as have many others, I'm sure) but they're certainly an event. There are 'welcome home Muse' signs and banners in almost every shop window - then again, events are fairly thin on the ground in Teignmouth. If it's a sense of occasion you're after, though, Muse are never the band to disappoint.

Soon-to-be-released new album, The Resistance, is due to be either the best or worst album of 2009, depending on who you listen to. Signs suggest that it could go either way. Lead single 'Uprising', tonight's opener, is fairly standard Muse on a mediocre day - average, with slightly spacey synths and a chanted chorus which was done far better on 'Knights of Cydonia'. 'United States of Eurasia', too, is pure, Queen-aping silliness. When Matt Bellamy suddenly breaks into a loud wail of "there can only be OOOOONE!" it's hard not to laugh, let alone take it seriously. Okay, I'll be honest - I actually did laugh. Out loud.

Then again, there are also 'Unnatural Selection' (lovely, yet featuring an outro which wouldn't sound out of place coming from Metallica) and 'Undisclosed Desires' ("I would wait a thousand years / just to see you smile again"). So it's not all bad news.

And, of course, there are the classics. I've lost count of the number of times I've heard amateur manglings of the opening riff to 'Plug In Baby', but when done properly, it's simply electrifying. 'Knights of Cydonia', too, is superb - a galloping romp through a surreal space-age spaghetti western, strange and sublime. 'New Born' thunders across the Teignmouth seafront, and 'Hysteria''s serpentine guitar solo sounds nervily incendiary.

Forget their half-baked conspiracy theory politics - Muse have always been at their best when they're getting personal. Which is exactly why tracks like 'Starlight' are, arguably, among their best. They have the capability to make even a huge crowd feel like a communally intimate experience, and that's certainly the case tonight. Mass-handclaps and singalongs may not be most commonly accompanied by massive green lasers, but that's the beauty of Muse when they're on top form.

Yes, they're often overblown, and more than infrequently silly, but it only adds to their awkward charm. Muse are a band who can consistently be relied upon for a live show which strives towards the epic. In Teignmouth terms this is most definitely an event, but for once this isn't a criticism; it feels like an event in the most genuine sense. A homecoming, yes, but to many it's much more than that.

Amusing much?:

Morrissey, Brixton Academy, 19.08.09

[http://www.flickr.com/photos/robertson1a/]

Ah, Brixton, how cynical I was. After cancelled dates ('production reasons') in Italy just days previously, I was sceptical even as I made my way into the palatial Academy main room. I was still allowing room for doubt as the support hit the stage. Ultimately, though, I was wrong.

Support act Doll and the Kicks were entertaining, as far as it's possible to be when suffering the obligatory support act muddy sound quality. Pouting and pirouetting flirtatiously across the stage, frontwoman Doll certainly makes for an pleasantly diverting stage, and her seemingly strong vocals deserve more exposure than they receive tonight.

As one punter's t-shirt reads, however: 'It's Morrissey's town - we just live in it.' Indeed. The venue's not even selling meat at its one lonely food stall, lest the slightest whiff of scorched animal wafts across the vast arch of the ceiling and upsets him. And who could expect anything less from the famously bolshy vegetarian?

Tonight is everything you'd predict. The crowd conform to the expected demographic: at least 65-70% male; mainly pushing it to see the younger side of 27; polite, though not as introverted as might be imagined. And lapping it all up, obviously.

In some ways, the setlist very much plays it safe in this respect. It must be somewhat galling still be expected to trot out songs by a band which acrimoniously dissolved over 20 years ago, but tonight features no less than six Smiths songs - nearly a third of the set.

As said, it must be galling to have this expected from you after so long, but opening with 'This Charming Man' will always prove a popular gambit. And when, just a few songs in, the classic guitar distortion of 'How Soon is Now?''s opening riff kicks in, it's hard not to be taken aback. Boz Boorer may not be Johnny Marr, but it still sounds fucking majestic: it's really that simple. Sheer, bleak, rumbling majesty.

Boorer is certainly the backbone of the band, and makes it look effortless, from the jangle of 'Ask' to the climactic encore of 'First of the Gang to Die'. It's Morrissey's vocals, swooping and soaring around and above it, though, which really cause things to take flight, particularly on newer tracks such as 'I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris' and 'When Last I Spoke to Carol'.

This favouring of new material over old is perhaps the sole disappointment. Yes, it's the 'Tour of Refusal', and so a focus on the Years of Refusal album is a given. Out of an 80-minute set, though, it would have been nice to hear some old Morrissey classics rather than an almost sole reliance upon the past half-decade or so. Yes, that's Morrissey classics rather than Smiths ones. I mean, 'Some Girls are Bigger than Others'? Rather than 'Everyday is Like Sunday' or 'Suedehead'? Really? When it comes to faults, this may be coming close to splitting hairs: setlist preferences are will never be anything other than subjective.

Like the crowd, Morrissey is exactly what you're expect: he flails the microphone cord around in a dramatic fashion first perfected decades back; he provides nigh-on nothing by way of between-song banter; he bows and preens incessantly, getting his chest out at the end of the show. Oh, and he doesn't disappoint.

Morrissey - I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris

Now my throat is sore

(I am amused that nme.com used this picture to accompany a news story about these cancellations)

It's got to be a tough life being Morrissey. After all, there are a lot of people that hate you with a startling amount of venom, the smell of burning animal flesh at festivals sickens you, and David Cameron has 'fessed up to being a fan. Oh, and you keep getting ill all the time. Heaven knows you're miserable now.

Morrissey seems to be gaining a bit of a reputation for illness these days. On Monday and Wednesday this week, he cancelled dates at London's Royal Albert Hall and Brimingham Symphony Hall - dates for which it is yet to be announced whether there will be rescheduling or not. This is on top of the cancellation of the start of his world tour in the US, and the three out of six shows at the Roundhouse which were cancelled last January.

This might not sound like too much, but 11 dates from a 100-odd date tour equates to about 10% of the tour being cancelled. It's little wonder that fans are unsurprised at every new cancellation which is announced, especially as the given excuse is usually "illness" or "throat trouble".

Granted he's getting on a bit in musical terms: the man is almost 50, so of course he's slowing up. He's not the only artist to be plagued with recurring health issues. But not all ageing musicians have problems performing. 51-year-old Nick Cave, for example, is still performing storming two-hour sets with seemingly no problem. And, as an ex-heroin addict, I'm sure he's ravaged his body far more than Morrissey ever has.

Everybody gets ill from time to time; I by no means dispute this fact. I do dispute, however, that it is the norm among artists to have cancelled four concerts within the space of 18 months within the same city. Maybe I'm cursed with bad luck (having travelled from Cardiff to London for this week's RAH show and the first of last year's cancelled Roundhouse shows, I have yet to witness Morrissey play a full set), but I do question why he bothers scheduling so many shows within a fairly short spaces of time when it's questionable that he'll be able to fulfil the commitment. Six shows within seven days is bound to strain your voice; if you're already prone to throat problems, why risk it?

I understand that days off on tour are essentially days for which crew are paid to do nothing; they aren't an efficient way of spending money. However, is it really any more efficient to try and cram in as many dates as possible, resulting in cancelled shows? Tickets have to be refunded and the crew still have to be paid; it's just as economically wasteful as a day off. I don't know much about venue protocol, but I'm assuming that the venue would also require at least some fee. So even worse than a day off, really. Maybe a few days off here and there to avoid tour burn-out aren't so wasteful, after all.

When it comes down to it, though, I guess his "people" can afford to take the chance - people will keep buying the tickets and taking their chances. Standing tickets for the Royal Albert Hall sold out in literally the time it took me to fill out the order form; I was unsuccessful in obtaining anything other than seated tickets, despite being online as soon as the tickets were released. The demand was obviously there, especially with Morrissey's frequent hints that he won't be carrying on in music much longer.

These threats may be no more than smoke and mirrors, but you can never quite be sure with him - almost every album or tour is invariably rumoured to be his last. With his latest single, 'Something is Squeezing my Skull', however, only reaching #46 in the charts (apparently leading to it having been dropped from his set) there has been forum speculation that the chart-obsessed Morrissey is sulking.

As for me, I'll be on eBay, seeking tickets for the London dates at the end of this month and praying it's third time lucky.


The Smiths - There is a Light that Never Goes Out


Oh, and kudos to anyone who 'got' what I was doing in the title of this post...

Jonah Matranga, Exeter Cavern, 01.04.09

The Cavern is near-empty tonight; at a generous estimate there can't be more than 40 people inside, which is a terrible shame. After a prolific 18 years or so, including nine years and four albums as the frontman of influential melodic hardcore band Far, Jonah Matranga's never really made it beyond a cult following. Never mind, though - he's obviously not in it for the money, clichéd as it sounds.

Matranga openly states this intention himself in opener 'Livin' Small', as he insists that "if that's what passes these days for livin' large / then I'm happy livin' small", his vocal shaking with obvious, real emotion.

It's Matranga's voice, indeed, which forms the set's entrancing centrepiece: switching from a whisper to a half-shout within the space of just a few bars on 'We Had a Deal; a honeyed hum on 'Yr Letter'. Bolstered only by an electro-acoustic guitar, a drum machine and occasionally a sparse drumkit, it's mesmerising, to say the least. Equally endearing to the lo-fi set-up is Matranga's insistence on filling in as many of the parts as is possible on his own - singing the guitar solo, for example, on 'Not About A Girl Or Place'.

What's best of all, however, is Matranga's offer to play any requests from the audience. A veritable human jukebox: you name it, he's willing to play it. With a hefty back catalogue spanning five separate incarnations, there's a lot to choose from, yet he takes all suggestions in his stride, yielding a glorious 'Bitte Ein Kuss' and a heartwarming run-through of 'Smile'.

Impressive and inspiring, this is about as intimate as listening to a Walkman under the covers. Incredible.


Jonah Matranga - Not About A Girl Or Place