Gig #8: The Spa, Scarborough 19 April 2014

The people of Scarborough are in luck this evening: they can see the Nightingales – currently the UK’s hottest ticket – for free. Tonight’s gig, organised jointly by Crumplehorns’ mover and shaker David ‘Jehan’ Yates (whose work adorns the Nightingales album covers) and Rob, the proprietor of Revolutions Records in the town, is in aid of International Record Store day. The Nightingales, whose latest album For Fuck’s Sake is only available as a vinyl long-player, are keen to support this worthy attempt to promote small, independent record stores, as are The Crumplehorns whose own limited edition vinyl EP “Backward Glances” is to be released today.

The gig is at The Spa pub, which apparently is a traditional British beer-and-Skittles pub (and let us be honest here: only the British would choose to accompany the finely-brewed ales of the region with the fruity confection known as Skittles.) I walk the short distance from the sea front to the venue with Robert ‘The Chief’ Lloyd, who has been posing for photographs to accompany an interview he has given to the Scarborough Sentinel to be published in this evening’s edition of the popular local newspaper.

When we arrive, the pub is a hive of activity. At the furthest end of the bar, Paul ‘Carpet’ Squires is busy photographing the unusual array of equipment he will be using to craft the Nightingales’ sound this evening. I sit in a quiet corner and access his Tumblr page. “OMG!!!! It’s a Yamaha C12!!! That’s AWESOME!!!!! Are you feelin’ me, homeys? It’s going to be SAVAGE, dudes!!!” [Etc.]

At the merchandise desk near the stage area, Mark ‘Ace’ Jones unpacks the various boxes of T-shirts, tote bags, CDs, LPs, nail-files, Vajazzle kits, and “Lucky Dip Dumb and Drummer Badge” sets which he will carefully scatter about the table in his trademark random fashion. As he works, Fliss ‘Sticks’ Kitson films him for the Nightingales’ TV channel (“Woodpile of the Day”, a Stix TV Production for Neasden TV plc.) Unfortunately, after eighteen minutes of careful unpacking the only item of merchandise that has so far appeared on the stall is a “Bullet For Gove” T-shirt which hangs from the rafters and flaps forlornly in the breeze above Jones’ head. Kitson cuts her losses and begins to assemble her drum kit instead.

For the band, the soundcheck is as traumatising as usual under the skillful haranguing of Paul ‘Carpet’ Squires, but the sound is good, and the band’s playing is tight. As they vacate the stage to allow the Crumplehorns to soundcheck, I note that a second item of merchandise – a Nightingales nail-file – has appeared on the stall. Like the band, Mark ‘Ace’ Jones is only just warming up.

 

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The essence of Rock ‘n’ Roll is surely the small pub gig, packed to the rafters with ecstatic fans, hoarse from cheering on their musical heroes; the walls of the venue dripping with sweat. And this is just for The Crumplehorns who are currently onstage. Their set is by turns melodic and angular; spiky lyrics vie with flowing riffs and rythmns reminiscent of bands such as Gang of Four and The Wedding Present. Their lyrics are also by turns tender and provocative, thoughtful and shouty. An intriguing, unique group.

Next up is Edward ‘Ted’ Chippington. What must audiences unfamiliar with his act make of him? As he wanders up to the microphone, he immediately disarms the audience. Has he forgotten his instrument? Is he the janitor, or perhaps some refugee from the shuffling, sinister hordes which stalk the town’s claustrophobic streets? What follows is, as usual, extraordinary. Chippington embarks on his trademark improvised rap, taunting his audience with barely-believable stories of life, if life it be, from the dystopic streets and living rooms of Torquay. In Chippington’s world, rats run riot on the patios of the town’s suburban elite, while the poor are reduced to lighting their homes with candles, the wax from which poignantly dribbles onto the atlases which they pore over in the gloom of their homes, no doubt dreaming of other worlds, other lives. “How far is it to the railway station?” shouts Chippington, daring his audience to dream of a life beyond Scarborough’s mean streets. “One mile! One mile!” they chant in unison.

And then the Nightingales are on stage. For the next hour there is no let up in the torrent of music and lyrics as Lloyd and his co-conspirators stun the enthusiastic Scarborough audience with their seamlessly-executed set. The band sizzle and spit like top-quality sausages on a griddle, and as the set comes to its end the now-delirious crowd bay for an encore. But as usual, the band has given one hundred per cent and the audience must be content with that. It is now Mark ‘Ace’ Jones who must deal with the post-gig euphoria, as the merchandise table is besieged by fans eager to purchase some reminder of the gig they have just witnessed. It will be some time yet before the band can head off to their Travelodge haven.