Gig #12: Nice’n’Sleazy, Glasgow 23 April 2014

We arrive at the venue on Sauchiehall Street (which Dave ‘Big Dave‘ Wassell insists is pronounced Saucey Hall Street. And who am I, a mere German, to argue...) and make our way around to the rear entrance, where we commence loading into the venue downstairs. Meanwhile, Robert ‘The Chief’ Lloyd makes his way into the upstairs bar in search of the mysterious Fielding.

As I carry equipment down the stairs into the gig room, I see Lloyd chatting to someone. This must be Fielding, though he is hidden by the semi-closed door leading into the bar. I will try to interview him later, when the band is soundchecking.

The evening’s support band - Sharptooth - arrive as the band are suffering their way through their soundcheck. They keep to themselves in that beleagured way some bands have when they are motivated by more than mere music. Sharptooth are, I sense, a band with a mission. They look serious, intent, and though polite in their dealings with the Nightingales and their entourage they huddle together as though plotting a takeover. I like them before I’ve even heard a note.

As the Nightingales gravitate upstairs, I follow them in search of Fielding. Nice’n’Sleazy is yet another bar that would not be out of place in the Königsburg area of Berlin and I’m immensely impressed by the range of cocktails which the band immediately begin to sample, by way of calming themselves down after the trauma of the soundcheck. I spy Robert ‘The Chief’ Lloyd sitting at a table, and join him. There is a breeze at my elbow and a bottle of High Commissioner appears on the table between us, but when I turn around I can see no one who might have placed it there. “Cheers, Fielding mate,” says Lloyd opening the bottle and pouring himself a tumbler full.

I wander about the cool venue, checking out the customers and the ambience. I step onto the pavement outside to join the smokers. Paul ‘Carpet’ Squires is there, as is Mark ‘Ace’ Jones, Fliss ‘Sticks’ Kitson and Edward ‘Ted’ Chippington. Sauchiehall Street is a busy thoroughfare indeed, and a tourist attraction in its own right. We are almost opposite a magnificent Art Deco former hotel (The Beresford) standing proudly amongst the dozens of kebab-pizza-and-chip parlours which have come to characterise this important street. The pavement is lined with row upon row of pictureseque beggars, each sitting upon his or her coat and each with a story to tell, funded, as they are, by the wise men and women of the Glaswegian Arts Council.

Back inside, we suddenly find menus in our hands and a shadow departing tells us that Fielding has been doing his quiet work of tending to his band’s needs.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The gig is a roaring success. Sharptooth’s set is a sparse, angular challenge to the audience, reminiscent of early Joy Division shot through with Raincoats-style angst. They play in semi-darkness, silhouetted against a faintly glowing background, and the effect is somehow slightly chilling. I buy their cassette, which I will listen to just as soon as I can purchase a cassette player from dieBay.

Chippington is at home here. His set is sharp and commanding, and the crowd follows him down those mean streets of Torquay willingly, recognising in Chippington an authoritative guide to their own individual psyches.

The Nightingales set, too, is now the usual tsunami of beats, bass and baroque’n’roll, across which surfs Lloyd’s lyrical juggernaut. I sense a presence at my elbow. I don’t have to turn around to know that Fielding is here in the room.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

After cocktails in the bar above - I try a McTavish’s Jockstrap (ABV 85.7%) - the band pile into Big Dave’s waiting van and we begin the long journey out to tonight’s Travelodge, situated somewhere on the west coast of Scotland - location chosen carefully, if idiosyncratically, by Mark ‘Ace’ Jones.