Week 37

Week 37 – Wednesday 14^th September – Toots & The Maytals – The Great Hall, Cardiff University – £27.00

“I can’t believe you’re going to see Tony Hibbert and I wasn’t even invited!”

Hardcore Toffee Cousin Bish was disillusioned when he thought we’d abandoned him to watch the man he models his footballing skills and hairdo on. Sandro and I clarified that the only Hibbert we were interested in tonight was Toots, so even Dr Hibbert could go chuckle elsewhere as far as we were concerned.

After the joys of Willy last week came the contrasting thrills of Toots, as Sandro and I admired the enduring talents of the Reggae legend, swapping folk for a show from Toots & The Maytals.

We began the night with a logical choice of pre-gig pint venue, The Vulcan, where we were amazed to find that lager would cost us just £1.50 a pint between five and eight o’clock. Renowned Reggae authority Uncle Benjammin joined us midway through our fifth pint five minutes later. Well, fifth sip in my case.

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Benjammin told us that it was Toots himself who in fact coined the word Reggae, in spite of what Levi Roots may claim. Uncle B also bore the news that the support act would be a local group of unknown white boys. Not exactly what you’d expect when tickets cost more than twenty five quid. At this news, I looked at Sandro in alarm.

“Are we performing tonight?” I asked. 

“We’re not in a band,” Sandro replied.

“I know, but, what about that other thing we do. We don’t have a booking do we?”

Sandro sighed. “Listen, we are not Chippendales and we’re not doing the full monty for anyone.”

“But I’ve put an ad in the paper and everything!” I protested.

“Yes, and you also put a picture in, which is why you haven’t had any response,” Sandro said hurtfully.

Sandro hadn’t been the only one to ignore my innovative idea to raise a few quid in these harsh times. 

“Anti-wrinkle cream there may be, but anti-fat-bastard cream there is none,” Candy had said, while Parge had been equally forthright. 

“He's fat, you're thin, and you're both fucking ugly.” 

I went on to later destroy one of Parge’s prized gnomes in an act of vengeance.

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Once our many glasses were drained, we left The Vulcan and trekked toward the venue, which was Cardiff University’s Great Hall. The supporting band were on when we arrived and in fairness to them, they were a whole lot more entertaining than a couple of gyrating erotic male dancers, which is high praise indeed. 

They were called Captain Accident & The Disasters and they prepared the crowd perfectly for what was to come, setting the tone with some entertaining and well played Ska. Or was it Reggae? Or both? Whatever it was, it was a lot better than we’d feared it would be when we saw their name.

On a sad note, value for money on beer had greatly decreased on entry to the Great Hall, with 330ml bottles of Bulmers selling at three for a tenner. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this on every other occasion I’ve been there and paid the exact same prices (I have), but that’s over a penny per millilitre! That’s a rate of over £5.68 a pint you know? (£5.73ish in fact.)

Expensive enough to boycott? Of course not, but expensive enough to make me tut and shake my head a few times. If only we had some kind of get rich quick scheme to afford such expenses. 

“People’d pay a tenner a head to see us you know?” I said to Sandro. 

“I reckon we’d get a thousand people too,” he admitted.

“Times ten quid by a thousand, and you’ve got . . . A lot.” I said.

“Ten thousand quid,” Uncle Benjammin chipped in.

“How much!?” I asked in wonder. “Ten thousand quid, now there’s a thought.”

“Forget it. Unless you want to be known as The Cocktail Sausage from now on,” Sandro warned, clearly ignorant of Señor Pecker's virtues.

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Following Captain Accident on stage were The Maytals, but Toots wasn’t with them. Instead the de facto leader of The Maytals asked if we minded Toots’ daughter Leba singing a few songs. He ignored our objections and she sang a couple of songs which were pleasant enough, before stepping aside dutifully when her sixty five year old father appeared on stage, greeted by rapturous applause.

“Gentleman, the lunchbox has landed.” Uncle Benjammin said in awe. The pensioner looked in fine fettle, sporting a sleeveless top that showed off some powerful looking guns, prompting me to roll down my sleeves and cover up my pipe-cleaners. By now the Great hall was packed and expectations were high, with the atmosphere almost as electric as when Magnetic Man had shaken the walls.

Toots & The Maytals fulfilled those expectations with a captivating display. Unsurprisingly, considering my limited knowledge of Reggae and all other music, I only knew a few songs beforehand and was expecting them to be saved ‘til the end, but I was entertained by everything they played from start to finish. Well, I was pretty drunk and can’t really remember, but it seems likely. 

I’d managed to keep up with the drinking pace without even having to resort to spilling my beer into Sandro’s bottle when he wasn’t looking. Although that may be a lie.

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Toots’ voice was still incredible and he was a master showman. Among the better known songs on show were ‘Reggae Got Soul’ and ‘Pressure Drop’, plus a version of the classic ‘Louie Louie’. There was also a rendition of ‘Roots, Rock., Reggae’ which became ‘Toots, Rock., Reggae’ unless my ears were also drunk, and they went out on a corker in the form of ‘Monkey Man’. 

Of course, Toots was only disappearing as a prelude to an encore, and possibly a trip to the toilet. “Who wants more Toots?” the guitarist and spokesman for The Maytals asked. There were a couple of Maybes, a few Suppose Sos, and even one No thanks I’ve got work in the morning, but nearly everyone was delighted when the man himself returned. Naked.

Ok, he was fully clothed, which left me in no doubt that doing Full Monty would have been more appropriate for Willy last week. 

A fine encore featured the legendary ‘54-46 Was My Number’ which is up there with anything we’ve heard this year. It’s wonderful riddim prompted dances such as the bump, the stomp and the bus stop, all performed admirably by Sandro. I was a particular fan of the bus stop though Uncle B managed a funky chicken in riposte, while I relied on my degree in arse wiggling.

Applause was lavished on Toots, his daughter and The Maytals, who’d put on a fantastic show for the reverent crowd, and they left the stage leaving no man, woman or child disappointed.

Sadly, there wasn’t enough time for us to get our kit off and storm the stage, so we strolled home fully clothed and much poorer for it.

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September

3-9 - Willy Mason - ✓
10-16 - Toots & The Maytals - ✓
17-23 - Little Comets
24-30 -?