Week 44

Week 44 – Tuesday 1^st November – Arctic Monkeys – Motorpoint Arena, Cardiff – £29.50

“Do me a favour, gel this bit at the front and you’ll look just like Simon from The Inbetweeners!”

Sandro and I stood outside the Motorpoint Arena waiting for P. Mushy, when what looked like a short, drunk homeless man approached, hassling a ticket tout. Anyone who hassles a ticket tout is alright in my book, and while the tout tried to flog a thirty quid ticket for fifty, the short, drunk homeless man tried to persuade him to hand it over for free.

I stared, amused, with an expression to match, until the short, drunk homeless man clocked me.

‘Oh dear,’ I thought to myself, I’d forgotten the golden rule about staring at people (for the uninitiated, the rule is: If your subject makes eye contact, tilt your head slightly and look beyond them, mouthing the words ‘Is that. . . .’ as though you've spotted an obscure celebrity such as Lembit Opik).

Inevitably the short, drunk homeless man approached me. He seemed a little mardy.

“Do me a favour,” he began, in what I thought was a clever reference to the band he was desperate to see. “Gel this bit at the front of your hair,” he continued gesturing to my fringe (at this point I knew what was coming, and began to doubt his credentials as a homeless man), “and you’ll look just like Simon from The Inbetweeners!”

I didn’t need him to tell me this, and I refused his subsequent request to swap my new trainers for his urine soaked loafers out of spite. P. Mushy arrived just in time to prise me from the grasp of the short, drunk (but probably not homeless after all) man, allowing us to enter the venue.

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Already inside were Salazar, Flapjack and Gavlova who’d been drinking with Sandro in the revolutionary new rum bar in the city centre. 

Also inside were Cousin Bish and J-Mo, who’d briefly fallen out when J-Mo called Cousin Bish’s Dad a bumder. Earlier, J-Mo and I had missed a bus due to his tardiness, (though he’ll tell you some nonsense about me being to blame for having my headphones in, as he yelled for me to stop the bus). While we waited for the next one, a group of pubescent prats in a yellow Fiat yelled out something from the window.

“Did they just call us ‘Bus wankers’?” J-Mo asked.

“No, don’t be silly,” I replied. “Just you.”

They had every right to really. After all, he was wearing a Top Gun top that said Iceman on the back, even though he’s clearly a Goose. And don’t let me get started on the briefcase.

The Vaccines were already in action when I entered the Motorpoint Arena. Having seen them three times this year so far I wasn’t too worried about missing anything, but Flapjack was desperate to see ‘Wreckin’ Bar’.

“Have they played ‘Wreckin’ Bar’ yet?” he asked anyone who’d listen.

“No,” I reassured him. “I have it on good authority that they haven’t.”

I didn’t. I had it on J-Mo’s authority.

There’d been no sign of ‘Wreckin’ Bar’ when they began to play their usual closer ‘Nørgaard’ so I began to worry for Flapjack. I began to worry more when they dropped their instruments and walked off stage.

 

“You promised me ‘Wreckin’ Bar’!” wept an inconsolable Flapjack. Well, I say inconsolable. Nobody actually tried to console him.

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We weren’t there for the light entertainment of The Vaccines though; we were there for the serious business of the Arctic Monkeys. With their fourth album out earlier this year, as a huge (yet surprisingly slim) fan, I would have happily let them play for four hours, but they probably had things to do. They raced through over twenty songs, in a set that lasted less than ninety minutes. 

 

Their set-list was a healthy mix from their four albums, with only Humbug (a personal favourite) slightly underrepresented. We stood at the back of the Motorpoint, which proved a useful position due to the presence of a Carlsberg express bar behind us. 

The Monkeys’ arrival was heralded by the sound of Hot Chocolate’s ‘You Sexy Thing’, but Sheffield’s finest appeared on stage fully clothed. ‘Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair’, was the opener, allowing us to sing along to the typically witty lyrics of Alex Turner, though due to his trademark Yorkshire drawl not everyone was able to follow them. 

“Run with Scissors, through a ship and fireflies!” sang Flapjack passionately. 

‘Teddy Picker’ and ‘Crying Lightning’, singles from Favourite Worst Nightmare and Humbug respectively, completed a fine start. After another couple from Suck It And See, came barnstorming 2^nd and 1^st album openers ‘Brianstorm’ and ‘The View From The Afternoon’, before the song that propelled them to stardom.

Gordon Brown’s favourite, ‘I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor’, prompted chaotic scenes at the Motorpoint, with Cousin Bish using his lanky frame to show off enough shapes to suggest that it may well have been written about him. New song ‘Evil Twin’ and the plod of ‘Brick by Brick’ were thoughtfully placed afterward, to allow for a mid-set bar trip. A previously berserk audience went wild again for the likes of ‘Pretty Visitors’, ‘This House Is A Circus’, and ‘Still Take You Home’, until the more measured ‘Dance Little Liar’, one of Humbug’s hidden gems, brought feet back to ground.

A highlight of Suck It And See, ‘She's Thunderstorms’, and one of their career highlights, ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ were next, as Cousin Bish compared his mecca dauber to my betting pencil. Mr Pecker was unimpressed. ‘Do Me a Favour’ (whose lyrics surprisingly don’t make mention of my fringe), followed, and then a delighted J-Mo was on his tip toes for ‘When The Sun Goes Down’, a song close to his heart. 

The band left the stage to huge applause, and returned shortly after to more. They kicked off their encore with the Suck It and See’s lovely title-track, which led into a stripped down and slow rendition of the marvellous ‘Mardy Bum’, which Turner referred to as an ‘oldie’ at the ripe old age of 5. The wonderful ‘505’ closed a thoroughly entertaining show, yet J-Mo and I needed both hands to list the songs we were disappointed not to hear, which is testament to how many of their songs we love and how bad we are at counting.

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To round off the night, Cousin Bish, J-Mo and I headed for a quick drink in little O’Neill’s, where we arranged to meet Sandro and co, who’d escaped momentarily. En route, we passed what looked like a short, drunk homeless man, who was carrying a guitar. I did my best not to stare, but he approached us anyway.

“Did you guys just go to the gig?” he asked, stepping in front of us.

“Yeah,” we answered.

“I didn’t have a ticket, but one of the security men snuck me under the velvet rope,” he said, which sounded plausible.

“What did you think of The Vaccines?” he asked Gesticulated his thumb like we were at a Roman amphitheatre.

What am I supposed to say? I wondered.

“We didn’t see much of them. They were alright,” we settled on.

“I thought they were terrible!” he said, pointing his thumb downwards to confirm.

“I love the Monkeys, but I hated The Vaccines so much, and I was so angry, I got fed up and just left!”

What did he expect from The Vaccines?

 “I regret it now because it was a once in a lifetime chance to see them as well,” he said with a pained expression.

“Plus there was a really fit, scantily clad bird who was giving me the eye,” he added shaking his head.

It was at this point I decided that we’d found the Jay of the group. 

We said our goodbyes and made to leave.

“Yeah, see you lads,” he replied. “Oh, and by the way pal,” he said coming towards me again. “If you gel this bit at the front of your hair. . .”

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November
 
29-4 - Arctic Monkeys - ✓
5-11 - Girls
12-18 - ?
19-25 - Wild Beasts
26-2 - Foster The People + Kasabian