Paul Weller has been the soundtrack to my adult life—through all his musical reinventions and evolutions. Now, it’s not that every release hits the mark for me, but what sets him apart is his unwavering commitment to authenticity. His artistic integrity and continuous growth have made him a true standout, especially among artists emerging from the late ’70s scene.
Watching the fan bash tonight, it’s clear there’s a deep nostalgia for the glory days of The Jam and The Style Council—and I get it, those classics are timeless. But Weller often shines brightest when he and his band cut loose on his later work, revealing a raw, loose energy that feels fresh and vital.
For me, Paul Weller is simply the Ray Davies of our generation—a storyteller and musical craftsman who continues to evolve while staying true to himself.
I had a fantastic evening with Benjamin — a truly memorable night of great music and vibes. But there’s a serious problem that keeps popping up at gigs lately: people chatting through the performance. I noticed it most recently at the Massive Attack shows. It’s baffling how some folks just don’t seem to respect the artist or the audience around them. If you’re not going to give your full attention, why not just stay home and listen to a CD?
That aside, Mr. Zephaniah was in top form, and the band played tight, making for a genuinely enjoyable night. It also reaffirmed something I’ve long suspected — white people really can’t dance, and let’s be honest, we rarely pull off the dreadlocks look with any real cool factor!
29.10.18: As I’ve said previously about Lensmen that they are one of the best bands on the independent music circuit at the moment. I finally got to see them perform live Monday evening. A fair collection of vagabonds, strays and inquisitive minds are here tonight to witness them perform which is surprising given its a bitterly cold Monday evening outside. Lensmen are providing the headline set under the SongSmith event, which promotes new and emerging Bristol talent. Its a really solid performance, brooding bass, synths and beats hovering below twisted storytelling that grows in confidence as the set progresses. For those who prefer their music with intelligence then cast your eyes and ears in the direction of Lensmen. You will not be disappointed in my honest and humble opinion. My previous write up with links to the Lensmen’s music, future dates and adventures can be found here.
For those who haven’t yet experienced the raw, gritty soul of Bristol’s Thekla, imagine an old ship moored deep in the Mud Dock, its wooden bones creaking under the weight of decades of music history. Bands who step on its stage shed any illusions of comfort — there’s no hiding here. Over the years, I’ve witnessed countless artists emerge from bedrooms, garages, and studios only to have their craft tested, stretched, and laid bare against the harsh, unforgiving elements of this floating fortress.
Tonight, the atmosphere buzzes with a tangible electricity. The 400-capacity room is packed to the rafters, a sell-out crowd buzzing with anticipation for Glasvegas—a band returning to the stage to perform their self-titled, platinum-selling debut album from 2008 in its entirety. A decade has slipped away since that landmark release, yet the album still resonates like a classic, effortlessly blending layers of swirling guitar feedback with harmonies reminiscent of the Ronettes. Frontman James Allan’s lyrics—brittle, raw, and steeped in loneliness, love, and loss—cut deep, proving timeless in their emotional weight.
From the moment the first chords ring out, there’s no sinking into the depths tonight. The opening thirty minutes unfold as near-perfect rock ‘n’ roll theater—tight, passionate, and filled with a palpable urgency. As the night progresses, something extraordinary happens. Four hundred voices rise in unison, singing word for word, line for line. The crowd’s devotion is so overwhelming that the band themselves pause, stepping back from their instruments to soak in the moment, the feedback, the powerful connection.
Glasvegas hasn’t just played their seminal album—they’ve resurrected it, reminding everyone in the room why this record still matters, why these songs still cut to the bone. Tonight, the old ship didn’t creak under the weight of nostalgia—it soared.
Irregular Frequencies 