Review: The Smiths Indeed, The Robin 2, Bilston

Ah, the tribute band. A sad waste of musical ability pissed away on crowds of saggy-bottomed middle-aged fools who, for one night, pause the process of growing up - or, a harmless skip down the memory motorway? The deathless debate hangs in the air. If your tribute band is so good, why not pen some tunes of your own?

The curmudgeons' oh-do-cheer-up side of the argument is rightfully hit in the eye by gladioli chucked into the crowd by Jurgen Wendelen, The Smiths Indeed's Morrissey representative, as the four-piece shimmy into Still Ill.



A glance at The Robin's sizeable crowd, buoyant and resplendent in all manner of Smiths and Morrissey t-shirts, and the argument is swiftly kicked in the shins, a night of blissful indie memories well underway.

This is in no small part down to the masterful note-for-note replication of The Smith's timeless hymns, each shot through with sufficient verve to render them with a gratifying freshness. The skilfulness of their act doesn't just replicate, it channels the historic much-loved odes to love, loneliness and everything else.



Celebrating the 30th anniversary of The Smiths' No. 1 album Meat is Murder, every song from it is given spirited renditions, even the maudlin title track. For Panic, igniting a mass 'Hang the DJ!' chant in the room, Wendelen swings a noose around in one of many touches that superbly contributes to the act. He has the mannerisms, accent, weird dancing and, of course, the singing voice utterly nailed down.

Taking Bilston by the throat through just about every Smiths song you really wanted to hear (except your correspondent's favourite, Shoplifters of the World Unite - but no qualms here), we are fortunate to have a shit-kicking visualisation of what it must have been like to witness such a band in the flesh.



Representing those who sadly couldn't due to age (or lack of it), I am all the more grateful for such an eerily imitative experience that, for one night, opens a portal into hitherto inaccessible sonic territory that all the grainy YouTube footage in the world can't quite compete with.

The Smiths, indeed.

Photographs from the evening: https://flic.kr/s/aHsk7wpKHL

All photographs © JH Stokes 2015. Anyone found nicking these shots will be spanked with a wet plimsol. 



Bonus: short clip of Bigmouth Strikes Again -

Review: Morrissey - Birmingham Barclaycard Arena 27.3.15

It can't be easy being Morrissey. It seems that every return to the spotlight for him is marred (Marr'd?) by some near-catastrophic event, turning a relatively simple new album n' tour into a triumph over inexplicable odds and developments.

For his latest venture, Death himself has tapped Moz on the shoulder in a series of health scares that has resulted in particularly emotional renditions of the Smiths gem Asleep, with the ominous statement: 'Remember my face, but forget my fate'.

Back in the present, however, all notions of nature catching up with him are swiftly nixed as he and band tear through The Queen is Dead, followed by Suedehead in a sure-footed one-two punch that instantly satiates his considerable disciples, who are out in force tonight at Birmingham's recently rechristened Barclaycard Arena (and not a kind word was heard about the name change from the punters).

In a typically bullish move, the audience are then lead through a large amount of numbers from last year's excellent World Peace is None of Your Business album. Here, an age-old debate flares in your correspondent's dazed mind: to promote the admirably strong new effort, or reward the gatherers with the cherished hits? Tonight finds a lot of the former, Morrissey bringing inspired vocal performances to the proceedings.

It can't go on forever, and Speedway is whipped out - a stone-cold classic from the Mancunian's sizeable back catalogue, with a verse from Irish Blood, English Heart stylishly inserted in the middle. It's a welcome break that undoubtedly leads more than a few assembled down memory lane, and a reminder of just how long he has stalked the stage.

Things take an awkward turn when The Smith's Meat is Murder is played, for it is accompanied by a puke-worthy video of various animals being 'prepared' for eventual consumption. While this is an admirable effort by Moz to spread the word of vegetarianism, it leaves a strange taste (no pun intended) in the context of a gig: I'm left thankful I had beans on toast instead of a chicken curry earlier - something I may never, ever eat again, which probably means Morrissey has succeeded.

After well-received renditions of Scandinavia and One of Our Own, more new cuts, the ghost of The Smiths reappears in the shape of Stop Me if You Think You've Heard This One Before and What She Said, drawing perhaps the night's biggest cheers. It's a testament to the enduring affection for the classic Smiths tracks that Morrissey and band could probably fart Golden Lights and still woo the crowd; and while there are innumerable songs that would almost incite hysteria (How Soon Is Now?, for instance), any Smiths songs are still absolute treats.

Eventually, the night (and the tour leg) is wrapped up with the clarion call of Everyday is Like Sunday, his undeniable anthem. Belying his advancing years and putting chart-bothering pop stars to shame, Morrissey admirably (still) belts out each syllable with absolute conviction and class, leaving many a ringing ear.

Heaven knows we're Mozerable now.

**** 8/10

Crappy self-shot footage can be found here, with more videos on the channel. Shot in glorious WobbleVision.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_7gzGDOdG8&feature=youtu.be