Heart of a Punk Soul of a Rasta

Beady Eye
Manchester Apollo 7th March 2011

Ahh to be back outside the Apollo again, there it is standing defiant before me like an imperious white ocean liner moored in a sea of shite. But hey it's not raining - I'm in Manchester in March and it's not raining! It is piss makingly freezing though! I need warmth. I have a NEED to FEED. Last time I was here it was Morrissey's 50th and there's always a problem when going to see Meat is Murder Moz, I get a touch of the consciences and I'm forced to shy away from Mr Sizzle. No need today though, I treated myself to a bacon burger and two sausage BAP from the lovely lady at the Sizzle Van. And what a lovely lady she was too, with a fine pair of floury BAPS all of her own, Ho Ho Bing Bing get on with it!

Into the queue then with me bap to masticate on whilst all around me made the street alcohol ban seem like "a fleeting illusion to be pursued, but never attained". Yep whether by glass, tin or bottle the fuel was goin' in, and soon enough we were too.

Ahh to be back inside the Apollo again the most booming reverberating echoic shed in western civilisation. Why do I love you so when your acoustics are so absolutely CRAP? Is it because you've changed not one jot in more than thirty years of us knowing each other? Or is it something less tangible, what makes me feel this way about you. Have you somehow absorbed and stored a tiny scrap of energy from every performance that has been played out here? Crystallised and captured a single moment of sonic human communion and retained it in your dark dead heart? Or is it............shit I tripped out there for a moment, it was only the smell of Sinsemilla wafting in my general direction that brought me round. Seems like the smoking ban at the Apollo is "but a fleeting illusion to be pursued, but never attained" too, thankfully.

Now wasn't the support supposed to be Zak Starkey and the Penguins? This bloke onstage looks like the Rascal Puppet Miles Kane, it sounds like him too. Apparently it was him. Nice. Now due to the strict libel and blasphemy laws in Manchester I'm not allowed to talk about "The Puppets" or "The Frozen Monkeys" in this fanzine. But putting aside my personal hatreds for a moment Miles Kane was, well.........OK. Exhumed from his usual bottomless pit of Scott Walker's reverb, his guitar driven band filled the dead time with something in excess of pap. They fired off six tracks from his forthcoming solo LP including the current single "Come Closer" and 2010's "Inhaler" with a deal of gusto. But more than that they served up a truly stellar cover of The Beatle's "Hey Bulldog". How wonderful was that? Well, very! "Big man walking in the park, Wigwam frightened of the dark. Some kind of solitude is measured out in you. You think you know but you haven't got a clue". But I do know you, you're Miles Kane with a solo album that is arriving on April 25th (supposedly Noel's on it). Perhaps I should forgive Miles Kane for his past "Puppet" proclivities...........perhaps. GO HERE TO HEAR

Soon enough the prophylactics were inflated and airborne and the five past three punters rucked and rolled there way to the front. The Pistols/The Jam/The Roses played: "God Save the Queen", "That's Entertainment", "I am the Resurrection" LIGHTS OUT and Beady Eye opened up like a flaming Exocet to the brain with "Four Letter Word". "Beatles and Stones" followed along with "For Anyone", "The Roller" and "Three Ring Circus" with a pseudo psyxties psychedelic liquid light show as a backdrop.

"Millionaire", "Kill for a Dream" "Standing on the edge of the Noise" "Wind up Dream", "Bring the Light", "Man of Misery" "The Beat Goes on" and "The Morning Son" to close. PAUSE - TEST CARD. Then by way of an encore "Sons of the Stage" was stomped out in a world of bordello red (see clip). For me the single moment of the night to be retained in my diseased brainbox was "Man of Misery" - Archer, Bell & Sharrock flowing, Liam rolling - In the target - In me head.

Back into the freezing Manc night without the slightest droplet of beer on me, the young pistols decked only in the obligatory black Fred Perry shirt shivered apoplectically as they stared blankly at the hooky gear on the pavement. There were a couple of old dudes who were suitably attired for the cold night waiting in line at the Sizzle Van in brand spanking new Pretty Green parkers. Were they 400 quid parkers or just the 250 quid ones I couldn't for the life of me tell. I buttoned up my 25 quid ex-German army surplus coat and fucked off home! 47 days until the Wolverhampton Civic, hopefully I'll get some beer chucked at me there or at the very least a Snakebite.

Done & Dusted ES