It’s time to brave the worst venue in Manchester once more. Sorry Old Trafford, I’m sure you’re great for cricket but you’re a terrible gig venue. It’s the sound. It’s always duff. Plus the venue management, nothing against the staff but it’s like herding cattle. I’ve slated this venue before and I’ll do it again here as it ruins, along with its clientele what could’ve been an excellent gig with a stellar line up.
The Mysterines who open on a beautiful sunny afternoon are usually a powerhouse with Lia’s vocals nothing short of a force of nature, but you can hear the wind picking everything up and whipping it around. They’re still brilliant and get a decent response from a crowd that perhaps aren’t tuned to their heavier sound. There’s plenty from their stunning debut and a few new ones too, which makes me very happy, but I need to hear them in a venue like Band on the Wall again. They finish with ‘Life’s a Bitch (But I Like it So Much)’ with its coda still ringing out as they leave the stage and I catch a few voices of impressed praise around me, I’d say that’s job done.
The Hives are a bit of a gear change. Matching black suits with lighting bolts. They explode out the gates with the new one ‘Bogus Operandi’ before tearing straight into ‘Main Offender’ like the last 20 years never happened. The sound still sounds like someone’s put the speakers on a rope and started it swinging round in circles, like a light bulb in a horror film, meaning you hear every third line clearly and the other two like they’ve been encased in concrete. Pelle is still a charmer though “There’s a lot going on in Manchester tonight, Elton John, Coldplay and you chose to be here with us, you’ve got good taste”. They know how to put on a show, tight as fuck in front of giant 3D letters screaming their name. Cranking out foot stomping rock swagger with its tongue firmly in cheek. “We’ve reached the point in the show where I’ve got no idea what I’m talking about” admits Pelle, but he’s being humble, he knows exactly what he’s doing, jumping off the stage and into the crowd, something you wouldn’t normally expect at a venue like this. He’s fearless and brimming with confidence, perilously crowdsurfing during ‘Tick Tick Boom’ and with a band like that behind him he’s a right to. Plus they still do the freeze thing, which still looks fun, what’s not to love. I’m afraid I don’t know anything after that brilliant debut album with stuff like ‘Hate to Say I Told You So’ and those glorious distorted guitars, but they’ve got a formula and it all sounds great.
The first bit of that can’t be applied to Arctic Monkeys can it. Here is a band that have torn up the formula and evolved, but they certainly still sound great. I know later albums have divided opinion, I love them, but generally the masses aren’t good with change and sadly Arctic Monkeys are now a band of the masses. I don’t like the masses, crowds like this are full of arseholes who can’t handle their beer. Said masses are very happy though with a duel assault of ‘Mardy Bum’ and ‘Brianstorm’ to start. Belting out every word as flares go off. It’s as good an intro to a set you’ll see anywhere and the atmosphere certainly helps the shit sound. After a little calm for ‘Snap Out of It’ though, it nearly kicks off near us during ‘Crying Lighting’ as those masses and their beer start to bubble out of control, which does spoil it as I’m trying to edge away before punches are thrown. I’m going to change gear myself now. What follows should be a gig review, but it’s clear that this isn’t really going to be a musical experience any more and as I should be writing about ‘Teddy Picker’, instead all I can hear is a scouse accent battering my ears as he argues with the bloke behind him, who instead of going to the toilet like a civilised human being has instead tried to piss in a paper cup, missed and instead pissed all over said scouse blokes legs. Tonight there might be a ruckus!! It’s still going on as Alex is crooning about “elongated (his) lift home” on ‘Cornerstone’ and I’m losing the will. We could move, but it’s bloody cramped and to be honest half the crowd are absolute bollocksed anyway. I’ve had enough by ‘Four Out of Five’ and am vowing never to set foot in this place ever again. The band sound good though. Well you know, considering where we are and they look great. The stage looks good, the screen relays are a godsend, because let’s face it the view is abysmal and I’m struggling to find any positives. Things calm for ‘Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High’ and for a moment I’m back in the room, but really I’m just trying to put a positive spin on my experience and I know it. Some people will have loved tonight (although I doubt they will remember it or we're lucky enough to be in sweet spot somewhere, perhaps in those pricey seats miles from the stage) and they might read this and think I’m a miserable bastard. I’m not though, they’re wrong and although Arctic Monkeys are a brilliant band, exceptional even and great live, this is not the way to experience it and I’m sad to say this is the worst I’ve seen them. It’s not their fault. I blame the venue, the aforementioned idiots. Seriously, I've never seen so many fights at a gig. We can’t go back to the days of smaller venues and less dickheads so it is what it is. You’ve got to see it through though don’t you and ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ is great and ‘Do I Wanna Know’ is magnificent. The wind has dropped and the sound improves. Some of the pissheads have fucked off somewhere and the sun has set, bringing the lights up. Is this salvageable? Well no not really. I’ve seen hundreds of gigs and this is utter carnage. The St John’s Ambulance folks must be rushed off their feet. Honestly I’ve never seen so much blood at a gig. Heads cut open, presumably from falling over. A bloke next to me in the toilet slowly falls into the wall, slides down it and whacks his head on the porcelain before me and the bewildered bloke on the other side can catch him. Ridiculous. Back on the pitch ‘There’d Better Be a Mirrorball’, ‘505’, ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ are all fantastic songs, the phone lights coming out for the latter and the chorus of “On your legs and on your arms and on your face” for ‘Body Paint’ feels like a real moment as Alex snakes his hips and lust lines from his guitar. ‘Sculptures of Anything Goes’ breaks the encore with those deep bass notes and as loads of people have bizarrely headed for the exits it’s perhaps my highlight. Slower, dirtier, it’s brilliant. As is the always banging ‘I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor’. It’s not as good as hearing it in The Ritz all those years ago, but it signposts how far they’ve come. ‘R U Mine’ sees us off into the night, to fight our way out of the hell hole we’ve been trapped in, to board dangerously overcrowded trams and walk the last bit home as Uber buckles. Will I go back to watch a gig at the Old Trafford? Assuming someone doesn't see sense and revoke its music license. It would have to be for someone special, which Arctic Monkeys are, but I’m already dreading the prospect.
