My second visit to the Jam House, and I think I’m beginning to like it here immensely.
Sure, it’s a bit on the “posh” side, so much so that I’m surprised they let scum like me in: also, despite my inherent love of the Jewellery Quarter per se, I probably wouldn’t come here without Plus One footing the bar bills, as my meagre wages don’t really stretch to this kind of opulence. Well, OK, maybe one pint, but no more: I am, after all, a frugal man of very few vices these days, save of course for my ceaseless love of pummeling rock’n’roll and rhythm’n’blues…
Look, I’m going to be fairly brief here, as I’ve already gone over this twice in the last year. Despite everything negative said by doubters, despite every “tribute band” criticism levelled against them, Dr Feelgood are still a kick-arse boogie outfit who know how to rip the bollocks out of any live venue you care to name: OK, there may not be one original member left in their armoury, but if you’re that stubborn that you genuinely believe the long service of four musicians who’ve held their own in this combo for 38, 35, 28 and 20 years respectively counts for nothing, then there really is little hope for you.
Yes, it would probably accord them slightly more credibility if they crowdfunded the recording of a new studio album, thus eschewing the “nostalgia” tag- but until that happens, there’s always their live act to be caught somewhere, and it remains one of the best- and hardest working- in the country. Why, this is the fourth time in the last twelve months alone that they’ve played the West Midlands, never mind all the other worldwide stages they’ve trod in that time- and if you can name me one other veteran act that plays as regularly and as often (go on, I double dare you) I’ll eat my own noblong. And it’s not as if they have no followers either- for one thing, the venues wouldn’t keep booking them were that the case, and for another, a brief look around the Jam tonight reveals a healthy populace of more than eager punters, all champing at the bit for their besuited heroes to take the stage. Some are wearing “I’m A Phil Mitchell fan” t shirts, others already slipping into “summer wear”: others are more formally attired in the mode of the band (and indeed the venue’s smart casual dress code) but the one thing they have in common is they all go apeshit for the Feelgoods.
As the majority of the setlist- All Through The City, She Does It Right, Roxette, Mad Man Blues, Dust My Broom, Back In The Night, Milk And Alcohol, Down At The Doctors – has been described in these pages at considerable length before, and will be familiar to most interested readers anyway, there’s very little point in going into the extreme minutiae of it: what I will say, however, is that despite the heat and their advancing years, both drummer Kev Morris and Midlands-born guitarist Steve Walwyn still thrash and scratch at their instruments with the power and anger of imbalanced teens, and the energy level is still way higher than that exuded by many bands a third of their age. Even the slightly more subtle, mid-paced Keep It Out Of Sight, which acts as the night’s minor surprise as they don’t always play it, still snarls like an angry panther: the one letdown is perhaps the toppiness and sludginess of the mix during the first set, but they can’t be held responsible for that. And anyway, by the time they return for Part 2, the matter would seem to have been dealt with. I just hope nobody had to cop a doughboy round the lughole in the process…
Heading things up at the front, affable Geordie frontman Robert Kane has developed steadily over the last two decades from “the bloke who replaced the bloke who replaced Lee Brilleaux” into a strutting, cocksure performer with his own style: some fans may not like his attitude, mistaking it for arrogance, but if that is the case, then I would venture that arrogant is something he has every right to be. Meanwhile, over on the far left, Mitchell is not only very much the “rock” of the band but one of rock’n’roll’s most underappreciated, subtle performers: trust me, he plays practically every show on at least six pints, and while that’s not necessarily a blueprint I’d recommend, the fact that he holds the basic foundation of every song (even the slightly less familiar She’s A Wind-Up, I Can Tell and Drive Me Wild) together so perfectly, all whilst continually adding extra layers to each rendition, is testament to his immense skill. Believe me, it isn’t all muscle memory. He really does know what he’s doing.
Obviously there is a downside, and though they excel at what they do, I would admittedly love to see the set shaken up a bit: for instance, I can’t remember ever having seen them drag deep cuts such as That Ain’t No Way To Behave, Every Kind Of Vice, The More I Give, Thought I Had It Made, Take A Trip and Paradise out of mothballs, although in the case of some of them that may be to do with not wanting to pay Wilko Johnson any royalties. And obviously, there’s a ginormous wealth of 80s stuff they probably never played live the first time round that deserves overhauling. But for all that, they still know how to kick me squarely in the nadgers with what they do play, and the final full-force attack of Goin’ Back Home, Gimme One More Shot and Route 66 still has me reeling. True, it ends messy and chaotically, but isn’t that what proper rock n roll shows are supposed to do? Somewhere down the road, there’s some faceless nu-metal or indie nonentity delivering their polite, processed rebellion, but here at a sweaty, jumping Jam House, both the Doctor and his patients can rest safe in the knowledge that they know what real music is.
Ever-defiant and ever-enjoyable, the boys from Sahf East Essex (via Newcastle and Leamington) still have the perfect prescription for your malady. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it until I’m blue in the face: make a fucking appointment now and get yourself a double dosage.
DARIUS DREWE
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