Hawkwind: Manchester Academy

The mid-point of Paul's trip and the traditional gig. Last year: Pink Fraud. This year: no fraud at all. The real deal. Hawkwind - on their "Christmas Show" which had been postponed from last year for some reason we didn't bother worrying about, but which gave us a chance to see another set of rock legends in the flesh.

Unfortunately the venue - Manchester Academy 2 - is standing only, which for us geriatrics is a challenge given the doors open at 7.30 and the gig wasn't likely to finish until 11pm, but hey. We were up for it.

What we weren't up for was the slightly less than impressive support act: Tribe of Cro. As soon as these guys took the stage you got the distinct impression you were in for something mediocre. What you didn't know was just how mediocre it was going to be. In fact, mediocre is glittering praise for a band who spent most of their set fiddling with their kit as if they had no idea how to work it properly. As one very tall member of the audience was heard to shout at the end of their interminably long and boring second number: "was that your sound check or what? You're fucking crap."

Nikki suggested a better name for them would have been "Pile of Cro" which is quite apposite, given that "crow" is Nottingham slang for bogeys, or lumps of snot.

The drummer and the bassist could have been playing for any band you have ever seen in your life; the former laying down a series of basic beats (the bass part of which ripped out my spine with each single beat) and the latter repeating the same simple riff over and over and over again. So basically we were left with the other two guitarists to create the heart and soul of the music. Dear God. What I will grudgingly call the lead guitarist looked as though he might have been halfway competent except for the fact that we couldn't hear him during the first number, and he spent most of the second number on the floor poking around with his effects buttons. I remember a short interval during the second number when his guitar burst into life. It sounded pretty good, but somehow strangely divorced from anything the other three were doing.

And then there was the other guitarist. The guy who clearly thought he was in charge, and did all the talking. His guitar prowess apparently consisted of a series of attempts to get the instrument to make as many strange noises as he could in as short a time as physically possible. Interspersed with his "lyrics." After the first "number" had mercifully reached its conclusion, he commented that he doesn't usually sing, but had decided tonight he wanted to. Thanks a million. "I have no life, I have no life," he repeated as his first lyric. I won't make the obvious comment. He followed this gem up with "make me a winner; make me a sinner." Well you already scored very highly on that latter item buddy. For sins against music, score a full 100%. As for making you a winner, I fear that is beyond anyone on the planet.

I said the first guitarist sounded like he was playing something else, but in reality pretty much all of them might as well have been on their own for all the coherence they exhibited. Four individual musicians on stage, all playing something totally different, resulting in a cacophonous melee which lasted for their entire, painful, 45-minute set.

Tribe of Cro helpfully preceded their set with news that they've decided to make their latest album available for free download from their website (yes, you guessed it: the album is worth every penny of its download price) and handed out leaflets with their email and web addresses for their many fans. A bunch of them (the leaflets, not the fans. There weren't enough of them present to be referred to as 'a bunch') were screwed up and thrown back onto the stage at the end of their third number. A fitting tribute, I thought.

And so to the main event: Hawkwind. Prior to tonight my sole exposure to this band has been their seminal hit Silver Machine, which I played regularly when I DJ'ed (occasionally) at the UMIST Heavy Disco on Thursday nights during 1976 and 77, and which has formed part of the backdrop of my life pretty much since its release in 1972. Oh yes, and a review of their tour in the local rag that dropped through our door half an hour before we were due to leave for the gig. Whoever wrote it didn't like them much, but I kept an open mind.

And actually, in the end, I enjoyed it. At least the first hour, after which my feet gave out at about the same time as Nikki's and we beat a retreat for the bar through about 1,000 milling, dancing, beer-spilling Hawkwind fans, leaving Paul at the front with his camera and his friend the obnoxious drunken, balding fan who kept yelling for Spirit of the Age ("play Sp'ri Aids") and who lit a cigarette during the concert and proceeded to smoke the entire thing right next to me without anyone (yes, alright, me included) challenging him. Wanker.

So even though I was unfamiliar with all the music, at least it WAS musical - especially when compared to the previous car crash. Clearly, after 35 years, the band know their instruments. Just as clearly, some of them are completely mad. Like the guy (sorry, not being any kind of Hawkwind fan I can't tell you his name) who started each number by waving his hands expertly around his theremin with a wild-eyed squint. And of course, the music is often accompanied by a load of pretentious, pompous claptrap wrapped up as "narrative" to the story the music is telling. If you can cut through that and enjoy the rocky parts of the music for what it is, it's quite entertaining. I wouldn't buy it, but it was worth listening to for an hour, and I appreciate there were a lot of people there tonight who are every bit as ardent Hawkwind fans as I am a Genesis fan. Takes all sorts.

I was glad to get home though. And I don't think I will *ever* get used to watching live performances from rock legends and seeing how damned wrinkly they all are.