This review taken from HermAphrodite #10.

Bristol Anson Rooms - 27/04/01

WARNING: The word ‘Mrryeiuuoouw’ makes its worldwide debut within this review. Do not be afeard. It is to be read phonetically, as a noise born of frustration. (The Father Jack equivalent would be ‘arse biscuits!’ but that rather brings down the tone…)

I’m late. Again. But then the idea of a gig actually kicking off before half-eight is alien to me. When it comes to the Anson Rooms, I never seem to learn. When I come to the Anson Rooms, I always seem to be tardy. Sorry, Snowpatrol. I didn’t mean it. Not that you helped regretful matters, being irritatingly good and all.

Sod’s Law was out in all its ironic glory tonight. For just as my tardiness at the Anson Rooms is a gig-constant, so follows the universal maxim that I’ll arrive on a song I’d love to have caught more’n the tail-end of. Darn it. I tear up the stairs just in time to catch a dying chorus of one of the chirpy newies from their ‘…Clean Up’ album. I dance anyway. Briefly. And then, as I unleash my camera power band-wards, I’m bawled out by a security guard haranguing me for use of flash. Mrrryeiuuoouw.

Late. For a good band. Who I can’t photograph. Rrrrr.

But before I can even think of stamping my foot in a petulant manner, Snowpatrol’s tour manager, standing otherwise unnoticed beside me, flashes his pass at the security guard and suddenly my epilepsy-inducing presence is A-okayed. Wheeee…

‘N’ then I’m free to enjoy meself. Grin for the feel of it all. Bounce along with everyone else. Cos they really are very good. Purveyors of love songs for more’n polar bears with a good sense of rhythm, these boys… And they’re sweetly engaging between tracks too – the lead singer tells us to watch his poor posture (and shout out, pantomime style, if he starts to slouch), before thanking us (and Ash) for having them. They’re as playful as their audience; when the crowd start arm-waving sarcastically along to a slow one (sarcastic arms are possible, I promise you), though sadly without lighters, the lyrics are changed to include a reference to a ‘bunch o pricks’. And yet congeniality reigns. A girl tries to get a sound-bite for her radio show by yelling at the band between songs. At first, she’s politely (& slightly incredulously) turned down – ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we are in the middle of something here!’ But, a song or so later, the band’s gentlemanly tendencies shine through. (As does their desire to finish their set without further interruptions.) So Gary does it. A between song ‘Hi we’re Snowpatrol, and you’re listening to…’ before kicking back into the music. What pros…

They know just how to keep an audience happy. And proved it by ending on the riotous oy-bundle that is ‘Starfighter Pilot’. Wheeee…

Even the tannoy music was good this evening. As though the building was anxious to keep us in the mood. (And make up for my missing the start of the support.) They played the New Yoik Dolls between sets. Even a birrof Iggy Pop. That was nice. And yet NO-ONE around me got excited. Or even showed a flicker of recognition. Yet half an hour later they were screaming for more, as the band kick into another number from the ‘Nu-Clear Sounds’ album that shamelessly steals from the both of them. Tcha. Young people today…

Now. My (somewhat dodgy) memory is insisting they opened on a rip-roaring ‘Girl From Mars’. This could well be true. What I do know for certain is that it was an opening to set the tone of the evening; as soon as Ash took to the stage, resplendent beneath their back-drop angel, everyone was wired for sound. Oh, but Ash seem to’ve got their Mojo back, and workin’. The energy in the room was sparkling. And that was before Tim came down to the barrier to sing to his loving fans ‘n’ gropers. Their old logo (the first and ‘proper’) took to intermittently flashing about the ceiling, from twin KingKong–esque searchlights. And as they did seem to be getting back to the raw power of that album, it seemed only fitting to have that era’s name in lights. Now the new album, I’m only showing middling affection for; the songs are rather let down by the school-poetry lyrics. But live, that isn’t a problem. There’s a buzz around the band that’s fiendishly infectious, and I’m concentrating on enjoying myself (rather’n noting down instances of Rhyme Scheme crime…) Live, it all makes sense. Live, they can do no wrong. Well, until they managed to blow the power on the pounding ‘Submission’. (Possibly not entirely the band’s fault, but how cool does a guitar-instigated short-circuit sound?) A minute or so of black-out later – interspersed with foot-stamping from the crowd, and torch-based ‘I AM THE LEPRECHAUN’ fright-face excitement from the stage – and the power’s back on. And so’re our friends electric. Raaaa…

They played for over an hour, probably closer to an hour and a half, and ended the fret-happy encore on ‘Numbskull’. I was grinning all the way home. My ears were still ringing a full 24 hrs later. So much so that when I hiccupped or yawned, I’d be able to hear slightly muffled phaser fire. And that’s my favourite thing about Ash-induced tinnitus – even that is reminiscent of ‘Star Wars’…

Last revised: 08/11/01