We were going to take it easy, but we got to the hotel after midnight and devoured bourbon biscuits and tea. Woke at 5.30 with a banging headache (I swear those bourbons were laced), so there was a lie-in.
Ridiculous roadsigns on the M4 that have definitely been changed since last time meant we went on a detour dangerously close to Wales, but got on the M5 eventually and took Jo’s advice from the night before and stopped at Gloucester Services, basically a farm shop, excellent sausage rolls. Guess who was also there? Yes you’ve guessed it.
Soundtracked by The Fall, Echo and the Bunnymen, PiL, Swervedriver, Curve and then Divorce on the approach to the Ham of Notting, the journey was as smooth as Gary Lineker’s bottom. Which is more than can be said for my bottom.
Our hotel is in the shadows of Nottingham Castle, where in 1991 Kevin Costner was catapulted over the walls with Morgan Freeman to rescue Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. They must have found a really flat bit by the walls that we missed. Essential thirst quenching in Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, where they also supped ale whilst Alan Rickman plotted taking Nakatomi Plaza.
In the Notts side streets that we slip down…..find a Sainsbury’s, find a Sainsbury’s, find a Sainsbury’s.
Unfortunately, support Dead Mint had to pull out as their guitarist had fallen foul to the lurgy. Even more disappointing for DJ’s merch crew and van driving Tim and Amy who drum and bass respectively and this was to be a home town gig. Gutted for them.
Fortunately, another Nottingham set of heroes were able to step in to the breach. Bloodworm came highly recommended by legend about these parts Dom Gourlay and our own Carmel so anticipation was high.
An absolutely rammed Bodega awaited us. Queues down the road and no room at the bar. A raised area at the back was our saviour. No moshing tonight but there’s time for that. Bloodworm were a perfect warm up. Angular guitars, noir indie, anthemic closing numbers. A three piece making a fearsome, bold racket. Righteous.
Bodega is a brilliant venue. It’s just small enough to be intimate but feels like a big room even though it’s a tight squeeze everywhere but there’s no long wait for a beer with a bar downstairs and back and front entrances and exits. Desperate Journalist tear a hole in the middle of it. It’s quite emotional watching them utterly nail it and bathe the place in their utter glory. The triumvirate middle section of No Hero are played. The experimental, glitchy, jittering, anxious three some of ‘Silent’, ‘Comfort’, and ‘Underwater’ are dark, brooding and utterly mesmerising. They even open with ‘Consolation Prize’ which, now they’ve done it, seems such an obvious opener. Huge props to the sound techs and the set up at Bodega, the place is filled to every nook and cranny with the perfect mix, the bass at the end of ‘Silent’ goes through you like a freight train, Caz is thunderous and groovy bouncing off the walls, every echo from the Rob’s Gibson Les Paul Goldtop reverberating round the room and wrapping round your ears, and Jo is on another level, another plain. And a truly incendiary ‘Fault’. It’s arguably their best ever set. They’re bringing the greatest hits and after five LPs they are not short of them and even have to leave out big fan favourite singles.
Another late one talking to Rob about the Mongols and history podcasts.
More tea and chocolate bourbons. 1am hits.
Leeds, you have a lot to live up to.
