The Smyths – The Studio, Hartlepool – Fri 14th Jan 2006

“Oh, you did a good/bad thing”?

I’m breaking a bit of a taboo for this one but for want of any particular assignment I was scanning through the gig listings section of the ‘local rag’ to see if there was anything hereabouts that caught my eye. I kept being drawn back to this one gig – most probably due to the fact that it had the accolade of being said newspaper’s selection for ‘pick of the week’ gig and as such gets to be accompanied by a photo and 30 word write up – but also probably because I know in the back of my mind that my girlfriend is a bit of an 80’s retro enthusiast and would probably enjoy it. So began my great moral dilemma.

You see, being the opinionated soap box hogging scoundrel I am I have to confess to having strong feelings about, among other things, tribute bands. If I can avoid them I will. Let me put it this way – imagine I opened an art gallery and I’m giving you a quick guided tour – “..here on the left you can see a picture in the style of ‘Christ of St John of the Cross’ by Salvador Dali, but actually painted by Greg Trotter from Burnley…and this one is like Manet’s ‘A Bar at the Folies-Bergeres’ by Andreas Jones from Holyhead…over here is the….” etc. You get the picture? (no pun intended – well maybe just a little one) In the art world tribute bands would be branded ‘forgers’ maybe. There’d be a demand but it would be less well regarded. But using a readily available name, reputation and set of songs to make a few quid is always going to be tempting. Another analogy even – when I was a kid somehow through a family member I was given a fake Rolex wristwatch. I hadn’t a clue what one was at the time but apparently the perceptible difference was this one ticked and a real one doesn’t. as a watch though I thought it was pretty cool until I got thrown out of two jewellers shops trying to get the battery replaced before consigning it to a shoebox with some other junk.

When it comes to music though, we tend to be very accepting of the concept of a band coming to a small-medium venue local to ourselves, dressed up, made up and armed with a passable repertoire of a favourite band or artist. I n some cases we’d be more likely to go see the imitation than the original. Now I know that there are mechanisms in place to ensure that in some cases the original artist is paid a token sum but I’d bet that would be the exception rather than the rule and in a small way that gets my goat. (a bit like those themed covers shows that tour the theatres with a loose plot line attached to produce a thinly disguised ‘new musical’)

There is of course a flipside – there always is. Consider how many tribute acts represent artists and bands that you will never ever in a lifetime see performing again – isn’t this a chance to almost recapture some of the magic of a bygone musical moment you’ve missed? Wouldn’t you rather see people out crowding a venue that sat back at home encouraging that other most heinous beast, the celebrity TV talent show. And lets face it – you really can’t take to the stage and adopt someone else’s musical show for 90 minutes unless you really have something near the capability to pull it off (naturally this doesn’t apply to Elvis tribute acts) – so it’s not like you’re really taking the express stairway to the bank vault. (Incidentally – you can try this, but you’ll sharp be found out – there’s a tolerance in audiences but not much stupidity)

Anyway, after getting all that off my chest, that’s how I find myself here at The Studio in Hartlepool to see The Smyths. They are, in typically ‘does what it says on the tin’ tribute band style, a tribute to Manchester’s legendary quartet The Smiths. First of all though, let me tell you something about the venue.

The Studio in Hartlepool is a special little venue, situated just off Church Square near the centre of town. I’ve been here a few times as both punter and performer. Externally the building’s origins as a Baptist church are well preserved. The venue is part of a community project that began in the 1980’s with Durham Street Studio out towards the headland area of the town and expanded to include this second building which opened as a venue in 1998. It’s a cracking small venue with a capacity of about 200 refurbished for its new purpose perfectly with a good in-house p.a. and a purpose built centralised mixing console. Round this off with a versatile lighting rig and you have a tidy little venue that ought to be the envy of most major northern towns. The predominant use of timber furnishings and surfaces inside no doubt retain some of the flavour of a simple ‘churchy’ type building although the significantly lowered ceiling greatly improves what could otherwise have been a complete acoustic nightmare.

From the main front doors you enter a tight little lobby where a girl extracts your ticket money from your ‘grubby palm’ through a small window before letting you in. Officially this is a members club, something to do with the licensing for sales of alcohol, although it’s well worth the nominal 50p administrative charge for your laminated membership card. As I push my way through the second doors I can see the joint is packed to the rafters and buzzing.

I think back to the first time I came to this venue to see Michigan based ska-punkers Mustard Plug play a blinding set to a paltry 25 people, bribing some kid with a ‘genuine US dollar’ to come down the front and dance. This will be a very different night I think.

I don’t really know who I expected to find at this gig. Thinning thirtysomethings grasping back to their halcyon days of the 1980’s perhaps, hopelessly trying to sculpt a quaff to the fore of their hairless crowns. Once more I shouldn’t really let my preconceptions get the better of me. Although the audience had a clear representative contingent of original Smiths fans, there was also a strong showing of younger gig-goers for whom the Smiths were probably a distant memory of something mum or dad used to play loud while they were being spanked (with gladioli) for eating worms or pushing a jam sandwich into the VCR. Whatever was behind their motivation for being here it’s clear that there was a degree of excitement surrounding this show.

So then to The Smyths themselves. From their website I gathered it was their first show of 2006. Tonight there is no supporting act and it appears that we’re in for the time honoured ‘WMC-esque’ favourite format of two spots. (the break never seems right without Bingo?) The band takes to the stage and I shuffle closer to the front to get a good look.

The band’s singer, Graham Sampson, has clearly spent a bit of time replicating the looks and affectations of the legendary ‘quiffed one’ without going too far and delving into the depths often experienced by Elvis impersonators. He has a degree of presence all of his own that I think would carry a performance even if he wasn’t being Morrissey. He’s retained his own hair colour as well and I find myself smiling at the thought of a slightly ginger variant of the Mancunian icon.

The other band members seem quite comfortable being themselves visually and don’t seem to attempt to replicate the appearance of the whole band. Personally I like this touch; otherwise it all gets a bit ‘Stars in Their Eyes’.

The Smyths skilfully work their way through their opening numbers, getting the crowd onside from the outset although no-one is at this stage brave or fuelled enough to dance. Graham lays on just enough posturing to make the performance tasteful and not preposterous, reaching out to the enraptured onlookers. The bass player has a delicious sound originating from the little SWR separates rig with 15”er that he’s brought along. He looks a little bit like Jimmy Nail’s younger better looking brother (or is it just the nose). The guitarist, who also has a familiar look, has also clearly spent many a night sitting up with a mug of Horlicks and the Johnny Marr Book of Guitar Technique.

Quite a few of the early songs in the set are big Smiths hits and I find myself thinking ‘How can they keep this up? They have to slip into lesser known songs sometime soon and save the rest for the end’ – not so. It’s only when you’re faced with a show like this that you remember how many great songs the Smiths had. This Charming Man, Handsome Devil and Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now all get an early run out.

Of course, no Smiths-esque performance would be complete without the active participation of units of flora, an abundant supply of which had been strategically laid out on the stage from the beginning, doubtless much to the pleasure of some petrol station forecourt manager en-route. This plant life naturally provided to suffer the indignity of being casually yet expertly wielded by the singer and frequently launched out into the happy audience.

Between songs Graham maintains a Morrissey like character, using quotes from the songs, sometimes cleverly, in his brief chats with the audience. Vocally he has a very close approximation of the Morrissey style, at times scarily so, although rarely does the vocal have that almost ‘from the back of the throat’ quality that makes the real Morrissey sound so distinctive. This is utterly forgivable of course as we’re talking about two different men.

In fact it’s the subtle deviations that make this performance all the more compelling. The bassist, clearly more than competent and very comfortable with is instrument, occasionally embellishes the bass part somewhat I’m certain. It’s subtle, and for me it works. In contrast the drummer keeps the indulgences reined in, ticking away steadily like an NHS installed pacemaker pumping the blood through the performance.

The only place the performance, for me, comes a little ‘unstuck’ is when the two post-Smiths songs ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’ and ‘First Of The Gang To Die’ from Mozza’s ‘You Are The Quarry’ album get a run out. I have to confess to really liking these songs but I just felt that they stood out uncomfortably in this set. Perhaps it was just a question of my expectation given the faithful representations of Smiths songs to then try to tackle the more complex band orchestrations of these two with just guitar, bass and drums. That said – it was still a hell of an attempt, particularly on the part of the guitarist. Conversely an understandable notable omission from this set is ‘How Soon Is Now’ which again would have been an impressive feat to achieve.

By the second set of the evening enough of the ‘good stuff’ had been consumed to cause a steady migration to the very front to indulge in a bit of random dancing, trampling the heads and leaves of flowers beneath their feet. The audience always has a star shining away in there somewhere and tonight it’s the turn of Brian, quite clearly a fan. The shaven headed Smiths fan is celebrating his birthday, prompting a few exchanges of mutual appreciation with the pseudo-Mozza in between songs. It’s all good natured stuff and just about everyone I can see from where I am stood is loving every minute of every song – singing along or bobbing up and down with a smile. That’s when I realise I’m smiling too – and you start to think ‘Isn’t this what it’s all about?’ Does it really matter that these aren’t the Smiths themselves? I don’t suppose it does, and although the ‘tribute act’ phenomenon still isn’t my bag I’d rather be here than being subjected to TV vote-me-rich karaoke like X-Factor.

The end of the second spot produced for me the only moment of the night that left me a bit cold. As the ‘final’ song draws to an end Graham retreats from the stage leaving only the band to finish. Amid the enthusiastic cheering, whistling and applause the remaining band members goad the audience into chanting “Mo-rri-ssey – Mo-rri-ssey” to tempt the singer back onstage – which is of course the inevitable outcome. Only of course it’s not Morrissey, and it’s his slightly red-headed counterpart Graham Sampson who really deserves the plaudits for fronting tonight’s entertainment. As with many things I tend to be opinionated about ‘encore abuse’ (a crime most prevalent in workingmen’s club concert rooms) – maybe I should just work on my sense of humour. Anyhow, this incident is quickly brushed aside when the band invite ten or twelve members of the audience on to the stage to dance to the last number of the night – a gesture that temporarily backfires as the bassists guitar becomes briefly unplugged - before finally leaving the stage looking like the site of a drive by massacre outside a florists shop. Everyone is warm and happy and many are blessed with the happy reminiscences of youthful times.

In conclusion, this band provide a ‘spanking’ nights entertainment mimicking one of the great acts that polarised popular opinion in the 1980’s. If you were among the camp that hated The Smiths I really wouldn’t suggest going to see this band as they are close enough to the real thing to infuriate you. If you’re new to The Smiths or loved them then this band is probably THE only way you’ll get anywhere near to the real thing live now – and if it ever did happen you wouldn’t get to see it for a fiver like you can with this show. So the tribute band can be a good thing then. But remember, somewhere out there is a band you’ve never heard of, doing their own thing, working just as hard at being as original now as The Smiths were when they started out – many will fail, some will succeed, none will be voted for by SMS - don’t forget to check them out sometime too.


Related Links
http://www.studiohartlepool.com
http://www.thesmyths.net