The Saints '73-'78 take flight. Nazz Nassari photo. 
Sir Edmund.
I've always wanted to see The Aints (Marks I and II) but of course I live in the wrong town. Very, very few at this show tonight will have seen the original Saints – as in Chris Bailey, Ed Kuepper, Ivor Hay and Kym Bradshaw. They were never able to tour Adelaide; Chris' version first toured here in 1980.
Inevitably, people have chirruped that old chestnut "it's not the original line-up"; perhaps more valid if the band had reformed in 1982. But, not today. IN any case, Ivor Hay originally played piano, and shifted to bass. Kym Bradshaw was the band's third bassist (their fourth was Algy Ward, who died last year). Sure, it would be nice to see the whole band ... however, that ain't possible anymore.
Also, perhaps one reason Chris Bailey was reluctant to do more “reunion” shows over the years (despite the armoured cars full of wonga which would have resulted) was because that would appear to negate everything the man had strived for in his solo career. Which is fair enough. As you may have seen with the last election in the USA, you get what you deserve, not what you think you want.
So, to the Hindley Street Music Hall, a relatively new venue, fairly large capacity (well over double that of The Gov by the look of it), well-set out and, frankly, a pleasure to visit.
For me, it's not: “does it work on stage?”, but how well does it? And does it sound ... well, exciting, fresh, inviting? I try to get away from what I see around me - there's an attitude of anticipating a great gig - so that, irrespective of whether the gig is great or not, people still say it... At least that's how I see things.
We get our spot and first on are The Double Agents, who I've not encountered before. Their songs strike me as being ‘60s-influenced (via the early ‘80s pub scene) but I expect I'm way out with that. So they threaten pop with guitar bloodshed.
Whoever chose them to open tonight chose well: they represent a snapshot of rock'n'roll. Their drummer, Myles Gallagher, in particular made his own minimal and inventive ‘50s throwback style via (I am told) Nuggetsy Sixties garage. Really made me want to see them again - get their records and whatnot here.
So, to the Main Band which, for brevity's sake, I will refer to as The Saints.
Alright, so despite the fact that everyone up there tonight is well over the age that, back in the day, we would mercilessly mock for having the temerity to play aggressive, relevant music, this band have no business being so old and being so very fucking good.
There's enough footage and other information out there for you to 'do yor oan resurch', so I don't want to give too much away, other than to say that if you do go, it's not what some might expect ... it's not an hour of high-octane thrash (as the UK punks and media seemed to expect in 1977 and 1978), but a powerful representation of songs which we all know, yet most of us have either never, or rarely, seen live. And, not like this. At all. This ain't The Aints (Mark 1) and it ain't The Saints (back then), but this is The Saints' songs, presented in the best way possible.
Ed Kuepper has always had affection for the songs in this canon, not merely respect. He never took The Saints' name, allowing Chris to walk away with it on a handshake. Chris' version of the band was a change in direction which resulted in some classic songs. But that's the trouble with having a solo career of any sort. Even Mick Jagger commented mournfully "nobody wants to hear anything from your new album", tacitly acknowledging that the only thing that sells is your “old stuff”. And that was 12 years ago.
Sir Ivor.
But these Saints songs ... they're a deeply-embedded part of the Australian rock'n'roll mythos now. Hell, have you read the piece in "Meanjin"?
At the time The Saints were spreading their virus in the UK (their July 1977 appearance on “Top of the Pops” and apparently having quite an effect on young Mark E. Smith, it would have been utterly unthinkable that an article on them would appear in “Meanjin”, where The Saints' history is examined almost as if they were a section of ancient cave painting; revelation follows archaeological revelation.
And this is where we are tonight. It's not merely archaeology; folks turn out to see Buzzcocks to see their fantastic songs played loud and vivid, fully aware of the processes of age, that folks have been with us, made their mark, and we have to carry on.
The initial incarnation of The Saints created such a stir back then, which has continued to expand ... so the weight of expectation must be gigantic upon the band's shoulders ... and they're all clearly nervous as they walk on stage. They don't know how we'll respond and nor do we (Ed refers to us as “guinea pigs” but you know, it's Adelaide, and we know we ain't that cute).
Let's start with Ed, because this is such a gutsy thing to do, in so many ways.
Look, anyone else in Ed's position would surely either be resting on their laurels or poncing about in sequins and sparkles, blustering about “never giving up” (or possibly, “Fight, fight, fight!'), glad-handing the crowd like a huckster at an Appalachian wedding involving snake bites, moonshine and holy redemption.
Oh, wait, didn't the US just have an election?
"Sweet" Pete Oxley.
So, no, what Ed's done is to ask the best people he knows to put the band into shape. He's kept the ethos of the band solid, too: they were always about being genuine (surely there's a raging theme against phoniness which runs through the first three LPs?), to the point where the record company were thwarted by the band's preference to going onstage in what they wore in their day-to-day.
Because The Saints' performance is, first and foremost, about the songs, and the songs speak for the band. The Saints weren't dressing down, they just ... didn't dress up.
And that's what they wear onstage tonight: their ordinary clothes (to the point that I marvelled how some of them were allowed into the building - but that may well be another story).
And Ed has arranged for the songs to be presented in the best manner possible (and he's giving them more respect than I think Bailey did onstage, to be honest). Yeah, I know. Mustn't utter one's own opinion. Here's another: The Sunnyboys were never my cup of tea. Never 'got' them. Glad they succeeded, and their songs still make people happy. But, not for me.
Ed always seemed to be playing some sort of blur between rhythm and lead (not so much Mick Green or Wilko Johnson as some sort of savage machine), so the decision to have Mick Harvey (who curated the 2009 “All Tomorrow's Parties” reunion) on rhythm guitar as well as keys would have been a no-brainer. And Mick absolutely rocked out tonight - and, after one song a bit later in the set, he ruefully shook his left hand, warding off cramp...
Mick Harvey.
Mick is, in fact, the paragon of organisation here; he looks calmer than he usually does, too. That said, I have often wondered why he's never decided to record a hammering rock LP, but ...
Back to archaeologies and mythologies. Peter Oxley is on bass; another no-brainer as the man has played with Kuepper before, not least with The Aints! Together with Ivor Hay on the kit, Oxley holds the songs together. Watching early live footage of Kym Bradshaw and Algy Gray is interesting. Looks to me like Oxley has found ways to expand the rhythms within but without sacrificing drive or intent.
And Ivor is a unique drummer. Nobody plays like him. He is the man the band frequently turns to face. In turn, he rarely takes his eyes off Kuepper, whose musical cues aren't always apparent (Mark Arm misses a couple because of this). Ed's in his utter utterness zone. And he dominates the stage (often with his eyes closed, FFS).
Speaking of mythologies, Mark Arm, eh? Neither mimicking Bailey, nor thrashing about like a tweaking dickhead, Mark knows his role to a “t”. First, aside from the very occasional fluff, he knows the songs. He keeps his performance centred on the lyrics, the delivery and phrasing, and on Bailey's sometimes bonkers sense of timing (this last being one of the several things which made The Saints sound so distinctive - I wonder if that caused any friction as the songs were being developed... ah, shut it, Robert).
Mark "Awright" Arm
And, yes, Mark's nervous. Of course he is. After the third song, though, he allows himself a little smile. He's doing it. Actually doing it. Sometimes he also allows himself to be a bit looser with a song; but let's get one thing straight. Bailey never chucked himself about like Jello Biafra; again, this is about delivering the songs without made-up histrionics. If anything, Mark Arm is the perfect choice to sing these songs in this context: he's utterly sincere in his delivery and the care in which he does so.
I've seen Ed play live for many years (saw every Clowns gig in Adelaide since 1981, and as many of his solo shows as I can get to). His onstage demeanour has changed greatly over those years, depending on the band. Yet, tonight is different, and very special.
Tonight, Ed is rapt. It's evident in the way he addresses the crowd. The love for these songs is palpably evident, they physically move him, and it's a joy to watch him shift about the stage, half dancing, always playing, the music carrying him along in a most engaging manner.
If you watch the Paddington Town Hall video, you can see what Ed's doing well enough to know that by now he's found plenty of space to bring the music out far more powerfully, with more complexity without compromising the song itself. Ed's playing tonight improves and expands the songs while remaining well and truly inside The Saints' direction at the time, and is utterly mesmerising to watch. Some of the songs are so absolutely fucking razoring that it's hard to credit that they're fifty or so years old.
Ed has a lot to be proud of, and as I say, he could've presented this in the most tawdry way, all shiny glitz and (as I mentioned earlier) 'we used to drink from the hosepipe when we were kids' nostalgia.
But. Fuck pageantry and phony threads, here are the songs.
Every member of this band should be bloody proud of what they've achieved with this outfit. That they don't look remotely arrogant, just pleased at our response, speaks volumes.
The Saints really merit the kind of crowd that roll out to see Dinosaur Jr (ages 15-75), by the by, not us archaeologists. That said, if I were able, I'd love to be front and centre at every single one of these gigs.
If I write anything about these gigs, it is this: don't miss 'em.
Sure, I guess you could call in sick the next day. Or, if worst comes to worst and you can't get there, you could play that drinking game Mark Arm suggested: play the first LP loud and have a shot of something alcoholic (Buckfast tonic, perhaps) every time Bailey bellows “Awright!” or “Come on”'.
