Derby First Floor Club, Thu 2nd February (6/2/06)

Mike Cresswell:

As we approached the centre of Derby, the sign boldly proclaimed; "Derby, Pride of the East Midlands". Sadly, it was dark and I can only add yet another place in Britain to that hypothetical long of list of places that I must see in the daylight. So, as is the form, the returning Steve Field, his Corgi-Registered Biscuit-virgin friend Jason and I decamped to the local J.D. Wetherspoon hostelry.

As those in attendance will testify, this was the usual relatively packed public house, with pockets of furtive looking Biscuit fans; the easy targets being attired in DPAKs and a number of differently sized groups that could or could not have been partaking. Not bad real ale and curry night, which filled a gap.

HMHB may not type out their set-lists, but I would wager that some thought goes into it. This set-list was one of the more eclectic. A few surprises and a few old favourites. Plus, in my humble opinion, a doffing of the flat cap to the locality. TLatEotT(itLoaOT) is packed full of Derbyshire connections and Lock Up Your Mountain Bikes was adapted accordingly. More of that later. Anyway, here is my take on the evening's entertainment: -

Mathematically Safe
P.R.S. Yearbook - Quick the Drawbridge
Fear My Wraith
Shit Arm, Bad Tattoo
Ready Steady Goa
Fuckin' 'Ell It's Fred Titmus
Bad Review
San Antonio Foam Party
Lock Up Your Mountain Bikes
Corgi Registered Friend
The Light At The End Of The Tunnel (Is The Light Of An Oncoming Train)
For What Is Chatteris...
{Medley} There Stands The Glass, leading into; Vatican Broadside
Surging Out of Convalescence
{Medley} I'm Throwing Rice (At The Girl That I Love), leading into; Twenty Four Hour Garage People
99% of Gargoyles Look Like Bob Todd
We Built This Village On A Trad. Arr. Tune
C.A.M.R.A. Man
Bottleneck At Capel Curig
Uffington Wassail
Look Dad No Tunes
Them's the Vagaries
Emerging From Gorse
Everything's A.O.R.


Here Comes Your Man
Joy Division Oven Gloves
The Trumpton Riots

After Bob Todd, Nigel got all trendy and mischievously adapted the recent hit by The Pussycat Dolls - "Don't Cha", with a short but very sweet; "Don't cha wish your boyfriend could play like Ken?" Don't ask me why I know even of the existence of this song. R.I.P. Henry McGee, btw.

We had the re-appearance of the mandatory galoot during Corgi. It was kind of the young fellow to help Nigel out, but in my very humble opinion, I thought that Neil was doing a more than adequate job on backing vocals. Strange, but I thought the face was familiar and that it might be the same interloper that stormed the stage at Stafford in July 2004? Answers on a postman.

Clever link, eh; boys and girls. Our good friend, the Rotherham Postie was lubricated and in 'da house'. We therefore enjoyed the now traditional plea of "What did God give us, Neil?" Some choice audience rejoinders were supplemented by Nigel's clever ad lib; 'Scott Verplank'. It tickled me. Another highlight in "Emerging from Gorse" was the short section about the million retired Liberals going to Umbria with Carol. Or possibly, Des; Nigel has seen the script of "Brokeback Mountain". I do love the way that the back catalogue is rejuvenated.

It was lovely to hear "Lock Up Your Mountain Bikes". Even better was the changed ending. Gone were the Manics, substituted by "before Alan Hinton wore white boots". A post-song comment of that was before "Alan Ball" as well. Nigel has the knack of exhuming memories that have been shoved so far back in the cerebral warehouse that you think you may never see them again. But they are as clear as the sun on a cloudless day when triggered. Those white boots, in the heyday of The Rams, with the far too clever (and ultimately dangerous) swivel-studs.

Those of you that can face reading my reviews will know that I have a penchant for the moveable feast that is "Twenty Four Hour Garage People". The closing prices on the commodity exchange for Pringles this week were 102p (sell) and 95p (buy). Special offer, it seems. Leadbelly is getting very annoyed now and the queue not only knows that it is not the narrators fault, but ten of his mates are also in the increasingly long queue and they all want Pringles, too.

Our friend the shop-tender has his mp3 player on and you can make out the strains of; "the cat crept in.....crept out again". He had his arms on his hips, a bit like Sergeant Wilson, but not in that nice, understanding way that John Le Mesurier displayed. A new twist every time.

Another fine evening. No R.E.M. cover, but never mind. Warner Brothers would probably sue. Not too far home, for us token Southerners; neither. Until next time...