Yellowcard - Manchester Academy 4th March 2006
Setlist: Lights And Sounds / Way Away / Avondale / Only One / Sure Thing Falling / Life Of A Salesman / Empty Apartment / Rough Landing, Holly / Cigarette / Believe / Down On My Head / October Nights / Breathing / Holly Wood Died // Ocean Avenue
Getting old is a bit like being Spiderman (stay with me, you’ll thank me later). Actually, no you won’t, because I have no idea where the hell where I was going with that one! That’s old age for you. OK. I may be old, but I’m not that old. When I was 16 I liked my music loud… now I’m old enough to be the father of a 16 year old*, I still like it loud! Hell, my generation invented loud music… Suck on that one, little pigs!
Maybe I should switch to decaf? Perhaps the giving up smoking has made me a little testy?** Anyhoo, none of this has anything to do with Yellowcard, and, 'why is an old fart writing a review of a Yellowcard gig anyway?', I hear you mutter into your lank, drooping fringes. Because, my little Emokiddies, I think Yellowcard is one bloody good rock band.
Getting old is a bit like being Spiderman (stay with me, you’ll thank me later). Actually, no you won’t, because I have no idea where the hell where I was going with that one! That’s old age for you. OK. I may be old, but I’m not that old. When I was 16 I liked my music loud… now I’m old enough to be the father of a 16 year old*, I still like it loud! Hell, my generation invented loud music… Suck on that one, little pigs!
Maybe I should switch to decaf? Perhaps the giving up smoking has made me a little testy?** Anyhoo, none of this has anything to do with Yellowcard, and, 'why is an old fart writing a review of a Yellowcard gig anyway?', I hear you mutter into your lank, drooping fringes. Because, my little Emokiddies, I think Yellowcard is one bloody good rock band.
Now, I apologise unreservedly to the members of Yellowcard for destroying their careers; we all know it to be a fact that a moody emo-teen cannot possibly enjoy anything that a parental unit likes. It is a rule of existence older than the hills towards which that nice Mr Dickinson would have us run. It’s written in the Dead Sea Scrolls and I know for a fact that Plato mentioned it in his scriblings. Indeed, I have seen pictures of cartouches on the walls of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings to that effect and, I’m pretty sure that there’s more than a passing reference to it on stellae at The Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacán. Sorry Yellowfellas. You’re just too good!
Yeah, I can tell by the drooping shoulders, sulky stance and the bewildered look on your interestingly pale faces that I’ve lost all readers under 40 years of age. You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m ranting about, have you? Never mind, one day, once you’ve left school, you may actually learn a few bits of general knowledge and then a little light bulb will illuminate above your greasy heads and you will understand the preceding paragraph. Good job I didn’t make you suffer the ‘X-ing a paragrab’ routine!*** Ah, you wouldn’t have understood that either would you, my woefully under-educated little droogs?
Enough of this good-natured rumbustiousness! I’m just pulling your legs off, my androgynous little whippersnappers…
It is a sign of progress, I am assured, that I was first alerted to the wondrousness of Yellowcard because one of my daughter’s friends had the intro to Believe as a ring tone on her ‘phone. Now, I’ve always had a soft spot for the 240V violin, from the first time I heard it on a King Crimson album, back in the days when you could still whip out your 12-incher and show it off proudly to all of your friends****. There is just something about plugging the wood and catgut into the mains that turns it from a ‘Kill me now!’ experience into a ‘Bloody Hell!’ incident. Mix in a shitload of heavy/punk electric guitar, some frenetic drumming, a bunch of bloody good songs, a vocalist (or two) who can actually sing, and you have: Yellowcard.
Yeah, I can tell by the drooping shoulders, sulky stance and the bewildered look on your interestingly pale faces that I’ve lost all readers under 40 years of age. You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m ranting about, have you? Never mind, one day, once you’ve left school, you may actually learn a few bits of general knowledge and then a little light bulb will illuminate above your greasy heads and you will understand the preceding paragraph. Good job I didn’t make you suffer the ‘X-ing a paragrab’ routine!*** Ah, you wouldn’t have understood that either would you, my woefully under-educated little droogs?
Enough of this good-natured rumbustiousness! I’m just pulling your legs off, my androgynous little whippersnappers…
It is a sign of progress, I am assured, that I was first alerted to the wondrousness of Yellowcard because one of my daughter’s friends had the intro to Believe as a ring tone on her ‘phone. Now, I’ve always had a soft spot for the 240V violin, from the first time I heard it on a King Crimson album, back in the days when you could still whip out your 12-incher and show it off proudly to all of your friends****. There is just something about plugging the wood and catgut into the mains that turns it from a ‘Kill me now!’ experience into a ‘Bloody Hell!’ incident. Mix in a shitload of heavy/punk electric guitar, some frenetic drumming, a bunch of bloody good songs, a vocalist (or two) who can actually sing, and you have: Yellowcard.
Any time you have a gravy train to jump aboard, you find a whole bunch of soundalikes that are universally interchangeable and who offer nothing original to get the juices flowing. Oh, they are innocuous enough and most do quite well because they push all the correct pleasure-centre buttons, whilst not firing off any alerts; they stick to the formula and plenty of sheep buy their product. For the more discerning (read ‘older’) music lovers, every once in a while, we will venture forth from our safe-houses, where it will always be 1979, because we sense a little originality and creativity. Last year, it was the Manchester Apollo and the Kings of Leon that caused me to drag my Zimmerframe along to a gig filled with suitably sombre, lank-haired, spotty youths and teeny-bopping nubiles, bouncing their perky breasts and flashing their pierced belly buttons at anyone who glanced at the acres of taught flesh on display. This year, it’s to the Manchester Academy I go, and a similar scenario finds me trying to keep my eyes away from these sirens, barely the same age as my youngest girl-child, as they gyrate to the sounds of the yellow ones.
From the outset, that part of the gig’s success that relies on the crowd being ‘into it’, was quickly relegated to the not-an-issue bin, as both Lights and Sounds and Way Away resulted in huge roars of approval from the audience and got the show off to a hell of a start. And so it continued throughout the gig. The crowd loved the band and, the more the band got from the crowd, the more they gave. It was a perfect marriage, in effect.
I avoided the circle pit and all of that craziness down the front, that being the province of those centuries younger than me.*****
From the outset, that part of the gig’s success that relies on the crowd being ‘into it’, was quickly relegated to the not-an-issue bin, as both Lights and Sounds and Way Away resulted in huge roars of approval from the audience and got the show off to a hell of a start. And so it continued throughout the gig. The crowd loved the band and, the more the band got from the crowd, the more they gave. It was a perfect marriage, in effect.
I avoided the circle pit and all of that craziness down the front, that being the province of those centuries younger than me.*****
I had listened to Ocean Avenue at length and was quite familiar with the songs. By the time they launched into Believe, I certainly did and, by Breathing, I could have done with an iron lung.****** What surprised me was the quality of the performance and the professionalism with which they performed. It was well above what I would expect from a bunch of relative youngsters. As with KOL, they far exceeded my expectations on all levels, but especially live. Anyone can (theoretically) come up with a great CD, given the time and a copy of Pro Tools, but doing it live takes real talent, something which is in short supply in this age of manufactured pap music.
Lights and Sounds has competently tackled that notoriously difficult second album problem – only time will tell if the third proves that it isn’t just a serendipity, but genuine talent. I don’t give out praise unless it is warranted and one thing is for sure: Yellowcard certainly rocked the Manchester Academy on Saturday and booted some serious bottom.
Believe, people!
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
6th March 2006
* Shit, I am the father of a 16 year old… and a 21 year old! Bugger!
** Nah, I’ve always been confrontational and aggressive.
*** X-ing a paragrab courtesy of Mr Edgar Allan Poe.
**** (without getting arrested, or slapped).
***** Not that I ever got involved in that sort of thing when I was their age either! I’ve never been able to understand the reasoning behind spending your hard-earned going to a gig and, either getting so stoned (or wasted) that you can’t remember anything after, or spending all the gig running around getting bashed and battered, so that you can’t remember anything after, other than the bruises. Maybe it’s just me?!
****** Go ask your parents!
Lights and Sounds has competently tackled that notoriously difficult second album problem – only time will tell if the third proves that it isn’t just a serendipity, but genuine talent. I don’t give out praise unless it is warranted and one thing is for sure: Yellowcard certainly rocked the Manchester Academy on Saturday and booted some serious bottom.
Believe, people!
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
6th March 2006
* Shit, I am the father of a 16 year old… and a 21 year old! Bugger!
** Nah, I’ve always been confrontational and aggressive.
*** X-ing a paragrab courtesy of Mr Edgar Allan Poe.
**** (without getting arrested, or slapped).
***** Not that I ever got involved in that sort of thing when I was their age either! I’ve never been able to understand the reasoning behind spending your hard-earned going to a gig and, either getting so stoned (or wasted) that you can’t remember anything after, or spending all the gig running around getting bashed and battered, so that you can’t remember anything after, other than the bruises. Maybe it’s just me?!
****** Go ask your parents!
About the photos...
Sorry, photos are a big bunch of toss.
Even though they wouldn't stand still, there is really no excuse for such a poor showing. I should be horsewhipped! Or, at the very least, hornswoggled.
Even though they wouldn't stand still, there is really no excuse for such a poor showing. I should be horsewhipped! Or, at the very least, hornswoggled.