He Ain't Heavy

Name above the door

You know the feeling: you get off the train, walk out of the station and then realise you haven't got a bloody clue where the venue is. 'Excuse me mate, you from Sheffield?' Oh God, thinks the hapless passer by, not another flaming tourist. 'Easiest way to get to the 02?' Fucking hell, that's an easy one, (I can tell) he's thinking. 'It's that big white box building up there', he said, pointing to the big white box building. 'See it?' I did: smashed it. 

Catching a late afternoon train out of Nottingham means there's plenty of time to find the venue (tick), find pub(s) near venue - Spoons and Head of Steam (tick and tick) - have a couple and still get there in good time (tick). No repeat of Amsterdam.

Thomas Walsh is Pugwash

The last time I saw Pugwash was in Islington, north London. I was with my good friends Steve and Mondo and we'd been drinking in Holborn most of the afternoon. I do remember meeting Mark Ellen for the first time and the delightful Kate Mossman. My memories of the gig, however, are patchy, though I do seem to recall the guitarist from XTC joining them on stage at one point.

Anyway, that was back in 2010 and I did say to Mondo the next day how I'd love to see them again when I was a little less, ahem, relaxed.

So when I saw that Pugwash were opening for Nick Heyward on his latest trek around the country I snaffled a pair of tickets faster than the devil on horseback.

When Thomas Walsh walked onto the tiny stage he all but filled it - I wrote a while back that Thomas Walsh is bigger than the Beatles. After a few words of introduction in his broad Dubln brogue he launched straight into Perfect Summer from the shimmering Siverlake album recorded earlier this year in LA. His songs are perfectly formed three minute pop nuggets made to be heard by the whole world: one day they will be, but just for tonight, Sheffield were given their very own private performance. Highlights too many to mention, but Mason on the Boundary (from Duckworth Lewis) and Nice to be Nice meant that I could have gone home a happy man, even if I hadn't have stuck around for the night's star turn.  

Nick Heyward is my brother**

It's not hard to see why Nick Heyward asked Pugwash to go on tour with him. They compliment each other perfectly. And if they're not already writing together then they should be.

Heyward's pedigree meant that he could come out of the traps with two Top Ten Hits (Love Plus One/Take That Situation) and still have plenty of gas left in the tank. Complete with a rather fetching smoking jacket, and an equally loud five piece band (six if you count the man himself), he treated the crowd (though gathering may be a more accurate term) to a masterclass in how to string together a bunch of hits (and a few near misses too), tie them up in a bow and deliver each and every one like his life depended on it.

Standout songs*? If I had to trade one for my grandmother it would be Kite. And He Doesn't Love You Like I do; OK, both grandmothers then.

* Nick has been dropping the Beatles' Dr. Robert into his set for as long as I can remember, and last night was no exception. Here he is in 1993 performing it on Danny Baker's late night Saturday TV show with the Railtown Bottlers, Danny's house band (look out for a very young Mark Kermode on standup bass).

Nick Heyward - Dr. Robert

**Interestingly a woman from Middlesborough who I was chit-chatting to down the front said I looked like Nick Heyward's brother.

In other news, Nick said that his daughter (who resides in Shefield, apparently) was in the audience. So, techNickally, that would make her my niece then?

Surprise Me!

We all like surprises; don't we? Isn't that what gets us out of bed each and every morning - the prospect of a new day and all that comes with it, everything from the planned and expected to those happenstance events that bring the most totally unexpected, and sometimes, exciting moments? It's the not knowing. If we did know what was round the corner then life would be that little bit duller, that little bit more mundane. I'm a bit sad, I know, but I won't even look at Nick Heyward's set list that somebody liberated from the stage in Birmingham the other night - I'm seeing him this Friday and don't want to know what he's gonna start and end with, or even play for an encore; of course I've got a bloody good idea, but you know what I mean?

Radio presenters who herald at the top of the show what they'll be playing over the next two hours. Why? The joy of listening to the live radio, surely, is, again, not knowing what's coming next. And don't get me started on movie trailers (aka plot spoilers) - especially grating when you'll be watching the film only days later.

As they used to say on the Saturday night news, just before Match of the Day came on: "If you don't want to know the scores, look away now."

He Doesn't Love You Like I Do

With so many of his peers hitching their caravans to the lucrative eighties package tour circuit, it’s refreshing that Nick Heyward is still doing intimate acoustic evenings in arts centres and pubs (like this) - playing stripped down versions of his solo records, as well as all the Haircut hits. Not long after he parted company with Haircut 100 I quite literally bumped into Heyward as I was coming out of The Ship in Wardour Street and he was walking in – a proper popstar sighting. Since then I've seen him live a couple of times - plugging his From Monday to Sunday album on tour with Squeeze and then a couple of years later in a tiny venue in Leicester promoting 1995’s Tangled. Fine albums both. Although Kite is one of my favourite singles of all time, I’ve gone for the infectious sixties influenced He Doesn’t Love You Like I Do. If I was Tony Blackburn I’d probably dedicate this poptastic piece of pop fluff to anyone who has recently had their girlfriend stolen.

Nick Heyward - He Doesn't Love You Like I Do