In July last year I was offered the opportunity by my brother, who had a spare ticket after one of his friends had to bail at the 11th hour, to go to the Derby Summer Sessions gig headlined by Madness and supported by the legend that is Mr Rick Astley, along with the fabulous Lightning Seeds and 80s synth-pop inspired, Deco.
As a life-long Madness fan I obviously jumped at the chance to go. Well, I say jumped, “coerced” is probably more accurate. I was going through a particularly rough period at the time, so the idea of going out and enjoying oneself seemed positively alien. Anyway, I digress.
On this particular day in July, Sunday 14th to be precise, a certain football match was also taking place, namely the England vs Spain European Championship Final which, after some sensible re-scheduling of the show times by the event organisers, was to be live-streamed after Madness had finished their set. A lovely gesture, ensuring that everyone in attendance got the opportunity to witness football not coming home for the gazillionth time… Huzzah!
After an early start leaving Nottingham, we parked-up in a multi-story car park near the hotel, grabbed a hearty Full English breakfast and a couple of beers in Derby city centre and, it has to be said, by this point I was very much looking forward to the gig. I’d not seen The Lightning Seeds live before and, rather like Madness, Mr Astley has a reputation for fun and putting on a crowd-pleasing show. Needless to say, the occasion would not disappoint.
Anyway, we all downed the last of our drinks and left the pub, and it was at this point we realised that my brother had mysteriously been Trumped and had a small stream of blood trickling down his right ear. We still to this day can’t fully fathom how it happened – Presumably there was either a sniper on the loose in Derby that day, or he somehow managed to miss his mouth and stab himself in the ear with a fork whilst devouring his Full English. My money’s on the latter, by the way.
After patching him up and offering our deepest, genuine concern (aka, “taking the piss for a few minutes”) we then headed, on foot, towards Markeaton Park, the green oasis to the north-west of Derby city centre where the gig was being held. Now, on Google Maps this, if you’ll pardon the pun, looked like a walk in the park. In reality, however, we were all completely knackered by the halfway point and eventually arrived looking like dazed and confused tail-enders from the annual Derby half marathon.
Not the best start to the day by any measure. However, the queue to get in wasn’t too bad and, once inside the venue, we quickly found the refreshments area and duly got the beers in – which was to become an alarmingly regular activity throughout the day.
By this point Deco were almost midway through their set, but enough remained of their 45 minute slot for me to be thoroughly impressed. The band was tight, the vocals and harmonies on point, and the songs, well, very 80s sounding, very catchy, and flawlessly executed. If they’re ever playing in your area, I highly recommend you go and check them out, or give them a follow on Spotify.
Next up, the refreshment area to get the beers in (again) followed by the fabulous Lightning Seeds. This was also a moment of realisation on my part that there were indeed two identical stages, with two identical Lightning Seeds, and both were playing the exact same songs in perfect unison.
I convinced myself that this couldn’t possibly be related to the beer I’d consumed, after all I’d only had a few, right? So I downed the one in hand and happily accepted another from my nephew, Ryan, who’d snook off and got the beers in yet again before the first song had even finished – The selfless team player that he is.
Meanwhile The Lightning Seeds were blasting their way through a terrific set featuring, amongst others, Marvellous, Sense, Lucky You, The Life of Riley and, as several humongous inflatable footballs were launched into the crowd, they ended with the iconic Three Lions which, given that there was a football match on later of some considerable significance, went down an absolute storm with all present.
Musicianship was first class, the setlist crowd pleasing and, as is so often the case with class acts like the Lightning Seeds, the songs sounded even better live than I’d remembered them on record. So glad I finally got to see them live, I simply couldn’t recommend them enough if you ever get the opportunity to do the same.
As The Lightning Seeds departed the stage with whoops of approval and applause still ringing out, another beer was enthusiastically thrust before me, accompanied by the traditional slurred phrase, “Go on pal, gerrit down ya!”. This time it was James who’d snook off and got the beers in – The crafty bevvy snookster that he is.
So now I’m juggling two beers, one full, the other almost full, plus my phone and vape, and all whilst trying to conquer the aforementioned “two stages syndrome”, in addition to trying to work out how a bright red and gold Madness Fez had, at some point, mysteriously appeared on my head. As much as I was enjoying the gig, this was also the exact moment in time where my facial expression changed momentarily to resemble the, “And this was the moment Barry deeply regretted…” memes.
Somehow I managed to convince myself that the best solution to my juggling problem was to down one of the beers, which I did. This was soon followed by what felt like several tiny hand grenades going off in my stomach and an inevitable release of gas that, had I’d been the roadie doing the “check, one, two…” on Rick Astley’s microphone at the time, the PA system would surely have been completely obliterated.
But, no time to feel sorry for myself, THE Mr Rick Astley had now taken to the stage in a very dashing pink suit, supported by a band who were, in short, absolutely incredible. Tight, relaxed and confident, with consummate ease they flawlessly ticked-off hit after hit, which included crowd-pleasing favourites like Together Forever, Hold Me in Your Arms and Whenever You Need Somebody, as well as some of Rick’s newer material.
However, the highlight of the set for me, and I suspect for many others too, was a completely unexpected cover of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell, with Mr Astley himself on drums. Yes, you read that correctly, the Rickroller, playing the drums, on a classic heavy metal anthem.
He finished his hour-and-a-bit set with the only song Rick Astley could ever possibly end a live set with – unless, that is, he wanted a full-blown riot on his hands – and that song was, of course, the immortal classic, Never Gonna Give You Up.
His sense of fun and self-deprecating humour was evident throughout, which peaked as he introduced his set-closing classic, whilst thanking everyone for suffering through an hour or so of twaddle, just to get to the bit that they’d actually come for. A super talented, super funny, down-to-earth legend who I wouldn’t hesitate to see again should the opportunity arise.
What followed next was the moment every single festival and outdoor gig-goer dreads the most – A trip to the porta-loos. To be fair to the organisers, queues were minimal, so they’d clearly done their homework and got the human-to-loo ratio absolutely spot on. However, the experience of using a porta-loo after thousands of other drink-fuelled concert goers had used that exact same porta-loo just prior to my visit, remained as depressing an experience as one could possibly imagine.
I eventually returned from my porta-loo adventure with obvious signs of PTPLSD (Post Traumatic Porta-Loo Stress Disorder) etched onto my resigned and weary face. The sights and the smells forever burned into my memory.
Luckily for me, whilst I was going through my very own private porta-loo hell, another one of the gang had very selflessly snook off to get the beers in and had left mine on the floor next to the other three… Wait, what! Four beers now? How can this be? When I left there were two, but when I come back there’s four? There was only one thing for it, down one, then there’ll only be three, which is a much more manageable number of beers. A genius move, I thought, which turned out to be not as genius as I’d hoped.
So now I’m sat, Fez on head, waiting for Madness, with acute PTPLSD, three beers at my feet, still seeing two stages, and now with the added sensation that the whole concert was, in fact, taking place on an undulating ocean and not on a grass field as it first appeared. Things were not looking good.
But then, out of nowhere, a massive stroke of luck. James, already several sheets to the wind himself, came stumbling over and asked if anyone had seen his beer. “Yes, James” I quickly replied. “They’re both down here, I was keeping an eye on them until you got back”. From four, to three, to one, in one masterful and rather sneaky little sentence – And yes, I was very, very proud of myself indeed.
Then the stage lights dimmed and, to the theme-tune from Thunderbirds and huge cheers from the Fez adorned masses, Madness took to the stage for their headline set.
Now, me and Madness go back a long, long way. I’ve been buying their records since their first single, The Prince, became a UK top-twenty hit in 1979. I first saw them live at the Royal Concert Hall in Nottingham on the the 6th of March 1983, just a few months after it had opened. I’ve seen them many times since. More times than I could possibly count. And over the years I’ve experienced them in various iterations.
By the time I saw them in 1983 on The Rise & Fall tour, they’d evolved from a raw, seven-piece ska band, to having a brass section and string quartet with them on-stage and, musically, they were very mature and polished. On the Mad Not Mad tour of 1985, which turned out to be their last before disbanding, they had two session keyboard players (both filling in for Mike Barson who’d already left the band), three backing singers and a percussionist.
When they returned for their legendary Madstock reunion shows at London’s Finsbury Park on the 8th and 9th of August, 1992, the band went back to basics with a raw, energetic, live sound featuring just the original seven core members. And, for quite a while, that’s how things stayed.
However, as they played the festival circuit more and more in recent years, I think it became evident to them that times had changed. Artists were using backing tracks and technology as a matter of course and, as such, audiences now expected the live performance to sound more or less the same as what they’d become accustomed to hearing on Spotify and iTunes.
So, bringing us up to the present day, Madness live now means the six remaining core members (Carl Smyth having left the band several years ago). Plus a three-piece brass section comprising Mike Kearsey, Joe Auckland and Steve Hamilton.
Then there’s percussionist and backing vocalist, Mez Clough. And, on the songs that require it, the use of a backing track (and a click-track for Woody to regimentally follow along to in his in-ear monitors), which is most evident when you hear things like the gospel choir on Wings of a Dove, or David Bedford’s fabulous strings arrangement on Our House.
In short, Madness these days sound as good as they’ve ever sounded. Ultra tight thanks to the ever-solid and reliable backbone of the band, Dan Woodgate (drums) and Mark Bedford (bass). With the brass section, percussion and backing tracks adding those sometimes minor, but often significant elements to the overall sound that would otherwise be missing live.
They may not be as young as they once were, they may not run around the stage like they once did – Indeed, Mike Barson elects to sit on a stool behind his keyboards these days, something I do myself to avoid the wrath of my aging spine. But audibly and visually they are most definitely still a force to be reckoned with and easily hold their own at any music festival. No mean feat for a band that are, as I write, 46 years in the business.
Needless to say, their setlist and performance at Summer Sessions was exceptional. And even with lesser known material from the new album making an appearance throughout, those songs were sensibly book-ended between classic hits – and Madness have an absolute abundance of those at their disposal.
From the first notes of the opening track, One Step Beyond, the crowd was really into it, bouncing, dancing and singing along throughout the 90 minute set, with the lesser known songs coming as welcome respite for most in attendance and an opportunity to grab a quick breather.
The show’s finale unleashed their biggest hits, with House of Fun, Baggy Trousers, It Must Be Love and Our House following in quick succession before the band left the stage to adulation-level cheers and applause. Obviously the good people of Derby wanted more, so the band obligingly returned for an encore of Madness and the extended live version of Night Boat to Cairo, which always brings the house down and extracts every last bit of energy the crowd may have had left in their now rapidly failing limbs.
By this point my aging back was completely shot to pieces. Standing up hurt. Sitting down hurt. Walking about hurt. Somehow, even blinking seemed to hurt. So, there was only one thing for it, I needed urgent pain relief in the form of a much needed beer – for which my brother duly ventured back to the refreshment area – the utter legend that he is.
Then came the football, and I think the less said about that the better. Football didn’t come home, again, but it was time for us to go home. Well, go back to the hotel which had been sensibly booked in advance on the wise assumption that none of us would be in any fit state to drive back to Nottingham.
The walk back to Derby city centre was slow and torturous and seemed to take at least three times as long as it did when we were walking to the gig. But eventually the hotel loomed into sight and three out of the four of us grabbed one last drink, a coffee, before heading to bed for some much needed sleep.
The fourth member of the group, James, had somehow gone missing during Madness’ set. And, when he still hadn’t materialised the following morning, in true Top Gear fashion we held an impromptu meeting and unanimously agreed to leave him behind. So we finished breakfast, got in the car and headed back down the A52 to Nottingham, one person lighter.
It’s now almost a year since that memorable day in Derby and, for those of you wondering, James did eventually materialise completely unscathed from his ordeal, and my aging back did eventually stop hurting.
But would I do it all again, I hear you ask?… Absolutely!
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