A one-line review of every gig I’ve been to in November and December 2022

Nobody has asked for this. It is more for my benefit than yours, I guess. It’s a monthly series now. Links go to the artist website. Maybe your interest will be piqued by one of the reviews. Maybe you’ll scroll straight past. Maybe you’ll unsubscribe thinking whatever did I ever see in this blog?

Paul Foot performing Swan Power, Leicester Square Theatre, London, 11 November – I think I once saw Paul do a try-out show in the back of a tiny pub in Walthamstow in front of about eight people where his act absolutely bombed and it was one of the most excruciating evenings I’ve ever witnessed, and then I definitely saw him on a Red Imp Comedy Club Zoom stream during lockdown where he was so funny I nearly coughed up my spleen laughing so I bought a ticket for this and fortunately his “Swan Power” show was much more the latter than the former.

You couldn’t stop me taking a picture of this, could you?

Desperate Journalist, Oslo, Hackney – not Norway, 17 November – A last chance to see them during this era kind of affair at a charity night and as ever they did not disappoint. The most under-rated band of the last few years.

Desperate Journalist at Oslo Hackney

The Twilight Sad, Wembley Arena, London, 11 December – One of those bands that the Spotify algorithm is constantly trying to foist on me as “if you like those … you’ll like this” but they just leave me cold I’m afraid

The Cure, Wembley Arena, London, 11 December – Back where it all began. I first saw The Cure at Wembley Arena in 1989. You couldn’t go wrong with this. A few suitably gloomy tracks previewed from the new album, a poppy greatest hits run at the end, and loads of album tracks in between. Timeless. Peerless. Then it snowed on the way home and London Transport went “Uh-oh” and I didn’t get home until 2.30am which was sub-optimal.

The Cure at Wembley Arena

Idlewild, O2 Forum, Kentish Town, 17 December – Another very under-rated band, and one that reaches deep into my latent Scottishness. I moshed down the front aged 51 (even with my delicate little ankles), and cried, and dreamed that maybe I too could rock a pixie haircut like Roddy Woomble.

Roddy Woomble inexplicably looking younger every time I see Idlewild