A long, long time ago, as Don McLean would doubtless begin his blog, if he had one, I bought tickets for Dexys Midnight Runners’ show at the Bristol Beacon. My partner has always been a huge fan of Kevin Rowland’s popular beat combo outfit, I have been very ‘meh’ about them. I did not mind their covers of Johnny Johnson and the Bandwagon’s Breakin’ Down The Walls Of Heartache and found their version of Van Morrison’s Jackie Wilson Said (I’m In Heaven When You Smile) to be a general improvement on the original (private joke alert: sorry, Mike!), but Come On Eileen? Geno? Christ, no thanks. Luckily, I would not have to attend. My partner has lots of friends, at least one of whom would want to accompany her, right, so I wouldn’t have to go, right? Wrong.
It turned out we literally couldn’t give her second ticket away and given that I have dragged a reluctant partner to numerous gigs she probably would not want to attend to ensure that I would not be Billy No Mates, I was her backstop. If no one else wanted to go, then I would. No one else did want to go, so I did.
Subconsciously, I may have persuaded myself that I would not enjoy the concert. If I had not warmed to the band in their early days from 1978, what were the odds of my coming to like them today? So we arrived for the show, took our seats in the third row, at the end of the centre aisle (I always look to secure aisle seats at gigs which make it easier to make a discreet visit to the bathroom during the show, if necessary). The Beacon, formerly the Colston Hall, is a terrific mid sized venue. Very comfy seats, excellent acoustics, good views from pretty well everywhere, a more personal hall than the ghastly arenas and, even worse, stadia gigs. After an eye-wateringly expensive pre gig pint, we took our seats.
The dry ice machine was in mid flow as the house lights went down and the band somehow made their way to the stage in near total darkness. The lights flashed into action and the band, led by the youthful 73-year-old Kevin Rowland, powered into action.
Clearly, Rowland was the only original member of the band, but to me at least he was basically Dexys Midnight Runners so it didn’t matter. The first set – mercifully there was no support act – comprised of songs I didn’t know and that really mattered. It mattered because they were bloody good songs, immaculately sung by Rowland, whose powerful voice belied his age throughout and a rock solid backing band who were clearly invested in what was the final night of their tour. The first set ended and I was in a mild form of shock. My assumptions of what the show would be like, a grim fest of tired nostalgia was not what we got.
The second set began with more songs I didn’t know, but again they were very good songs. I read later than Dexys’ played more songs from their latest album, six, 2026’s Love, than any other album in their career. At one point, Rowland felt moved to announce that they would do some old songs in a bit. I’d have been more than happy if he’d ploughed on with new stuff. But inevitably, the hits started coming – Breakin’ Down The Walls Of Heartache, Geno, Jackie Wilson Said and, of course, Come On Eileen which brought the elderly audience off their Zimmers in order to commence Grandad dancing. I still don’t like Come On Eileen, but I was in a minority of one. A double encore closed the show, a clearly very happy Rowland and his band left the stage and with my tinnitus roaring back into life, I had enjoyed myself. In fact, I enjoyed myself so much, I admitted to my partner that it was one of my gigs of the year, on a par with Courtney Barnett and just behind Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit.
What do they say? Never judge a book by its cover? Yeah, I think that one. And I had pre-judged this particular book by its cover. A tired old snooze fest, with a fading star going through the motions, bored by the need to tour the same old songs in order to top up his pension. But no. Here was a big star, playing a lot of new songs which certainly stood comparison with the old songs. In my view, they were better. And he didn’t sell out the audience by playing new versions of old songs. He gave the loyal fans what they wanted. As Beach Boy Mike Love said: “Don’t fuck with the formula.” Kevin Rowland didn’t.
Surprisingly, there was politics. Rowland referred to the 14 terrible years of Tory government, pictures of the Israeli destruction of Gaza were shown on a big screen. Whether all of his elderly audience agreed with him, who knows? Who cares? I was just glad that the music still matters to Rowland and so does the state of the world.
We left the Beacon and I confessed that I was glad I went, thrilled that no one else took up our offer of a free ticket, happy that I had seen a relative legend of the past still cutting it. And I was glad, for once, to not be the oldest person in the room – far from it. Would I see them again? You bet I would. That’s where the music takes me, you see.
