Supergrass’s I Should Coco is, without doubt, the best debut album from the Britpop-era, bar none.
No, it’s not Oasis, they wouldn’t even make the top 3.
Well, seeing as you ask, Super Furry Animals and Menswear.
It’s such a fun record from start to finish, something of an album of two halves reflecting both their speedy, snotty side and their hippy-ish persuasion at the time that still holds up remarkably well. And it’s the main reason that we’re here, on the outskirts of town tonight, at the home of faded glamour, the Olympia, to watch the recently re-reformed (hurrah) Supergrass play the record in full to celebrate its 30th year, (with added other stuff, we hope).
And the evening starts on something of a retro feel, as despite searching the internet for days, we see no sign of who the support band is, if indeed there is one, which in this time of usually having that information months in advance in order to help sell some tickets (not needed tonight, it sold out almost instantly), does feel very 1995, when you just used to turn up early and hope for the best.
So that’s what we did tonight, and we were rewarded with an acoustic solo set from the former lead singer of local could-have-beens The Dead 60’s, Matt McManamon, including his old band’s almost hit Riot Radio, and it’s at this point that we realise that he’s just the support to the support, there’s an extra drumkit we espy. And what’s that written on it? Oh.
It’s indie-chancers Sports Team, who have decided to treat the set as if they have been forced to play by bad men who are holding their families hostage backstage, instantly sucking the joy out of the room like a musical vacuum pack. They try to get things going later in the set, but they seem as disinterested as the crowd, they even manage to spoil ‘Here’s The Thing‘, which is quite the achievement.
Another interval affords us the opportunity to peruse the merch stall, and couldn’t help but baulk at the prices for an non-arena show. 40 quid for a T-shirt, come on now, bigger bands, do better.
Back to the front, and there’s a palpable air of expectation as the lights go down at 9:00, when 70’s glam- stomper ‘Blockbuster’ by The Sweet kicks in over the speaker, and the now four-piece Supergrass wander stage-wards to cheers fit for the returning heroes that they are.
They are playing the album in full, and in order, so the first half is jampacked full of the singles, as it’s a spectacularly frontloaded record. So there’s ‘Caught By The Fuzz’, before one of the decade’s most underrated pop songs in the shape of ‘Mansize Rooster’, which goes into the indie-disco behemoth of ‘Alright’, and we are still just ten minutes in.
If we are to pick holes in it the sound is a touch muddy, and the band seem strangely nervous and overly careful. This is perfectly understandable as this is the first night of their first tour in such a long time, but they soon settle into proceedings. The passing of time has not affected the urgency in which they rattle through the tracks. There’s ‘Lenny’ and an almost violent ‘Strange Ones’, which sees singer Gaz Coombes having every word he sings shouted back at him by the overjoyed crowd.
There’s a noticeable lack of between-song chat (another first night trope, saving the voice for later dates) except to declare, just before a glorious ‘She’s So Loose’ that “we were young when we wrote this album, it’s so fast, we’re f***ing f***ed.”
Admitting this seems to loosen up the band, Coombes becomes more chatty as the album heads towards their slower, more experimental songs, such as ‘We’re Not Supposed To’, which sees Paul McCartney-lookalike drummer Danny Goffey eschew his kit to join Coombes and bassist Mick Quinn upfront before returning to his day job for a mesmerising version of the woozy ‘Sofa (Of My Lethargy)’.
As the last song on the record states, it’s then ‘Time To Go’, but a quick look at the watch tells us that they will be back with what turns out to be a Best-Of victory lap of an encore.
Amongst others, there’s a riotous ‘Richard III’, a massive singalong on ‘Sun Hits The Sky’, featuring some splendid keyboard work from the newest member, Coombes brother Rob, before the evening is completed by a fizzy ‘Pumping On Your Stereo’, before the band take a collective, well-deserved bow.
Regular gig-goers will know that there’s usually a lull within a band’s set, some dodgy B-side or an album track that doesn’t quite come off, but not tonight, it’s just almost 90 minutes of joy.
The best nostalgia tour of the year, definitely, not maybe.
(Photos: Cheryl Doherty)
