Stiff Little Fingers and Chelsea at The Hippo

I've just about got my voice back after a week. I'm still typing this in, though - my voice recognition software is a but "mazed" as we say round here. Stiff Little Fingers delivered the goods again at The Hippo last Friday (March 27th) and although I was succumbing to the snots I was determined to see them - that's SLF, not The Snots. It probably wasn't a very wise thing to do but when did common sense come into rock'n'roll. I wouldn't have missed it.

Our party numbered about thirty in the end and we all met up beforehand in The Union Rooms on Union Street in Plymouth. As we approached The Hippo we could see groups of people being turned away. Many of them asked us if we had tickets. Fortunately, we did although my mate Martin, who came down from Exeter, must have got one of the last ones. He picked it up on the door and drew many envious glances.

The Hippo has recently been refurbished but, to those who new it, it looked just the same. I'd never crossed its threshold before but the atmosphere was brilliant - crowded but brilliant. It holds between 250 and 300 I suppose and there were at least that crammed in. And some of them had been at The Middle Aged spread - it's like Growing Up Spread but for the more mature punk rocker - so its was really packed.

There were some almost full length mirrors by the bogs that caused some confusion. Some friends of mine (you know who you are) emerged from the Ladies to be faced by a sea of bodies. They noticed what looked like a low wall nearby and went towards it to step over it and take a short cut but - just at that very moment - another pair of girls emerged out of the crowd on the other side of the low wall and came towards them. Hilary and Tania (oops their names slipped out there) took steps to avoid them only to have these vaguely familiar newcomers step to the same side. After a short jig, the four of them noticed everybody else was laughing at them and realised their mistake.

I've done the same thing once before in a night club. I've even seen one bloke demand of himself "What are you lookin' at?" not unlike Travis Pickle in Taxi Driver. But he (and Hils and Tan) had been at the pop - I was sober.

We missed Mad Dog MacRae - I'm not really gone on Pogues-like music - but I'm glad I saw the other support band. I'd never heard of Chelsea before. Those in the know didn't rate them but I thought they were good and I find myself tempted by their back catalogue or even some of their more modern stuff. A large part of Chelsea went on to be Generation X and their line up used to change frequently. Over the years they've stabilised and enjoyed something of a renaissance as Old Skool Punk becomes classical music - I always knew it would.

Anyway - how many other punk bands have had a football team and a posh London suburb named after them?

Stiff Little Fingers blasted the crowd with songs as topical as ever after the latest violence in Northern Ireland. That's why this gig was so popular. Everyone was there to enjoy themselves, sing along and wave and point fingers at the appropriate moment.

But it was hot. It took me back to my student days in Coventry down at The Dog & Trumpet. I reckon the best way to keep cool is to dance but cool is a relative term in such an environment - by the end of the evening the walls were running with sweat.

After the traditional Alternative Ulster as an encore, the DJ span some classic ska songs so we didn't want to go home. In the spirit of self parody the ladies piled up their handbags and the rest of us formed a circle and went One Step Beyond on the very slippery dance floor. I could have danced all night.

The only thing that could have improved the evening was SLF doing Listen. Perhaps it was just as well - staying quiet during that song is impossible. I doubt my voice would ever have been recognised again by man or IT equipment.

Maybe next time though guys?