I paid for my ticket. There - in the first five words I’ve broken two rules. They’re not even unwritten rules - they are very clearly written, and frequently: Never prejudice your subsequent comment by admitting bias and much more importantly, under no circumstances, do you ever (EVER) mention yourself in your piece.
Unless you’re Hunter S Thompson. And I am not. If you were hoping I might have been then you’ve made a catalogue of biblically stupid errors and should just stop reading now. And you should go to your room to think about what you’ve done.
If you’re still reading, I should remind you that I paid for my ticket since that’s my angle. I wasn’t on the guestlist as I sometimes am and there were no freebies from the PR company or label as I sometimes get. I went to see Shed Seven (on their Second Reunion Tour) as a fan. There were no plans to review.
I’d seen them once before in 2007, on their First Reunion Tour (although it wasn’t called that at the time). I wasn’t reviewing then either.
Back in the nineties, Shed Seven, led by the whirling, grinning, diminutive Rick Witter and his epic voice were written off as a bit of a joke. Which was harsh. Maybe it still is. If not a joke then, as something of a pastiche of their indie forebears.
A parody of themselves or of all that they sought to be, perhaps. In any case, they weren’t taken that seriously. Which seems unimaginable having just spent 100 minutes in their company at the Manchester Academy enjoying one of the finest collections of indie singalongs conceivable.
It’s not so much that Shed Seven were underrated; more overlooked. And history was particularly unkind to them. They were Tony Jarrett to Oasis’ and James’ Colin Jackson. Always the bridesmaid. And the (damned) fates conspired against them.
When England played Germany in the semi-final of Euro 96 at Wembley, the producers had two songs du jour lined up for the closing montage, whatever the outcome. One was Cast’s rather lovely if rather mournful Walk Away and the other (to be played in the event of a win) was Shed Seven’s Going For Gold.
After more than two hours of football, German midfielder Andy Muller stepped up to take the fourteenth penalty of the shoot-out and - well, the rest is history. Cast, for all their success - not least the excellent album All Change - are not on their Second Reunion Tour. And they are not playing back-to-back sold out nights in Manchester, raising the roof with a 1,500-strong choir singing the bridge from Chasing Rainbows.
But Shed Seven are. Their set opens at pace with Dolphin and immediately arms are in the air and the hearts their fans are wearing on their sleeves are been sung out. It’s Friday night after a long week of schlepping up to Preston each day and I feel like Ian Beale looks. Two tracks in and my lungs are bursting to belt out the chorus of Where Have You Been Tonight? I don’t murder it but nor do I really do it justice. The thing is, I couldn’t care less.
For the euphoric masses - from teenagers to indie kids in their forties - the subsequent collection of songs is a library of memories from days in university or that gap year or sixth form or when we took our GCSEs or went to Big School or that time Rob ran over that car roof just for a laugh. To detail them in text can do them no real justice. So let’s get it other with - a quick list.
On Standby, High Hopes, Speakeasy, Mark, Going For Gold, Disco Down, It’s Getting Better, She Left Me On Friday, Ocean Pie, Heroes, Chasing Rainbows… I didn’t write the set down or tap it into my phone as I usually would so this isn’t a complete list… Feathers - there’s another. Oh, and a cover of the Rolling Stones’ Jumpin’ Jack Flash.
And Devil In You Shoes… (all together now): “You’ve got the devil in your shoes lately; and you’re walking all over the times when I’ve known you and smiled”.
So much is written about music and a lot of it by people with a great deal more talent than I have. Music is an art form and, yes, it should be critiqued and analysed if for no other reason than it merits that kind of scrutiny. But music is also about something else, something between, or about, fun and love. Something intangible and indescribable. Simon Cowell, who - for the record - can fuck off, would no doubt call it the X Factor. And maybe’s he’s onto something. He’s certainly very rich.
But good music is surely about pleasure and losing yourself and forgetting everything else that happens in the world. This is why music in the dark is such an immersive experience. It fills your senses and numbs the tiny pricks of modern life (insert your own Simon Cowell joke). And a night in the company of Shed Seven and 18 or 19 of their songs is as good as it gets.
Fashionable back then? No. Fashionable now? Not especially. But when were love and joy and shameless, guilt-free indulgence ever out of vogue? Overlooked and underrated, and probably overworked and underpaid; Shed Seven are still here and they still believe. Remarkable.
And I paid for my own ticket. I’m so glad that I did. Otherwise I’d have no idea just how much fun it is possible to have for £16.50. Plus parking.
