One year on from my last Mansun gig, and I had a deep-seated need to be crushed against a barrier once again, screaming at the brilliance of My Boys. And they sure as hell did not disappoint.
My first ever Kylie gig was a night of thoughtful yet joyous pop. And a surprising amount of moshing.
My first gig of 1998 should have actually taken place in 1997. If it had, I might actually have some memories of it.
My last gig of 1997, in which two wonderful bands stirred me out of my doldrums for a few hours.
My Life Story at the Astoria at Christmastime should have been a joyous festive occasion. But all was not well in the world of Scruffy.
My one and only chance to see the band who introduced me to indie.
I’d seen them supporting the Manics, and as part of the Reading Festival line-up, but this gently magical night was, finally, my first chance to see the magnificent Super Furry Animals headlining their own show.
A glorious second night from Robbie at the Palais. And my last Robbie Williams gig for 20 years.
Robbie Williams live, in a 2500 capacity club, for less than fifteen quid. Truly, 1997 was a different planet.
“All I can say is just over an hour ago I TOUCHED PAUL DRAPER!!! Whilst being drenched in champagne! He was just a metre away!!! Oh christ indeed.” Buckle up, kids. It’s going to be THAT sort of a gig.
SCRUFFY STORMS 