Brinsley Schwarz – Thinking Back, The Anthology 1970-1975 : Boxset Review

By Seuras Og on 24th November 2023 • ( Leave a comment )

A few beers, a band and a Saturday night. The ensemble that made pub rock a brand.

Release date: 24th November 2023

Label: Lemon (Cherry Red)

Format: 7CD set

Just five years then? That should be a breeze, as I don’t expect those liggers spent that much time in the studio, pub-rock and all that, eh? Well, thereby hangs a tale, some of which is well-known, some less. I loved pub-rock, me, being just at the right sort of age at the time, a little too young for the full underground hippie prog thing, not that I didn’t try, and, ultimately, just a little too old for punk. But the teenaged me, in the thick of the early 70’s, fire me up some Brinsleys, some Chilli Willi, Bees Make Honey and Feelgood, and a happy bunnny was I . Hell, I even took a pilgrimage to the Hope & Anchor, on first release from school into that London.

Brinsley Schwarz, the band, not the man, which we’ll get to, were pub-rock almost by default, even if their good-timey amalgam of rock, country and r’n’b near defined the movement, in short sharp salvos rarely rising above the 4 minute mark. Originally there were better plans laid out for them, to conquer America and slay the world. The disaster of their promo gig at New York’s Fillmore East has become stuff of legend, flying a plane load of music hacks out to review the gig, with no expenses spared. The fact they were the support for the evening’s show, under Van Morrison and Quicksilver Medicine Service, was immaterial. Equipment and immigration issues meant the band were unrehearsed and with borrowed equipment, with their largesse contriving to deliver a planeload of drunken scribes, who, by the time of the show, were either desperately hungover or had elected to postpone that eventuality with more booze and other such comestibles. With the outcome entirely predictable, they snuck back to the UK, tails between their legs. It would have broken any lesser band. Which they were not.

Brinsley Schwarz was the guitarist, hooking up with Nick Lowe, bass, Ian Gomm, also guitar, Bob Andrews, keyboards, and Billy Rankin on drums. Various names and incarnations, and indeed drummers, were sought ahead of the simplest excipient of using the guitar players given name. Despite the debacle above, a futile gesture to proclaim their debut, they lurched on and made a further six albums, even if the last took a decade or so to eventually appear, long after they had gone their separate ways, with Lowe going to Rockpile and a solo career that lasts to this day, and Schwarz and Andrews to Graham Parker’s Rumour. Rankin had a spell with Ducks Deluxe, eventually leaving the music biz, and Gomm continues a cottage solo and production career ongoing, becoming also custodian to the legacy. This lavish clamshell set contains all the albums, together with a stash of related material, live, unreleased and otherwise, together with all the explanatory detail you might ever want. Shall we start?

DISC 1: BRINSLEY SCHWARZ (1970)

Actually still a four-piece at this stage, with Gomm yet to swell the ranks, this came out in 1970. As befitted their aspirations, this matched an extravagant cover design with an image of a stylised Native American on horseback and seven songs, many rather longer than they would ever later revisit. All songs, bar the opening Hymn To Me, a group effort, were by Nick Lowe, he throwing out a wide net of possible influences to hook into any audience waiting out there. The shared authorship opening track, is probably the most typically BS sounding song, a slow country blues, with immaculate harmonies. If anyone it suggests American Beauty Grateful Dead. Lowe plays the slide guitar that twins Schwarz.

Shining Brightly was the single, an agreeable country rocker, in style reminiscent of a Graham Nash, in transit from the Hollies to Crosby, Stills and Nash. Lowe is already in good voice. Rock And Roll Women defines its age, if in the title alone, but had deliciously arch lyrics, if the just a country boy contrivance causes a wince. The simplest song here, I’d like to hear it revived by its singer. Lady Constant buffers that by being a serious love song, far from jokey country, with keyboards and choral vocals that evoke, again, CSN. Maybe one of Crosby’s more ethereal efforts, improved by the speed accelerating in the second half, and a breezy organ solo. And then a piano solo. And a guitar solo. (Hey, it was 1970!)

What Do You Suggest and Mayfly are also very of their time, pre-pub-rock, the former a standard issue hoarse-voiced rocker that could well grace a Foghat or Savoy Brown album, the latter with a few more psychedelic tones, Traffic maybe the template. However, the musicianship, principally Andrews, cannot be faulted, noticing also how in the mix are Lowe’s fluid bass lines. The magnum opus of the album is surely the 10 minutes plus of Ballad Of A Has Been Beauty Queen. Starting with twin guitars and clattering drums, neither going anywhere but into fade, with the reveal this is a song of several parts, each of different mood and tempo. Frankly, none are strong enough to stand in their own right, but that never stopped the Beatles, and side two of Abbey Road. File under experimental. Or drugs. OK, it’s OK, but just a country mile away from the directions they were going. Andrews again gains the most kudos.

Into the extras, and there are a lot, three unreleased outtakes and then a tranche of studio tracks from when Gomm first joined the band. Of the outtakes, Thinking Home is the best, an instrumental country hoedown that suggests the Byrds were getting a fair few listens by the band. Another instrumental, Thinking Back, so a companion piece, and also in a pure prairie mode, has steel guitar and piano, the steel uncredited but automatically grabbing my attention. I can’t but wonder, what had they cut the original closer and included these three instead, what would have been the reception? Too country?

The plus Gomm tracks feel from another time and place, a Brinslier one, if you will, to be fair, meat and potatoes good time songs and instrumentals, epitomised by Seymour (I Love You) a lively roustabout of guitars and organ. An alternate version of later to appear song, Funk Angel, is way more frantic than the original. Crime Of Passion is so clearly a rip off of Long White Veil as to bring about a smile, down to the never more Band-like arrangement, presumably why it hasn’t seen the light of day until now. Murder On My Mind is an odd Colosseum meets Madness mismatch, with saxophone, possibly by Van Der Graaf Generator’s Dave Jackson, who is credited elsewhere. A cracker live, I’d guess. Motorway Madness taxes little serious consideration, and may be known from the Ian Gomm licensed compendium of rarities, called, um, Rarities, available direct from him. Rock And Roll Station closes, another song by numbers, as most songs with rock and roll in the title usually are.

DISC 2: DESPITE IT ALL (1970)

Was this post New York, the title suggesting so? Sensibly, the tropes and traits that marred the debut, and that were so indelibly part of the longhaired dinosaurs still stalking the stages, have been largely discarded. This, perhaps a response to the reception the shorter and simpler songs were getting, can only, in hindsight, be a good thing. This is epitomised by the bouncy start with what might almost be called their “hit”, Country Girl. Country is as country does and it is three minutes of unadulterated prime pastiche, Andrews’s Garth Hudson-esque organ swirling all over the shop, replicating steel and fiddles alike, although there is one, low in the mix. They were going somewhere, or seemed to be, if we ignore a familiar sounding song that would suggest otherwise. Slow Song is then a stonker of a school dance closer, Andrews now pure vintage Spooner Oldham.

Remember Funk Angel from the disc before? It’s next, less frantic and the better for it. Piece of Home is back on Muscle Shoals meet the Band territory, a song that is stronger than I recall, possibly as ears have attuned to the times. Love Song is maybe guilty of trying to cover too many bases, and is a bit trite, but the harmonies are strengthening. Again, it is worth noting Lowe is the writer for all of these, his lively magpie mind keenly uplifting and recycling ideas aplenty, sometimes his own, often, um, not. But if that is the closest to filler, Starship is then surefire. Aided and abetted by the steel of the then still just Brian, later BJ, Cole, it is a leftfield country waltz. Hell, it even gave a name for the remaining passengers on the Jefferson Airplane. Maybe.

Ebury Down is almost a folk song, whiffs of a pastoral England now infusing the mix, with lovely picked guitar. Lowe’s vocal is now comfortable in the slightly conversational tone he was adopting, so appropriate for his convivial style of writing a lyric. Plus, likely, another direct link to the Band, clearly beloved by the Brinsleys. Old Jarrow completes the original album, a slight enough song, but lifted by the clanging arrangement and garagey guitars. All in all, a distinct step up from the debut, if maybe too ahead of its time, given all the retro stylings we now take so much for granted.

The extras are a February ’72 live gig from, where else, the Roundhouse. Country Girl scrubs down well, a little more ragged, the harmonies forced in the same way as rhubarb, i.e. with a good outcome. Like the extras from the first album, Gomm is the added extra, a capable pair of hands on extra guitar or to swap bass with Basher. Songwise, it is otherwise more covers than originals, with only Going Down The Road being a group original, a rarity only otherwise aired on the Greasy Truckers live compilation; the Brinsleys, Man and Hawkwind. So we get a Smokey Robinson, She’s Got To Be Real, to cover their r’n’b leanings and an Al Perkins, Home Work, for the country-rock end, contriving t o find the shared middle ground. The trad Midnight Train follows, actually quite a classy bit of steamtrain boogie, before closing with a stellar white soul retread of William Bell’s Private Number, as ready as it is rough.

DISC 3: SILVER PISTOL (1972)

With Gomm now fully on board, Silver Pistol found the band retreating still further from chasing stardom, almost deliberately. As a second songwriter, Gomm was also able to spread further the range of styles Lowe had already brought to the band, and wrote four tracks, to Lowe’s six, it rounded out by two from US songwriter, Jim Ford, Lowe’s acknowledged prime influence as a writer. Dry Land, by Gomm, opens, and the band, after a deliberate studio false step, snap straight into a slick country-soul mode. The sound is fuller, the vocals richer, the echoes of the Band now overt. The organ-infused Merry Go Round then shows off Lowe’s slightly smoother attack, the idea of a ying and yang in the band proving to be a good move, if not, sadly, necessarily a selling point. Schwarz offers some suitably economical solos, his playing now less a second fiddle to Andrews’ keys. One More Day is a better song than its delivery, the transatlantic accent adopted by Gomm seeming more intrusive that it might now, being more used to homegrown accents singing this sort of material. Not so then.

Nightingale, a simple 4:4 waltz remains as tuneful a song Lowe has ever penned, the organ mimicking accordion. I had forgotten how good it is. The title track remains the sort of song that any of the current crop of UK country rockers, Hanging Stars et al, would slay for, as well as setting me thinking how wonderful it would be if the Brinsley’s could doa Rumour, and reform, if only for a short tour. Last Time I was Fooled and Unknown Number lose a little momentum, as, maybe, a few too many ideas are hoovered up for more variety than is strictly needed. Gomm’s Range War regains the balance, a nimble rocker with Andrews at his billowing best, with Lowe coming right back with another doozy of a ballad, Egypt. (Egypt? “I dreamed all my friends were there” and “vapour trails” suggesting some sort of stoned experience, but it was still six years before the Grateful Dead’s infamous Pyramid concerts. A premonition, maybe?)

The two Jim Ford songs add nothing to the myth, frankly, skip being my advice. Gomm closes the album, just as he had opened, this time with the Shadows-esque instrumental Rockin’ Chair which is actually quite lovely, and enough to forgive the indulgence of Ju Ju Man and Niki Hoeke Speedway.

The extras here are three cuts that didn’t make the original cut, which is a shame, as they are mostly up to the standard of those that did – better even – as well as opening up the songwriting credits further, given two are written by Bob Andrews. His The Old Country is a twangy, steely barnstormer, as is the 12 bar choogle of That’s What it Takes, rounded off by Gomm’s Strange Feeling, which is, by comparison, a bit generic. And then t is back to the Roundhouse for four more live tracks from the same concert as disc two. Given they are all reprises of Silver Pistol songs, it is astonishing how well the road has honed them, Silver Pistol and Unknown Number buffing up especially well. (As I listen I am comparing and contrasting, wondering if these are these come from the same source of Greasy Truckers, my ears suggesting they probably do, citation needed, as they say.)

DISC FOUR: NERVOUS ON THE ROAD (1972)

A second release in 1972, a mere eight months later, and, despite the title, rather than alive album, this is all studio, with ten further songs from a band seemingly in peak condition. This time Lowe is back in the driving seat of composition, Gomm only getting one write, and Andrews only a Lowe co-write, with a couple of covers for good measure. However, although this record has amongst the best of their songs, some scrape the bottom of a barrel, howver vintage the content of the barrel. It’s Been So Long is barely more than pastiche, and Happy What We’re Doing is a lacklustre early foray into a bluebeat rhythm. After that false start, faces are saved with the monumental Surrender To The Rhythm, the epitome of Nashville/Memphis/Camden Town fusion that they had been forging. (For a real treat, check out their Old Grey Whistle Test performance of this song, through the joy of youtube.)

The maudlin Don’t Lose Your Grip On Love is a second corker, again outBanding the Band, the piano cadences pure Richard Manuel, the vocals a raggedy andy Everlys, something to which Lowe would later return, with Dave Edmunds. Three in a row with the title track, with a clipped N’Awlins vibe allied to the near spoken vocals. Marvellous. That same vibe permeates into Feel A Little Funky, which nearly makes up for the cheesy words, and, maybe revealing the source of all this sassiness, a cover of Allen Toussaint’s I Like It That Like That. I’d file this under the Jim Ford tracks on Silver Pistol, as better left to the author, not because they can’t give due credit, more than the band lose their identity, sounding just like any half decent bar covers band.

Brand New You is a woozy bluesy construct that marries the Stones with Percy Sledge, which sort of works, if more for academic interest than repeated plays. I’ll bet a scorcher live, having said. Stones, did someone say, Home In My Hand being a dirty blast of 1964 r’n’b. Actually, scratch the Stones, definitely more Pretty Things, a surprise to belatedly realise it is a cover, by rockabilly man, Ronnie Self. The saxophones, barely audible, come courtesy Schwarz and Andrews. Why, Why, Why, which closes, sadly slips back into pastiche mode, confirming a feeling this record may have been rushed a little too fast.

Seven live tracks from, variously, Paris, Amsterdam and London complete this disc. Yes, it’s the rest of that 1972 Roundhouse concert, the final five tracks including four songs yet to make any studio presence, with another Jim Ford, I’m Ahead (If I Can’t Quit When I’m Behind, and another Allen Toussaint, Wonder Woman. Each are fine, revealing that they cover live better than in the studio, unless these are just better chosen tunes. The Ford song is actually a beauty. An otherwise unreleased What Would You Do, from the Dutch concert, is a little ponderous, as is the by numbers of It’s Just My Way Of Saying Thank You. (To be fair, on their own and without the comparison available they would each cheer up any audience looking for a boozy night out with music.) Nervous On The Road appears, to complement its studio presence at the heart of its studio album, demonstrating why it was such a staple. London closes with a rousing Surrender To The Rhythm, to further remind quite what all the fuss was about, the disc finishing with a stonking Home In My Hand.

DISC FIVE: PLEASE DON’T EVER CHANGE (1973)

As if to convince they haven’t changed, it is with Gomm’s Hooked On Love that number five opens, which is sounds like a Lowe, a good one, such have the two writers blended the essential essence of Brinsley. A great song that makes the best of the old “up a key” ending it uses so well. Reggae so far absent from their palette, Why Do We Hurt The One We Love this to be something to run with. Sure, it as white boy as can possibly be, but it is likeable and Andrews, as ever, has the chops to make it an enjoyable listen. But to then leap straight into two in a row Goffin-King covers causes bewilderment, wondering whether it did in the day. Not because the songs or the delivery; hell, if the Byrds can do Goffin-King and all that. Having said that, I Worry (‘Bout You Baby) is cheesy as hell and, old chestnut, Don’t Ever Change equivalently naff.

Trying to up the game, a live Home In My Hand, much muddier than the earlier extra, fails to ignite, albeit possibly as a result of the latterday comparison, so let’s quickly celebrate Play That Fast Song One More Time, another premium brew from the school of Surrender To The Rhythm, Lowe back at his conversational best, the rollicking piano not a stranger to the style of the Faces, nor Schwarz’s guitar. And I Won’t Make It Wothout You complements it as a a simple and ungarlanded bluesy saunter. A hint of sax, Scwarz again, adds atmosphere. At the risk of the further mention of next gen, the Brinsleys with the Rumour horns would be worth a punt. Closing the trio of better songs, screw up your eyes tight and imagine Down In Mexico, as if it were all those years ago. The lyrics are so deliberately risible, as to that being the rationale for hingeing it on the positive side of the plusometer. Sadly patience is then stretched too far by Speedoo, in a rendition of this cover that would even embarrass Darts. The kitchen sink has now thrown up more reggae, with The Version, a pleasing instrumental, a cover, with a tune that becomes later evident. So ends the album proper, a sad hint that ideas were running out further, the album title maybe a plea to their audience?

The extras are an odd selection but actually lighten the load, the first three being culled from various aliases the band adopted, an old trick Lowe still adopts occasionally to this day. The first is the vocal version of The Version, aka Hypocrite, and ascribed to The Hitters. Those, like me, with dusty copies of the 1978 “Best Of”, aka Fifteen Thoughts Of Brinsley Schwarz, will be familiar with this. I like it,it having just enough gravitas to convince. Limelight, though? The two sides of a 1974 recorded, 1975 released single just confuse, the web giving quite no clue as to why. Beatles’ deep cuts I Should Have Known Why and Tell Me Why get trotted out, in a very merseybeat facsimile. Was there a Beatles band resurge of interest in the mid ’70s, that perhaps the onlt reason I can think of.

Nine tracks from a Cardiff show in 1974, hopefully from the Top Rank, if for no reason than love for the brand. I guess a Christmas gig, as it opens with a meat and potatoes Run Rudolph Run. Followed by an uber rockabilly It’s Been So Long, that actiually beats the original, and Happy Doing What We’re Doing, which doesn’t. You’re So Fine, a cover, sounds like a Lowe recycle, if in an OK way, with the saxes back out, gets an airing, the saxes the high point. Bar Small Town City, from the next studio album, it is covers all the way, none of which jump that much out, except maybe Trying To Live My Life Without You, Honky Tonk if you are feeling generous. Ju Ju Man, however offers the surprising fact that Rankine was not, this night, present, the drums coming from later Dire Straits member, Pick Withers.

DISC SIX: THE NEW FAVOURITES OF BRINSLEY SCHWARZ (1974)

Flagging? Not long to go, and to bolster enthusiasm and commitment, this is where Lowe’s golden goose first laid its egg, the first iteration of (What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding. Quite different in style from the E.C. template that has tended to default to the standard issue, it is wonderful to again capture it. All chiming and clanging guitars, it feels much more heartfelt than any possibly later and slightly more knowing versions. Lowe is again fleshing out the bulk of the songs here, and seems back on form, his Ever since You’re Gone a likeable smoulder of southern soul. Ugly Things is power pop at it’s commercial height, the keyboards and guitars seamless. Gomm takes a share for I Got The Real Thing, taking a slight step backward, but the mid 60s style vocal harmonies offer a wty remembrance.

The Look That’s In Your Eye is a glorious Tex-Mex slo-mo ballad, as unfashionable as could have then been, but a winner by me. An old Hollies number, Now’s The Time, gets a good thrashing, the vocals spot on, the arrangement slick and sure, the sense that the genie is back in the bottle very much apparent. Even the relatively derivative Small Town Big City holds up, followed by the studio version of Eugene Williams’ Tryin To Live Without You, which counters the trend and beats the laxity of the live rendition. I Like You, I Don’t Love You follows, an ersatz Tamla Motown style of song, with the backing vocals carrying a fair bit of the responsibility, the tenor sax, from Schwarz, showing a greater polish than before. A live track closes the album proper, Down In The Dive, saxes, dual, to the fore, but with little else to shout about, being otherwise a retread of earlier ideas, if giving the guitarist who gave the band their name his first co-credit.

As before, it is mainly live tracks that pad this disc out, from, variously, Sweden, Sheffield and, yes, again, Cardiff. But, before that, a couple of outtakes. Cried My Last Tear is one, and it is a corker. Yes it is a cover, but they crank it out with an infectious efficiency. Then a Gomm song, (It’s Gonna Be A) Bring Down is a good-un, deserving a place on the original, in place, say, the dire Down In The Dive. The Swedish foursome show how increasingly drawn they are to soul and r’n’b, starting with Smokey Robinson’s I’ll Be Doggone,followed by Love Is Gone, by Alex Call, and which serious students might recall was on the Clover first and eponymous album. Clover were an American band stranded in London and likely sharing similar circles, ahead of backing Elvis Costello on his debut. Don’t Lie To Me gets a sound thrashing, if a little messily, ahead an extraordinary reggae version of Save The Last Dance For Me. Yes, that one, Engelbert’s, and, with a bit more polish and a little less alcohol, would have been wonderful.

Sheffield is represented by a further trio of covers, with I Ain’t Never and Hey Bartender offering little other than a picture of the importance of beer in the pub rock experience, this cold light of day exposes a little too forensic. However, their version of Brown Sugar is notable, if only for their audacity in trying. The churning organ gives it some woomph, let’s leave it at that. Thankfully, Hooked On Love and Peace, Love And Understanding present them in finer fettle, and do their reputation some return to credit.

DISC SEVEN: IT’S ALL OVER NOW (1975)

Most folk had thought New Favourites their last, as this final studio effort took a full 13 years to see the light of day, largely through Ian Gomm’s perseverance. This had actually been deemed their cross-over album, a second bite at biting the Big Apple and the US Market. Squabbles and gremlins meant it never did, it falling into legend, as the band went on to other careers. It popped out briefly on a number of platforms, and I dimly remember a story about two versions, largely different, one for either side of the Atlantic, again, details now irretrievable. Until this package, it was mainly sourced from Ian Gomm himself, he also providing various live albums, selections from which are also included in the set. Is it any good? Would it have made the difference if United Artists had elected to release and promote it?

The cod reggae of We Can Mess Around suggests no great games have changed. All the constituent parts are there, spiky guitar and fluid keyboards especially, but the whole, however infectious an earworm, not so much. Lovely however to hear the original iteration of Cruel To Be Kind, the Gomm/Lowe co-write that resurfaced memorably for as Nick Lowe was fashioning Rockpile. Actually, it is old Rockpile mucker, Dave Edmunds, who gets a shared credit for the likeable Everlys-esque As Lovers Do, with him later issuing it himself, as a b-side, also in the Rockpile years. I’ll Take Good Care Of You gets a tremendous buffing up, imbuing the Garnet Mimms hit with a full Philly polish, and suddenly, surreptitiously, this album has become quite a bit better than first impressions. Hey Baby (They’re Playing Our Song) becomes another soulful serenade, originally from Gerry Goffin’s hit factory, with a sophisticated falsetto vocal that evokes, astonishingly, Alessi, cementing that feel.

Do The Cod (The 30 Pounder) doesn’t inspire, at least by name, raising a frisson around more bad reggae, turning out to be a group composition, jam, maybe, that is not, after all, the wasted two and a half minutes anticipated, but an OK Hank meets Booker T blend of the Shadows and the MGs. God Bless (Whoever Made You) pursues the Philadelphia soul direction writ large throughout this record, the backing vocals going the whole Chi-Lite. It’s slightly surprising, what with the syrupy strings, but it’s a good song, as Jona Lewie later discovered. Everybody is a throwaway shouty rocker, a grasp at the glam market then saturating the charts, possibly, but a sore thumb here.

Remember Private Number from the live sets? Here it gets a studio airing that, now that the idea of the Brinsleys as being soul providers rather than country rockers has been laid out for scrutiny, works well and 90% convinces. Give Me Back My Love, nominally the third Gomm/Lowe here, is so heavily indebted to Twist and Shout/La Bamba as to be unsurprised, had it a late added additional authorship. Having said that, it reminds as to what a great tune it is. The title track is left to last, the question being around how they would tackle it, in the style of the Stones or by up-souling it, perhaps as Bobby Womack, the writer, might have appreciated. Neither sadly, it being a ghastly reggae attempt, which, for some reason, includes some whistling and a vocal that may well have been the flash of inspiration for one Eric Goulden. But he, as Wreckless Eric, could at least make it endearing. A truly awful version, perhaps the worst song here, and no wonder, after that, that it was.

But, being a bumper box set, we have more, this time culled from live shows in Groningen and Cologne. However, sandwiched between the end of the studio and the start of the live comes an agreeable oddity, the swansong single, credited to the Brinsleys, no Schwarz. There’s A Cloud In My Heart, a backtread to powerpop commercialism, Merseybeat with handclaps and twangy guitar. With ascending key changes and some old fashioned bass bvs, it is the sort of song that could have been a smash ten years earlier, along with chicken in a basket, but serves, ironically, as better a final memory than the, clearly still rankling me, It’s All Over Now.

The live songs reflect the infatuation with soul, with a Curtis Mayfield and an Ashford and Simpson, each a little rushed, but revealing how Schwarz had developed as a saxophonist. Rufus Thomas’ Walk The Dog is, at best, workmanlike, the itchy blues of Snatch It Back And Hold It adding a bit of class, with Rankin thumping like no tomorrow. To their own material, and Play That Fast Thing gets a decent jump jive sheen, with slurred guitars and walking bass, and We Can Mess Around a brisk potency that beats the original. Hitting their stride, I Have Cried my Last Tear eclipses the earlier version, and is a righteous romp, leaving Cruel To Be Kind to be speeded up into a closer comparison with the later and more familiar Lowe solo with Rockpile effort.

From a different show, the momentum is inevitably lost for the two closers, with Please Don’t Ever Change sounding altogether a bit perfunctory. But the Don’t Lose Your Grip On Love is a poignant and effective way to close this magnum opus, leaving the band on a sense of high, tackling the sad song with a jangle and flourish that can’t fail but have you feeling fondly nostalgic for those halcyon days.

Full marks, yet again, to Cherry Red for this estimable project, and to Ian Gomm for making available much the archive material and for his contribution to the detailed accompanying booklet. Yes, the band were sometimes ragged and quality control sometimes came a distinct second to having a good time, but, warts and all, seldom can their have been a better representation of the plucky British spirit, ploughing on regardless. Through the passage of years, it is difficult to slough off the warm glow of nostalgia and to try and appraise the band as new, but that was the intent, managed or otherwise. Calm down and dream of Brinsleys.

That whistle test clip!