TMTCH and Matt Johnson celebrate St Barbara’s day in Brum -Thursday 4th December 2025

GETS BETTER AND BETTER

When ATB are at the same venue twice in a week, it’s on the map, right? OK, we’ve been to this rightly celebrated pub venue before, but I just think it gets better and better. Tonight it was venue 1; they have two, with this an upstairs room, capacity around 250, in one of those roadhouses the city does so well. The sound system and acoustic seem to have had an upgrade, too, as the balance, room wide, was near perfect. This show was being put on by our good chums across the road, the Kitchen Garden Café, for when a bit more room is required and for when seats just get in the way. The bar downstairs was bustling, and the bar upstairs no less lively, as the room began to fill and the merch table to empty.

WIT & WISDOM

Matt Johnson was up first. Not the The The Matt Johnson, but rather an aimiable dude with a battered acoustic. From the school of angry polemic that has seen the phrase singer-songwriter turn on it’s head, with passion and thrash more now the order of the day. To be fair, he was more concerned than angry, sweetening his appropriately righteous concerns with wit and a self-deprecating wisdom. I liked him, and he reminded me of a male Jess Silk, perhaps unsurprisingly, as they frequently share bills. He started off with Run, his wry take on hunting, through the eyes of a fox, possibly the one that ran in front of my car on King’s Heath High Street on the way to the gig. It set the tone for a short set, mixing some “I don’t do many political songs” political songs and good natured treatises on living life to your best; G.O.D was one such, an acronym and anthem to growing old disgracefully. Deffo one to watch.

The room morphed from cosy to rammed over the 30 minutes between acts, anticipation rising amongst those waiting. That the band is now 41 years young gave a suggestion many had been there from the start, but there were some younger heads there too, and maybe more women than you might expect, to balance dress codes and styles built largely around grizzled. My sort of audience, really. I knew the band had arrived, as, earlier, in the saloon downstairs, Mr Valentino had shambled in to check they were still playing!!

CLOSENESS & CAMERADERIE

Prompt on 9 and on they came, trailing through the audience, in time honoured H&H way, clambering up on to the stage, the sense of closeness and camaraderie thus cemented. Opening with, what else, Raising Hell, the five piece were on a roll from the first note. Staying and sticking with his tried and tested six-string, Odgers was in fine voice, all the grit and gravel neatly scooped into as much melody as these rough and ready songs require. (Quite a lot, actually, should you wonder.) Coventry isn’t so far away and the song, Going Back To Coventry, seemed strangely apt. Bobby Valentino may now be more the picture in Clark Gable’s attic these days, but his fiddle play was exemplary, mixed high in the mix throughout, rather than just for his featured solos, which always used to seem to be the way. This is good, as it made sure the interplay of Paul Simmond’s mandolin was up to that same standard, the two bobbing and bouncing off each other throughout.

DID I SAY THE SOUND WAS TERRIFIC?

Tom Spencer has taken over the set of controls at the centre of the sound, his guitar the pivot about all the other variables fly. To my shame I had never quite appreciated just how solid a bass player is Ricky McGuire, my eyes (and ears) opened considerably by his chunky additions. Whether with plectrum or fingers, the notes came tumbling out, in always the right place as well as places unexpected and inspirational. Who’s left? Well that would be drummer Billy Abbott, like Spencer a relative newbie, of about 6 or 7 years standing, grinning benignly as he battered seven bells out his well-seasoned kit. Did I say the sound was terrific?

With the by now a standard, Ghosts Of Cable Street up next, it became clear the audience were up for a sing, to the evident glee and satisfaction of Odgers. There is always a spectre in the room at TMTCH gigs, that of Cush, their dearly departed other front man, who died back in 2021, but he is always remembered and recalled, with affection and respect. His absence leaves Odgers with a far greater vocal burden, but Spencer, originally joining to give extra instrumental welly, has shown himself to be an able and effective foil, picking up some of the vocal slack, and even the occasional lead vocal. Mind you, all of them can sing, with the 5, possibly 6 part chorale that certain songs demand, ringing round and true, right down to Valentino’s basso profundo.

NO HERITAGE BAND

The Lion And The Unicorn and, personal favourite, The Bounty Hunter kept up the momentum, ahead Abbott, McGuire and Spencer leaving the stage, ostensibly, yeah, right, to get drinks for the residual three. This was the opportunity for Odgers to assure us that this is no heritage band, and that new songs are still part of the deal, giving one of them an early outing. Apologising the necessity of a printed cribsheet, against good-natured jibes around elderly brains, this gave a good promise of the new album, scheduled sometime in 2026. Simmonds switched to guitar, with Valentino providing all the additional touches required. Lovely, as was Green Fields Of France, their first single of all those years ago, the Eric Bogle WWI song about Willie McBride, that they have made their own. With the missing members slipping back into the fray, Spencer was last, taking up a banjo for some poignant inserts. A woman nearby was pointedly weeping throughout, as she bellowed out the lyric.

A few more belters followed, Odgers becoming hoarser, and the arrangements, in a good way, becoming a little more frayed. Thus Smugglers, with Simmonds’ splendid mandolin intro, Kingdom Come, Shirt Of Blue and The Crest all came and went. Is it me, but it seems remarkable how well the older songs have stood the test of time, especially the Waiting For Bonaparte selections, from, gulp, 1988. As if on cue, the slow and sad sway of Island In The Rain was next. Was that a tear in Odgers’ eye?

A TRIUMPHANT ROUT

Knowing we were close to the end, Odgers gave more moving tribute to his deceased bandmate, bringing out Cush’s old guitar, describing just quite how much work it had taken to render it serviceable again, after the abuse wreaked upon it by the erstwhile owner. A triumphant rout through The Colours duly polished off, with Ironmasters to follow, signalled the end of the set. “Do you want us to pretend that’s the end of the set, so you you can pretend you want some more, or shall we just get on with it“, piped up Valentino. They got on with it, with Greenback Dollar and Walkin’ Talkin’ ending the show in shambolically ragged disarray, jst as you would wish, want or expect.

There’s life still aplenty in these gnarly old tars, with no signs of the party stopping soon. God bless The Men They Couldn’t Hang, and all who sail in her.

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