The Damned

O2 Apollo, Manchester - 3rd November 2022

We've seen virtually every incarnation of The Damned over the years, but never in our wildest dreams did we think we would get to see the original line-up. We would have been chuffed just to witness Rat back on stage with Dave and the Captain, but we live in a strange world these days where anything appears possible, and of course we snap up tickets for the fab four. There were moments when we wondered if this would really happen as the gig was originally scheduled for 2020, being postponed twice because of the covid pandemic, but both they and us made it through still breathing (not that it would have affected Vanian) and off to Manchester it was.

Big venues really are strange to us and this was the second in a matter of days, following on from Roxy Music at the Arena. The Apollo is not on the same scale as that one, of course, but it still holds twenty times more people than we are used to and its audiences certainly don't believe in being fashionably late. We knocked up at doors to find about three trillion people already queuing, so we trudged to the back and cast an eye over our fellow fans. As with Roxy, there were a fair number of people older than ourselves in attendance with most of the audience looking to be in their 50s or 60s. We hadn't seen so many leather jackets in an age, with the punk spirit living on, but what was encouraging was a substantial number of younger people there, including a few goths, showing that The Damned have multi-generational appeal.

Once doors had opened the queue moved fairly quickly, as did the gig as we had barely gathered enough whisky for the evening before the first band appeared. Small Town Tigers were a tidy punk trio from Italy who raced through a punchy half-hour set before TV Smith & The Bored Teenagers came on to do exactly the same. With a younger backing band, it was good to see Tim looking in good shape as he ran non-stop through some classic Adverts' songs, still moving with a total lack of grace as though he was a marionette under the control of a very pissed-up and pissed-off puppeteer. It brought back a million memories and the set reinforced just how underrated the Adverts were; their debut album certainly stands up there with anything from the punk era. Quickly moving on, Penetration were the third support band and probably the least convincing. Pauline admitted the band were short on playing time and it took them three songs before they began to find a groove. When they did hit the spot it worked well, though the lighting was strange as the singer found herself strolling around in the shadows for most of the set, almost invisible in the gloom.

We were still half expecting The Damned not to turn up, not really believing that we were about to watch the band who released the first punk single some forty-six years earlier. If they had simply not bothered to show, it wouldn't have been a surprise. The Damned were always an enigma, dipping a toe into the punk sphere of McLaren, Westwood, Rhodes et al, but at the same time remaining fiercely independent, uncontrollable and appallingly down to earth. While others sang of anarchy and riots, The Damned had that in their DNA. They were from proper south London and not the affluent suburbs. Their singer dressed like a fucking vampire, their bassist wore flourescent carpets and their drummer had a penchant for setting things on fire. And their secret weapon, of course, was a guitarist who was way ahead of his time, always looking for the spark that would ignite and burn out a new tomorrow. As Keith Levene said recently, "We always thought of The Damned as half punk and half this amazing explosion of light and colour. They were fantastic."

The theme tune to Dr Who blares out and it's rather fitting as this whole evening is a journey through time. And just as an old doctor has been reborn, the new incarnation of The Damned is a reincarnation. Sensible looks in great shape and it's obvious he is well up for the evening. So, too, is Vanian who is immaculate in gothic splendour. Scabies wanders round stage randomly before finding the drum kit, while Brian James is helped to his place from which he won't move for the duration of the set; he looks fragile but he plays like a bastard which is no mean thing when there is so much to get through. They open back in '1970' with The Stooges before heading into Music For Pleasure territory with 'You Take My Money'. If you play the second album alongside the first through your hi-fi, then the songs on MFP always sound frailer than those on Damned Damned Damned. When you hear them played live, it is clear they are every bit as powerful and cutting. What they may lack in production values they more than make up for in quality; it is clear MFP is an undervalued gem and we get to hear most of it here for the first time in god knows when. And with 'Stretcher Case' sailing through our brains for the next two days, it is clearly making an impact.

Whether this is a one-off reunion or not, the thing that is immediately obvious is that The Damned with Rat Scabies playing drums is a better Damned than any other version ever could be. He doesn't play, he unleashes torrents of beats that chase, capture and overwhelm everything else around. He really is magnificent; he truly doesn't care what he played on the records, but simply thrashes the life out of every song. Similarly, James unleashes all of the memorable riffs but at other times decides to follow another path and creates some fantastic post-punk melodies that take the songs in a completely different direction. The Captain isn't bothered and follows his bandmates' leads with glee. He throws himself around the stage with joyous abandon whilst still gripping the songs with tight basslines wherever they may wander. His rapport with Vanian is obvious yet the two are polar opposites. The singer with the best voice in the history of punk never loses his cool, moves with grace, and lies elegantly on the drum stage. Yet all the time he is giving voice to what is in reality chaos incarnate.

The Damned have always embodied two fingers stuck up at the establishment. Their version of The Beatles' 'Help' is truly atrocious and always has been. It doesn't reconstruct the song, it flays it to pieces and stomps over the mess. It's a marvel. As is their take on the Stones' 'The Last Time'. It's horrendous and fabulous for being so. Of course they are using it here to indicate that this line-up of the band is unlikely to endure, but it sums up everything The Damned are: a one-off swirling ball of contraditions that is very likely to blow up in your face. If you weren't there at the time then let Dr Who take you back to 1976. Can you imagine this lot exploding into a world of Pussycats and Brotherhood Of Mans? Terrifying. And gloriously uplifting.

As Scabies sets his drums alight and Vanian helps the Captain to trash his bass the audience know they have witnessed an historic moment, served up by a band unique in music history. We will never see their like again.

Set List: 1970, You Take My Money, Help!, Born to Kill, Stretcher Case Baby, Feel the Pain, I Fall, Fan Club, Alone, Fish, 1 of the 2, Problem Child, Neat Neat Neat, Stab Yor Back, Sick of Being Sick, See Her Tonite, You Know, New Rose, Pills, The Last Time, So Messed Up.

Thanks to Tony Hiscox for the photos.