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Dear Friends, the first time I saw Buzzcocks some sixteen years ago it left me a wreck. Far too much vile tequila and rough malt liquor. A sweaty evening spent pogoing and slam dancing a go-go. Walking home in a downpour, cold rain on superheated skin. Upon returning to digs my body more or less shut down and remained in bed for twenty-four hours.

Ah, the folly of youth.

Fast-forward to this past Sunday night. FiL and 400 other punters waiting to see Buzzcocks play at Vancouver's Red Room. FiL, sober (he's driving, you see) older, and wiser, stands at the side. Yes, that seems appropriate; not down on the dance floor with the emo kids and twitchy hardcore bovver boys, but not sitting down at the back like the seventy-year-old beardy-weirdy in a Motorhead t-shirt (I kid you not). About fifteen diagonal feet from the stage. With a clear line of sight. That's about right.

Buzzcocks come on stage, looking older and wiser. Indeed, diminutive frontman Pete Shelly seems to have succumbed somewhat to middle-age spread. He'd added a chin since I saw him last, FiL remarks. In fact he bears an uncanny resemblance to ex-Pythoner Terry Jones in his incarnation as Toad of Toad Hall in the film version of 'Wind in the Willows.' Guitarist Steve Diggle is still lean as ever, but his face is craggier. Older and wiser.

But not mellower.

"TURN THE FACKIN' MONITOR UP! I CAN'T HEAR MESELF!"

Diggle is annoyed. He repeats himself. Then shakes his head in disgust.

Then they rip into it. And they don't stop.

It was a wondrous noise, undiminished by age, from the progenitors of power punk pop. The first few tunes were from the later years. You know, following the 1989 reconstitution. It's all good stuff by anyone's standards. Choppy, tight, catchy. 'Flat-Pack Philosophy' kicks things off, followed straight away by the current single, 'Wish I Never Loved You.' Current album plug over, a tune or so from a couple of years back follows.

Then the clock turns back.

Like nothing since 1977 ever happened.

Dear Friends, what followed was glorious bottle after glorious bottle of the finest vintage power punk pop ever created from them (well, two of them, the important ones, anyway) wot created it in the first place. And age had been very, very kind indeed. It was all there: 'Autonomy,' 'Noise Annoys,' 'Fast Cars,' 'Sixteen,' 'Ever Fallen In Love,' 'What Do I Get,' 'I Don't Know What To Do With My Life,' 'Harmony In My Head,' 'Boredom,' 'Breakdown,' 'Fiction Romance,' 'Oh Shit!,' 'Orgasm Addict.' And more. Played with an energy and a style undiminished by time. Diggle playing the rock clown, windmilling and posturing and having a great laff. Shelly tightly grounding it all centre stage.

And what of FiL, standing there in his appropriate spot? Well, a man of his age ought to be careful, you know. Standards and propriety and all that. He's got to drive home. And has work the next day. Besides, remember what happened at the last Buzzcocks gig he went to.

Well, FiL acted his age for about two-thirds of the gig. Then he couldn't stand it any more and went onto the floor.

Into the sweaty heat.

And he pogoed his old heart out. A go-go.

And he got to shake Diggle's hand as the Buzzcock glad-handed the crowd at the end of the encore. The guitarist then ended his gig-long argument with the monitor by smashing it with his mikestand before walking off.

Oh-fuckin'-YEAH!!!

But the spirit of Buzzcock gig past came back to haunt him in the shape of one Ryan from support group The Adored. During the Buzzcocks encore Ryan decided to stagedive. And he landed full-force on FiL's head. Bent his left ear back, thumped his head, twisted his back and neck. So today FiL is sporting a lovely bruise on his ear and has been popping ibuprofen (Advil to your North Americans). Not quite bedridden, but still ill, after a fashion. Good thing Ryan is so weedy.

However, Fil forgives Ryan, for he and his bretheren were quite good in a snarly, attitudey, "and-we-don't-care" kinda way. The spirit of 77 certainly drives these LA boys, turbo charged with a slapshot of prancy, androgenous hissiness. Oh, and their music was pretty and punchy and catchy and punky as well.

But the night belonged to the timeless Buzzcocks.

Buzzcocks - Flat-Pack Philosophy
Buzzcocks- Wish I Never Loved You
Buzzcocks - Fiction Romance
Buzzcocks - Get On Your Own
Buzzcocks - Oh Shit!
Buzzcocks - What Do I Get?

A nice "best of" compilation is 'Operator's Manual' which you can buy here starting at $3.61! The new album 'Flat-Pack Philosophy' can (and should) be bought here or here.

The Adored - Chemistry
The Adored - Tell me Tell Me

The Adored's debut 'A New Language' can be bought here.