I was a teenage HMHB fan : Half Man Half Biscuit live in Durham

In the dimly lit booth, a devilishly good looking, dark haired young man waits patiently to be addressed. It was very quiet, the young man convincing himself that he could, in fact, hear the air. Sitting on his hands in the space, really big enough for only one, the young man begins to tap his feet nervously. It's not long before there's a sharp, cool breeze within the booth, and a voice. A voice, on the other side of the wooden grille. The young man was in the confessional of his mind, and it was now or never.

"Yes? What is it? I am quite busy", rasped the gravelly voice.

The young man clears his throat. "Erm, yes. I, er."

"Spit it out for goodness sake.", interrupted the increasingly impatient voice.

"Okay, well. Thing is, I've never, well, that is to say, I haven't been able...". The young man's voice tailed off.

"Take a breath son.", growled the voice.

The young man took a breath, looked upward and sighed. Under his breath, the young man whispered, "I've never actually seen Half Man Half Biscuit live before. I mean, I love the songs and I've really wanted to, maybe I haven't made that much effort but..."

"It's allowed.", interrupted the voice. There was a brief pause as the voice lowered, "they don't play round your way very often but they're playing in Durham tonight. If you go now you'll just about make it."

And with that, the young man leapt excitedly from the wooden bench and bolted for the exit. Stopping to call back, the young man shouted, "oh and thank you. But who are you?"

There was a pause. A bearded man, wearing a yellow shirt with maroon sleeves, dissolved into view. "Davey, I'm John Peel, and I'll see you there."

And so, Half Man Half Biscuit. Live in Durham. And, through the November ice and snow, I was there. A casual fan of HMHB for many years, excitement in Davey towers was brimming when the news broke that Birkenhead's finest would be heading to the North East for a rare gig. Champions of the late, great John Peel and veterans of his eponymous 'Peel sessions' it's fair to say most music lovers have a certain place in their hearts for HMHB.

Cult band extraordinaire, and once described as a minor British institution, HMHB are probably as well known for their sardonic take on popular culture as they are for their raw style of music. A strange mix of garage, punk and indie, they've had a colourful history, and they're also football fans - once turning down an appearance on The Tube because Tranmere Rovers were at home. But as much as the music and lyrics continue to resonate, I'm also captivated by the band's sense of minimalism. Almost like four mates turning up at a pub to rattle out some of their favourite numbers, there's no glitz, no unnecessary showmanship, and front man Nigel Blackwell's razor-sharp witted banter with the crowd was unbounded. Nigel even seemed embarrassed by the venue's big screens which were magnifying the performance on either side of the stage.

Playing to a busy and excited Live Lounge, it was clear the band still have legs and still enjoy playing. With a career spanning nearly 30 years, barring the odd recording drought and a break-up, they were on stage for almost two hours, and they still possess the energy, passion and inter-song wit you'd associate with the band. All the charm of the vinyl recordings neatly transpose to the live setting without sounding contrived and even some topical, impromptu lyric re-writes added flavour - the line, "I quite like a bit of snow, so stick to the facts" finding its way in to "A Country Practice".

Shameless pic to illustrate something

I did feel a tinge of disappointment that some of my personal favourites didn't make the set list; "The Bastard Son of Dean Friedman", "£24.99 from Argos", "Paintball's Coming Home" and "Tour Jacket with Detachable Sleeves" to name but a few were all left behind in the rehearsal room. The long version of "24 Hour Garage People", however, more than made up for any selfish chagrin and there was always "Joy Division Oven Gloves" to hang my coat on at the close. Towards the end, Nigel briefly swapped his trusty Fender Telecaster for his Epiphone with the caravan shaped body, HMHB's frontman admitting, "it's only good for one song, then the novelty wears off".

"Curse my soul if I don't want petrol"

With the crowd baying for more, I left the venue to find my car. Travelling home, I stopped at an all night garage and was about to make an enquiry as to what sandwiches they sold when I spotted the handwritten note sellotaped to the windows of the kiosk. Seems they're on to us. Curiously there was no tuna/sweetcorn but I did pick up a blues CD on the Hallmark label. That's sure to be good.


Half Man Half Biscuit are: Nigel Blackwell, Neil Crossley, Ken Hancock and Carl Henry.




Last night's set list:
99% of Gargoyles Look Like Bob Todd
Yipps (My Baby Got The)
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Petty Sessions
If I had possession over Pancake Day
Bob Wilson, Anchorman
A Lilac Harry Quinn
Bad Losers on Yahoo! Chess
Look Dad No Tunes
Lock up your Mountain Bikes
Running Order Squabblefest
We Built This Village On A Trad.Arr. Tune
All I Want for Christmas is a Dukla Prague Away Kit
Left Lyrics in the Practice Room
Vatican Broadside
National Shite Day
24 Hour Garage People
Everything’s AOR
Secret Gig
For What is Chatteris
1966 and all that
Tommy Walsh’s Eco House
Trumpton Riots
A Country Practice
Evening of Swing (Has Been Cancelled)

I’m a Boy
Joy Division Oven Gloves