Postscripted Preamble: As part of this year’s Going Deaf For A Fortnight fortnight I decided, at the last minute, to go to a gig at my local pub the Hare and Hounds in Kings Heath, Birmingham, to see a gig. Checking their listings I didn’t recognise the bands and, since the H&H has wifi, took my laptop along so I could do some work on the off chance they were running late. I then decided to sit at the back and review the gig on the fly, time-stamping every five minutes. This, then, is how it happened, only edited for typos and addition of links.

Oh, and since I neglected to mention it in the review, this was promoted by The King Kong Club who currently own Tuesday nights at the H&H and the occasional Thursday.

8.40

Well, the first lesson I utterly failed to learn from two years ago has been firmly thrust in my face. Never trust the times on the flyer – 8pm is a bare faced lie. Thankfully the all new spankingly hip Hare and Hounds has wifi so I was able to get a bit of work done. Even so, at 8.40 I’m the only one here apart from the door-person and the DJ. Oh, and a chap handing out flyers from whom I assume are the headliners, The Elements.

8.45

The wifi signal doesn’t quite reach the gig space at the H&H. Not that would ever be a problem for anyone else of course, unless they were doing some kind of omni-national distributed jam session across the continents. In which case I doubt they’d be upstairs in a Kings Heath pub. Then again, stranger things have happened at the Hare and Hounds…

The music currently coming out of the DJ booth is pretty funky in a lounge kinda style. Not exactly a 70’s porn soundtrack but getting there. More noodly than boom-thwakka-boom and rather pleasant.

8.50

Ooh, someone else has come in. I’m no longer alone. He’s wearing a hat and is taking advantage of the free shot of Banana Schnapps. I declined, not having the head for spirits these days. I’ll stick with the bitter. And another chap has come in. He’s with Mr Hat. I now feel like the sad loner I am.

One thing I’ve noticed about the new Hare and Hounds, other than the absence of an aura of urine in the bar, is that the staff are noticeably hipper. The chap currently behind the upstairs bar is wearing a beanie hat. Indoors, mind. And it’s not even that cold in here. Whatever next!

In my GDFAF report from 2005 I came here to see Dave Kusworth and introduced it thus:

The Hare and Hounds, a grand old pub built in 1907 (and grade 2 listed), is possibly one of the oldest venues in Birmingham for live music, at at least it has that feel to it. When I mentioned I was thinking of going there I was informed it was a “fighting men’s pub� which struck me as a little odd but then I’d only ever been there once before back in 1998 so what did I know. But a pub with a reputation like that is usually a perfectly safe place to go, I find, as all the wankers keep away lest they get twatted. The unspoken threat of violence keeps everything in order and no-one ever starts anything. Since I got there half an hour early I was able to check out the bar and yes, it was that kind of pub so I immediately felt very much at home.

As I mentioned above its recently undergone a dramatic change being taken over by the same folk who run the Bulls Head in Moseley. Being listed the decor is thankfully the same but it’s all been given a good clean and the furniture has been replaced with these frighteningly hip chairs the like of which you’d expect to find in an upwardly mobile living room in Croydon circa 1982. The clientele has also changed from gruff blokes to achingly cool wankers. Maybe that’s a little strong but if you want to laugh at wannabe hipsters without suffering the indignities of, say, The Cross, it’s a prime spot. Personally I like the lounge bar and, having recently moved to the area, find it a comfortable place. Whether the H&H has managed to keep it real or whether I’ve become the sort of wanker I’m laughing at I’ll let you decide.

What I can say with certainty is the new owners have taken the pub’s reputation as an important and unique venue and built on it. There’s an incredible amount of activity going on in this room – loads of gigs that seem to cross a multitude of genres plus comedy, club nights and more. The Curates Egg nights maintain the “expect the unexpected” serendipity of the place which means tonight, being a Tuesday and therefore potentially way off the beaten track, has much to live up to.

9.00

Two more people have come in. I’m popping out for a fag. (Yes, I’m smoking again, though mainly when I’m out and about.) Back in a bit.

9.15

Okay, I’m back with another pint and we’re up to 9 people. The music is, I think, Ian Dury. Fuckit, there’s no “I think” about it. It’s definitely the Dury, just a song of his I don’t know. “Look at them laughing” goes the refrain.

Ooh, someone’s on stage. Single bloke with guitar tuning up as Dury is faded out. He’s singing now and it’d be rude to type so I’ll sign off for a bit.

9.35

Well, that was quite a short set. 15 minutes? Pretty good though, but I was reminded of a conversation I had with a musician friend about the problem with the gigging singer-songwriter in that they all pretty much sound the same. Sure, it’s really all about the lyrics, but I’m not really a lyrics person. Or rather I like my lyrics blatantly spelt out story-telling style. Poetry just doesn’t work for me. When it comes to the gig situation I’m after something approaching spectacle that works on a visceral level, taking me out of my tedious rational self into something godlike. The singer-songwriter, by comparison, is using an established form to get his words across but all I tend to hear is the form. But back to our chap (who didn’t announce himself – I’ll have to check the MySpaces when I get home) he did manage to transcend this in a couple of places, especially the final song which had him near screaming into the mic with his forehead getting all knotted. That worked for me.

[Later: The Elements thanked him during their set as "Micky Green". Can't find anything online.]

9.40

We’re now up to, ooh, 15 people, plus those who’ve gone for a fag. The Elements aren’t setting up – I guess being preceded by a single bloke with a guitar means they’re already in place and just need to walk on. I believe this’ll be at about 10. Time for another fag then.

9.45

The DJ is playing “It’s a real motherfucker” by, oh, I can’t remember. You know the one. Deep funk and all that. So far the night is quite the mashup and that’s a good thing. A bit of leaflet investigation reveals this night to be organized by Top Banana, the vintage clothes shop on York Road around the corner, which explains the Banana Schnapps. I spotted The Elements soundchecking when I got here at eight and they look be pretty guitar based and, going by their flyer, on a regional tour (Stourbridge, Leeds, Reditch, Bedford). I somehow doubt they’ll fit into the singer-songwriter / funk vibe and that’s a good thing in my book. Eclectic nights are the way forward.

9.50

“Pappa Was A Rolling Stone”. Okay, we’re getting a bit predictable. Not in a bad way but still, I’d like hear stuff I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me. There’s a couple of people dancing so it’s obviously working. We’re up to 20+ now. Not enough to draw any averages or cliches out though. I quite like this song. The “all he left us was alone / a lone” ambiguity always makes me smile.

I think someone was reading over my shoulder just now. He’s gone now but I’m starting to feel a little exposed with my MacBook in the corner of the room. If this live-gig-reviewing thing is to continue I think a more discrete PDA might be in order.

What is it with the hats indoors? I might have to put mine on just to fit in.

11.10

Okay, back at home now. The band finished at 11.00 and I didn’t feel right typing in the pub at that hour. Call me old fashioned. Or paranoid about drunks going “what you doing, eh?” And I feel I need to get a little more serious, not too much, but a little bit, about our headliners and a cup of tea might be in order for that. Back in a bit.

11.40

Mmm. Toast is good.

Right, the band. When The Elements started I was slightly crestfallen as the first song sounded not exactly but very close to The Dread Oasis. Oh…. fuuuuccckkk. I’m watching an Oasis wannabe band. I’ve got at least 45 minutes of aural agony ahead of me and, according to the unwritten rules of GDFAF, I cannot leave until they finish.

The Dread Oasis is something of an occupational hazard for the random gig goer. Statistically you are very likely indeed (and that’s an official statistic from the Department of Musical Stats) to come across a band that attempts to channel the putrid spirit of the Gallaghers through the medium of guitar based rock. Why these fools think this is a Good Idea is anyone’s guess but it might have something to do with the fact that a frightening number of folk actually think Oasis are rather good. Suffice to say these folk are not generally my friends. So if I had to give one reason why otherwise artistically adventurous and curious folk don’t go to random gigs in their local pub it I would say it’s probably due to The Dread Oasis.

11.45

But, and it’s a big BUT, that was the only occurrence of this curse. Perhaps they were getting it out of the way. Or perhaps, as I now discover looking at their flyer under a light that isn’t red, it’s because they feature one Andy Bennett of Ocean Colour Scene. Maybe I wasn’t feeling The Dread Oasis but, in fact, The Dread OCS. Thankfully I didn’t know this at the time so it didn’t colour the rest of the evening (I’m not a fan) which was, dare I say it, rather enjoyable.

11.50

The Elements play a kind of rock’n'roll that is immediately familiar and yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. The two covers they did were Handle Me With Care by the Traveling Wilbury’s and that old classic Lucile which might give you an indication and the general impression I got was of American truck-stop bars. And that isn’t a bad thing to try and emulate. Nothing fancy or clever was being attempted here – just some good old fashioned fun.

I’m going to check their MySpace now as their own compositions are fading from memory.

11.55

Okay, that’s enough. This really isn’t my sort of thing and there’s no point pretending. There’s a place for it though and it does come out of Birmingham so live and let live and all that.

In summary, looking at all the disparate elements of this night out it all kinda adds up. Organised by Top Banana who import 60s, 70s and 80s vintage clothing of the sort favoured by (and I’m generalizing horribly here) your floppy-hat wearing post-Mod Oasis fan, headlined by a band with roots in the Brum Mod revival and with a DJ loving his funk this was Dad-rock heaven. There’s a big market for this sort of thing. It just doesn’t include me.

And yet there were never more that 25-30 people in the room. Yes, it was a Tuesday but given a) the presumable community surrounding the shop and b) the OCS factor (a recent gig with the full band was sold out and Moseley / Kings Heath is their home turf) I would have expected a good 50-100. Instead it felt, at times, like a family gathering, which eerily references that Kusworth gig.

I’d say this was not representative of the Hare and Hounds but then nothing seems to be. Every gig I’ve been to there has been radically different to the one before and I don’t see that changing any time soon.

00.05

That’ll do me. I think this been a record – gig review posted during the gig and completed one hour after it finished. Anyone fancy beating that, feel free.

Tomorrow I’m off to see Stuart Lee at the Glee Club as part of the Birmingham Comedy Festival. Given that comedy was once The New Rock and Roll I think it counts. At a stretch. You never know, he might sing a song.