Gig Review: Peter Hook and the Light at Stoke Sugermill 24th November 2012

The songs of Unknown Pleasures hadn’t been attempted live by the surviving members of that recording for some three decades, having been laid to rest with the passing of Ian Curtis.  Peter Hook, an original participant, and his band have relatively recently started to play its songs.  Having been unfamiliar with the Joy Division’s musical history, I belatedly took a punt on the LP in the run up to this gig, coming to it 33 years after it was released.  The watchful security, however, appear to be hedging their bets on age and hand out ‘I’m over 18’ wristbands to wear at the bar.

The Shinies from Manchester opened tonight’s proceedings.  Their enjoyable blissed out pop sound comes from the early 90s school; they wrap their vocal cords around songs in a way that makes their words hard to pick out. Unlike their predecessors, they are not rooted to the spot and move to their music.  Joy Division knew the benefits of a telling word or two and discernible lyrics and wonder if these boys could do with something like that to beef up their character but perhaps I wouldn't have reflected on this if they weren't supporting who they were

The Sugarmill is a great venue with its former loft offering balcony views and raised platforms around the edges. Behind the stage, there’s a draped banner with the LP’s artwork flanked at each end by Joy Division and Manchester but why not Joy Division and Macclesfield? – Two members came from the nearby town.  The gents toilets have..overflown – the sort which would have our wives (if we told them) suggesting we leave our shoes outside when we came back

While playing his traditionally low slung bass guitar, Peter Hook takes over singing duties. He acknowledges the passing of Larry Hagman but otherwise talks little between songs; there’s a newly written book at the back stall for those who can’t get enough Joy Division history. There’s no Ian Curtis mannerisms, of course, merely a raised right arm at times, as if orchestrating the up for it crowd (christened ‘mad fuckers’).

There are those in the crowd who would have remembered the band from the first time around.  One guy, we spoke to, brought his son who preferred the Joy Division carnation to the band’s later morph of New Order favoured by Dad.  It was mainly the older generation who were in the deep throng dancing down the front.  Any reservations about how this kind of thing would work are swept aside.  Hook and his Light carry the LP (‘When will it End’ was a high point with me), Love will Tear us Apart and other old songs with conviction.  The purveying reach of this band pulsates out into this rammed club making it an intense living show piece to the belated band, and the departed former singer.

Down and out in Oulton Broad

Saturday 29^th October 2012

We’re staying in Oulton Broad, near the Suffolk coast, with Jan’s Auntie Liz.  Liz’s partner, Mike, is a fan of the invigorating qualities of fresh air and the main bedroom window is open.  I closed it – these Eastern winds are chilly. Outside the house there’s dug up ground and signposts – apparently workman are there to locate a gas leak which is not reassuring.  I laid out our bags in the bedrooms where there are separate sleeping arrangements between us and the boys; there would be something of a war if both of them were to share the same bed.

Sunday 30^th October 2012

For our first full day, we visited Great Yarmouth, calling in first at a chip shop café.  It didn't feel an inspired introduction; there’s a smell of stale chip fat in there that either never left us or is prevalent all around the coastal town.   After a tray of chips we left the screwed down chairs and tables  and made the small walk to the ‘Joyland’ walled area of confined rides.  The Snails, actually a good swooping rattly ride for the kids, is always a hit and elicited great thrills with Ed.  Other things in Joyland have a retro appeal.  For Sam, who falls short of height specifications, there’s a Thunderbirds pay ride.  Ed joined for a modest Magic Roundabout rotating pay ride and just like Florence and Zebedee used to, they look less than animated about being on here.

It was damp and chilly walking around Joyland.  We mused over coming here at this time of year. It was quiet.  The beach was nearly empty and the donkeys had no takers.  We took a walk down the seafront road where we were to meet a friend of Jan’s from the Bounty Mother’s web site.  I hoped they weren't about to take their offspring to Joyland and was relieved when the warmer, indoor soft play centre at Sealand was suggested.

 I took a ten minute walk to the car park to put more money in the meter. Warmed from working at pace, I was approached by a beggar with piercings in one of his eyebrows.  He had been working more energetically than most - it was the second time he approached me.  The first time he asked for contributions towards the £1:80 to get him home.  A fund to help someone get out of Great Yarmouth on a day like this seemed like something worth rallying behind. However, this time, he just asked for something towards buying hot food. I said I had put most of my coins in the parking meter but he could have the remainder (34p) if he wanted it.  I half expected him to decline it – such is inflation, I’ve had amounts returned in the past by beggars for being disdainfully low.  However, he happily accepted it.  The changeability of his requests led me not to proffer advice (‘you know this lingering smell of grease? That’s from the café on the pier.  I suggest not going there’)

Monday 31^st October 2012

We were to take the boys swimming this morning with Jan’s Auntie Jeanie at a pool in Halesworth.  She kindly said that she’d also take one of the boys in the pool so this freed me up. Some rare free day time!  I went on to have a look around the centre of the town with its nice independent shops. In a book shop I saw some books by George Borrow, a Victorian native of Oulton Broad, the place where we were staying.   I decided to buy Wild Wales, apparently an 1849 respected account of travelling in this country.

In Café Frapa, an airy family run place with a delightful selection of cakes, I read a few short chapters of Wild Wales.  It is a twenties edition and its dust induces some cough wheeziness in me. Borrow talks of making the acquaintance of a put upon Welsh groom in his work place who was the subject of gawping and goading, something Borrow joined in with himself before realising that this guy could come in useful in familiarising himself with Wales and its language.  The groom confides to the writer that, with the terrorising he had to put up with he was thinking of suicide before he found the solace of the writer’s companionship.  There is a physical description of the Welsh groom stretching several pages before remarking ‘It is not deemed a matter of good taste to write about such low people as grooms, I shall therefore dismiss him…’  In chapter three, where he is up to Chester, he is berating an ex-slave from Antigua and endorsing the still then prevalent American slavery system.  There is a George Borrow Society; I’m not about to take out an application form just yet.

In the evening, Auntie Liz babysat for the boys, freeing us up to gratefully dine at the nearby Commodore.  In the quiet upstairs restaurant, the food was pretty good. Our view looked out onto the harbour, or would have if there was more illumination outside – instead it was more like looking onto a Azerbaijan oil field rather than Sydney Harbour.

Tuesday 1^st November 2012

We ear marked today to go to the zoo Africa Alive in Kessingland.  It’s always an enjoyable experience to come here: unlike other zoos, we don’t need to crane our heads around other viewers to look at the Lions; there’s a variety of views, elevated and level.  At some places like Lemur Island, there were no other people around for some distance.  The African theme is prevalent, notably with the native drums from the continent; there’s a booth where these can be played and in this vicinity someone is usually rollicking away on these, often a dad kid like me.

Towards the end of our trip, we took the boys to the Discovery Centre on the site.  Ed had his face painted in a ladybird style – red with black polka dots.  Sam was to have his face projected as a pumpkin. The girl face painting him was on the verge of completing his face when Sam got restless and, in an ensuing wriggle conspired to send Jan’s touch sensitive mobile flying to the ground where the outer glass broke. ‘Take him away’, she said irately. I paid up (the face painter only took payment for Ed) and led Sam outside where there were some playground facilities. From this vantage point, I had a view of what was going on through the windows of the Centre.  Through one I could see Auntie Carrie and Jan looking at the damaged mobile with a rueful look and a shaking of the head.  Separated from this in an adjacent office, a few windows to the left, I could see the young face painter relaying to her colleagues what had just happened.  She took on an exaggerated severe posture, with an outstretched arm pointed outwards.  This, I guessed, represented Jan.  Then she did a chastened, eyes down expression of someone tip-toing away which would have represented her own reaction to being caught in this scene.

Wednesday 2^nd November 2012

In the morning we rang the nearby Waveny River Centre and enquired as to whether they were running any boat trips this afternoon.  We were told that this depended on the numbers showing up.  And if it did run it would be an end of the season last trip out.

When the six of us (including Auntie Carrie and niece Amber) turned up the touristy part of Oulton Broad began to unfurl with its arcades, cafes and gift shops. We found ourselves to be the only ones eager to take the last boat trip out on this cold day.  In the morning, by way of a contrast, we were told that there had been a crowd of thirty to alight for this boat ride.  The captain, who had a reassuring Captain Birdseye beard, said that he’d take us out on an slightly reduced hour long journey.  This was fine with us. We sat on the deck on a bench that lined the sailors’ cabin.

The back gardens that lined the southern broads certainly belonged to a more affluent type of house owner.  Two months ago, while running, I passed Marple homes which had their boats in the back of their gardens on the Macclesfield canal which I thought was nice.  Here it was taken to another level. Ascending paths lead from the water to garages that housed personal boats.  One house, it was pointed out, was recently sold for 1.2 million. There is an element of looking on at how the other half live. 

Turning round for the journey back we caught the wind in our faces and, as the boys tended to veer too close to the edge for comfort, we went down the stairs and inside.  We had some hot chocolate from the staff, an end of term freebie on the house. After getting off the boat, I took the boys back to Auntie Liz’s while the ladies looked in the gift shop – there was much that was fragile here and we didn’t wasn’t to risk paying for any breakages by taking the boys  (or me) inside the shop.

Aunty Liz found out the source of the gas leak by ringing the National Grid line.  The person on the line couldn’t say but suggested asking the workmen outside.  The workmen confirmed that after a previous fruitless investigation, they had found the gas leak in next door’s house and, it has all now, reassuringly, been fixed.

Thursday 3^rd November 2012

We packed up for the long journey home.  Sam’s potty training, which had generally been working successfully during the week seemed to go to pot.  We scrambled through the change bag for a replacement set of clothes but these had a slightly damp smell feel about them.  A packet of wipes, not sealed in an air tight way by me, had probably leaked.

This shined the light on my weaknesses in the whole preparatory child management thing and Jan was seething.  The journey away was not fun as domesticity flaws at our house that was at this point 198 miles away became illuminated: ‘And that area around the dog mat – have you wiped around that recently?  When you’re cleaning you lift things up and wipe underneath - not wipe around them; it’s the same with the food recycling box…’

'...And you let them eat their porridge in the lounge in the morning...'

And so the narrative carried on like this, at full vigour, for the next hour and a half as our car made its way through those Suffolk A roads.