‘I was there!’ Writers remember legendary gigs by Beyoncé, Brian Wilson, Britney, Oasis, Daft Punk and more
‘Every song was crisp and fully formed’ View image in fullscreen Changing music … Jerry Harrison and David Byrne of Talking Heads perform at the
‘Every song was crisp and fully formed’ View image in fullscreen Changing music … Jerry Harrison and David Byrne of Talking Heads perform at the Rock Garden on 13 May 1977. Photograph: Gus Stewart/Redferns Talking Heads, the Rock Garden, London, 13 May 1977 Talking Heads broke off from a European tour supporting Ramones in 1977 to play two shows at the Rock Garden, a small basement club on the Covent Garden Piazza, now the site of an Apple Store. After an apprenticeship as a three-piece (David Byrne, Tina Weymouth, Chris Frantz), the band had recently added a fourth member, Jerry Harrison, and were close to completing work on their debut album. In London, every song was crisp and fully formed, with Psycho Killer as the set’s devastating climax. The audience included Brian Eno, who invited them to his flat the next day for a meeting that would lead to collaborations on More Songs About Buildings and Food, Fear of Music, Remain in Light and (as a Byrne/Eno project) My Life in the Bush of Ghosts: a series of albums that changed music. Richard Williams The sun shone out of their behinds The Smiths, The Refectory, University of Leeds, 29 February 1984 I remember what I wore: a 1950s charity shop raincoat, traditional black slacks and a “grandad” shirt from a vintage shop, dyed brown in a pan in our kitchen. This was topped off with an atrocious attempt at a quiff. So many of us scrambled to adopt the Smiths’s restyled retro chic because we wanted to be in their gang. In the nine months since their first single, Hand in Glove, they’d swept through John Peel/NME culture and into the Top 20. That night, stage right, Johnny Marr resembled a prettier Keith Richards as cascading riffs tumbled out of him. Morrissey, wearing a big girl’s blouse, whipped the stage with the microphone lead to emphasise every “crack on the head!” during the then-unreleased Barbarism Begins at Home. They were progressing so fast that even while touring the debut album, they played a song intended for the follow-up. Dave Simpson Shambolically appealing View image in fullscreen About to change the face of rock … Nirvana at the London Astoria on 3 December 1989. Photograph: Steve Double/Camera Press Nirvana, London Astoria, 3 December 1989 In later years, I liked to tell people that I was one of the first people in Britain to buy Nirvana’s debut album, Bleach. True enough – my copy was on white vinyl, part of the initial batch of 300 copies – but I tactfully left out the fact that I thought it was … all right. I didn’t dislike it: I recognised that About a Girl was fantastic. But I didn’t love it the way I loved their labelmates Mudhoney’s debut, Superfuzz Bigmuff. Likewise their show at London’s Astoria, supporting Mudhoney and Tad. Nirvana were good, noisy and shambolically appealing. Broken guitar strings forced them to temporarily abandon their set and jam a version of I Wanna Be Your Dog. People stage-dived and they smashed their equipment up at the end: all splendid chaotic fun. But if you’d told me that night I’d just witnessed a show that would be deemed historically important – about which articles would be written and which would be cherrypicked for tracks on a posthumous live album, because Nirvana were 18 months away from literally changing the face of rock music – I’d have been genuinely baffled. Then, if you looked over 18, I’d have asked you to go to the bar for me. Alexis Petridis Eggsactly maybe View image in fullscreen ‘Pproperly loud, occasionally ponderous’ … Oasis at the 100 Club on 24 March 1994. Photograph: Paul Slattery/Camera Press Oasis, 100 Club, London, 24 March 1994 “At the end of the day, there isn’t another band worth frying an egg on!” This unlikely observation came from Liam Gallagher, leaving his brother Noel so bewildered he exhorted me to turn my dictaphone back on. “Frying an egg on?” he said in a “What is he like?” voice. We were wrapping up an interview and, time being tight, I took up the offer of a ride in their van with lots of scouse mates. As we entered the 100 Club by the tradesman’s entrance, a harassed security guard, seeing the tiny basement venue suddenly half full, said: “Where have you lot come from?” I’d love to say Oasis were incendiary but, really, it was like most of their gigs: properly loud, occasionally ponderous, with Liam always compelling. Afterwards, I knocked over a table of drinks backstage and lived to tell the tale. My most memorable gig or the most messy? Both – and definitely worth frying an egg on. Martin Horsfield Kevin was met with bottles and boos View image in fullscreen Courage and vulnerability … Kevin Rowland at Leeds festival on 28 August 1999. Photograph: Piers Allardyce/Rex/Shutterstock Kevin Rowland, Leeds festival, 28 August 1999 When Kevin Rowland took the stage, he was met with a barrage of bottles and boos.
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