Nine Below Zero & Dr Feelgood
Leamington Spa, Assembly – 22nd February 2024
The night was as still as an empty chapel and pew-bench cold as I made my way out of the carpark. The arrival of Storm Bert hitting was nearly as keenly anticipated as the night of music ahead – for other reasons. Piles of crisp, tawny leaves floated upwards or crunched under foot, signalling the near-end of the year.
Nine Below Zero reflect a well-judged dignified look on stage nowadays. The casual suits, cravat style scarves, regulation sunglasses and time-served confidence are a reminder of what the band represent to their loyal audience. The intensity on stage may not burn as brightly as the “Live at the Marquee” era but this night’s performance warmed the ambience where many, many others would have surely struggled (sic)?
Unquestionably, Nine Below Zero do not simply clock-on and sleep-walk through their shift. Witnessing the band play live – even though they are: “ignored by the press and the media“- is as memorable as Vic Flick’s James Bond theme itself. Don’t Point the Finger, Pack Fair and Square, Wooly Bully, and Ridin’ on the L&N resuscitated the ornate Assembly rooms on the night…
From the start, NBZ’s own brand of full English- blues inspired appreciative head-nodding, which gave way to rhythmic shoulder swaying, however, by the third number unbridled dancing from those determined to enjoy their Friday night had broken out. This is the gospel according to front-man Dennis Greaves.
The slower numbers such as Sunny off the “DenMark” Album were testament to the band’s musicianship. Sonny Greaves drums and Anthony Harty’s bass were the rhythmic boiler-room and Dennis Greaves magnificent, Guild guitar playing and Mark Feltham’s soaring harmonicas were the art-deco flourishes the Assembly needed.
There was a genuine flourish of anticipation when Dr. Feelgood threatened the fourth wall with their “transit van” – blues. Lead singer Robert Kane is charged with conducting proceedings and as ever he was determined. The constant sideways movement across stage and evangelical handclapping demand the attention – but he was preaching to the converted. Any wonder the failing microphone elicited such a theatrical faux-anger response. Dr. Feelgood need to connect with their audience…thus the band continued playing with near religious-zeal on the night.
Down by the Jetty, the prolonged intro to the instantly recognisable Roxette, She Does it Right and Milk & Alcohol brought forth much admiration, spontaneous air-punching and silver-haired gyrations from the assembled. However, the night was not just about reminiscing or looking backwards. Perhaps, Dr. Feelgood are not as contemporary as taking a photo of your tea and uploading to Instagram. However, you can’t delete their juggernaut performances from your memory- cloud once experienced.
Damn right, Mary Ann and the celebration of drinking that is Gimme One More Shot were infused with the feel good factor and a knowledgeable crowd were brought more up to date – more than willingly.
The Feelgoods might present like besuited middle-managers now but their music still carries the whiff of pub carpark indiscretions On the night Gordon Russell’s telecaster gleamed, chimed and held office. And Kevin Morris & Phil Mitchell’s foundations stoically formed the wall of driving “sodden beer-mat R & B”. Reminding all what Dr. Feelgood live is all about…
Robert Kane’s symbolic one-handed-press-up was not missed I am sure by the majority! I would like to think Mr. Brilleaux Esquire would have approved…
Approvingly, the fitting encore – including members from both bands – concluded a night of exemplary Albion boozer-rock. Even Greaves misplaced intro to My Generation simply added to the Watney’s party 7 atmosphere. The finale of Route 66 hinting that the musical journey continues…hallelujah!
Once outside the chilled air took hold again. Across the street a V- reg transit van sat revving its engine, in an attempt to keep the engine going. Several miscreants climbed in the back carrying various guitar-shaped holdalls and amps. The sunglasses seemed a little incongruous. As the patina-pocked-marked van trundled away, albeit with complaining gears, the curb-side ochre leaves floated upwards in its wake.
By: The Swilgate Scuttler