03 Apr 2024
The former Supergrass frontman takes to the stage at The Horn, and James Cameron is there for the experience…
I’m always a bit dubious about heading out on a Sunday night, I need my wind-down time before approaching a full week of work, but for Gaz Coombes I was willing to risk it. The former Supergrass front-man is now an accomplished and soulful solo star and part-time matador, so I did the ironing earlier than usual and headed out to the Horn.
Supporting Gaz was Ralfe Band who, contrary to what you might expect and possibly in contravention of the trade description act, was a man not a band. Reminiscent of a smart-casual King Theoden from Lord of the Rings, he started things off with a very relaxed vibe, playing acoustic songs with no sense of urgency.
Things started to pick up a bit when he transferred over to the keyboard and gave himself a beat from his little box of tricks, but the constant back and forth between guitar and keyboard did dampen the momentum. A time and motion study of his set might increase his efficiency, but luckily he had an engaging personality and filled the gap well with chit-chat.
Standouts included when he embraced the acoustic set-up and went full-on folk for ‘A Day a Week a Month a Year’, which felt particularly personal as he introduced it by talking about his new son and fatherhood. He finished off with the excellent ‘Howl’, which sounded like an up-tempo Nick Cave, if you can imagine such a thing.
Things were getting rammed in the Horn by this point, as the main event approached. Gaz Coombes came on looking largely unchanged from his Britpop days, although disappointingly he did not ride onto the stage on a chopper, instead favouring a natty black hat. In an attic somewhere there must be a very decrepit portrait of him.
Although I knew this was a solo tour I wasn’t expecting it to be fully solo. Similar to Ralfe no-Band, this was a largely acoustic gig played on guitar and piano. I’m not sure if this trend is driven by economic necessity, Ralfe did joke that his keyboard was cheaper than a band, but I do miss the power and synergy that comes from a live band playing together in unison. I also
worry for anyone looking to pursue a career as a bassist or drummer (which unfortunately includes my own son).
This was not such a problem, though, as Coombes was able to dominate the room with his powerful voice and he seemed entirely comfortable being on his own. It did take me a little time to adjust to the low-key feel, and it wasn’t a great gig if you were there to get down, but as a chance for dreamy introspection on a Sunday night it was perfect. Coombes even admitted to being still hungover from a wild night in Cambridge, of all places, which added to the chilled vibe.
Things were maybe a little too quiet as at one stage there was a loud rebuking to members of the audience at the back of the room who were talking too loudly, which I can’t imagine happening at a Metallica gig, but there were changes in tempo. The bluesy ‘Deep Pockets’ stirred things up a bit as did the beautiful ‘Sonny the Strong’, preceded by the story of boxer Randy Turpin who inspired the song.
Like his predecessor, Coombes switched between guitar and piano, but due to the piano positioning when he sat down he essentially disappeared from view. I cannot wait for the day when they introduce gradated standing areas based on height at gigs, or at the very least ban the wearing of hats.
Given the size of the venue and the mood of the performance there was a great feeling of intimacy, especially when Coombes talked touchingly about his autistic daughter who may or may not be the subject of ‘The Girl Who Fell to Earth’ then roped the audience into singing along to ‘Long Live the Strange’, to my mind the stand-out song from his excellent new album ‘Turn the Car Around’.
We were drafted again to clap along (“like We Will Rock You”) to a delightfully jagged version of final song ‘Feel Loop (Lizard Dream)’, before Coombes exited the stage.
He returned for a brief encore with the only Supergrass song of the evening, ‘Moving’. This was probably one of their only songs that would have fitted into the set without standing out like a sore thumb, especially in the relaxed arrangement he used.
It really sums up the distance that we have all travelled since those heady days in the summer of 1995 when we would lie around in the park drinking cider and listening to ‘Alright’.
Despite appearances to the contrary with Coombes we are all older, and that is not necessarily a bad thing.
In everything there is a season, a time for jumping around in a moshpit with no regard for personal injury and a time for swaying gently in the back room of a local pub listening to exquisitely beautiful and thoughtful songs played by a seasoned and slightly hungover survivor.
Better still, with a tight one-hour set plus encore I was home in time for a hot chocolate and an episode of ‘Seinfeld’ before bed.
