Yes, live music can change your life

My first gig was to see a band called Northside (who I thought were the next big thing in 1991 but turned out to be also-rans of indie’s Madchester era). It was at the Town and Country Club in Kentish Town. I was 16. My mates and I had just finished our GCSEs and this was how we chose to celebrate. We guzzled numerous cans of warm lager on the Underground, which is why my memories of the concert are a blur. 

The main thing I recall is my mate Josh throwing up on a bouncer’s shoes, resulting in him being slung out. He waited outside the venue until the gig was over, whereupon he lobbed a bag of hot chips at my head (seemingly disgruntled that I hadn’t supported him). He missed, the chips hit a passing car’s windscreen and the driver got out and gave Josh a clip round the ear. The rest of us fell about laughing at the sight of him being roughed up for the second time in one evening. Teenage boys are absolutely shit mates. 

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Did that gig change Josh’s life? Possibly. Did it change mine? Somewhat, yes: it set the tone for my interface with live music for the next 20 years or so. From that night on, I understood gig attendance to be an exercise in wanton hedonism as much as the enjoyment of live music.

Live music, drinking, drug taking and daft behaviour all went hand in hand for me until I was about 40. During that time I attended – and half forgot – performances by so many of my favourite acts: from Prince in Milan to Earth, Wind & Fire in Vegas to Public Enemy in a bus garage in Chiswick (true story). I feel honoured and privileged to have seen all of these spectacular artists up close when I had the chance, but I slightly hate myself for wastefully distorting the experiences with booze.

For the last nine years I have experienced live music sober and felt so much more engaged and exhilarated by it all. Watching live music has become less about the night out and more about the immersive wonder of watching people express themselves with uncanny passion and craft. If that sounds a bit poncey, sorry, but you get like that after a few years on the wagon.

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All of which is what brought me to a small athletics club in Richmond a couple of Fridays back. This was no ordinary club: back in the ’60s, it was home of the Crawdaddy Club, where the likes of the Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds and Rod Stewart cut their teeth. A few years ago, Crawdaddy was revived in the same spot and now hosts veterans of the blues scene and up and comers alike.

On this particular night I turned up to see an old school pal, the esteemed blues guitarist Ian McHugh (who was excellent) but got an unexpected bonus in the form of his support band BlueZd, a quartet of local lads aged between 12 and 15. I expected the sort of sketchy schoolboy turn that might pop up at a fete. I got something more mind-blowing.

The lads did a handful of covers and originals with the implausible self confidence of veteran musicians: the guitarists, despite appearing not to have ever bothered a razor in their short lives, chucked out astonishing riffs and solos with the sort of casual aplomb most lads their age leave a used tea mug unwashed by the sink. The drummer was 12 years old and absolute dynamite – like Charlie Watts, both in his technique and his brilliantly bored demeanour. 

By the way, these were not the sort of privileged music-lesson kids the music industry seems to have become dominated by in recent years. They’re a multi-racial band, dressed in Air Jordans and fresh tracksuits, their hair in braids, their swagger on point, pulled together by a non-profit called Powerjam, who help young people of all backgrounds play and connect through music. Judging by this gig, they might soon take over the world. 

I’d turned up at the Crawdaddy out of a sense of historical curiosity as much as anything. I got so much more: a reminder that music is magic, that the kids are all right and that I should probably try and get out more.

Powerjam Band Project is a non-profit organisation that provides young bands with tutor-led rehearsals on a weekly basis, mentoring and gig organisation, improving the mental health of young musicians by helping them to gain confidence and skills. Watch and listen to BlueZd on YouTube and follow on Instagram and Facebook. Read more from Sam Delaney here.

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