LIVE QUIRE BOYS, Marquee, London
The band that can regularly pack ‘em in at the Marquee when they are headlining in their own right, fairly stole the show when they supported White Lion at the first of their London gigs.
Long and loud were the cheers and the congratulations poured in later for lead singer Spike, the loveable Geordie with the voice that burns like vitriol.
It’s not surprising he has to be dosed with Newcastle Brown Ale to prevent total combustion.
What the Quire Boys did was rock from the heart and soul without any premeditated show craft. Spike, he of the Panda black eyes, has all the star charisma of Mick Jagger or Rod Stewart, and there’s no doubt the Quire Boys are the first band I’ve heard in years to recreate the raunchy, good-time excitement of the Stones and Faces.
Keith Richard would have dug them I’m sure, if he’d heard the mighty Ginger and his partner Guy Bailly on guitars, grinding out earthy, funky riffs that I had thought was a long lost art.
They look great, but they’re not glammy and they play with obvious skill, without appearing the least contrived. They’re a real live rock band that just thrive on energy and make instant contact with audiences.
They had only a short set, slotted in at the last minute, but they managed to pack in a dozen or so songs, all delivered with feeling.
Spike, in black waistcoat, with a mammoth belt-buckle which seems to hold him together, is a diminutive figure with a gripping voice and presence. He
roared through the sort of songs that unleash dancing and general madness. Indeed one crazed punter took to hurling pints of lager in the air, one of which thoroughly drenched me and made me reek of breweries until I could find the nearest tin bath and bar of carbolic.
As Spikey and the boys sang ‘Seven O’ Clock’, ‘That’s Right, ‘Mislead’, the raving ‘Sex Party’ and throat-tearing ballad ‘Take Me Home’, hordes of yuppie girls began screaming and pushing their way to the front, a sure sign of impending national stardom.