#I had to play ten songs today just so i could receive more bonus energy because I was at max by only doing two songs a day

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Yeah. I'm a person who plays rhythm gatcha games, save all my gems and forgets about them, logs in every day plays about two songs on normal or easy and is exhausted for the day and quits the game, starts one Story for the Girls and forgets to finish it cause the rewards aren't consistent until the story is over, and Never get past a C-rank on any songs because they forget to pull for Singers over Three Stars.

YAH. We exist

[trevorbailey61]

The Selecter/ The Beat feat. Rankin’ Roger

O2 Institute, Birmingham

Friday 28th April 2017

Sunday afternoon, July in 1983. The next day I would start my first proper job, I had worked whilst I was at University but that was part time; Saturdays, holidays, casual work on what would now be called a zero-hour basis. The landlord at the pub where I had worked the previous Summer would let me know when I finished my shift whether he would need me the next day. In the late stages of cirrhosis, he was not a well man and he had a limited amount of time left; sadly he was to die about two years later. He had served in the RAF during the war and ran the pub as a Chief Petty Officer, he gave orders which he expected to be obeyed without question and made his displeasure known when the qualify of the work didn't meet the high standards he expected. Staff and customers would receive a tongue lashing, he didn't discriminate, which for the mostly female staff who worked there would often lead to tears. For the regulars this was all part of the service and the ruder he was to them, the more it encouraged them to come back. On one occasion I was asked by some customers if they could buy some bottles to take home. The reply when I asked if this was possible was "tell them to fuck off". Returning to the bar I told them to do just that; I was a little apprehensive the following night when they were a bit later arriving than normal but they did eventually turn up, the incident was so common place it was never mentioned.

For some strange reason he seemed to quite like me; I wasn't spared the odd bollocking but the longer I worked there, the more confident he seemed that he could rely on me. This was for two reasons, the first being that his own failing health restricted what he could do the the point that being rude to his clientele was all that was left and secondly following my arrival he lost about half of his staff; I like to think that these two events were unconnected but I can't be certain. The departure that hit him hardest was that of Dave, his cellar man whose right hand contained just two digits, thus giving him the nickname fingers. Dave was a master of his trade and I was never going to fill the void left by his departure but I was to spend much of that summer moving barrels and kegs around to the sound of the landlord telling me how I was doing it all wrong. At the end of each day I had to make my way to a room behind the bar where he would tell me when I would next be working; at first I was grateful for the work but later I would hope that he would say something like, take a couple of days off but it never happened; the only thing that changed was whether it would be 10:00 or 11:00 the following morning. Still, given that I never had the opportunity to spend what I was making, I could clear my overdraft and leave University debt free - something that makes me feel very lucky when students today leave with debts about twice the size of my first mortgage.

A year later, after completing my teaching training and becoming qualified, I returned to say hello. Even compared to the previous summer, he was physically much diminished but his confrontational approach to his customers remained as fierce as ever. He seemed interested in how I was getting on and when I told him that my final year at university had been successful he said, “always knew you’d be fine”. It was as close to praise as he was capable of giving and it made me feel good; if my work was alright for someone as difficult to please as he was then maybe I would be alright. And the reality of full time employment would soon make itself felt. Late nights discussing politics, the meaning of an obscure Joy Division track or mostly just getting drunk would not necessarily finish but would at least have to take into account the need to be in a fit condition for work the following day. As of now, I would be a model professional; alright the model may not always function properly but at least the parts mostly held together. Before that, however, one final night of carefree youth took me to Milton Keynes on a warm sunny afternoon in early July.

This was the day I was to see David Bowie. Little else needs to be said; Bowie had been the icon of my adolescence ever since I had bought a copy of “Hunky Dory” on the strength of hearing “Life on Mars” and with impeccable timing, his show at the Milton Keynes Bowl was on the Sunday evening before I started work. Monday morning would see me suited, booted and in a position of responsibility for a group of students who were only a few years younger than I was. Bowie’s restless spirit was, for a while, tamed which meant that for possibly the only time in his career he gave the audience what they wanted making the show a greatest hits collection. “Life on Mars”, “Space Oddity”, “Jean Genie”, “Rebel Rebel”, “Fame”, “Heroes”; there was little that I might have wanted him to play that he didn’t with each song stirring the emotions that I had felt when it had been there in my struggles with growing up. He didn’t really need a support but fortunately the promoters felt the scale of the event required a couple of other acts to keep us entertained while we waited for the man himself. It was a thankless task and the contribution of the first act, The Icicle Works, has long since faded from my memory. The second act, however, fared rather better and the infectious ska rhythms of The Beat were joyously celebrated by the legions of Bowie fans. It was an unexpected bonus only announced a few days before the concert but, as someone who had followed the band since their first Two-Tone single “Tears of a Clown”, it was also tinged with a little sadness as this was the end for the original band; I suppose after playing to an audience of tens of thousands, there really was no where else to go. It was also, until this evening, the last time that Rankin’ Roger and myself were found in the same place.

Of all the Two-Tone acts, The Beat had a knack of writing catchy pop songs, strong on melody, witty lyrics and all set to a beat that made it impossible not to dance to. The lightness of their sound, however, allowed them to explore some dark political themes highlighting the harsh consequences of Thatcherism; the restricted opportunities for the young people who followed them, rising inequality and the risk of nuclear obliteration. Their most direct statement, however, was simply “Stand Down Margaret”, an anthem picked up by the thousands at the Bowie concert and also the song with the much altered version of the band now led by Rankin’ Roger begins tonight. With an introduction from the now very old Saxa, something of a surprise given that I had spent the week telling others that he had died a few years ago, the band make their way onto the stage one at a time to add another layer until they achieve the perfect sound of the original. With all the pieces in place, Roger himself appears with Rankin’ Junior; with another election looming leading to more savage Tory cuts targeting those least able to bear them, the name may be different but the message is as relevant as it was in 1983.

For someone in his mid 50s, RR looks amazingly fit and lean; long dreadlocks tumble down his back and the tight fitting shirt shows he carries little in the way of middle age spread, his muscular physique indicating that this is something he works at. He remains a striking presence on stage and takes the lead on most of the songs from the original band that we have come to hear. His voice holds up well to this, capturing the innocent pop those great early singles, “Too Nice to Talk To”, “Best Friend”, “Doors of My Heart”,  and brilliant urgency of “Click, Click”. “Hands Off, She’s Mine”, still sounds awkward, possibly even more so given that the person singing it is now well into middle age, but its rhythm carries it through some questionable lyrics.  Alongside him, Rankin’ Junior occupies the same role as his father once did alongside Dave Wakeling, filling in on the choruses and adding the toasting through sounds, repeated words and rhymes that illustrate the song. Both are a blur of hyperactivity, their energy impressive as they pass each other running across the stage and moving to the front to get as close as they can to the audience. During one exchange, Junior acknowledges a group sitting in the middle on the balcony; the family here for this homecoming show, this is their turf after all. Junior does have his moments, however, particularly on the songs from their most recent album, “Bounce”. Being built around the same Ska rhythms, staccato guitar and barking saxophone of their earlier sound, it does allow for some ultra fast rapping where he can step out of his father’s shadow. Admitting that he hasn’t used a setlist in years, Rankin’ senior says that he looks around the audience to decide what to play next and having said that he had thought of doing “Can’t Get Used to Losing You”, it of course, then has to be played. Other covers see him reach back to the first single with “Tears of a Clown” as well as “Rock the Casbah” which, unfortunately, is the one major mis-step. The massive Ska fix of “Rankin’ Full Stop” and “Mirror in the Bathroom” is what he can still do brilliantly and brings the show to a suitably high tempo and energetic conclusion. Covered in sweat, I make my way out of the hall, in much the same condition as I did in the early 80s, my aching joints and limbs, however, tell me that I am not 20 anymore.

The Selecter take to the stage earlier and from the moment the first notes of their ska version of “The Avengers” theme are heard there is a flurry of movement, those old enough still making the Two-Tone steps as they did so many years ago. “Three-Minute Hero” is played early, they are amongst friends here who have probably been filling in the words for years but live it remains as exhilarating as ever. At the time, I was less interested in the Selecter than I was in the other bands that came through Two-Tone, they seemed to lack the musical invention of The Specials or Madness and Pauline Black’s whirlwind performance was distracting. Now, however, she has found the stillness to make her a formidable presence at the front of the stage and on the two occasions I have seem her recently she has been mesmerising. Arthur ‘Gaps’ Hendrickson remains alongside her as the perfect foil, his toasting still embellishing their take on the “James Bond Theme”, something that all the Two-Tone bands seemed to be obsessed with playing, and he is more to the fore on the songs taken from their most recent album,“Subculture”. “Breakdown” and “It Never Worked Out” are still built around the same rhythms as those from earlier in their career and are by no means out of place alongside “Celebrate the Bullet”, “They Make Me Mad” and the brilliant “Missing Words”. Then, unlike The Beat, they never really went away and whilst the original members of the band have long since departed, there has been a steady release of new material from Black and Hendrickson in the intervening years. From the moment they arrived on stage, the energy has never dropped but they still manage to find another level for the two big hits, “On The Radio” and the magnificent “Too Much Pressure” that seamlessly merges into Toots and The Maytals’  “Pressure Drop” as a homage to their roots.

It can often be that you feel you were either too young or too old to fully appreciate a particular musical trend. Whilst Bowie’s music had been there whilst I was growing up, I was a little too young so missed out on the excitement of seeing him take to the stage as Ziggy. I was nearly 30 when The Stone Roses album came out which meant it never occupied the place in my world that music I had grown up with. For Two-Tone, however, I was exactly the right age, ���Gangsters” came out when I was in the sixth form and over the next few years I was to be found in the mosh pit for all of the major acts, absorbing the intoxicating energy in the music in all its sweaty glory. Most of the bands played the University during my time there and parties and discos would often include a ska section which was about the only time that both sexes would occupy the dance floor. The bands themselves, however, had mixed feelings about this appeal to students, The Specials made no secret of this during one spectacularly bad tempered gig, seeing themselves very much a part of a working class culture. The ageing skinheads in the audience show that this bond remains as strong as ever and this offers some hope that despite the poisonous politics that seems to be in the ascendancy at the moments, there is still a place for a culture that embraces the multiculturalism and diversity that is embodied by this sort of music. Pauline Black, in particular, doesn’t shirk from the hard political message that has always been a part of this music and this is needed now as much as it was in the early days of Thatcherism. Which brings us to The Beat. Energetic and engaging as RR was, that there was something missing could not be overlooked. Wakeling, Roger and original drummer Everett Morton all tour as different versions of the band. None of us are getting any younger - would it be too much to ask that they put their differences aside and give us one last chance to hear this great music performed by those who created it. And while we’re at, as there can only be so much satisfaction gained from living off old Fine Young Cannibals royalties, bring in Andy Cox and David Steele so that the gang is complete. After all, with cut price Iron Lady taking the country into oblivion, the need for intelligent and politically charged pop is as great as ever. In our thousands at Milton Keynes we sang “stand down Margaret…stand down please”, surely there is an anthem waiting to be written for the downmarket version of the iron lady we have now.