The first gig of the year no-one has dubbed "The Cardiff Year" - and ironically it takes us back over the bridge to Blighty to Bristol, made famous by the contributions of both Casualty and Teachers. Not to disregard the heritage of Bristol, but that's another story for another day to be told by another person - preferably one with a beard and a weird gruff voice.
The Holloways and The Wombats - two cute demi-rock'n'roll gods fused into one indie giant; enough to mobilise the scenester army of Brizzle in their masses with their feckin' glowsticks. To quote Alfie Holloway "Why the glowsticks? We're not new rave!" Not that scenesters understand, for their method of communication is through quoted lyrics in the backpages of the NME.
This affable dream-team are in the midst of a modest tour around the sights and sounds of Britannia. The Holloways seem to have been touring endlessly for months off the back of acclaimed debut album, So This Is Great Britain?, and The Wombats are riding high after being adopted by the mainstream for their quirky indie-pop and unquestionable humour; look out for latest single Let's Dance To Joy Division for an example of how the Scousers can turn even the most morbid of lyrics into a smile-inducing jamboree.
Here in Bristol the crux of the matter is that The Wombats are supporting The Holloways along with the genuinely up-and-coming Kid Harpoon and another band whose name eludes the memory due to an issue with being late. Something to do with pirates. There is genuine remorse in being late... it won't happen again boss.
It took barely five seconds for the mayhem to begin as The Wombats launched into their set. Their back-catalogue may be shorter than Paul Daniels on all fours but there seems to be very few weak links in the Wombat arsenal at present. Give it a year and we'll see how far they have taken that momentum but for the time being who cares? It's hard to imagine how many acts could carry off a Norwegian version of Postman Pat mid-set, and go as far to get a rapturous reception for it. Having said that, the pre-requisite of a Norwegian speaker in your ranks can pose problems for most bands who would ever attempt it. The Wombats: brash, loud and bouncy - and consistently so.
That boxed ticked, the main event had a lot to live up to but The Holloways aren't scared of a challenge. Rob's sore throat, and Bryn's cracked ribs didn't keep them down. And after so long playing off the debut album, some new material starts to edge its way next to the likes of Two Left Feet and the enduringly charming Dancefloor. The Holloways gladly entered the party-piece duel for the evening too. With the Norwegian karaoke, the London band saw and raised by inducing an endless conga for one of the newer numbers. Who can resist a conga?
When the night reaches its conclusion in a haze of sweat, beer and glowsticks, it's an apt choice to finish with Generator; a paean to the 'music that makes you feel better', an exaltation of what it is to know that the night may end but the party will always continue. Time for some shouting in the multi-storey car park...
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