Vic Godard and Subway Sect: the postman always sings nice

This show took place last weekend but I don't think The Fly's gone live with the review just yet. I really enjoyed it and hope that my tone doesn't come off as condescending. I've loads of respect for Godard and regard him as one of the country's most underrated artists, a bit like Elvis Costello but without the naked ambition. I was so into the gig that I actually felt a little self-conscious standing next to a sceptical acquaintance who would eventually walk out, put off by an inebriated and sexually aggressive crowd more than anything. Oh, and, for what it's worth, The Sexual Objects were pretty good. It's too bad that Davey Henderson's between song patter seemed to sour everyone's mood.

Vic Godard and Subway Sect

Voodoo Rooms, Edinburgh

24/3/12

****

Whether they look up to him as an unsung punk innovator, genre-hopping pop craftsman, leading Hip Hop aficionado or one of the country's most celebrated postmen, the hoard of middle aged men packed into the Voodoo Rooms have a thing for Vic Godard. They love him unconditionally and tonight feels as much like a personal appearance and catch up as it does a gig, our hero cast genially adrift in a sea of loose fitting leather and denim. The night's insular vibe is compounded by the presence of former Fire Engines frontman and local hero Davey Henderson, whose current outfit The Sexual Objects play an unfathomably confrontational support set. He appears to be on first name terms with several audience members and, in the name of punk, The Fly hopes that they are not colleagues from his day job.

Of course, there's a thin line between a sad, under-promoted nostalgia show and a vital fringe event. If Henderson's sarky in-joking suggests the former, then Godard’s headline set goes a long way towards redressing this balance. Backed by a particularly tight Subway Sect, now comprising Felt and Sex Pistols alumni, the man born Vic Napper delivers a pounding set of snotty Northern Soul as vital as anything ever recorded by his feted late ‘70s peers.

A difficult character to pin down, Godard is riddled with contradictions. Still one of the sharpest lyricists around, his congested singing voice is suggestive of a dullard; though his music makes you want to dance, it is utterly sexless. It's these tensions between perception and reality that lend oldies 'The Devil's in League With You' and 'Holiday Hymn' their enduring appeal and ensure that their composer remains a subversive force to be reckoned with. Cuts from 2010's We Come As Aliens hold up against the classics and while this is hardly an amphetamine-fuelled all nighter, the energy in the room absolutely refuses to flag. To paraphrase an incoherent stage invader, this is really very good indeed.

Lewis Porteous