“We all like New Order, we love New Order, well, all of us except David...he hates them..”

The Boyfriends, London’s and British music’s best kept secret are holed up in a back street Mancunian hostelry, far from their home turf and on a rare foray into the wilderness. They seem relatively at ease, they exude an air of self confidence, seemingly self assured, but without any hint of cockiness or arrogance, so much so that I am having difficulty pinning them down. Between Paddy’s battles with the Elvis pinball machine and Martins dalliance with a faulty jukebox, and it’s subsequent instructional slur from an over intoxicated landlady I try to find out a little more about The Boyfriends...

I skirt tentatively around the references that have been drawn between Manchester most famous foursome and The Boyfriends, intimating that such comparisons were simply due to the fact that they had an all male, four piece, traditional vocals, guitars, bass and drums line up and wrote intelligent songs, they agree, and almost just as quickly name check Manchester’s other most famous foursome – New Order. This leads to a rabid discussion about the importance of sleeve artwork on record releases, and a general all round bout of idolatry pseudo back slapping for designer Peter Saville. Paddy explains that the colour coding on the edge of the original ‘Blue Monday’ 12” reads Fac73 (the records catalogue number),  when converted to text, whilst Martin and myself swap identical tales of staring at the ‘Confusion’ sleeve as teenagers, wondering what the hell it actually said, before the words “New Order, Confusion” slowly morphed out of the pixellated blocks. We try in vain to explain this to Richard who claims he has never seen the sleeve, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Pushing them further it appears that Adam and the Ants are a guiding force behind their verve, and it is clear to see, they posses the same certain joie de vivre that the dandy highwayman had before he decided to shoot up a London boozer, and re-record his greatest hit as ‘Save the Gorilla’.

“I once danced with Tracy Tracy from The Primitives onstage at Strathclyde University, but then I fell in love with a fat Goth..”

David hasn’t really got the hang of this, and despite the rest of the bands protestations he insists that he has a deep seated love for Queen, “It wasn’t his real name though was it, Freddie Mercury?” ponders Paddy “No, he was called Freddie Venus, but he thought it sounded ridiculous so he changed it to Mercury” snipes back Richard. There is an obvious bond here, a definite feeling of unity and camaraderie, and it’s a joy to be a part of it, if only for a couple of hours. It turns out that David is in fact a bona fide font of knowledge on all matters Suede, and indeed penned their official biography (Suede, Love and Poison) last year.

Whilst all this goes on, Martins carefully selected soundtrack on the Jukebox keeps us entranced. He gives a knowing nod to Manchester with The Buzzcocks, delights the band with the dear departed Kirsty MacColl’s take on Billy Braggs ‘A New England’, track after track of fine tunes keeps us all highly entertained – especially with the selector vehemently insisting “I didn’t put this on..” every now and again. That’s a thing you need to learn about jukeboxes around here, they very rarely play the songs that are written on the cards, it just makes life that little bit more interesting.

Upon leaving the pub, The Boyfriends are keen to fill up on ‘proper chips’, they refuse the neon allure of kebab shops and burger joints as we make out way along Oldham Street, enquiring keenly about ‘the Manchester scene’ as we go. “Well, that over there was Afflecks, the centre of it all, with the legendary Eastern Bloc Records on the corner. And this place is ‘Dry’ the bar opened by New Order and Factory, the place where Shaun Ryder almost shot Tony Wilson..” The seem amazed, that so much could have come out of this small corner of a city, that is until we reach Leos Fish Bar, and then all is forgotten.

The Boyfriends slink onto the stage at around midnight, the crowd is not vast, but is certainly appreciative. That certain ‘Manchester cool’ that so often gets in the way of people gushing about excellent bands is only partly in presence tonight. The crashing, opening to ‘I Love You’ is supplemented with a squeal of feedback from Richards 335 and a steely stare from Martin. The song settles quickly and those present immediately know that this is something special. Next up is new song ‘The White Devil’, and it is obvious that the band are becoming a little more easy with their surroundings, this is one of the few times that they have played outside the capital, and indeed their first foray into Manchester, they seem to be enjoying it as much as us.

Quasi anthemic and semi-instructional ‘No Tomorrow’ continues keeping the tempo high, almost ferverent. The cool, casual aura exuded by Martin Wallace during his lyrical delivery belies the heartfelt plea contained within, “Live like there’s no tomorrow, this very day could be your very last...” the music is crashing and crushing, the sentiments strangely uplifting, through it all the singer holds a steady thousand yard stare, unaffected by the sonic mayhem around him. This is followed by a cover of Kirsty MacColls ‘They Don’t Know’, a last minute addition to the set that they had earlier told me that they had “only rehearsed once, last Tuesday, for a laugh” to the casual listener it comes off fine, to the critic it is embellished by a half beat delay in Richard starting the guitar break, nobody else noticed, it was great. Later David will confess that he “..knew it was E and B all the way through, but I wasn’t sure which it started or ended on..” Well, maybe he just got lucky.

‘Once Upon A Time’ is a cavalcade of six string exuberance, it’s has a brazen swagger and a self assured strut which marks it out as a set highlight. The Boyfriends convey a confidence onstage that sets them apart from the more ramshackle offerings of the music world. For a band so much in its infancy they play with the effortless sophistication usually only seen in artistes who have been on the album/tour treadmill for years.

Photograph by Steve Devine

The punchy yet melodic ‘Remember’ and the livewire of ‘Brave Little Soldiers’ with its impassioned pleas to “..be honest, be gallant, be brave..” bring the set towards its climax. A scan of the stage sees David, stage left, holding everything together with pounding, controlled bass, Paddy thrashing one hundred miles an hour of hell out of a borrowed drum kit, Richard flaying and thrashing, throwing a wall of gently overdriving, brusque melody from an instrument that was never designed to be so brutally beautiful. Centre Stage Martin Wallace holds the audience in the palm of his hand, gleaming white jacket ensures he is a visual centre point to rival the musical wave of laceration.

“..these things are sent to try us, and we can but soldier on. That which does not kill us, can only make us strong..”

The Boyfriends close the set with another new song ‘There Is Always Hope’; it’s a regimented, pounding, almost military salvo of sonic exhilaration. ‘There Is Always Hope’ sings Martin Wallace, and you know what, for once in my life, I think that there is.

As we get in the car, I turn to Steve and say “..in 1976, 48 people turned out to see The Sex Pistols at the Free Trade Hall, and 20 years later every man and his dog were claiming that they were there. I reckon that in a few years there will be 4,000 people saying that they saw The Boyfriends at the Night and Day Café in January 2005.” Steve said that he’d been thinking exactly the same thing, the only thing is, we’ll be telling the truth.

Johnny Mac

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