Nice and Sleazy in Southampton: The Stranglers live at the Southampton Summer Sessions
The ‘70s punk rock giants brought their ‘Fifty Years in Black’ tour to the port city’s second annual Summer Sessions, with support from Buzzcocks.
Photo: Cuffe & Taylor
As summer strikes in full force, the only tonic is that cool, ocean breeze from the Solent. Students and dockers, office workers and baggy-hoodied teens are out in full force, and a large blue tent looms over Guildhall Square. The iconic Summer Sessions have come to Southampton for a second year, and in a little over an hour, two of punk’s biggest names will take to the stage.
Photo: Cuffe & Taylor
Opening for The Stranglers on that breezy Saturday night were Buzzcocks, the punk rock group once fronted by Pete Shelley. Once master noise-makers behind some of the genre’s definitive hits (Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve), What Do I Get?), the group now find themselves under the command of longtime guitarist Steve Diggle. Whilst stepping out to Strauss’ Also sprach Zarathustra and riffing through the greatest hits, Diggle’s pub-singer grandeur kicked off the evening with a distinct tribute act feel — a view shared by the crowd who, largely, ignored Diggle’s attempts at clapping along.
But though you can fault Buzzcocks for never really recovering from the loss of their most remembered frontman — Howard Devoto was the group’s original vocalist, before Shelley — The Stranglers never shared that fate. Hugh Cornwell, who fronted the group for the entirety of their golden years, left the group in 1990 and, presently, bassist Jean-Jacques Burnel is the only original member.
Nonetheless, between Burnel belting out his own numbers, and the introduction of guitarist Baz Warne in 2000, tracks from across The Stranglers’ now fifty year history have perhaps never sounded tighter. Warne’s own Sunderland-studded snarls fit the band’s unashamedly raw, often lascivious pub anthems perfectly.
And yet, there were no tin-eared quasi-political speeches from the stage, nor heady brawls and rowdy, hyper-masculine hysteria. The Stranglers are the consummate rock band, forgoing flowery shirts, glittering boots and stadium rock backsets: it’s four men, all in black, playing good old rock and playing it well. Neither vocalists onstage let the fact that it’s been 50 years since the band’s legendary debut hit the shelves, delivering sneering, matter-of-fact working-class lyrics and sleazy riffs like it was just another day down the dole queue.
The setlist was as dynamic as it was lauded by longtime fans, showcasing the band’s classics (Golden Brown, Peaches, No More Heroes) alongside fan favourites (Duchess, Genetix) and some newer tracks. White Stallion, from the group’s 2021 album Dark Matters, was the grooviest number there, splicing the group’s easy apocalyptic indifference with the dance-rock polish of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
Photo: Cuffe & Taylor
Toiler on the Sea proved a stomping, hypnotic introduction to the group’s set, while anthems Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, 5 Minutes and Always the Sun had the audience eating out of the palms of their calloused hands. Strange Little Girl and Skin Deep, from the group’s ‘80s years, were no less indulgent, echoing around Guildhall Square like the steel clatter of a Roman gladiator match.
There were notable absences from the group’s era-defining set — no Nuclear Device (The Wizard of Aus), a thundering number from 1979’s The Raven, which was played the night before at a Lincoln Castle show — and, shockingly, nothing from Feline, the Stranglers’ seventh studio effort.
But the men in black were always going to prioritise the group’s early work, and that seemed a wise choice from the crowd’s reactions, often devolving into barked compliments, howls and sonic boom applause. This was clearly a band who have honed their craft for half a century; even the rare occasions of onstage banter came easily to Baz Warne, who mused on the sadness of cruise liner holidays and arrogance of Americans (a guaranteed people pleaser anywhere in Britain).
While the Buzzcocks suffered from a lack of any real musical direction — less punk-era noise and more Stella Artois intoxication — the night was a worthy celebration of late ‘70s rock and new wave. The main act was everything it promised to be: a look back at 50 years of great music, a night of paper cup indulgence and deja vu memories, and very, very loud.