Before Gypsy Pistoleros come onstage, Rob Zombie’s “Dragula” plays across the PA. When they leave, it’s L.A. Guns’ “The Ballad Of Jayne”. Somewhere between the two is where they sit.
“Dark Faerie Tales” is spectacular, while “I’m In Love With Myself” has The Wildhearts’ swagger. I might be the only Brummie who hates Peaky Blinders, but “The Ballad Of Tommy Shelby (Good, Mad & Beautiful)” is ace, complete with crowd participation.
“Wild, Beautiful, Damned” brings punk spirit and a touch of Dogs D’Amour, while “Prince Of The Damned” is introduced as “dirty and sleazy like me mother”. Christmas dinner must be interesting.
“Rattling”, apparently “our country and western song”, gets the audience involved again. “King Of The Mad” underlines what a superb rock ’n’ roll band they are.
“Church Of The Pistoleros” offers salvation. I’m an atheist, but I’ll worship here. “Come On Eileen” follows. Dexys Midnight Runners probably didn’t imagine this when they wrote it.
But then, who could imagine Gypsy Pistoleros? A band that looks like a punk rock version of Adam Ant, playing some of the finest rock ’n’ roll you’re ever going to see. Somewhere between The Wildhearts, Dogs D’Amour and The Rocky Horror Show is where you’ll find them.
They are a wonderfully brilliant, bonkers one-off.
It isn’t until after “The Wasteland”, eleven songs in, that Kory Clarke starts talking. Thirty-five years since “Drugs, God And The New Republic”, he explains, and they had to celebrate. This is the first time they have played the album in full onstage, he explains.
I’m thinking back to first seeing them on Raw Power, then going into school that same morning to tell everyone about this new band I’d discovered. Hearing the whole record now, for the first time in a while, underlines just how good it is. More than that, how far ahead of its time it was.
“Intro” ends with “we are the government”, before the glam sheen of “Interzone”, their Joy Division cover. The title track follows, but with Warrior Soul it has always been about more than the glam clichés. “The Answer” has always been there, and tonight its lead guitar comes courtesy of Stevie R. Pearce. Clarke’s ever-changing cast includes him this evening, which is always a treat.
“Rocket 88” explodes appropriately. “Jump For Joy” slows things with a little more melody, while “My Time” has the confidence of a man who still believes he is the “Real Thing”. They always were.
“Man Must Live As One” makes you think that if people weren’t listening then, they damn sure aren’t listening now. The bass on “Hero” is huge, while the proto grunge feel and working class soul of “The Wasteland” remain extraordinary. “Donald Trump is just a money whore”, Clarke sang back when Trump was merely a billionaire businessman, rather than someone capable of holding the world to ransom.
“Children Of The Winter” completes the album, a moving classic delivered with absolute commitment. As though Clarke has ever done anything that wasn’t full on. He means every word.
There is more, though. “The Drug” stomps, and “Cargos Of Doom” shows the depth of the material. Before “Punk And Belligerent”, he jokes: “I still have my clothes on, which is a good sign.” “Back On The Lash” is the second drinking song, introduced with the thought that getting up at two in the afternoon means it’s time to get back on it.
“The Party” has a different target. Clarke calls the Republican Party “the most dangerous organisation on the planet”, and his repeated cries of “fuck all the billionaires” leave his position clear. You realise just how long he has been campaigning against these people.
“The Losers”, from their debut, is another anthem for the downtrodden, before “Love Destruction” is aimed at the defence contractors of our country and his. At its conclusion, Clarke repeatedly screams: “We are Warrior Soul.”
They are. Maybe they were ahead of their time. Maybe they never fitted in. Maybe they are proud of that. There is certainly still no band that sounds like this. Watching them play an album from 35 years ago proves how little its fire has dimmed.
