The last time Andrew Jackson Jihad played in London was at the legendary Gaff on Holloway Road (which is now a fucking Costa) and I was terribly drunk. So drunk in fact, that I signed up to play Dungeons and Dragons in a squat, rubbed the tummy of a man next to me during the song “Candle in the Wind”, and, for several subsequent weeks, I had hangover paranoia and thought Sean and Ben of AJJ hated me and would never come back to the UK.
This was my first gig at the Borderline and, despite its unmistakable mean fiddler corporate sheen, the venue is definitely a new favourite. Its walls are bedecked with flyers, the staff are friendly and it’s far easier to get home from than most places. Unfortunately the only ale on offer was Newcastle Brown, a last resort but an inevitably reliable one. Though luckily, I still had some Adnams bitter sloshing about inside me from a pub stop earlier.
At the bar, I start chatting to two friendly gents, Ed and Nathan, after hearing one mentions seeing the undeniable comic genius that is Stewart Lee. Determined not to discuss the merits of paladins, we talk bands and it transpires that the duo play as The Atomic Penguins, an anti-folk comedy band from Canterbury (not to be confused with Tactical Nuclear Penguin, BrewDog's 32% ABV imperial stout). We were devastated that tonight had clashed with two other incredible gigs; the Mountain Goats at Koko and the Skints at Nambucca, supported by Bedouin Soundclash and the Newtown Kings. Had they been on separate nights, I would have gone to all three, but none of us were going to miss Sean and Ben for the world.
Kepi Ghoulie, who I had the pleasure of seeing on AJJ’s last European tour, was billed to support. However, to my surprise, A4 sheets of paper declared, in Times New Roman, that The Great Cynics (formerly The Cynics, following threats of legal action from Pittsburgh based garage rock revival act of the same name) were playing instead. This was exciting as the band had very recently been signed to Household Name Records, the label responsible for numerous legendary ska punk bands of the last decade including Adequate Seven, Capdown, Howards Alias, The Filaments, Ye Wiles and of course Lightyear. Coincidently, Chas Palmer-Williams of the aforementioned Lightyear is also supporting AJJ on their Derby date. The Great Cynics appear on stage, and play their own brand of raw, electric indie punk with plenty of passion and energy. The choruses are catchy with intelligent lyrics and shifting rhythms, and they are very well received by the crowd.
After congratulating the band on their performance, and for breathing life into Household Name, I make my way to the front to wait for Andrew Jackson Jihad where I meet Bob, a student from Reading with a sprained wrist. AJJ don’t delay and make it on stage early, opening with “Rejoice”, “Brave as a Noun” and “Survival Song”, the first three songs from their incredible album People That Can Eat People are the Luckiest in the World. The crowd needs no encouragement to join in and sing along to every single song of the night. Sean’s lyrics are quite difficult at times and his vocal style is uniquely awkward, yet it is the most natural thing in the world to sing with him. The love displayed by the crowd is unmatched by any other audience I have been a part of. The honesty, sensitivity, vulnerability and humour that AJJ exude can only provoke this level of affection and respect, which manifests as hugs between people who have never met and adoring heckles which Sean and Ben sheepishly accept.
They play a good mix of old and new tunes; including a few covers I hadn’t heard before, choosing to focus less on the tracks from Operation Stackola and more on Only God Can Judge Me. To my delight they play “Jesus Saves (God Hates Us All)”, my first taste of AJJ back in 2009, which was notably absent from their set at the Gaff last year. The band have a wonderful chemistry; Sean plays his guitar hectically with nervous quivering vocals while next to him stands Ben, tall and mellow, bending serenely over the neck of his double bass. Occasionally they break away briefly to confer about which song to play next and the pause is punctuated by shouted requests for every tune in their repertoire. A request for “Ladykiller” is turned down by Sean for being a ‘horrible song’ but he is happy to submit to cries for “People” and “People II: The Reckoning”, two excellent songs played in quick succession. Towards the end of their set, which lasts about an hour and a half, time checks are met with pleading assurances that they could squeeze in everything again. Had the curfew been 5 AM, no one would have left until Sean's fingers were worn to the bone and every thread on Ben's bow had split in two.
When the inevitable end comes, the band finish with “Personal Space Invader” followed by “Olde(y) Time(y)” and no one can quite believe it’s over. I pick up their excellent split full length with Ghost Mice and a T-Shirt from their merch guy and loiter a few moments to speak to Sean and get that all important hug. Their next European tour can’t come sooner enough.
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