For music fan Dan Mackay, a fiery three-piece from Antwerp playing in support won the evening’s plaudits.
FLEMISH rockers Triggerfinger took the Highland capital by storm as the legendary Thin Lizzy waited in the wings preparing to launch their own counteroffensive.
The fiery three-piece from Antwerp, who have just released their third album, All This Dancin’ Around, were a huge hit with the capacity crowd at the Ironworks, Inverness’s purpose-built live music venue.
Consisting of guitarist and singer Ruben Block, drummer Mario Goossens and bassist Paul Van Bruystegem – aka Monsieur Paul – Triggerfinger were simply something else. And to their great credit delivered a blistering set which some might argue overshadowed the evening’s headliners. Quite an achievement!
All I know about Belgium is its reputation for chocolates, Georges Remi’s Adventures of Tintin and its role as the capital of the European Union. Triggerfinger – “the loudest band in Antwerp” – has put the country firmly on my map.
I question how many in the audience had ever heard of Triggerfinger, far less any of their songs. But all that’s changed now. Visualise a Soviet Katyusha multiple rocket launcher, with its screaming, explosive and devastating fire power and you begin to imagine what the band’s own website describes as a “fierce and uncompromising sound”.
But there is much more to Triggerfinger than this. They aren’t just “loud and grandiose” – their music also encapsulates moments of “broody introspection”. I thought they were brilliant. Frontman Block, resplendent in his shiny grey suit, was quite a showman; all quirky and prancing around the stage with theatrical vocals. Monsieur Paul laid down a rock-solid driving bass (the likes of which Lizzy’s late lamented Phil Lynott would have been proud of).
“All This Dancin’ Around”, “I’m Coming for You”, “Cherry”, “My Baby’s Got a Gun”... the night just got better and better. Driving rock, with a primal bluesy – at times menacing – feel, I won’t just remember Triggerfinger for Block’s multiple guitar changes and Goossens’s drum solos I’ll also remember their very distinctive, almost unique sound. At the very least they gave Thin Lizzy a run for their money.
If I go back to my beginnings I go back to Thin Lizzy. The 1976 Johnny the Fox album was my mind-blowing introduction to the Irish rockers.
From humble beginnings in Dublin’s Crumlin Road they had emerged from various incarnations including the Black Eagles through their early “vagabonds of the western world” rites of passage – all “brimming with attitude and dangerous swagger”.
Thin Lizzy became my heroes. I idolised Lynott, their de facto leader. Wikipedia, the online encyclopaedia, says he was one of the few black men to achieve commercial success in hard rock. He was certainly the first Irish black man to do so.
Thin Lizzy were huge. Everyone remembers “Whisky in the Jar”, “The Cowboy Song”, “The Boys Are Back in Town” and “Don’t Believe a Word”. They had hits with “Jailbreak” and “Waiting for an Alibi”. Yet somehow, despite their best efforts, global fame eluded them. They embraced their take on the New Wave, they went heavy metal and all in a “Cold Sweat” with replacement guitarist John Sykes before deciding to call it a day back in 1984.
I went to Auld Reekie to see their final tour. I remember Lynott’s parting words, “E-d-i-n-b-u-r-o you’re alright”... It had seemed like the ultimate accolade to a loyal fan base. Two years later, aged just 36, he was dead. Alas, the excessive lifestyle finally caught up with him.
But Thin Lizzy were not laid to rest. They lay dormant for a few years before resurrecting their remnants for various festivals and tours. It was obviously never going to be the same without Lynott but fans still wanted to hear all the old numbers. They were back in Inverness in 2008. What better way to celebrate my 50th birthday?
After that tour Sykes quit the band and fans feared it was well and truly finito.
Now a new Thin Lizzy were back in the Highlands. No way was I going to miss out! The word excited would be an understatement.
So we headed south with their track, “Emerald”, ringing in our ears:
“Down from the hills came the marching men,
With their shields and their swords,
To fight the fight they believed to be right,
Overthrow the overlords.”
Well not quite. With my old cronies BY and Tritonthrasher we cruise-controlled our way down the A9 and checked into a Travelodge. Much less swashbuckling, eh?
Drummer Brian Downey is the only member left from the original Lizzy line-up. But Californian Scott Gorham was there as ever and, for the first time in years, keyboard player Darren Wharton was back. The stellar line-up, according to the band website, is completed with Damon Johnson (guitar), bassist Marco Mendoza (ex Whitesnake and Ted Nugent) and The Almighty’s Ricky Warwick on vocals and guitar. They opened their set with a thundering “Are You Ready to Rock” before launching into “Jailbreak”.
They played all the classics and we lapped it up. The new Thin Lizzy had everything; superb musicians, showmen, a band that played tight together (this was only their second night on the road)... but, for me, something was missing.
I put it down to their sound mix. Much too bassy in my humble opinion. Then again we were at the back of the hall under the balcony and next to their mixing desk that BY said (strangely) was “as big as a fish factory”. Tritonthrasher reckoned it “didn’t have enough knobs”.
The only time I heard Wharton on keyboards was during the slow soulful ballad, “Still in Love with You”. The duelling twin lead guitars on which the band crafted its brand were still there. But not as crisp or as searing as I would have preferred.
I couldn’t help but think of that old Morecambe and Wise TV sketch with the composer Andre Previn. They played all the right notes “but not necessarily in the right order”. Yeah, something was missing.
It was a night I’d been looking forward to. They were my heroes. But we did not connect.
Across the road after the gig in the Blackfriars Bar we had the chance to meet one of the band’s roadies and keyboard player Wharton. The roadie is in generous form and hands us a stash of Thin Lizzy-branded plectrums. We ask him about life on the road. “I’ve worked with them all,” he reflects. “I’ve not been home for years.”
I ask Wharton just one question. “What was Phil Lynott like?”
“They all ask that,” he says wearily and walks away into the crowd.
The King of Rock is still dead. Long live the King.
