Live - The Wedding Present

The Wedding Present
Central Station Wrexham
Wednesday 4th March 2009

I’d never heard of The Wedding Present before I saw them perform Brassneck on Top Of The Pops. Maybe that’s why their early work doesn’t seem to really do anything for me. I’ve never really seen the appeal of 95% of their material before Bizarro. I know that’s verging on sacrilege to “real” Weddoes fans, but that’s the way I’ve always felt. George who? My Favourite what? Maybe if I was a few years older, I would get it.

When David Gedge decided to resurrect The Wedding Present in 2005, I was as excited as Fern Britton in a cake shop. I managed to get myself to three dates on the tour, but it all ended up a bit of a disappointment. Their comeback long player Take Fountain hadn’t really set my ears alight, and the three gigs seemed to be carbon copy performances of songs I didn’t really like, even down to the seemingly adlibbed quips between them. It’s fair to say I’d completely lost interest in The Wedding Present.

I wasn’t expecting much from their performance in Wrexham’s Central Station, but thought I’d show willing anyway. The sight of somebody as legendary as Mr. Gedge selling his own t-shirts was a bit surreal at first, but I quickly realised that this would be what music journalists would call a “low key gig”.

Kicking off with Kennedy was a surprise, but as a call to arms, it’s hard to fault. Possibly their most well known song, and a copper bottomed indie disco classic, it seemed to prick the ears of the floating voters in the venue. I often wonder if seasoned performers have different tactics for different venues and crowds, like some wizened old lower league football manager. If they do, Gedge called this one spot on.

The set list seemed more poppy and upbeat then I was expecting. I don’t recall witnessing much off The Hit Parade performed live before, so hearing Blue Eyes and Come Play With Me was a treat, as they’re possibly my two favourite Weddoes tracks. Gedge seemed to be enjoying himself - he was grasping each song with an enthusiasm that belied the countless times he’d probably had to trot them out over the years. Dalliance sounded more like some brand new killer single than a crowd favourite that was older than the bar staff. In fact the whole band’s verve and vigour seemed to fit the reasonably snug environs well. Tight enough where it mattered, but loose enough to add a warm glow around the songs. I think my interest has possibly been revived. I still don’t like My Favourite Dress though!