“We’re experiencing our first minor technical difficulty, but our crack equipment crew is having at it right now!"

Reassuring words, followed by a military drum beat, a daffy bassline, some Moogy squelches, and then… nothing. That’s until we get some doleful harmonics, a hopeful snare fill, and the sound of an arena full of people shuffling in their seats and checking their watches. I’m listening to an hour and 32 minutes of the Grateful Dead tuning up, on what might well be the world’s least satisfying live album (though it’s oddly effective as an art statement). As the Dead noodle interminably (I know, spot the difference), the crowd whistle their appreciation, whoop and wait, in what’s essentially a looped death spiral of delayed gratification.

Only here, there is no money shot; no awesome 30-minute version of Dark Star to end them all; just more tuning. Tuning ‘77 is a “supercut” assembled by superfan Michael David Murphy, and obviously only intended as the hard stuff for those diehard Deadheads who’ve already hoovered up the band’s 2,200 or so available bootlegs.



By 13:00 - more harmonics - I’m left feeling as irritated by the crowd as the band. Sure the Dead are eating up valuable stage time by playing half-formed chords and apologising for the drummer tying his shoelaces. But still the crowd whoop. Will nothing dampen their enthusiasm for this lackadaisical bunch of hippies? It’s testament to the pacifying power of marijuana that not one bottle can be heard sailing towards the stage. Something which can’t be said for some of these equally niche live recordings…



Sid Vicious - Sid Lives



“Oi, oi, oi,” shouts one punter. A lot. “‘Ang on a minute,” says Sid. And, bloody hell, one track in and it’s only more tuning up. In between all the winning repartee (“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth, you twat?”), we get the full lo-fi Pistols covers repertoire (Something Else, Stepping Stone) and a version of Belsen Was A Gas which achieves the impressive feat of its wayward tuning actually being more offensive than the lyrics. You need a “crack equipment crew”, Sid.



Suicide - 23 Minutes Over Brussels

Elvis Costello’s crowd - Suicide were supporting him - are going nutso here, even when the MC jabbers something Belgian about ”Gereee Rafferteee”. But there’s something about Alan Vega going “youch!” over five minutes of primitive sequencer burbling that can bring out the worst in people. By 20:30, they’re shouting “Elvis Elvis”, everyone boos, and someone nicks the mic. Eventually, Vega is reduced to shouting, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” It’s a live set which only Sigue Sigue Sputnik could take as a template for winning friends and influencing people. Still, who knew that Belgian Elvis Costello fans were so tetchy?



Iggy & The Stooges - Metallic KO

“I don’t care if you throw all the ice in the world. You’re paying five bucks and I’m making 5,000,” boasts Iggy Pop, possibly exaggerating a tad. Particularly as he and the Stooges are here trotting out some half-formed works in progress including the charming Rich Bich (“Your cunt’s so big, you can drive through a truck”), the only innovation being some pub rock piano. Still, Iggy could teach the Grateful Dead about livening up a tuning break. Prior to Cock In My Pocket, the band are trying to get in tune until Iggy gets things started with a “One two, FUCK YOU PRICKS”.



Queen - Live Magic

After all the ice cubes, eggs and lightbulbs pelted stageward on Metallic KO, the crowd here at Queen’s stadium swansong are in raptures. So why is it regularly cited as their worst album? Well, Queen were reluctant to release a double album, instead taking the misguided decision to edit a number of the tracks to fit as much as possible on to one disc. Tie Your Mother Down, Radio Ga Ga and I Want To Break Free all lose a verse, while, perhaps mercifully, the operatic section from Bohemian Rhapsody gets the snip. The end result is a breathless live megamix, though if there’s an upside, there’s definitely no room for tuning up.

