The Stranglers @ Hammersmith Apollo, London

The pit was alive with bobbing bald heads and angry fists pumping. No, I wasn’t at a BNP rally, but a Stranglers gig.

In the late 70s and early 80s The Stranglers pecked around the periphery of punk, sharing its uncompromising attitude but honing a more varied sound that straddled new wave, pop and rock n’ roll.

Now in their fifth decade, accusations of cashing in cannot be levelled at a band who never really went away; choosing to replace charismatic singer Hugh Cornwell after his departure and keep touring, much to the delight of their dedicated (almost to the point of manic) core of fans.

The vim and vigour of The Stranglers live set explodes any thoughts that age may have taken its toll. The impeccable drumming of founder Jet Black is still counterbalanced perfectly by dextrous Dave Greenfield’s swirling electric organ (once deemed unfashionable by their punk contemporaries, but now seeming masterful).

Bassist Jean-Jacques Burnell now shares the vocals with Baz Warne, who does an admirable job on the Cornwell tracks, but Burnell is the real star, leaving the crowd in raptures with his fretwork; whether it’s the primal bassline of ‘Nice N’ Sleazy’, the pervy swagger of ‘Peaches’ or the unmistakable opening riff of ‘No More Heroes’.
 
You would struggle to find a more enthusiastic crowd anywhere on any given night.
When you see someone well into their 70s jump and punch the air in time with the “Uuh!” intro to ‘Something Better Change’ and then launch themselves into a pogoing pit, you realise that aging need not be a maudlin affair. As Dylan Thomas said “Old age should burn and rave at close of day / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”  Or, as The Stranglers put it “Duch of the terrace never grew up, I hope she never will.”