It’s the end of the 60s: an incident at the infamous Altamont festival saw Hell’s Angels pummel several fans, resulting in the death of Meredith Hunter as she tried to climb onstage; the arrival of King Crimson and Black Sabbath had already begun to dispel the hippie ideal; and nights at the UFO club were a distant memory. Peace, love and flower power were collapsing beneath a nascent concrete jungle. In the midst of all this were the Groundhogs, a utopian musical force taking in blues, space-rock, psychedelia and just a dashing of prog – armed with hard non-hippie idealism and a manifesto for great cover art first laid down by ‘Sergeant Pepper’.
Four decades on and I’m stood in Fibbers on a rainy Friday evening, surrounded by a mass of bald heads and wispy beards flecked with white. For the first time this year, I am in the presence of tie-dye that reeks of patchouli, hearty conversations on the merits of Amon Duul II, and being bought beers by a gentleman because ‘mate, you look like a young Jon Anderson’; there’s one for you to Google. The Dan Hudson Blues Band are the perfect opening act, wading earnestly through blues classics from every side of the Delta, culminating in a stomping ‘Get My Mojo Workin’, the audience responded generously, though seemed reluctant to break off from their social groups toward the stage. Bang on 9.30pm and the Groundhogs emerge from the pokey Fibbers dressing room into the violet lights; band leader and sole surviving original member Tony McPhee offers a furtive wave as he takes up his white Fender Strat. These days, the band is fronted by eternal flower-child and McPhee's wife Jo Deacon, who indulges in some entertaining banter throughout the set – cue a point at this young writer and a friendly jibe about my youth.
Singer/guitarist Tony McPhee has come through slaughter to be here; suffering a stroke in 2009, the snowy-haired gunslinger has fought his way from barely being able to ask for a cup of coffee to where he is today, scraping the outer-reaches of the cosmos with his innovative playing. Tonight’s set draws on the ‘classic years’, 1968-72; from ‘Scratching the Surface’ through ‘Hogwash’. There’s a real sense of community in the venue; that these fans are here as much to support Tony as to listen to his band’s music. His lingering speech impediment causes lyrical stumbles on several tunes, but he really gets his chops around ‘Eccentric Man’, much to the delight of the crowd, and Deacon, who looks on proudly between her forays into mad psychedelic dancing. Token cover song ‘Still a Fool’ – the Muddy Waters number by McKinley Morganfield – lacks sonic conviction, but I put this down to a somewhat boggy, bass-heavy mix, a problem which thankfully did not last.
The band’s onstage camaraderie is undeniable, and Thor-heavy drummer Carl Stokes, well, I just wanted to be him, pounding away on his kit with a serene grafted across his face. Deacon’s psychedelic freak dancing should be upsetting to me as a ‘youngster’, but she does it with such charm and merriment, I couldn’t help but join in myself. The endless boogie of ‘Split pt. 1’ and ‘…pt. 2’ allows the band to cut loose somewhere between Hawkwind and Electric Ladyland-era Hendrix, with some creative bass work. Classic wig-outs ‘Garden’ and ‘Split pt. 4’ veer between dreamy textures and growling swamp-rock, the latter featuring some seriously erratic, thrilling slide playing – an aural vision of some acid-tripper, dancing in the UFO club. Set closer and fan favourite ‘Cherry Red’ gets a rapturous reception, with every tie-dyed shirt and denim jacket joining in for the falsetto chorus. Yes, in today’s eyes, one could dismiss tonight as a glance over an old photo album, great no doubt, yet no longer relevant – despite the fact that 90% of the audience’s mode of dress is strangely fashionable at the moment, mine included – but ultimately, it is the music that matters. Tonight Tony McPhee and his band proved why they wielded such acclaim in the honeymoon period. They remain, albeit in new guise, poised and roaring with power; McPhee is a strong and admirable figure, who can bend strings with the best of them. I just had to shake his hand. Freaking out? You’d better believe it. Down and out? Not on your life.
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