In defence of the tribute band
Why I'm a fan of embracing the cringe
If it wasn’t for tribute bands, I’d have never heard most of my favourite songs outside the confinement of my bedroom or my headphones.
I grew up in Blackburn, reaching legal age just after the decline of the ‘legendary’ nightlife. Talking to people who made it there in time always brings up stories of Peppermint Place, The Cav and the Mecca. King George’s Hall hosted some of the biggest icons in music — from Bowie to Queen — and I love asking my relatives to tell me about their experiences of seeing all of my favourite artists in the 70s and 80s. I did manage to see Morrissey there in 2006, but we won’t talk about that…
[Fun fact: I designed the King George’s Hall logo in my first job after uni — at Source Creative. It’s one of my longest living pieces of work.]
In the mid 00’s, Blackburn’s nightlife declined — and got progressively worse over the next ten years. I’m not going to go into the reasons in this piece, but that coincided with me growing into a music obsessed teenager and wanting to experience live music, nights out and my own versions of the myths and legends I’d heard my older siblings and parents share.
But by this time, I’d hit two challenges.
The big artists weren’t coming to Blackburn anymore.
Most of my favourite bands no longer existed.
My first gig, aged 13, was hosted in the Windsor suite in the basement of King George’s Hall. It was The Clone Roses, long before their legendary status. Oh, how my friends laughed — back then the mention of a tribute band conjured up images of Abba tributes dressed in Cosplay, singing at the local pub on a theme night and trying their very best (but nowhere near succeeding) to be the real thing. But I was so desperate to go to a real life gig (!!) and hear Waterfall live. And I have to say, that night opened my eyes.
From there I became a regular at the Windsor Suite, dragging my friends to see tribute acts like The Jam Restart and The Sex Pistols Experience. In my hazy teen dream I could imagine being at the real thing, as though I’d gone back in time to somewhere I felt I fit in. I’d get dressed up for every gig, choosing my outfit carefully based on the genre.
Finally, my chance came for a real gig. Around my 16th birthday, I heard that The Charlatans were playing at Blackpool’s Empress Ballroom. On a normal occasion the travel would’ve stopped our parents letting us out, but it was my birthday! An important milestone! Thankfully my Mum agreed, so we all chipped in for a minibus and plodded down the M6 feeling like real-life adults. Tim Burgess waved at me from the balconies while The Twang set up for their support slot, and I spent most of The Charlatans’ set crowd surfing. I was living the dream.
It was a good year for me — I also saw James at what was then the MEN Arena, Morrissey and a few more. I was equally as crazed at all of them.
I was lucky to see the tail end of the music culture in Blackburn. After leaving school I dived head first into punk — shaved my hair into a Brody Dalle-inspired mohawk, cut my feet to shreds with a pair of Doc Martens and embraced drainpipes before they came into fashion (to be rebranded as the ‘skinny jean’). We had a big punk culture in the town, and there was a gig pretty much every weekend. Now old enough to venture a little further, I’d jump into my friend’s van with a six pack of cans and travel the North visiting some legendary venues.
I moved away and “grew up” a few years later, going to less and less live events — something that I can’t explain the reason for and actually quite regret now. But lately I’ve been picking the habit back up again — especially now I live in Manchester, obviously one of the best places in the UK for it.
Recently, things seem to have gone full circle. Earlier this year I saw an advert on Instagram for a tribute gig, The Smiths Ltd – in Manchester on the anniversary of my Dad’s passing. My Dad was the one who introduced me to the band (my teacher expressed concern at my favourite song being ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ when I was 7 years old), so it seemed like a fitting way to celebrate him. I messaged my friend Jodie, who was with me from the beginning in the Windsor Suite, and we booked the tickets.
We did have a bit of a laugh about it, and it made me wonder about the stigma of the tribute band. They really did used to be considered as a bit weird — adults thinking they were the real deal and putting on as convincing a performance as possible, which usually wasn’t very convincing. A little too “Tonight Matthew…”. But that’s not a fully accurate perception — there are now whole festivals where only tributes play, and it obviously takes a huge amount of talent to be able to echo the live sound of those icons we know so well. The Smiths Ltd were fantastic, and had the right amount of humour and accuracy in their performance.
As well as being able to hear the music of those we wouldn’t have access to, it fills an ethical gap too. I remember reading someone’s account of seeing Blossoms at Glastonbury, bringing out Rick Astley to belt out some Smiths covers. They’d said that it was great to be able to hear those songs again, without the complexities of Morrissey’s character surrounding it. I’ll leave it at that.
I’ve always had brilliant experiences at tribute gigs — you take the night less seriously, let your hair down, have a laugh and dance to the songs that you wouldn’t hear live otherwise. Back to that illusion I felt as a teenager — sometimes it’s nice to escape and pretend you’re living in another time.
The next one in the diary is a Joy Division tribute. Sadly I’ll never be able to compare it to the original, but it’ll be a good night with great music. What more can you ask for?
I was at the same Charlatans show with my brother and sister. It was such a rowdy one!